Gift of the Darkness (The Gateway Trackers Book 7)

by E. E. Holmes

  I sat up amidst the stunned silence they left in their absence. I looked down at my own hands, as though expecting them to look different, to somehow reflect the depth of the change that had taken place within me, but there they were, two ordinary hands, shaking and cold, but unchanged. How was it possible?

  “Jess! Hannah! I’m here!”

  The voice echoed not through the courtyard, but inside my head, and I let out a cry of joy and relief.

  “Milo!”

  I spun on my knees and found both Hannah and Milo barreling toward me, Hannah running, Milo soaring, both crying with happiness. Without the slightest regard for my safety, they both flung themselves at me in a hug that knocked me back against the stones and squeezed the breath from my lungs.

  “Oh, thank God, thank GOD!” Hannah was sobbing into my neck.

  Milo was laughing through his tears. “I can’t believe you thought it was going to be that easy to get rid of me.”

  “Shut up!” she laughed, before bursting into tears again. Then she pulled away from me and said, eyes wide, “Do you feel that?”

  “Feel what? I mean, aside from the two of you clobbering me?”

  In answer, Hannah grabbed my wrist and intertwined her fingers with mine. A moment later, I understood. It wasn’t what we felt, but what we could no longer feel: the strange rushing connection that flowed between us whenever we linked hands was gone.

  Hannah’s face twitched with grief, but I squeezed her hand and smiled at her. “Yes, I can feel it. For the first time, I know what it feels like to hold my sister’s hand and feel only love.”

  She tried to smile, but it was all too overwhelming. I heard a groan behind us and turned to see Marguerite struggling to rise from the ground. I extricated myself from Hannah and Milo and crawled over to her, reaching out to take her hand.

  Her wrinkled, gnarled, and blue-veined hand…

  I gasped. The Marguerite who sat before me had aged fifty years in a matter of moments. Her long blonde hair had turned white, and her face, once so delicate and glowing, now sagged with wrinkled folds of skin that hung from her bones like oversized clothing.

  She looked up at me, her expression one of deepest fear and bewilderment. “Jessica, I… where am I? What… what has happened to me?”

  But before I could answer, a tortured scream rose from the grass behind us. We turned to see Simone staring down at her own hands with shock and horror upon her once flawless face, now as wrinkled as her sister’s. “No! No, no, no!” she moaned over and over again, clutching at the sparse tufts of her hair and the shriveled hollows of her cheeks.

  “When the spirits Crossed, all their stolen energy Crossed with them,” I murmured. “We are seeing the High Priestess for what she truly is.”

  Marguerite stared at her sister, then at her own hands again and then a strange joyful laugh bubbled up from somewhere inside her. “Mon Dieu,” she exclaimed. “So, this is what freedom looks like.” And she laughed again, tears gathering in her clouded eyes and rolling down the crags of her cheeks.

  I helped Marguerite to her feet, and together, Hannah and I guided her down the steps of the dais and over to her sister, where she knelt down and wrapped her sister tenderly in her arms, whispering platitudes to her in French as she stroked her hair and rocked her like a small child who had learned, for the first time, what loss was.

  “Will she be all right, do you think?” Hannah asked.

  It was Celeste who replied as she swept across the lawn toward us. “She has her sister to take care of her, just as she always has, not that I’m sure she deserves it. Her Reckoning is only just beginning, however.”

  “Hannah! Are you all right?” Kiernan was running toward us, his expression wild with worry. Hannah succumbed to another round of tears as she abandoned ceremony and flung herself into his arms. Kiernan looked utterly shocked for a moment, and then, as though he could hardly believe he was allowed to do so, wrapped his arms around her shaking shoulders and embraced her, resting his chin gently on her curls.

  Annabelle and Ileana came forward as well, both looking quite disheveled but relieved to find themselves both alive. Ileana’s face was strangely vulnerable as she said. “I can feel it. It’s gone.”

