Read Online The Stag Lord by Darby Kaye - Free Book Online

one side, she opened the door and sent Max out for a bladder break, ordering him away from the leftover blood. Luckily, the dog seemed content with marking a favorite boulder before trotting back inside and burying his muzzle in his food dish. Pet-parent duties completed, she poured a cup of coffee and walked back to the living room. Sinking down in a corner of the sofa, she tucked her feet under her and allowed herself to enjoy the delight of the first cup of coffee.
    After a few sips, she began thinking about Bann’s reaction over the antlers by the camper, then to the prong shoved into the magpie’s head. She shuddered and took another sip as if to cleanse the image from her mind with a jolt of java. Antlers. Why antlers? Our enemy has always been goblins, the scum of Celtic bestiary. The only creature I know with antlers is—
    She almost spilled the drink when she leaped to her feet and hurried to the bookshelf. Her fingertips danced along spine after spine before stopping at a large volume. Returning to the sofa with book and mug, she sat down and opened it, flipping through several pages before she found what she was looking for. The back of her neck tightened at the illustration.
    In the center of the page, a semihuman creature sat cross-legged, his naked, wiry body seemingly covered in short hair like a deer’s pelt. A thick neckpiece hung around his neck, as if in mockery of the gold torc worn by every Knight and apprentice to brag to the world they had made their first goblin kill. A stray thought wafted through her head. Where is Bann’s torc ?
    But it was the creature’s head that made her skin want to crawl off her skeleton and hide. She had always thought the picture of the ancient demigod was clown-creepy, even though he was supposed to represent a benign fertility. It was the distorted features, eyes too wide, chin too long, ears too pointed, as much as the set of antlers curling out of the bulging forehead. It was as if the artist had caught the shapeshifter in mid-transformation from man to beast.
    Tearing her eyes from the illustration, Shay began reading. “Cernunnos. Pronounced KER noo nohs.” She paused when a sudden gust of wind slapped the house. Ashes drifted from the fireplace like a burnt ghost. After a moment, she continued. “Also known as the Stag Lord. A shapeshifter, he is able to take on the form of a large stag, although some legends claim he can transform into a wolf as well. Found throughout Western Europe and the British Isles, the ancient Celts considered him a god of fertility and nature and wealth. One tale, however, portrays the Stag Lord in a more sinister light. It was rumored Cernunnos, for reasons unknown, sided with the Norsemen who had come to invade Ireland. During the Battle of Clontarf, near present-day Dublin, the creature slew many a Celt with both magic and antler, almost winning the battle for the Norsemen. But in the midst of the Stag Lord’s triumph, a bold warrior struck him a mighty blow. Sorely wounded, Cernunnos was carried from the battlefield by his minions, after swearing vengeance on the warrior and his descendents. That hero was none other than the High King, Brian Boru, who ruled Ireland from 1002 to 1014 AD. It was rumored that the Boru was not mortal but rather a member of the mystical race of warriors known as the Tuatha Dé Danaan.”
    She turned the page and stared at the fantastical illustration of the King. He was clad in a dun-colored belted tunic trimmed at the hem in a running Celtic rope pattern of dark green. A cloak, the same shade of green as the embroidered design, flowed from his broad shoulders, and his dark hair was long and free except for a thin braid at each temple. Eyes blazing battle blue, Brian Boru held his sword aloft in both hands as he charged the foe on the field of Clontarf. Shay could almost hear him shouting the ancient war cry: Faugh a ballagh! “Clear the way!”
    Down the