by Kate Ristau
“When we returned home, I felt like I was in a daze, anger and frustration guiding my steps. Your mother was still crouched in the corner, mumbling words in a strange tongue.”
“What was she saying?” Hennessy asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied, and the darkness around him grew deeper. “But each time she said them, her eyes darkened, and she slipped away even further. By the time I reached her side, it was like she wasn’t even there at all.”
Hennessy looked at Áine knowingly. Áine stared back at her, trying to understand what she saw in her father’s story. “What?” she asked.
“Later,” Hennessy said, turning back toward Áine’s father. “You never heard those words before?”
“No, never. But...I don’t know...the air seemed to shift and change around her. The longer I looked at her, the more I realized...it wasn’t her. That wasn’t my wife. She wouldn’t have done it—wouldn’t have tossed you off into the woods like some bag of old rags. It wasn’t her. My wife—my real wife—she had been taken. The faeries—we thought—had left one of their own behind. A changeling, one of the broken ones.”
“A changeling,” Áine repeated. She had heard the word before. Ratrael had called her a changeling since the day they met. He said that if the fey wanted to take someone across to the other side, they left something behind. What they brought back to the Aetherlands had changed—it was different. Human, usually, but sometimes other things. Darker things. The last time Ratrael had called her a changeling was on the day he burned. He had screamed it into the blackthorns. Then he’d never said that word again.
“We knew that fire took away their glamour,” he said. “The changeling would show its true form, and they would be forced to return my love.”
Suddenly his story made sense. He wasn’t trying to kill her mother. He was trying to save her. He thought she was a changeling.
“We were so foolish then.” His voice caught, and he wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
Áine didn’t know if she wanted to hear the rest. She knew where his story led, and he had already revealed so much that had lurked in her nightmares and haunted her steps. While she ached to know more, she was also frightened by the shadows in his eyes, the grief spilling out.
But still, he went on. “I have lived with that image of her, those eyes, for so long. I have tried to remember her as she was, as we were. I have tried to forgive myself. I have tried to find you. But it’s all worthless; I won’t be forgiven. God will be my judge, and he will not be kind. For as much as I have suffered, I have caused more suffering than I can ever be forgiven for.”
Áine said nothing. He was right. She would not forgive him for what he had done. He couldn’t ask her for that. But she could ask him for something. “My sister?”
“Keva—we lost her too that day. She was never the same. It was like her mind just broke into a thousand tiny pieces. I took care of her for years, feeding her, singing to her, changing her, but she always screamed at my touch. Eventually I took her up to Dublin Central. I thought maybe they could do what I couldn’t. Maybe they could calm her fears. They tried, and they’re still trying, but nothing seems to work. I lost more than your mother that day. I lost her. And I lost you. I lost everything.”
Fresh tears fell on his cheeks, but he didn’t try to wipe them away. He didn’t even seem to be looking at Áine anymore; shadows covered his eyes.
“What’s the dark mark on the door for?” Hennessy asked.
“To keep Creed away.”
“Creed?” Áine asked. “Why?”
“After you were gone, I traveled across Ireland, talking to the old folk, questioning the insane. I began to hear stories...stories of a baby who had crossed the Threshold—who had traveled into the Aetherlands. I thought...I hoped...I wished it was you. And with that hope, I began to hunt. To search down those who were said to guard the Crossings.”
“The Guardians? Why?”
“Because I looked for years and couldn’t find any of the Crossings myself. I didn’t even know what they looked like. After I heard about the Guardians, I figured that while I couldn’t find the Crossing, I might be able to find the one who guards it. Every day I went over and over the land where we lost you, and I finally realized something strange about the old yew tree that the dogs kept going back to. It sparkled whenever the moonlight hit it. I thought, maybe the Crossing was tied to that tree.
“So I tried all of the old magic there. Incantations, reversals, reveals. Nothing worked. I made my decision then. I decided to chop it down—”
“Chop it down? What is wrong with you? Why would you do that?”
Áine’s hand tightened into a fist as she remembered the old yew tree. Its beauty. Its grace. The way its branches rose to meet the sky.
He was a monster.
“I thought it was the best way to bring one of the Guardians back,” he said. “To force him to reveal himself. And I was right. He was there before I swung my ax.”
“Creed?” Hennessy asked.
“No, Kern. His brother.”
“Oh,” Áine said, her breath catching. “Kern. I met him. He’s a fire fairy too...one of the Queene’s Guard. She must have promoted him—”
“She hasn’t done anything to him,” her father replied.
Hennessy suddenly stood up and walked toward the door. Áine looked up. “I’m just gonna get some air. I need to check on something.”
Áine nodded and asked him, “What happened?”
“It didn’t go well,” he said. “Kern was unyielding. He wouldn’t tell me what to do, how to cross. He refused to even listen to me. He just kept saying that I’d regret it if I swung my ax. I was so angry—so frustrated—I raised my ax in the air. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I was trying to make him tell me how to cross over. But...we struggled and...he died.”
That’s why Creed wouldn’t leave her alone. Why he wanted to send Áine to the Hetherlands. It wasn’t just because she crossed over. Her father had killed Kern. He had killed Creed’s brother.
