Brothers: Legacy of the Twice-Dead God (29 page)

The Indian continent followed next, about
fifteen groups with roughly fifty people total. It was interesting
to watch them parade through. I didn’t know much about the various
Hindu sects, but some of their foci were ambiguously strong,
wavering on the astral field between nothing and highly powerful.
They had several spirits sneaking peeks through portals they
carried with them, but I could feel MacNamara’s power keeping those
portals just short of opening enough for them to enter. It was like
a faint brush of clear enamel over the hole, sealing it shut. I
followed Kieran and Peter’s conversation about them peripherally,
but my attention was waning until Peter tapped the arm of my
chair.

“The Russians are coming up next,” he said,
staring down at the field. “They still hold the Slavic council
after the Soviet Union fell apart. Sergei Bogdonovich was on
Colbert’s list. He’s the one in the silver furs, looks a little
like Lenin.” Eight men took the dais as the golden robed elf
announced them in their native Russian, naming only one by
name.

“Who is in charge?” I asked Peter.

“Oh, here,” he said, handing me a long green
stone that looked like amethyst, tied to a leather thong. He had
one around his neck, and when I looked so did Kieran and Ethan.
“This’ll translate for you. I forgot about that. The lead is the
man in the silver fur, purely a figurehead at this point, from what
I hear. The real head is supposed to be the guy in the black cloth
coat behind him. Nobody knows his name so he’s referred to as
Dmitri. No idea why, though.”

“Because that’s his name,” said Kieran.
“Dmitri Bogdonovich. He’s Sergei’s younger brother.”

“Dad’ll be happy to know that,” Peter said,
nodding at the information.

“Nah. Just means there’s another behind the
power in the Slavic council,” said Kieran, gruffly. “Dmitri’s a
hack. There’s no way he’s controlling the Persians. He isn’t a
strong enough personality.”

“That could be the cause for the constant
fighting over there, I suppose,” admitted Peter. I really needed to
be paying attention here. Peter was being a huge source of
information and so was Kieran. I was getting an education on
foreign affairs that I didn’t even know existed and I was watching
how traffic was flowing in the aisles two hundred feet away.

The European Council hit the stage and a roar
went through the Arena like none before them. In front of us, green
plating flickered to life like thick Plexiglas, deadening the sound
to acceptable levels. Twenty men in black gi lined the platform
with military precision, bowing to the crowd at the waist quickly,
then bounding over the sides in perfect synchronization, streaming
bright red flows of energy as they fell to the next level. Twenty
men took their places on the top, firing a blaze of blue fire into
the air around them, not quite reaching the stands. The crowd went
wild at the display. The golden clad elf allowed time for the Arena
to calm before announcing the triumvirate leadership of the
council, two men and a woman. It took a few moments for the podium
to clear.

“You should pay attention to that group,
Seth,” said Peter. “The woman, Lady Genieveve, was said to have
once believed she was the Genieveve. I don’t know how true that is,
but by reputation she’s slick as the devil and about as powerful,
though she doesn’t get around much anymore. The shorter and older
man is Felix Cahill, only appointed in the last few years. Don’t
know the circumstances, but they’re usually shady. The other man is
Louis Marchand. He’s the most stable and even of the group. Of
course, the ones you actually have to watch out for are the ones
who work for them. They aren’t up there.”

The Arena rolled with the sound of timpani
drums then burst into Sousa’s Stars and Stripes Forever, signaling
the arrival of the United States council. Fireworks flamed into
sight from each corner of the three tiered building and formed into
giant eagles flying through the air with US flags waving in their
talons. Men flooded each tier in military dress carrying military
weapons, most of which would be of little use in a magical fight.
The display was very patriotic. I leaned in and was immediately
reminded of the Arena’s weird perspective.

“I wonder if any one of those men know how
many of the guns are German manufactured,” I asked, off-hand.

Peter snorted out a laugh, nodding as he
watched the US dignitaries take the stage behind the fading
eagles.

“Didn’t you threaten to kill that man the
next time you saw him, Seth?” asked Ethan from the railing,
grinning big and nodding back to the dais.

I looked down to see Clifford Harris moving
to a corner of the platform. He wore a white gi with silver and
gold trim. He presented a fiery appearance, but I knew the bluster
for what it was, more spark than fire.

