alive.
Chapter 6
Oddly enough, Manannan’s news about the dark elves relaxed me somewhat. I didn’t have to wonder anymore: Everyone really was out to get me. Still, after we bade our hosts farewell and shouldered our packs once more, with Flidais and Perun tagging along, I felt confident enough to show Granuaile a few highlights of Tír na nÓg before we shifted back to earth.
» The land of eternal summer is also the land of the dead, but fortunately the dead tend to keep to themselves. «
» How do you mean? «
» Well, you know how you can attract senior citizens to certain communities by offering shuffleboard courts and bingo nights? Plop down an IHOP nearby for them to lounge in during the daytime? «
Granuaile looked lost. » What? «
» Have you ever been to an IHOP on a weekday morning, when everyone else is at work? «
» No, « Granuaile admitted.
» Well, that’s where all the senior citizens go. Or they go to a Village Inn or a Denny’s or whatever. It’s because, once you hit sixty or thereabouts, you don’t ever want to make your own pancakes again. «
» You’re over sixty, « Granuaile pointed out.
» And I never make pancakes. I go to IHOP with all the other old people. «
› It’s true! He only makes omelets and—damn. I keep forgetting she can’t hear me yet. ‹
» But I don’t want to make my own pancakes now , « Granuaile said. » Does that mean I’ll start wanting to make them when I’m old? «
» I don’t know. The point I was trying to make is that part of Tír na nÓg is very attractive to dead people. «
» What’s so attractive about it? «
» Mostly the lack of living people. They don’t like being reminded that they’re all dead. And there might be a pancake buffet. Twenty-four-hour keno. Concerts featuring Elvis impersonators. That sort of thing. «
› Do they sing » Suspicious Minds « in the white high-collared jumpsuit? ‹
Always .
» You’re making Tír na nÓg sound like Las Vegas, « Granuaile said.
» Well, it might be. Because what happens in the land of the dead stays in the land of the dead. I simply don’t know and I’m not anxious to find out. Manannan and the Morrigan won’t tell you anything if you ask them either. They won’t even say how they decide who comes here and who goes to Mag Mell or the other Irish planes. It might not be their decision. But the point is, there is plenty of real estate left over for the living. And for the Fae and other curiosities. Check this out. I mean, in a minute. « I gestured to an oak in front of us. » Put your hands here and get ready to go. «
» How do you know where you’re going? « Granuaile asked.
» Can’t really explain until you’re bound and you can see things in the magical spectrum, « I said. » But, basically, every destination has its own unique sequence of knots. Think of it like airport codes back on earth. «
» Do I have to memorize them all? «
» Not unless you want to hate your life. The ones on earth are based on coordinates. Tír na nÓg is odd, though, as you might expect. You kind of need to know where you’re going or else you’ll appear in the middle of an ogre orgy or something horrific like that. We’re going to a popular destination here—there will be plenty of Fae around, but Flidais and Perun will follow. «
› Are you sure about that? Because I’m fairly certain they’re hoping we’ll leave them behind. ‹
I cast a glance behind us and saw that Perun was now carrying Flidais, supporting her buttocks with his hands as she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked them behind his back. They were playing tonsil hockey already and making soft, muffled moans. Granuaile followed my gaze and flinched.
» Ew. How did she even find his mouth behind all that hair? « she wondered aloud.
» Honestly, I’m surprised at how much restraint they’ve shown so far. I expected them to slip off to a room in the castle somewhere. I don’t care at this point
Chapter 6
Oddly enough, Manannan’s news about the dark elves relaxed me somewhat. I didn’t have to wonder anymore: Everyone really was out to get me. Still, after we bade our hosts farewell and shouldered our packs once more, with Flidais and Perun tagging along, I felt confident enough to show Granuaile a few highlights of Tír na nÓg before we shifted back to earth.
» The land of eternal summer is also the land of the dead, but fortunately the dead tend to keep to themselves. «
» How do you mean? «
» Well, you know how you can attract senior citizens to certain communities by offering shuffleboard courts and bingo nights? Plop down an IHOP nearby for them to lounge in during the daytime? «
Granuaile looked lost. » What? «
» Have you ever been to an IHOP on a weekday morning, when everyone else is at work? «
» No, « Granuaile admitted.
» Well, that’s where all the senior citizens go. Or they go to a Village Inn or a Denny’s or whatever. It’s because, once you hit sixty or thereabouts, you don’t ever want to make your own pancakes again. «
» You’re over sixty, « Granuaile pointed out.
» And I never make pancakes. I go to IHOP with all the other old people. «
› It’s true! He only makes omelets and—damn. I keep forgetting she can’t hear me yet. ‹
» But I don’t want to make my own pancakes now , « Granuaile said. » Does that mean I’ll start wanting to make them when I’m old? «
» I don’t know. The point I was trying to make is that part of Tír na nÓg is very attractive to dead people. «
» What’s so attractive about it? «
» Mostly the lack of living people. They don’t like being reminded that they’re all dead. And there might be a pancake buffet. Twenty-four-hour keno. Concerts featuring Elvis impersonators. That sort of thing. «
› Do they sing » Suspicious Minds « in the white high-collared jumpsuit? ‹
Always .
» You’re making Tír na nÓg sound like Las Vegas, « Granuaile said.
» Well, it might be. Because what happens in the land of the dead stays in the land of the dead. I simply don’t know and I’m not anxious to find out. Manannan and the Morrigan won’t tell you anything if you ask them either. They won’t even say how they decide who comes here and who goes to Mag Mell or the other Irish planes. It might not be their decision. But the point is, there is plenty of real estate left over for the living. And for the Fae and other curiosities. Check this out. I mean, in a minute. « I gestured to an oak in front of us. » Put your hands here and get ready to go. «
» How do you know where you’re going? « Granuaile asked.
» Can’t really explain until you’re bound and you can see things in the magical spectrum, « I said. » But, basically, every destination has its own unique sequence of knots. Think of it like airport codes back on earth. «
» Do I have to memorize them all? «
» Not unless you want to hate your life. The ones on earth are based on coordinates. Tír na nÓg is odd, though, as you might expect. You kind of need to know where you’re going or else you’ll appear in the middle of an ogre orgy or something horrific like that. We’re going to a popular destination here—there will be plenty of Fae around, but Flidais and Perun will follow. «
› Are you sure about that? Because I’m fairly certain they’re hoping we’ll leave them behind. ‹
I cast a glance behind us and saw that Perun was now carrying Flidais, supporting her buttocks with his hands as she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked them behind his back. They were playing tonsil hockey already and making soft, muffled moans. Granuaile followed my gaze and flinched.
» Ew. How did she even find his mouth behind all that hair? « she wondered aloud.
» Honestly, I’m surprised at how much restraint they’ve shown so far. I expected them to slip off to a room in the castle somewhere. I don’t care at this point
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