Sokanaté. A blood debt. Creed had a debt to keep, and he wouldn’t stop until it was even. Áine turned away from her father, unable to look at him any longer. He was worse than she had ever imagined. How could one man cause so much pain?
“Áine, I know it sounds horrible, but you have to understand—I didn’t mean to do it. He moved so fast, knocking me over before I even realized what was happening. I lost control of my ax, and when I stood up—” He stopped suddenly, then shook his head slowly and continued, “I’m sorry. You don’t need to know the details.”
Áine shivered as the image of the fallen Guardian beneath the old yew tree burned behind her eyes. She saw her father bending over Kern, staring at the bloody ax. She watched as he broke the earth and buried him, covering the grave with a pile of leaves.
“Ever since then, Creed has been unrelenting. That dark mark—it was a protection; one of many meant to keep him away. But they only hold him off.”
Áine had already seen a flash of Creed’s determination, and with everything her father had said and done—Creed would never leave them alone.
“After Kern’s death, I was forced to leave our cottage. It wasn’t safe. And I couldn’t go see Keva anymore either; Creed was always right behind me. So I holed up here to wait. Wait for the day when the dark marks fade or when time finally takes me away. But the Shadowmagic lengthens my life—promises me more suffering. I didn’t realize how much I would pay for a few worthless spells and incantations. The darkness”—He raised his arm and the shadows trailed in the air, falling from his fingertips—”it never leaves. I haven’t slept in months. And I see things... things no one should ever see.”
He broke off, wiping at his eyes, trying to clear some image from his sightless eyes. “I have lived too long,” he said. “But I can’t give Creed what he wants. Death, for me, would be a comfort, and after all I have done, I don’t deserve it. So, for eight years, I have lived here in darkness. And fire.”<
br />
Hennessy burst through the door. “Have you talked to him?”
“Creed? He often comes to the edge of my property. He doesn’t use very many words.”
Hennessy was by Áine’s side in seconds. She pulled Áine up from her seat and looked right into her eyes. “That’s why he’s been trying to kill you, Áine. He wanted to hurt your father. He doesn’t really care about you. He wanted him.” Hennessy pointed her finger at her father and pulled Áine closer. “And now he’s here. We need to go. Now.”
Áine ran to the window and pulled open the curtain. A large silver car was parked in the street, blocking their way out. “We can’t go out the front,” she said.
“Go out the back,” her father said. “The wards are still up around the sides, but she can open the door.” He pointed over at Hennessy. “And he won’t go back that way.”
“Good,” Áine said. “Let’s go.” Her father didn’t move. “Come on,” she said, stepping back toward him. “You too.”
“No,” he said. His voice was unexpectedly strong and clear. “I’m not going with you. It is done. Finished. I need to settle my debts.”
Áine stared down at him. She wanted to grab him, to shake him, to scream in his face. And after all that had happened, she didn’t want him to die. There was so much she wanted to know about her sister, her mother. They needed more time.
She shrugged off Hennessy’s hands and moved back toward her father. “Stop it with your righteous babbling. He’s going to kill you!” Áine grabbed his arm and tried to pull him to his feet. The shadows pulled away from him suddenly with a screech of pain, and the room filled with light. He wrenched his arm away from her and fell back into the couch.
“Stop!” he rasped, shadows falling out of his mouth. “Please. Just leave me. You have to.” Tears spilled out of his white eyes and streaked down his wrinkled face. “Please, Áine, I’ve held him off long enough. What does it matter now if he kills an old man?”
“It matters to me. We’ve barely had a chance to—”
“This isn’t about me,” he interrupted. “You need your sister. And she needs you. You can stop the madness. I know you can reach her.”
Hennessy touched Áine’s arm gently. “He’s coming.”
“I can’t just let him die!” But even as she said the words, she knew there was nothing more she could do. She saw a flash of herself in him—the stubborn streak, the defiance. How many times had she refused to listen to Aunt Eri? How many times had she clenched her fists and stood her ground, unmovable?
He wasn’t going to come.
She slammed her hands against her legs and clenched her teeth. He wasn’t going to come. She forced her jaw to relax and knelt down beside the couch. “This is it then?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “You should go. I’m just...so sorry for everything.”
“I am too,” she said. No words of forgiveness. No happy ending. It was finished.
Áine stood up shakily and turned toward the door.
“Wait—” Her father shifted on the couch, lifted the cushions, and pulled out a cracked leather journal. Stuffed with papers and torn at the edges, it looked older than he did. “Take this with you. I don’t need it anymore. It’s your story, our story, bound up with the stories I’ve been told and the magic of the old people. You can decide what to do with it. Share it with your sister, or burn it in a field. Just don’t give it to Creed.”
Áine took the book from him, bending under its unexpected weight. “Thank you,” she said, tucking it into her heavysack.
“Safe travels,” he said.
She paused, then let the fey goodbye blessing fall from her lips. “I’ll see you in the Fairerlands.”
“If they let an old man in,” he replied.
Hennessy charged through the kitchen to the back door, and Áine followed behind her. At that moment, the tears finally fell down her cheeks. She wasn’t mourning him—he had cost her too much. Even this one last valiant attempt wouldn’t be enough to win his redemption.