“I think I’ve lost my taste for that,” I said
dryly.

“I am certainly glad to hear that,” said a
new voice, from the gate. MacNamara stood at the gate with his two
pale blue shadows looking across at us pleasantly. The green sound
shielding around us bent around them to accommodate them and
surrounded the entire balcony. We all stood to greet him with
Kieran stepping forward.

“May I come in?” he asked, smiling a
dazzlingly bright smile.

Ethan moved immediately to open the gate even
as Kieran said, “Please do, MacNamara, it is an honor.”

I darted to the corner for the unused chair
then didn’t know where to put it. The balcony seemed to have grown
in length, but where would the other two elves need to sit, behind
him? Do I just set them down and let them move them around? I was
red-faced when I looked up at Kieran in confusion, twittering in
place. Ethan stood behind MacNamara silently snickering at me. Now
instead of his customary white suit, he wore a beautiful silk weave
of many colors in a circular pattern, ranging from the deepest
indigo in the center of his body outward to both sides to strips of
white. It created an almost psychedelic effect when he moved. The
two shadows were dressed in the customary white suits and stayed by
the door. Apparently, speaking for himself was becoming more
prevalent.

“Just put it down,” whispered Peter, stifling
a laugh. MacNamara was smiling, but I couldn’t tell if that was
greeting or giggling. I just stared at the floor and willed my face
to burn off. It didn’t work but I felt like it was on fire all the
same.

“We appreciate the use of this fine
apartment, your Grace,” said Kieran, fluidly. Then he said
something in another language, four or five words—it was hard to
separate. Down in my cavern the Pact translated literally for me:
We appreciate your clean bathwater. That felt very odd. The Pact
translating something. Why didn’t it translate other Elvish for me?
MacNamara said two words. Again, I got a translation: Safe passage.
His aura mirrored the power fountain behind him, but flared briefly
with amusement and surprise at Kieran’s words.

“Please, Master McClure,” MacNamara said, “Be
seated. I cannot stay long. You understand, I’m sure.”

“Most certainly, your Grace,” responded
Kieran.

“I just wanted to stop by and commend you,”
he said, his two-colored eyes dancing over the four of us, leaving
no doubt who he was looking at. “In a single day, you and your
apprentices have turned into the most entertaining distractions
I’ve had in years. You wouldn’t believe the favors that were pulled
to get to me today—three of them are out there now—and you’ve
gotten my attention barely trying.” He waved toward the stage as he
sat fluidly into the chair next to the table looking out. I still
didn’t know what to do so I stood back against the wall and
watched. Either Peter didn’t know either, or he didn’t want to
embarrass the crap outta me twice.

“Do sit down, boys,” said MacNamara, sweetly.
“I haven’t spoken in decades and I’d like to indulge myself when I
can.” Peter and I both smiled politely and took a seat. Peter was
much more at ease than I was. Like it or not, I was going to have
to do this at one time or another. Like in those black and white
westerns on television, I was gonna have to look the black-hatted
bad-guy in the eye sometime. I looked into MacNamara’s sky-blue
eyes rimmed in the glory of sunrise orange and I watched the glory
of a king of the Shining Ones unfold before me. I tried very hard
to control my reactions, not knowing what this elf could perceive.
He was strongly tied to his environment. By need or by choice, it
wasn’t clear. Peter couldn’t see our auras, but Ethan could,
barely. What would the elf see?

All I could see in MacNamara now was intense
curiosity, eagerness, and anticipation. And huge gaps currently
being flooded with energy. It was no wonder he was in a good mood.
If he had a limbic system, he was probably in pleasure
overload.

“You, Ehran, are the only person of your
party that I actually know,” said MacNamara leaning in on an elbow.
“And yet your family name has come up in the most interesting
places a full day before you showed up on my doorstep. Harris, for
instance, petitioned me yesterday for information on Seth McClure.
He even claimed to have information on a stolen elven artifact in
exchange for information. I assumed I would have known of anything
of real importance and what would I find the very next day? Not one
but five valuable artifacts had indeed been stolen from their elven
keepers. Ownership has been taken, I believe were your words.” He
smiled serenely.

