The Lamb and the Gray Battle

October 4, 2022

Minutes ticked by and became hours, but this was tar that Diyiren was trapped in. He couldn't imagine someone getting close enough to poison Bronagh, much less someone doing it slowly over a period of several months. Bronagh would forever be the battle ax that kidnapped his bride. He didn't imagine her hunched, with a cane, barely able to move. She had a sword and a crystal ball in his nightmares.

Equally ridiculous was the notion that Aoibh would hurt Bronagh. Completely insane. In her twisted way, she worshiped the old hag. PC was no place for her, but Aoibh was as stubborn as she was emotional. If she wouldn't leave PC, she at least had to get away from that little ranch house in New Canada, Ohio.

His phone chimed.

Finally.

It was Taffy and he could hear that hoarse voice of hers. He could even hear her smoking her cigarette. Taffy gave a quick description of Aiobh's grief, that their office was almost out of sedation patches, she was going through them so fast.

"Did you tell her about her grandmother?"

Again, Diyiren recalled the gray chin and the cold body.

"She wasn't alone when I visited," Taffy said.

Diyiren said, "She needs to know what happened to her grandmother."

"I told her in the most veiled method that Bronagh an Mhor was poisoned by iron."

Diyiren was familiar with every form of tantrum Aoibh threw, from shutting herself up in her room to razing a village to the ground.

Taffy said, "She—I think she suspected."

"Thank you, Taffy."

"It is my honor, My King." 

Taffy made a noise that stopped him before he disconnected. Diyiren shifted his weight to the other leg, waited for the hoarse voice.

"Banrion Aoibh specifically requested that you leave her alone." Her voice jerked, but she continued. "You probably guessed as much, but I felt obligated to tell you."

"Thank you, Taffy. Your service is invaluable."

"I also told her that you were going to help her anyway."

Diyiren smirked at that. He didn't dwell on the rest of the message. He hadn't had a response that direct from Aoibh in hundreds of years.

"Tell her," he said, "if she sincerely wants me to leave her alone, she can pick up a pen and write those three words on a piece of paper and sign her name. I'll honor it. I'll even pay for the demon spell. But only if she sends the letter directly to me."

Taffy had served him too long. He trusted her with Aoibh above all others and he trusted that his message would be delivered. He made another attempt to contact the President of America, PC. The response, or lack thereof, was exactly what he expected.

Diyiren returned to his balcony. Just minutes ago, he'd watched the sun go down, but now the same sun was rising. He couldn't call on Queen Elizabeth. He was still saddened by her death. King Charles was too inexperienced. The revolving door of Prime Ministers meant they'd be of no use to him either.

Diyiren hated the option before him. He scratched out the coordinates, slapped the bloody talisman on the wall and squinted at the white light. On the other side of the portal were a pair of news anchors, overly made up and chatting over their empty coffee mugs.

Franklin Muny had been sending King Ao Guang requests for an interview for decades. He was much like his predecessors, not good-looking enough to be memorable, but not ugly either, a neutral, forgettable appearance. The woman, Aurora Skye, was too thin, but in her mediocre beauty, she too was a bland ghost.

Diyiren stepped to the pair. The camera man and the director were petrified in their place.

"I'm worried about my wife," he said, his white robes moving around him.