Book Two - Part One (Continued)
By Stephen Herron

The Smoke Dragon mingled with the low cloud across the city, hovering with slow beats of its vast wings. The coal-red eyes searched road after road, estate after estate, looking for the tell-tale glitter of Glamour. Occasionally there would be a flicker of Dream-magic, and the Dragon would note it’s position. It could easily tell a Freehold from the less defined Glamour of an individual. But, according to Lorenzo, the one he was looking for could not be missed.

It had been some years since the Dragon had been put to such a task. During the last days of the Troubles, the Dragon would find likely looking targets, and swoop down upon them, destroying it with fire and dark black scalding smoke. For those mortals who could not see the Chimera, the detonations would be like that of a bomb. So many times, the police were confused by the lack of physical evidence. That had made Lorenzo laugh. The Smoke Dragon, however, never laughed. Although it enjoyed it’s work.

The Dragon stopped, and hovered over a row of terraced houses in West Belfast. It had been distracted from its search by this train of thought. It considered it’s relationship with Lorenzo for a few more moments, before something caught it’s eye.

Below it, in the street, a small boy had stepped out from the boarded up door of an abandoned house. The child looked up at the Dragon, and grinned.

The Dragon raised a smokey eyebrow. Then it too grinned, but with malice and hate and the anticipation of pain.

The boy puffed up his cheeks, and blew. The Dragon narrowed it’s eyes in thought, and then felt two emotions that it had never felt before.

Panic and Fear.

A rush of Glamour, beyond anything it had ever felt before caught it’s wings, and it was blasted miles upwards, the smoke of it’s wings tearing and ripping. Five miles up, it was caught by the jetstream, and was dispersed in the two hundred mile an hour winds like a rumour.

"Bad Dragon," scolded the boy.

The boy smiled, and climbed back through the boards across the door.

The party started at about tea-time, and would last all night. All the Fae of the city were invited, since Lorenzo would never through a party like this. Some of the Unseelie came, but most had been forced into cowering obedience by Lorenzo and Folly long ago. And, noted Kestry, as he looked through the crowd, so had some of the Seelie. There were less of his supporters here than there had been six weeks ago.

Thanks to Peter McKibben, the celebration was at Belfast Castle. Peter had come to get used to his new allies, though it would pain him, and if he was in a bad enough mood, pain those around him, to admit it.

The ballroom hadn’t seen such Glamour since the night Kestry and Duchess Aishling had danced. It didn’t seem like two months ago. It wasn’t, really. St. Patrick’s Day had only been six weeks ago, and it had been the last time Kestry had felt in control of events. It was kind of Duchess Aishling to come and show her support for his cause, but really, there was nothing practical that she could do.

His own research through ancient Fae texts, concerned with Sidhe law, had shown a couple of possible avenues, but there was one problem left.

King Finn had demanded that Kestry appear before him on or before Midsummer. Kestry looked around the throng of happy faces, and realized that he might never see any of them again. He had been coming to a decision for a few weeks now, and tonight, Beltaine, seemed to be the best time.

Peter McKibben moved through the dancers. He ignored them as best he could. Kestry waved to him, and he altered his course. A few dancers moved out of his way, the others got glared at until they did likewise. Kestry had to smile.

"What are you smiling at ?" asked Peter suspiciously. Kestry forced the smile away. "Oh, nothing, nothing... are you enjoying yourself ?"

"Are you trying to be funny ?" Peter replied. He sighed, and looked around, as if only now taking in the sight. "It’s okay, I suppose. Better than the parties we used to have. Better music."

Kestry nodded. He knew what Peter was referring to. "Actually, Peter, that’s part of the reason I wanted to have this celebration here... there’s something I would like you to do."

Kestry handed a wax sealed letter to Peter, who glanced at it. Then he stared at it. "But... he can’t read this. Not at the moment. I don’t know when..."

He sniffed the letter, his Garou senses sharp. "How old is this ?"

Kestry shrugged.
"I don’t honestly know. I had a Dream, and I was shown this letter. It had been walled up in the Brick Glade. It must be at least a hundred years old."

Peter shook his head, but put the letter in his jacket pocket. "For what it’s worth, I’ll deliver it."

Kestry shook his hand warmly. "Thanks. Thanks a lot," he said, then he walked off, leaving Peter, the letter and a bemused look.

