“Aye, well, he also said we’d be perfect for each other,” I spat, my own irritation boiling to the surface. “So what does that say about ye?”
“It says I’m wasting my time,” Cathal replied, rising to all fours. He licked his chops, stretched, and spun back around. “Good luck surviving the Otherworld, kid.”
I ground my teeth, the faintest panic setting in as I watched Cathal leave me behind. In that moment, standing on an unfamiliar shore, I realized how utterly screwed I was, how completely I depended on having a guide. On knowing anyone here. A stranger in a strange land didn’t even remotely cover how much of a foreigner I was, or how much danger that put me in. I was—for perhaps the first time since I watched my aunt die in my arms—totally powerless.
And I hated it.
I slid to my knees, hands brushing against sand, letting it slide between my fingers as I fought against this sudden feeling of impotence. For some reason, Manannan’s words echoed in my head, something about purpose. My purpose. Now that I was kneeling in the sand, lost and alone, I realized I did have a purpose. That—since Dez’s death—I’d found comfort in only one thought.
That I would never be powerless, ever again.
That was my purpose.
I closed my hands into fists, squeezing until my knuckles went white, then rose to my feet. Manannan had implored me not to forget, and now I knew why; giving up wasn’t an option. Not anymore. If I ever wanted to get home, I needed to find my mother’s realm, a celestial hallway full of windows that looked out into different spots in space and time. But I couldn’t begin to guess how to find a place like that on my own. Hell, I wasn’t even sure where here was. Which meant I needed to suck it up and quit bitching.
Although it didn’t help that I was really, really hungry.
“Wait! Please!” I called, running after the hound.
Cathal cocked his head around, looking at me over one shoulder. Until now, I’d never have thought a dog could look smug. Apparently, I was wrong. “Change your mind?”
“Tell ye what, ye find me somethin’ to eat and drink, and I’ll try to be less of a pain in the ass. I’ll even do me best not to call ye names. Do we have a deal?”
Cathal grunted, blowing small jets of steam through his flared nostrils that trickled up into the sky like smoke. “You know how to make a fire?”
I raised an eyebrow. “From scratch?”
“Yeah.”
“Not really,” I admitted. I’d picked up a host of random skills growing up, not to mention all the survival tricks Scathach had given me over the last few months, but when it came to fire the solution had always been to pack smart, not star on Survivor: The Otherworld.
Cathal resumed walking. “Well then, I hope you like your food raw.”
“Mangy dog,” I muttered under my breath.
“Brat,” Cathal called back, ears twitching.
Yeah, we were getting along great.
The beginning of a beautiful friendship…as fucking if.
Together, Cathal and I hiked up the steep ravine, his size and speed making it difficult—though not impossible—to keep up. Part of me suspected he’d set a brutal pace just to piss me off, but I didn’t complain; if we were going to do this, I couldn’t go around second-guessing his every action. Of course, by the time we made it to the valley above, I was desperate for a pair of shoes, not to mention a glass of water. Fortunately, after a mile or so the ground leveled off, leading us into a lush, fertile valley rimmed by trees the size of redwoods, though they stood much closer together—a forest sporadically touched by sunlight, the canopy above providing plenty of shade from the soft afternoon light. Which, now that I thought about it, meant I’d been away from home for at least two days, maybe longer.
No wonder I was low-key dying of thirst.
“There’s a spring in the forest up ahead,” Cathal said, as if reading my mind. “Take one or two small sips from it, then we’ll move on.”
“Why sips?”
“Just trust me,” Cathal growled.
“But I don’t trust ye,” I replied. “It’s nothin’ personal, mind ye. I can count on one hand the people I trust.” Which wasn’t a lie, though some might consider it a little sad. If Cathal thought so, however, he didn’t say it. Instead, he slowed.
“The faster we get you out of here, the better,” he explained. “Sips. Small bites. Eat and drink as little as you have to until we’ve left this place.”
“And where are we exactly?” I asked, still churning over the idea that I should watch how much I consumed. Was it like some sort of poison? Would I get sick if I ate or drank too much in the Otherworld? It wouldn’t have surprised me; last time I’d gone to Fae I’d encountered vampiric trees that exsanguinated the unwary.
Talk about climate change.
“This is the Land of Youth,” Cathal replied.
I frowned. “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”
“And that’s what makes it so dangerous.”
“Come again?”
“Nevermind that. If we hurry, it shouldn’t matter.”
I opened my mouth, prepared to interrogate my guide further, when a horn blast erupted from somewhere within the trees—a deep, reverberating growl that sent birds soaring up into the air. An answering call echoed to our right, somewhere out among the large, unbroken plains beyond the valley. In moments, I could feel the faintest vibrations beneath my feet—the ground was shaking.
Cathal barked a series of curses. And I mean literally barked, the words too mangled to make out, though I could have sworn I heard a few colorful phrases I recognized in there somewhere. I noticed his hackles had risen, the fur between his shoulder blades standing straight up, the markings on his body glowing faintly—all of which made him seem even more intimidating, somehow. He swung his head around, surveying the landscape.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Company. Come on, we need to find a place to hide out until this is over.” Cathal took off towards a small cluster of boulders nestled between the ravine and the valley, seemingly unconcerned whether I followed or not. Not that he needed to be; very little gets one moving faster than a minor earthquake beneath your feet and alarm horns going off above your head.
