by Kate Ristau
Hennessy’s words rolled off her, and she straightened her shoulders. She wouldn’t just stand aside and let the past rest. She was going to confront her father. Make him pay for what he did.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. By the time they reached the road he lived on, the sun had almost set. They walked up the row of cottages until they reached his. She stared at the low rock wall, the rusted iron-gate. The cottage stood out from all the others—it was falling apart. Vines trailed up the roof and over the windows. The bushes were overgrown, and the grass had gone to seed. If the old man hadn’t told them his address, Áine might have thought it was abandoned. Instead she stared at the front window, watching a light flicker and then disappear.
He was inside.
Hennessy grabbed Áine’s arm, gently pulling her to a stop. “I know you’re really mad. I would be too. I’d be pissed. But...just don’t do anything stupid. Try and listen to what he has to say before you do anything you’re gonna regret, okay? You can do this.”
Áine laughed. “That’s your inspirational speech?”
Hennessy shrugged her shoulders and waved her dirty boots in the air. “My feet hurt. And I’m tired. And dirty. I hate being dirty. I’m completely out of pep. Bone dry. But I can go with you. If you want. I mean, I’d rather just plop down on the ground and roll around in the mud than go crawling through that house, but I’d go with you. And that’s really saying something. Because I hate being dirty.”
“You said that.”
“I just want to make sure you know how much you owe me. Now, stop stalling. You want me to go with you?”
Áine wanted her to go, but not for the reasons Hennessy thought. She wasn’t scared of going in there alone. She just didn’t want to leave Hennessy outside by herself. “Will you come with me? Please?”
“Since you said ‘please.’ But you are going to really owe me after this one.”
“Well, you know, I am going to take you to the land of eternal health and beauty.”
“Yeah, but you’re doing that because you burned my house down.”
Áine didn’t take the bait. “I know what you’re doing. Stop trying to put me in a good mood.”
Hennessy raised an eyebrow. “Burning houses down puts you in a good mood?”
“No. I do not feel good about that.”
“Good.” Hennessy smirked.
“But I do feel good around you.”
Hennessy’s smirk slid into a smile. “I have that effect on people.”
Áine smiled back. “Yeah, you have that effect on me. You must be enchanting me. I feel a lot better.”
“I am quite the charmer.”
“You are. But...is it weird that I don’t want to feel good right now?” Áine asked, staring up at the broken-down cottage. “I don’t want to feel calm, or happy. I don’t want to forget. I want to remember what he did. I want to feel it. I want to be angry.”
“And I don’t want you to forget it either. He’s a monster.”
Hennessy’s last word hung in the air as she opened the rusty iron-gate. She squeezed Áine’s shoulder, her fingertips lingering for a moment, then she let her through and followed behind. As they stepped onto the porch, Hennessy stood back from the door, and let Áine approach alone.
The red paint on the door to the cottage was flaking: long red peels cascaded down the front of the door. But in the middle of the door, heavy smears of black paint covered the knocker and the small window. Áine stepped back and stared at the strange symbol that branded the door. Dark and threatening, it looked like a tree that had burst into flame. Áine touched the paint on the trunk.
A jolt of fire exploded through her body. She was thrown across the yard, and she collided with the cottage gate. Streams of fire raged through her body—she couldn’t stop shaking. Every single inch of her felt like it was on fire. She was burning from the inside.
“Áine!” Hennessy screamed and ran down the path and fell at Áine’s feet. She pulled her off the broken gate as Áine seized and spasmed. Hennessy grabbed a stick and tried to pry it into her mouth. Áine refused to open her mouth, afraid more fire would rage through her.
“Are you—”
“What do you want?” said a raspy voice.
Through the agony, Áine looked up and saw an old man with milky eyes. Shadows swam around his feet. His hair and teeth were gone and dark circles ringed his eyes.
“What are you doing to her?” Hennessy yelled.