He made his way through the group to where Robin and her new friends stood. Lady Enya perked up when she saw him, and Paddy sipped his wine, a grin playing on his lips. Giant stood somewhere behind the group, his watchful gaze scanning the room.

"My friends," Kestry said warmly to the four, "I have a gift for you." He handed them a set of keys, and pulled out a small bundle of photographs. "This is your Freehold."

The photographs showed the ruined facade of a boarded up shop, two floors in height. But the picture was blurred, and a more colourful image of the shop could be seen, if you tilted your head slightly.

"Why, Milord, thank you !" said Lady Eithne softly.

"It’s for all of you," said Kestry, "for your Oathcircle."

They all exchanged looks.

"But... we’re not..." started Eithne, but then Paddy interrupted. "I knew there was a reason you had got us together. So, what’s the mission, Boss ?"

Kestry leaned closer, hoping to be heard by only the four.
"There is a child, in Belfast, who recently underwent his Chrysalis. He may be the most important Fae in Ireland, and we- you - must find him before King Finn or Lorenzo. Once you find him, you will protect him."

"We are but four, sir," said Giant softly, "And we are not knights or warriors."

Kestry nodded.
"That’s exactly why you have been chosen."

"I understand what you’re saying," said Robin, "and we are the best ones to protect a little boy from Lorenzo’s Trolls and that... cuddly Dragon..." she finished, with a shiver of fear.

"I have had a Dream that you are the ones," explained Kestry simply.

Giant nodded. "Dreamings are important. I understand."

"Good," sighed Kestry, and he looked as if at least one worry had been lifted. He looked at the group, and smiled.

"You are The Rebels. You represent the spirit of Freedom, the fight against unkind and unjust rule. You are the Light that Lorenzo’s Darkness cannot extinguish." Kestry spoke with a clarity that struck each word into their hearts. The music stopped, and the dancers stood, listening to Kestry form the Oathcircle.

"You must each take an Oath, the Oath of the Rebels. You will support each other, and protect your charge, though night falls and winter blows cold around you. You will swear to fight the Darkness, and carry the light within your hearts. You will swear that you will never leave each other’s sides until the Belfast Child sings again."

They stared at him, mouths open. Kestry was surrounded by a nimbus of light, as Glamour flowed through him, using his words and his physical presence to create Destiny.

"I swear," said the Rebels, their voice as one.

The light dimmed, the music started again, and the party continued, although it was more subdued than before.

"Good. Good," was all Kestry could say. He turned, and walked away, his face unreadable. Robin looked at the rest of her Oathcircle, and she felt a satisfying warmth. These were to be her friends, her fae family. She smiled.

"Whoa... what a rush !" grinned Paddy. Giant blinked in slow amazement, while Lady Eithne just glowed. Her smile was etheric.

"Did you feel the Glamour ? His magic ?" she breathed. Giant frowned, and Robin glared at the girl. "What do you mean, his magic ?" she asked. Eithne shrugged delightfully.

Robin shook her head, and wandered into crowd after Kestry. She began to get a bit worried when she could see him. She just about made out Galways massive form at the doorway out of the ballroom, and she followed him.

By the time she reached him, Galway was outside the Castle, and was staring at a car which drove down the hill, back into Belfast.

"What’s going on ?" she asked him. He said nothing, his head bowed, eyes dark. She watched the car disappear around a corner.

"Was that Kestry ?" she asked, a tingle of fear in her stomach. Why was Galway acting so strangely ?

"Yes. Yes it was. He’s gone, Robin."

She chirped, a sharp intake of breath. "What ?! What do you mean, gone?"

"He’s gone to see the King. Remember that letter ?" Galway’s voice was as soft and as sorrowful as Robin had ever heard.

"But... I didn’t really think...it’s not Midsummer yet... why would he..." Robin started... and then she remembered Govain’s whispered words of warning... if he’s lucky, he might just die...

"No ! You mustn’t let him go !" screamed Robin, her tiny frame stronger than Galway had thought. He struggled to hold her back- she seemed to flutter against him.

"ROBIN !" he shouted at her. "Do you really think I want him to go ?"

Robin clutched Galway, sobbing into his great shoulder.

"I don’t know what I’d do... if he didn’t come home..." she cried. Galway nodded. He knew how Robin felt. He had spent too much time being Kestry’s protector, and if he lost that role, that identity... how could he cope ?

"Shhhhhh..." was all he said. They stood there, outside Belfast Castle, silent and alone.

It began to rain.