By Greg Bullard
Welcome to the ninth and final installment in the fiction series “Immortal Blues” by Greg Bullard. If you need to catch up, here is Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, and Part Eight.
“Taliesin, First of the Bards,” I said it slowly, menacingly. I said it slowly because I was trying to think up something witty to say along with it. I had nothing. Damn.
He sat his guitar aside, wiped his hands off on his trousers – needlessly I might add, the jackass – and looked up at me and said, “This is easy, Ciaran, just give up.”
I raised an eyebrow, “Give up?”
“Yes,” he nodded, “give up. The bridge will open in an hour, just take it. Go home.”
“Who sent you, Taliesin? Why are you here?”
He shrugged, “Does it matter if someone sent me? Couldn’t I have my own agenda? She’s gorgeous. We all love her. I love her. I have sat in that court for hundreds of years, and I have played. I have poured myself into my songs, my poems and my words and I have played. Do you know how hard it is to give everything of yourself every day for so long?”
It was my turn to shrug.
“I’ll answer for you, you don’t. If you had ever half-tried you could have been a god. Perhaps you are even, God of the Dilettantes maybe?” he laughed at his own little joke.
Continuing, he said, “The point is, I do know what it is like. So many years, so much of myself, do you think I gave it all for them? Do you think I tried so hard for her father, the King? For all of the first-born, the Elder Sidhe? I gave it all for her. I sang every song, for her. She’s my muse. My brilliant inspiration. Every day for 1500 years I’ve given her my heart, completely in song.”
I shrugged, “And tell me Bard, has she noticed? All those years, all those songs, did she ever see who was playing, or were you just another detail in the background?”
He seemed to genuinely ponder my question before shaking his head and saying, “I would give anything to know, Ciaran.”
I waved him off dismissively, “I don’t use that name any longer.”
“No one was certain what name you used now, it was the best I could do.”
“Good,” I said, “so, who sent you?”
“Better question would be, who didn’t send me? No one wants you.”
“It’s not really a choice for any of you,” I frowned. “Let’s get on to more important matters though – you’ve tried to kill me twice.”
“I wasn’t very serious about it though; think of it as a deterrent,” he smiled – smug, charming bastard.
“If it’s alright with you,” I replied, “I’m going to go ahead and think of it as, you’ve tried to kill me twice.”
“I guess it’s lucky for him that you aren’t in any condition to take your revenge.” I didn’t recognize the voice, but I knew her anyway. Turning, I saw her standing in the open doorway to my bedroom. I had not known she was there. Aine Marina could hop in and out of human forms with relative ease. She had chosen well this time, young, red hair, all the right curves, luscious.
I didn’t bother trying to mask the anger in my voice, “Aine Marina, you’ve crossed a line. Fix it while I’m feeling forgiving.”
“I would,” she shrugged, “if I had done anything wrong.”
“If you had done anything wrong? What the hell do you mean? I kiss you once, unintentionally, and suddenly, this,” I gestured up and down at my form.
“Consider how much older you are than her,” Taliesin said, “do you think it’s really fair to blame her for your looks?”
“Oh, he’s blaming me for the loss of his vitality, speed, strength and more, and he has a point, I stripped him of them.”
“Then you admit it!” I accused.
“Of course I do, that was never in contention. Right now, we’re discussing whether or not I did anything wrong. I did not, this was mandated – at the highest level.”
“What do you mean? Mandated?”
“Did you really think that spending 200 years on Earth, for one such as yourself, was any real trial or challenge? You’ve spent centuries here, willingly. You even seem to prefer it sometimes. No, no,” she shook her finger at me. “You want redemption? It won’t come so easily as a stroll along the streets of New York City for a length of time that will disappear in the blink of an eye for you.”
I stood in stunned silence, considering the ramifications.
“Your next 198 years on Earth won’t go so easily as the thousands before them. You’ll feel every day of it,” she continued with malicious glee, her voice building in rage and tempo, “you’ll ache and hurt, you’ll hunger, you’ll need to support yourself,” she gestured around her and spoke more softly, “absent these fine accommodations, you’ll need a job…”
She continued on, but I only listened half-heartedly, until something she was saying caught my attention, “Wait, repeat that.”
She smirked and said, “On the solstices and equinoxes, when our worlds are closest, you will be yourself entirely. On those days, and only on those days, you can back out. All you need do is cross the bridge, and this will all be over. This morning, when the bridge fades, if you haven’t crossed, ending this, then you are stuck here until at least the summer solstice.”
“You said this came from the highest level, who?”
In reply, she crossed the distance between us and held out her hand. I frowned and wordlessly extended my right hand, palm up, to receive whatever it is she held. Her look was pure evil as she deposited something in my palm.
“A token,” she said, “cherish it.”
Almost an hour later, near to dawn, Aine and Taliesin had both let themselves out as I still sat, staring at my palm and the lock of fiery red hair, tied with a simple linen ribbon.
With a start, I saw my hands fade to transparency. The stars outside my window extended a bridge to massive curved stairs reaching at once to both the light and the darkness. All I had to do was take a few steps and I would be on that bridge, my choice made, my way clear to the welcoming safety of the shadows that had sustained me for so long.
The pain in my side would fade, as I healed almost instantly. The fatigue in my muscles would disappear as vitality filled me. My drooping eye lids would revive with a rush of energy.
I was still staring when the sun broke over Central Park and the stairway was shattered into a thousand twinkling shards that disappeared in the dawn light.
Another day in New York City. I turned and checked my lunar calendar; April 30, 1961, it was less than two months until the Summer Solstice.
***
With a start, I snapped out of it. I don’t know how long I had stood, staring at the calendar as a torrent of memories came flooding back to me. Fifty years since that day, how they did not go by in a blink. I sat down at my desk, turning on my computer.
It was Monday, April 30, 2011, the office of Noble Investigations, Est. 1961, was once again, open to welcome a brand new day.
About Greg Bullard:
Greg currently resides in Austin, TX, trying to do his part to Keep Austin Weird. While his wife, Julia, and daughter, Emily, both work hard to keep him on his toes, it is Julia’s red editing pen that does the most work. When he is not muddling his way through some fiction, he usually writes about What Greg Eats.