I bolted for the rocks and managed to squeeze between them just as the source of the quake—an absurdly large horde of riders on horseback—came pouring out along the forest edge, materializing so quickly it was like watching the tide come in. Many wore headbands to secure their shoulder-length hair, the various shades of brown and blonde only occasionally broken by black or red. They were all fair-skinned, dressed in embroidered tunics that left their arms bare, their richly colored breeches tucked into soft leather boots. They’d painted their skin blue in places, the designs flowing down their arms, designs that were recreated on their shields.
Once I realized they were facing the plain, I turned to study it myself, only to find an even larger army approaching. These warriors, however, were clad in so much fur it was hard to tell anything about them. Each warrior carried a spear twice as tall as I was, twice as thick as any I’d seen. From this distance they seemed like a forest themselves—a veritable sea of spears blanketed the horizon.
“What the hell is goin’ on?” I asked, my voice a hushed whisper even though there was no reason to suspect anyone besides Cathal would hear me over the ruckus caused by the two armies and their warhorns.
“A battle. Be quiet and stay still. We’ll leave when they’re done.”
“When they’re done what? Fightin’?” I asked. A thought occurred to me and I had to glance back at the hound to confirm it, my eyes wide in disbelief. “We’re just goin’ to hide and watch?”
Cathal, who’d laid down and hidden himself behind a particularly large boulder, lifted his head to study me. “I’d take a nap, if you can. These things tend to last a while, and we still have a lot of ground to cover before nightfall.” He flopped back down, long snout resting on his paws, and closed his eyes, th
ough he wasn’t fooling anyone; his ears still twitched with every neigh and whinny.
A nap.
Yeah, right.
9
The cavalry—I couldn’t think what else to call it—churned in loose, ever-widening circles until a dozen riders were within a stone’s throw from where Cathal and I hid. Up close, I could see their clothes were finer than I’d thought at first, their arms and throats often either bare or decorated with copper bands. The paint on their bare skin seemed ritualistic, a series of blue, swirling patterns that reminded me faintly of animals. In fact, the three closest to us bore what looked like feathers down the lengths of their arms, as if—when they raised their arms—they’d have wings. Unlike so many of the others, however, these three seemed less eager for the fight than their fellows; they were silent, faces grim, watching that distant army approach with cautious eyes. Eyes that reminded me of mercenaries I’d met, or cops. Men and women who’d seen some shit and lived to tell about it—though at a cost.
Before I could study them further, however, the horns sounded once more. Almost immediately, the riders formed a loose line, falling into ranks, though without the precision you might expect. Still, there was a sort of discipline present in the way they prepared themselves, retrieving their spears and readying their shields.
“Why are they fightin’?” I whispered, glancing back at my canine companion, who didn’t so much as crack open one eye.
“Doesn’t matter.”
I rolled my eyes. “Is that all ye lot ever say?”
“Oh? And just how many of the Cù-Sìth have you met?”
I glared at the hound. “Not your kind, I meant all of ye. Ye Otherworlders. It’s like ye all enjoy bein’ vague,” I continued, “or is it just that ye don’t know and ye don’t want to admit it?”
Cathal yawned, his enormously long, pink tongue emerging like a snake before slithering back between those vicious teeth. “Pipe down.”
An image of those teeth rending me apart made me shudder, but I wasn’t about to back down. “Or what?” I hissed.
That made Cathal open one eye. He flicked his gaze towards me, face sour somehow. “Or I’ll leave you to them.” He turned that eye on the two armies, both of whom were moving inexorably towards each other. “Dagda only knows what they’d do to someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” I asked, my own hackles rising.
Cathal closed his eyes once more, refusing to explain further. I sucked my teeth and turned, arms folded, to watch the battle—stewing all the while. At this point, I was beginning to suspect I was doomed no matter what happened; even if I survived the Otherworld, Manannan was probably going to hunt me down once he discovered I’d put his favorite pooch to sleep.
Fortunately, the battle got interesting long before I could dwell on the merits of puppycide. In fact, all thoughts of Cathal and his shitty attitude fled almost instantly the moment I spotted—out among those spear-wielding foot soldiers—someone I recognized. She wore thick, dark furs, including a black cape of what looked like raven feathers, but there was no mistaking that fiery red hair, nor the way she held herself, the way she studied the approaching horsemen—as if they were already doomed.
“Scathach?” I whispered.
“That’s not possible,” Cathal drawled.
But I didn’t have time to ask what the hound meant by that.
Because I’d already abandoned our hiding place and sprinted onto the battlefield, waving my hands wildly in the air, screaming her name.
10
I knew I’d made a mistake the second I left the shelter of the rocks, but I didn’t care. I was sick and tired of being led by the hand, and, while Scathach had always been a tough person to get along with, she was on the list of people I’d trust with my life. Hell, I had trusted her with my life. Frankly, no matter how highly recommended Cathal came, I knew that Scathach would get me the hell out of here. Of course, what she was doing here in the first place, not to mention what I was thinking diving headfirst into the middle of a freaking battle, well…that I couldn’t tell you.