“Protection. From the fairies and their servants. Why are you here? Did he send you?”
Áine could barely focus on what he was saying, but she knew that voice. Beneath the raspiness, and the years, it was him. Her father.
She clenched her teeth and spoke through the pain. “It’s me. It’s Áine.”
The old man caught his breath and grasped the door, nearly falling into it. He reached into a pot of dead flowers and grabbed a fistful of dirt, then, as his arm shook, he spread a long line of mud across the strange symbol, slicing the tree in half. Instantly, the pain ceased.
Áine groaned with relief as the pain slid from her body. Even crossing the Threshold, with the cold and ice slipping through her veins, she had felt a little bit of control. But not with his magic. His Shadowmagic. She only felt despair, emptiness, and loss—she knew she had tasted death.
Áine stared up at the man in the doorway. Shadowmagic was more powerful than she had imagined, even though the man wielding it could barely stand. He was old—not what she expected at all. He did not cut a strong, imposing figure. Time had ravaged his thin and broken body. He looked disheveled, lost, and unsure. Áine stared into his milky eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Hennessy held Áine’s hand and slowly pulled her back to her feet. She wavered for a moment, and Hennessy held her tight “We can leave now—you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do,” Áine replied, shaking Hennessy off. “I’m not scared of him.”
“Maybe you should be,” Hennessy mumbled. She waved the old man further back. “We’re coming in. Go inside, but stay where we can see you.”
Áine stumbled forward as the man who had torn her life apart hobbled through the doorway. She wanted to reach out and smack him. She wanted to push him and kick him and hold him down. The rush of anger filled her up, making her muscles quiver. If he had still stood before her in that moment, she would have called the Eta into every part of him, exploded them outward, and made him regret more than his life. She would have sent him straight to the Hetherlands.
But he had disappeared into the house. And she was staggering toward the door, her jaw set, her body tense. She was angry, so angry.
Just like him.
It was wrong. All wrong. This wasn’t what she had come for. She wanted more than the fire, more than her anger, more than her mother burning.
She took a deep breath, feeling the cold air slip in and out of her mouth. It tasted salty and new. It tasted clean. She held onto that tang as she stepped through the doorway.
Her eyes took a second to adjust to the darkness. She searched the stuffy room for him, squinting until her eyes fell on the old man, sunk low in the corner of a long couch. His eyes, clouded by a thin film and settled deep into his face, looked right past her. Though he was seated far back on the couch, his body was tense, and he seemed to be searching the room for her.
She didn’t say anything. She just stared at the man who was once her father. The light shifted around him, refusing to settle on him. Instead, he was surrounded by unnatural shadows that not only moved about him, but also moved through him and clung to him, keeping him in darkness.
“I wish I could see you,” he said, his white eyes brimming with tears. “I have waited for so long. But my eyes...they don’t work anymore. Please. Come closer, let me touch your face.”
Áine heard the door close softly behind her as she crossed the rug to the couch.
Suddenly, she stopped. What was
she doing? She didn’t want some tearful reunion. She didn’t want him to touch her.
“I know how you must feel,” he said, as if he sensed her hesitation.
“You have no idea how I feel,” Áine whispered.
He winced like she had struck him, and she couldn’t help but feel a small amount of pleasure at his reaction. She wanted to hurt him, wanted him to remember why he hadn’t seen her for such a long time. Wanted him to remember what he did. Wanted him to remember her mother.
He struggled to find the right words to respond, and she didn’t offer him any help. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. As he rubbed his eyes in frustration, the words finally tumbled out. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know there’s so much we need to talk about, and I want you to know there’s so much I am sorry for. You need to know that. Right now. I don’t even deserve to have you here with me.”
Áine closed her eyes and steadied her mind. She opened them again and looked at the man wasting away before her. Anger and regret rushed through her. She tried to hold back her feelings and focus the Eta. It was hard to do it with him sitting right in front of her. But if she wanted to find out the truth, she needed to calm her mind.