  Celeste nodded her head, and though her tone was resigned, her mouth trembled with suppressed emotion. “Yes. Yes, I felt it at once.”

  “But our job remains unchanged,” I said. “We’ve got to protect them, just as we always have.”

  We all looked up at the Geatgrima, aglow with its newly restored power, and it was as though we were seeing it for the first time, our own gift made manifest. It was hard to describe exactly the feeling that rose in me, knowing that something great and ancient and ineffable had been restored, but it was something like peace.

  “Come,” Celeste said, tearing her eyes from the Geatgrima with a sigh. “We must gather the Caomhnóir and send word to our clans at the boundaries. There is much work to be done.”

  * * *

  “From the blood of my blood, set free, from the flesh of my flesh, renew, from within the protectors, unlock the gates and throw wide the arms of the Aether’s embrace to restore safe passage home.” ↵

  Epilogue

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU ALL TOOK OFF on the adventure to end all bloody adventures and you just left me here staring at a bollocking lump of rock like an enormous great tit!” Savvy shouted, sending her tray of hospital ward food flying everywhere with one exasperated sweep of her hand.

  “I’m sorry!” I laughed, ducking as a bowl of pudding whizzed over my head. “We didn’t want to leave you, you know. But you didn’t give us much choice, turning yourself into a harbinger of the Durupinen apocalypse.”

  We were all gathered around Savvy’s bed in the hospital ward: me, Hannah, Milo, Finn, Annabelle, Frankie, and Phoebe. Mrs. Mistlemoore had long since flung up her hands in despair and resigned herself to the fact that rules like “visiting hours” and “quiet time” were going to be completely ignored. I only let myself feel guilty about it for about three-and-a-half seconds. It had been less than twenty-four hours since the Reckoning, after all, and it was our very first chance to see Savvy since she’d regained consciousness.

  “Enough about our exploits, what about you?” Hannah said eagerly. “What was it like, being a Sentinel?”

  Savvy gave a disgusted snort. “How was it? Bloody boring as fuck all, wasn’t it? You’d think I’d have a hell of a story to tell you all, seeing as I was locked in a battle for my life with a portal to the spirit world, but I can’t remember a thing! Last I recall, I was falling into bed after running my arse ragged in training all day, and the next thing I know, I’m lying on the ground out in the courtyard, stiff as a poker and freezing my arse off. I haven’t been properly warm since. Two bloody weeks out there and not one of those tossers thought to throw a blanket over me!”

  “Well, to be fair, one of them tried to touch you, and he’s still lying over there, unconscious,” Milo informed her, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the only other occupied bed in the ward, “so don’t be surprised if no one else risked it because they thought you might catch a chill.”

  Savvy shook her head with a sigh. “Blimey, I just can’t believe it. So, what happens now, then?”

  “The High Priestesses from all over the world are supposed to be meeting at Havre de Gardiennes today,” Finn answered. “They’ve got to agree on a plan, moving forward. A new High Priestess will have to be elected, and a new strategy will have to be devised to protect the Gateways.”

  “Protect them from who, then?” Savvy asked, looking perplexed. “The Necromancers can’t come back from this, surely.”

  But Finn shook his head. “I don’t think the Durupinen leadership will ever be foolish enough to underestimate the Necromancers again. But as long as the Gateways exist, there will be those threatening to undermine them.”

  “I just can’t believe it’s gone,” Frankie said quietly, voicing the sentiment that had fil
led the castle—and each of our minds—since the moment it happened.

  “What do you suppose everyone will do?” Phoebe asked no one in particular.

  Savvy managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, my connection to the Gateway got damaged and I just—sort of—went home, didn’t I?” Phoebe clarified. “Do you suppose everyone else will do the same?”

  “I’ve been wondering about that myself,” Frankie admitted. “I mean, is there any point to staying on as Apprentices, now that Gateways are gone?”

  “They’re not gone,” Milo said. “They’ve just… moved.”