Just do it.
The voice crashed over me like a rogue wave, giving me a boost of adrenaline even as I begged my wild side not to use Nike slogans to pep me up in the future. Of course, I had to admit it wasn’t the worst idea. I was in hostile territory in the middle of who-knew-where, trying to find the one person I could trust in the midst of what seemed like hundreds of bloodthirsty, well-trained warriors. The odds were definitely not in my favor, and the rational part of me knew it.
So, I simply turned off the rational part of my brain.
And let my wild side take the reins.
We sprinted past the galloping horses of the nearest riders, laughing, the pure joy of moving among so many powerful beasts exhilarating and frightening all at the same time. A few horsemen called out to us in a familiar tongue, one we thought we almost understood, but then we were out of earshot.
Soon, we were ahead of the cavalry entirely, a lone runner approaching a very large army of fur-clad foot soldiers. We angled ourselves slightly, beelining for the woman we’d seen leading the army, scouring their ranks for her tell-tale red hair and that hauntingly beautiful face. The briefest, strangest thought—that these poor people must be ridiculously hot in all those furs—flashed through our head, but we shook it off. Clearly these warriors were from a colder climate, especially since they were approaching from the north. That’s probably what had started this whole battle in the first place—limited resources.
Some people had, while others had not. None of that surprised us; that was the way of things, no matter where you were. Why would the Otherworld be any different? We let out a frustrated cry as we closed the distance, our prey no longer visible. Where had that woman gone? The one we were supposed to be looking for? We stopped and scoured the faces of the foot soldiers, but none were the warrior we sought. Damn, had we lost her?
Horses blew past us before we could find our answer, the force of it blowing our hair forward and rocking us onto our toes. We laughed, the sensation too odd not to enjoy. We laughed as the first spear struck the first horse. We laughed as the first rider went cartwheeling into the air to land in a broken pile on the ground, bleeding all over that once pristine grass. We laughed as the first footman took a hoof to the face, crumpling it like a soda can. We laughed as men and women died.
Because we were alive.
Finally.
We shoved the man’s face into the dirt even as he flailed, smashing it against the ground again and again until he went limp. We released his hair and sank back onto our heels, momentarily overcome with exhaustion. Around us lay the bodies of those who’d come to kill us, thinking we were easy prey, their limbs twisted at odd angles, eyes open and staring. Now that we had a moment to ourselves, we realized the sun had nearly set and the sounds of battle had substantially diminished; it had been decided then. We wondered how long before the scavengers would arrive to pick clean the bodies and how many of them we’d have to kill before they left us alone.
But we never got the chance to find out. We rolled on instinct as a spear came flying from our right, narrowly dodging the projectile. Three men on horseback clomped towards us, the nearest having flung the spear. He looked surprised, the way so many of the others had before him. We laughed, welcoming that ecstatic surge of energy that came with putting our life on the line and waved at them—daring them to come closer. They obliged, urging their mounts forward.
We waited for them to close the distance as the others had, to get within our reach, but these men were smarter. They fanned out, coming at us from three directions. Not for the first time, we longed for a weapon of our own; we’d stolen several, but they were all broken or stuck inside someone, now. We searched the ground, but what we needed—one of those long spears—was nowhere to be found. There was a sword sticking out of a man’s chest, but we couldn’t use something like that to bring down men on horseback. Not unless we were prepared to cut out
the horse’s legs from under it, and for some reason, the notion of doing that bothered us more than anything we’d done so far.
We glanced back up to find the three men closing the distance between us. They were fast, and nimble; we looked for a path between them, a way to escape, but knew they’d cut off that route. Turn and run? But no, we knew that wouldn’t work, either. They’d run us down, as tired as we were. Better to go down swinging, we decided.
We shook ourselves and rolled our shoulders, rocking on the balls of our feet. Soon, we told ourselves, eyeing the closest rider. Once he was close, we’d leap, then drag him off his horse as we had some of the others. If we could steal his horse, we might be able to get away. The odds were long, but we’d faced longer, hadn’t we? Hadn’t we?
For some reason, that thought struck me like a hammer.
Wait, why was I here? And where was here?
Too late, I realized now wasn’t the ideal time to be asking myself questions; I watched in growing horror as a man on horseback galloped towards me, arm raised high as if he’d chop me in two, the sword in his hand already stained with blood. I flinched, shying away from the blade, too stunned to get out of the way.
But the blow never fell.
Instead, a monstrous black beast, its flanks covered in runes that glowed like hot coals, emerged from a fog of steam to rip the man right off his horse, dragging the unfortunate animal down in the process. The horse shrieked as it disappeared into that murky fogbank, the sounds of ripping and tearing within enough to give me goosebumps. I backed away, instincts screaming at me to get away from that creature—whatever it had been. It was something about those eyes, I recalled, shuddering. Those amber eyes, the kind that glow in the night, the kind that men built fires to avoid. Eyes that reminded me why we learned to fear the dark.
Salty Dog Page 5