“Conclusions can be drawn or verification
sought, but I had already responded to Harris that I had no
knowledge of Seth McClure nor do I currently.” He looked directly
at me as he said this, pinning me to my chair. I hope I didn’t
squirm too badly. “Erickson, the portly man in the thinning blond
hair, asked several wardens for information about a Kieran McClure.
Now, I am familiar with the sons of Robert McClure to know there is
no Kieran McClure. Perhaps one of his older sons’ children?”

“I don’t think believe any of my brothers
have children by that name,” said Kieran, absent-mindedly. “The
only Kieran I know is more of a religious title, like ‘teacher,’
than a name.”

“Ah,” he said, in perfect understanding, just
not exactly saying the words. “Now why would those two be after
Kieran McClure and an unknown blond accomplice? Do you mind if I
block the blowhard’s speech? I’ve heard it before dozens of times.”
He waved a hand toward the dais where a stout man in a tuxedo
approached the golden robed elf with sheaves of index cards in his
hands. “He only has three minutes, but still, it is repetitive.” He
leaned back in the chair, stretching out his long legs before him
completely casually. It struck me as being very human and out of
place on him.

“Now, only Harris further requested
information on Robert and Olivia McClure. I thought this odd
because I have it from good authority that he knows exactly where
Olivia is and where Robert went.” He turned a little to face Kieran
when he said that. He saw Kieran stiffen slightly, but I wasn’t
sure of my reaction. My whole world tunneled in on those words:
Harris knew where Robert and Olivia went. He lied. MacNamara was
still talking; I had to pay attention.

“…most excellent rumors traveling around
about Kieran’s escape from Harris’ custody. Harris is making
fantastic claims about his embarrassment and denying vehemently
that it could have been Seth McClure responsible for such an
outrageous defeat. After all, it is widely believed that Robert and
Olivia’s offspring was a null and had not been trained in any
way.”

“A null?” I asked before I could catch
myself.

“Someone magically blind,” said MacNamara to
me, cheerfully. “Defective, though he appeared perfectly normal in
every aspect.” He glanced at each of the four of us in turn,
quickly. “Unlike the four of you. Only one of you appears normal
and I find that quite interesting, indeed.

“Ah, the North American Consortium is taking
the stage now,” he said, looking into the Arena as Harris’ group
stepped down a stairway. Just as the last man took the first step
on the stairs, more pyro flared from the corners. Color flashed and
swirled to life and started turning in circles through the Arena,
gathering together as it went. On its third circuit, each color
banked up and locked into place on a side, forming national flags,
one each for Canada, Mexico, and the United States. The flags began
circling the dais, getting closer until the edges where locked
together. Underneath stood twenty or so men on the top level, but
hundreds of men lined the parapets of the next two, Meso-American
and Hispanic mostly, with white and black mixed in as well. Not as
flashy as the US council’s display, but this group had a much
darker energy flow to it, a more ‘survival of the fittest’ feel to
the energy.

“I received two inquiries from that group as
well,” MacNamara said coyly, again waving indirectly at the dais.
“One seems unrelated, though. Adu, the tall Aztec on the south
corner, paid handsomely for information about a ‘kovel’ that had
recently come to his world. All of my resources came up dry on
that. St. Croix, though, asked directly about the whereabouts of
his grandson, Seth, and Robert, his son-in-law. Since both those
answers are unknown to me at that moment, I had to send him away
the poorer for asking.”

I spied my grandfather on the top tier. Once
again, my world tunneled in for a moment, centering on him. The
Arena perspective brought me in very close. He didn’t look much
different from the last time I saw him or from the pictures in the
papers. I’d not seen him this clearly or deeply, and my See in
Truth enhanced vision showed me details that I’d missed before.
Emotionally he was in too many places to try to figure out. Later,
when I was standing in front of him, I’d work on that. He wore a
linen suit with a cream-colored shirt, tie, and matching shoes. His
demeanor was calm as he looked out at the thousands of screaming
people. Something wavered at the top of his aura and I focused on
it. This time the Arena’s perspective didn’t help me—whatever it
was sitting on his aura was too far away for me to see clearly, but
it felt familiar. The urge to visit grandpappy got a whole lot
stronger. I turned back to Kieran and MacNamara to find him looking
at me again, searching for something.