  “Yes, but seeing as they aren’t our responsibility anymore, won’t we all just go back to our lives as they were before?” Frankie asked.

  “Some people will, I expect,” Hannah said. “But for most Durupinen, there is no ‘life as is was before.’ Being a Durupinen is all they’ve ever known.”

  “And let’s not forget that the Durupinen were a sisterhood long before they made the decision to internalize the Gateways,” Finn said. “Along with the Caomhnóir, they’ve always been connected to the spirit world, always sworn to protect the Gateways. We’ll just have to find a new way to do that now.”

  “Or an old way,” I pointed out.

  Finn smiled, “Indeed.”

  I looked down at my watch. “Shit, I’ve got to go if I’m going to catch Flavia and Annabelle,” I said, jumping up from my seat. “I’ll come right back, though. If Mrs. Mistlemoore brings you another tray of food, save me some chips, huh?”

  “Not likely!” Savvy called after me loudly.

  I found Annabelle and Flavia talking intently together down in the entrance hall beside a pile of suitcases that two Caomhnóir were in the process of carrying out to a waiting car.

  “There you are,” Annabelle said, smiling. “We were starting to think we would have to see ourselves off.”

  “Sorry, I was visiting Savvy and lost track of the time,” I said. “You both all packed, then?”

  “Yes,” Flavia said, smiling nervously. “I still can’t quite believe I’m going back.”

  Word had come the previous day that Flavia had been summoned back to the Traveler camp. The invitation came under the guise of giving testimony to the Traveler Council about her role in helping to bring about the Reckoning, but Flavia recognized it for what it really was: the extending of a hand, the opening of a door that had previously been closed to her. Ileana’s warning sent from the Milkweed Teahouse had been enough to prevent another terrible attack on the camp. The Travelers had been ready for the Necromancers, reinforcing border Castings and enlisting the help of a Caomhnóir reserve from Fairhaven who agreed to help defend them. Having lost the element of surprise, the Necromancers found themselves on the defensive, and had been decimated before they could even set foot within the woods. After the devastation at Havre de Gardiennes, knowing the encampment was safe had been welcome news.

  “Do you think you’ll stay?” I asked her. “The Scribes at Fairhaven will be disappointed to lose you.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet. I’m still struggling to accept the fact that I’m going to be allowed to set foot back in the camp again. Jeta is beside herself. She says she’s planning a welcome home party for me. She also told me to invite ‘the Northern Girl’ along for the festivities.”

  “Tell her thanks, but some other time,” I said, smiling. “Just as long as there’s no Rifting involved,” I added with a wink.

  Flavia laughed. “Oh, no. I think I’ve had enough of Rifting to last me several lifetimes.”

  “And how about you?” I asked Annabelle. “Are you going to take them up on their offer of a place in the wagon train?”

  Annabelle smiled. After her role in our adventure, it seemed the Travelers had come to view her as much more than a lowly outcast Dormant. A letter from the Boswell Clan, imploring her to come and stay, arrived along with Flavia’s summons, both tied to the leg of a messenger raven. Though she was still away at Havre de Gardiennes, in conference with the other High Priestesses, I had no doubt that Ileana had had a hand in it.

  “No,” Annabelle said. “Zina will try to convince me, of course, but my life is back in the States, you know that. I’ve got my shop waiting for me, and the boys, of course. We all know their ghost hunting gig’s nothing but a two-bit operation without me holding it all together.” She rolled her eyes, but I knew she had nothing but affection for Oscar, Iggy, and the rest of Pierce’s old team. They were her last and best link to him, after all. “But you’ll see us all really soon, I expect.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

  “Oh yeah,” she said, seriously. “I’ve told them all about the Screaming Woods down in Pluckley. They’ve already booked their tickets for the investigation!”

  “What?! Annabelle, you didn’t!” I cried.

  “Kidding, I’m kidding!” Annabelle said, raising her hands in surrender at the look of horror on my face. “Good lord, can’t a girl joke about Elemental-infested forests anymore?”