“Listen,” Áine said. “I am here. And I want to know. But I’m not here for an apology. I don’t think there’s anything you could ever say that would be strong enough for that. And I don’t want to hear you try. I just want to hear what happened. I have lived so much of my life not knowing. Not knowing about my past, not knowing my mother...not knowing what happened.”
“I can give you that,” her father said. “I can’t apologize for everything, I know you don’t want to hear it, but I am sorry that you were so unhappy.”
“You’re wrong. I have been happy,” Áine said, recalling Ciaran’s smile as she crossed the Threshold, and the feel of Hennessy’s fingers locked in her own. “But you had no part in that. You took so much of my happiness away. Aunt Eri...she made sure I was okay. She raised me. And I’ve had friends who have made things easier.” Áine smiled over at Hennessy, who had slipped into a chair by the door. Hennessy smiled back at her. “But I still need to know,” she continued. “I want to hear the rest of the story.”
“Thank you,” he said. “For the chance. For the time. I am happy that you were happy. That it did turn out okay for you. My story is very different...much darker. Nothing like I would’ve wished. I made choices that I regret, and I didn’t keep my promises. I could’ve changed the ending, but I chose the darker path.”
Eleven
“Nia and I met at the docks in 1890. She was from Mann—an orphan. She had come to stay with her great-aunt. I wish you could have seen her. She was so exotic. Back then, I’d never even been to the mainland, and she’d already traveled all over the world. She had been to England, to Wales, even to France. But she wanted to settle down. Said she wanted to be with me, to build a life together. I didn’t understand it, but I didn’t stop it either. I was so in love with her.
“We were married in 1891. We were so young then. Too young. We had a lot to learn. I had a lot to learn. I spent most of my time on my boat, or at the docks. Back then the catches were good, but it always seemed like we didn’t have enough. There would be months when I was gone for weeks at a time. But Nia always took care of me. She’d bring my lunch down to the docks and would wait up each night for me.
“When she got pregnant, though, things began to change. She stopped waiting. Stopped coming to see me.”
Hennessy jumped as an inky shadow slithered across her feet and settled back around him. Áine shivered and pulled back. He didn’t even notice. He was lost in his story.
“I missed the birth, and I don’t think she ever really forgave me for that. She never looked at me the same again. Not long after that, her great-aunt died, and she threw herself into loving Keva. Your sister became her joy—her life.”
A chill swept through Áine’s body. “My sister?”
“Yes—Keva. I—I thought that was why you came.”
“I have a sister?” The word echoed in her mind. A sister. How was that even possible? Why didn’t she remember her?
“Yes,” her father answered. “She was just a toddler when your mother...” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
Áine didn’t know what to say—her words failed her. She had a sister.
“Your mother loved her so intensely. Singing to her, holding her. Falling asleep beside her with tears running down her face. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Nia. She couldn’t seem to find her way back to me.
“Keva became her whole world. I tried to comfort her, tried to hold her, but it didn’t seem to matter. I came home less and less.” He wiped a gnarled hand slowly across his face, then straightened his shoulders. “When she became pregnant again, I decided things needed to change, that we needed to change. I decided I’d stay home for a while and be there, be a part of my family.”
Áine tried to imagine what it would have been like to be part of a real family. With a mother. And a sister. And him. She couldn’t bring the image to her mind.
“You know what?” he asked. The ghost of a smile slipped across his face. “It was the best decision I ever made. You were amazing; so small, with tiny fingers and tiny hands, eyes already open. We thought you wouldn’t be coming for at least another month, but it’s like you wanted to be in this world.”
His smile disappeared again, replaced by worry. “Yet you were so weak. Not ready. I could feel that, and I barely put you down. I wanted to keep you warm, to keep you safe.