But she also wouldn’t take it from him. He needed to do this one last thing.
Her breath stuck in her throat as she pushed open the screen. What could he possibly do against Creed? What hope did he have? Áine looked back at her father for the final time. The old man had gotten to his feet and was staring at the front door. The shadows that weighed him down had lifted. He was bathed in a bright white light.
That light flickered as Áine turned and left the small cottage, battling sorrow and rage. And darkness. Always darkness, lingering in the back of her mind. Her mother died, and her father would die. For what purpose? To what end?
The darkness almost overwhelmed her as they ran through the back yard and flanked the cottage, but then the white light flashed through the curtains and out the window, pushing away the gathering shadows, and she felt it.
Hope. It shimmered in the light of the Eta, flared against the shadows.
Hennessy suddenly pulled Áine behind a bush. The hope disappeared as they peered through the branches and saw ten men, hooded in black cloaks, forming a semi-circle around the front of the old cottage. One man pulled away from the circle and opened the gate. As he stepped inside, Áine held her breath. It was Creed. He was alive.
“Do you think your da’s gonna make it?” Hennessy whispered.
She wanted to say he would be okay, that there was more to him than Hennessy could see, that the Eta were flooding back into him, but she couldn’t say the words. Not in the face of ten Guardians. He didn’t stand a chance. He wasn’t strong enough.
They watched as Creed stopped at the door, touching the dark mark that had already begun to fade. He lowered his hood and grinned as he walked inside, closing the door behind him.
Áine jumped to her feet. Her father might not be strong enough, but she was. She could fight Creed. She pushed her hand through the bushes. She wouldn’t let her father sacrifice himself. She wouldn’t let him—
The bright white light flared through the cottage, and then exploded through the windows. The Guardians broke their circle and ran toward the cottage as it burst into flames. Áine dove through the bushes, but Hennessy grabbed her cloak and pulled her back, dragging her away, begging her not to look as they ran as fast as they could.
Still, as they rounded the end of the block, Áine could see the flames burning the edges of her vision. And when she squeezed her eyes shut, the fire burned even brighter.
Twelve
They ran all the way to the ferry and arrived just as it was taking off. Hennessy convinced a dockworker to let them onboard, and they snuck on just as the ropes were pulled in.
Áine’s side hurt, and Hennessy was breathing hard, her face bright red. They collapsed on a bench. Áine pulled out her waterskin. Hennessy took it and almost drained it, but passed it back with a few drops left. Áine finished it off and took the remains of the food from her sack and turned to pass it to Hennessy.
She was sound asleep.
Áine shoved the food back in her sack. She wasn’t hungry—Oberon could only imagine what she was. Empty, lost, angry, and hot—so hot. Sweat poured down her back. She stood up and stumbled toward the deck, needing to feel the cold ocean air on her cheeks.
It blasted into her, and she grabbed the rail. The ferry swayed against the crashing waves. She planted her feet and watched the shoreline retreat. The mist and fog had already enveloped the small island, like it had never even existed.
And just like that, everything she remembered, everything that tied her to the Shadowlands, was gone too. Áine’s chest ached with the profoundness and the suddenness of that loss. Her father. She hadn’t even thought he was alive. And in one devastating moment, he had given everything for her...when she could have been the one saving him. Now he was gone. Now there was nothing but ashes and shadows.
Without warning, the flames tore through her mind. They knocked her to her knees and left her gasping. She held onto the rail beside her and tried to take a breath
, but the heat forced the air out of her lungs. Her fingers clenched and tore at her throat.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t get enough air. Her vision grew hazy, the lights dimmed, and she collapsed.
The fire consumed her.
* * *
She was running, running. Hard and fast. Her legs—so thin, so small—she couldn’t make them move any faster. She held the blanket bunched up in her arms, careful not to let it catch on the ground. Down to the creek. Over the rock wall and then up the old path. Turn left. No—right. No. No!
She was lost. She forgot which pine tree to turn at. Forgot where her mother had laid the baby. She’d never be able to find her.
A flash of white, a soft moan, then a whimper. There! There. Behind that tree. There she is. So small. So pale. Eyes like a thistle and hair just like hers.
She knelt down beside her and wrapped the blanket around her. So cold. She was so cold. She cradled her sister in her arms and shushed her, slipping her finger into her mouth. The baby sucked hungrily.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I have nothing to give you. Everything’s gone. She burned it all.”
She stared at the tiny baby sucking on her finger. “Mam always held you. She always fed you. I don’t know what to do.” The baby squirmed, spit out her finger, and started to cry. She stuck her finger back in her mouth. “Da’s not here. And Mr. Seamus and Mrs. Delaney aren’t home. I don’t know when Da’s home. I don’t know what—”
A bright light illuminated the night, tearing through the darkness and throwing them backward. She shielded her sister from the fall, landing hard on her right shoulder. The baby stopped crying for a moment, but then began to wail.
“Hush, hush.”
When she raised her head, she saw the woman. Long dark hair. A black face that shone from within. Beautiful brown eyes with a flash of red. Emerging from the tree.