  I smiled appreciatively, but it faded quickly. The Elementals, I knew, were gone. Along with Finn, I had ventured into the Fairhaven woods the previous night and attempted to summon the Fairhaven Elemental. It did not come. I wondered how Lira was taking it, and what in the world she would do with herself now. Despite what she had done to me to prevent my getting the second key, I had nothing but pity in my heart for her. The world as she knew it had altered forever, and she no longer knew her place in it. And she wasn’t the only one.

  Over the next couple of weeks, the new Durupinen world started to take the vague beginnings of a shape. An Airechtas was held at Fairhaven once again, and I would be lying if I said it had gone smoothly. There was much devastation and dissension amongst the clans as the hard truth sank in. Desperate to regain their former power, a collection of clans—Marion’s amongst them—made a haphazard attempt to form a second Council, proposing to anyone who would listen that they would somehow restore the Gateways to Durupinen bloodlines again. They put forward motion after ill-advised motion—to take down the Geatgrimas, to attempt a reversal of the Reckoning, to have me thrown in Skye Príosún for “stealing their gifts.” Their ravings, however, soon died away as they were met not with enthusiasm, but with the growing realization that our true purpose was emerging from the ashes. The Gateways, now standing once again exposed around the world, still needed to be protected. Spirits would still seek us out, asking for our help, our guidance, and our compassion. The very seeds of whom we had grown to be were sprouting anew, and we had to tend to them.

  Only a few short months later, Savvy would be joined in her training on the lawns of Fairhaven by women from all across the Northern Clans who decided that they could best continue to protect the Gateways by learning to fight. The ranks of the Trackers would shortly be flooded with applicants, eager to enter under Catriona’s leadership to rout out Necromancers and other threats to the secrecy and safety of Gateways. The Code of Conduct would effectively be thrown out the window as the roles of Durupinen and Caomhnóir began to blur around the edges. Kiernan would become the first Caomhnóir to be taken on officially as an Apprentice Scribe. And Celeste, thanks to her peerless leadership in steering the Durupinen into the future, found herself in serious contention for the position of High Priestess of the International High Council. Despite all the concerns to the contrary, life at Fairhaven and all around the Durupinen world went on with renewed purpose.

  And of course, there were some things that didn’t change at all.

  “About bloody time you turned up,” Fiona barked at me as I came skidding into the Gallery of High Priestesses only six weeks later. “What kind of time do you call this?”

  I looked down at my watch, gasping for breath. “Uh… exactly thirty seconds after the time you asked me to be here.”

  “How do you expect me to properly shout at these gormless gits if
I can’t even see what they’re doing wrong?” Fiona huffed, crossing her arms.

  “These gormless gits” were two of the Novitiates who had been tasked with the rehanging of Agnes Isherwood’s fully restored tapestry. I threw them both apologetic looks as they struggled to reattach the row of silver rings along the top of the tapestry to the waiting row of hooks, before replying, “It looks like they’re doing a fine job to me.”

  Fiona snorted as though to suggest my idea of a ‘fine job’ was total bullshit. I decided it wasn’t worth arguing the point. After all, she’d used her art world connections to get me an interview the following month for an internship at the Tate Modern, which was only the dream job of a lifetime for an art nerd. It wasn’t worth incurring her wrath; I wouldn’t put it past her to call the curator and cancel it.

  “Is anyone else coming to see this unveiling?” Fiona asked once she realized I wasn’t rising to her bait.

  “They should be,” I said, checking my watch again. “I told them to be here in about ten minutes.” The truth was that I was both excited and relieved to see the tapestry back in its rightful place again, and not only because I’d spent so much time over the past few months doing the painstaking work of restoring it. There was a part of me that would feel uneasy until Agnes took her place back in the gallery. After all, the recent chaos had all begun the day I’d seen her staring down at me from Fiona’s studio wall, and until Agnes was safely back where she belonged, I was half-convinced another loose thread or another hidden message would turn my world upside down again.