“Your mother chided me, had to pull you from my arms to feed you. But she always gave you back to me. As much as she complained, she was happy again. We both were.” He paused for a moment, measuring his words, trying to decide what to say next. “That’s why it was so strange when she turned,” he continued. “It was like her mind gave up.”
“What happened?” Hennessy asked. She was staring at him intently.
“Well, after four weeks, I had to go back out. The rough waters had passed and our supplies were desperately low. We couldn’t wait another week, especially with four mouths to feed.” His voice caught, but he pushed past it. “Nia cried so hard that day, and I tried to calm her down. I told her that things had changed. They wouldn’t be like they used to be. We would all be together again soon.
“And Keva—she hugged me with more strength than I thought she had in her. I hugged her back and told her to watch over you while I was gone. She nodded gravely; she was already such a serious little person. She told me, ‘I know, Da. That’s my job.’ I laughed and hugged her again.”
As angry as Áine was, she could still imagine how hard it must have been for him to leave. And she wondered how different everything might have been if he didn’t have to go. “Why did you have to leave?” Áine asked.
“I had no choice,” he said, his hands trembling in his lap. “The food was gone. The winter would be hard. We could only take so much from the neighbors. They had already given us too much.” He searched for her eyes. “I didn’t want to leave you. I held you in my arms one last time and kissed your little pink nose. Such a small moment, but I spent so many years replaying it in my head. Remembering the way you seemed to wink at me as you squirmed inside the blanket. How you cried out as I handed you back to Nia.
“She held you close as I kissed her lips—so warm and soft. Then she handed me my sack, and I left for the docks. I think I looked back at least five times along the way. I didn’t want to go either.”
This wasn’t the father she had imagined—the one from her dreams. He was soft and sensitive and caring. How could he have let her mother die? “What happened?” Áine asked, her stomach tightening as she said the words. “What went wrong?”
“When I returned three weeks later, I practically jumped off the boat,” he said. “I made my men tie it down, and I ran home. But I knew right away that something was wrong.” His voice broke, and he wheezed. Sinewy s
hadows slipped out of his mouth and floated to the floor, scattering behind the couch. But the cough didn’t clear his throat. His voice was raspy and hoarse when he finally continued.
“She said she would be waiting for me, but she wasn’t. And even though it was a cold, rainy day, I couldn’t see any smoke coming from the chimney. The cottage looked abandoned. I ran up to the door and threw it open.
“Your mother was sitting in the middle of the room, near the cold hearth, cooing and cuddling a small stick. Her eyes were wild; her hair was matted and dirty.
“‘Where are our daughters?’ I asked her. She just stared at me blankly. Then, when I walked toward her, she hissed loudly. She grabbed the stick and ran to the corner, glaring at me with accusing eyes, growling low.
“She huddled there singing to the stick, calling it your name. She even wrapped it in a blanket.”
“A stick?” Áine asked, sure that she heard him wrong.
“Yes, just a wee bit of kindling, but she clung to it like it was you.”
“Why?” Áine asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I didn’t understand it either. She must have snapped, and I knew I needed to find you both. I searched the room, raging, throwing aside blankets, looking under the table, and behind the chairs, trying to find my daughters. Finally, my eyes fell on Keva. She was hunched down behind the turf pile.”
Aine let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Keva was alive. He had found her. “Was she okay?”
“She was alive. But she wasn’t okay. I hugged her close, and she barely moved. Arms limp. Chin sagging. She felt like a rag doll in my arms. I asked her where you were. She looked up at me, her eyes blank and unsure. I said your name. A shadow passed over her eyes, and she pointed outside.”
“Outside?” Hennessy asked. “Why? Did she leave her outside?”
“I don’t know. And I still don’t. I wish I could tell you. And the next few hours...they’re all a blur. I remember that we searched and searched. Brought out the dogs. Lanterns and torches lit the woods with an unnatural light, the whole island was out, but we couldn’t find anything. The dogs kept leading us back to one tree. Even our best trackers. The trail just...ended.