by Kate Ristau
That was the problem—the Eta were gone. The life. The light.
“The light,” she whispered. “Light.”
The shadows pulled taut suddenly, and she relaxed into them, letting her mind float away. They pulled her forward as she settled into the memory of sun—endless summer days with the sun shining down on Galway Bay—and the power tucked into her back pocket.
Eight
Panting, coming from behind her. Ciaran. Áine couldn’t see him in the fog, but she knew the sound of his labored breath. She sprinted through the whiteout, crashing through the forest. The air was soaked with water, burning her lungs. But Tiddy couldn’t be too far away. His mists only spread so far.
“Stop it, Tiddy!” she yelled. “You know I’m faster than you!”
The mists shot forward, pulling in, then spreading out, revealing Keva, swirling up the path. Tiddy’s face leered above them. “Are you?” he asked; then he laughed, high and sharp. He shot toward Keva and lifted her up, up, up into the air, high above the trees.
“Come on!” Áine yelled. She ran to the spot where they had been moments before, but they were already high above her head, flying into the forest canopy. “Let her go!” Áine screamed.
He laughed again, a sprinkle of rain falling on Áine's face and dripping down into her eyes. Her skin grew cold. No. He couldn’t take her.
Ciaran stumbled toward her. “What is he doing?”
Tiddy raised Keva beyond the leaves, up into the sky.
“He’s taking her,” Áine said quietly.
“Where?” he asked.
“The Clearing.” Tiddy’s words fell like a weight through the sky, as if that were the only possibility, the only path that made any sense. “The Clearing,” he whispered again, and his voice dissipated. The mists dissolved.
“Cra,” Áine said.
The sun shone, the path was clear, and they were all alone.
“Cra,” Áine repeated.
“Let’s go,” Ciaran said. He nudged her shoulder and took off down the forest path.
“Cra!” Áine screamed, and she broke into a run. She passed Ciaran in a moment, and he had to sprint to keep up with her.
“What are you doing? She’ll be fine. It’s just Tiddy.”
The Eta gathered around her feet, and she sliced through them with each stride. “I should have known he would do something like this.”
“It’s fine,” Ciaran said. “We’ll meet him in the Clearing.”
“It’s not fine!” She ran even faster. “We have to do something! We can’t just let him take her.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Ciaran asked, panting beside her. “He’s mist. He’s fog. He’s air. How are we going to fight him?”
The trees flashed by, and Áine’s mind spun. “I’ll think of something.”
“Why did Keva let him take her? Why didn’t she do anything?”
“She’s not stupid, Ciaran. You’ve seen her. She’s making a choice. And something is happening to her.”
“She’s too open,” Ciaran said, holding his side as they ran forward. “They are flocking to her. Flooding her. She’s like a vessel—”
Áine laughed and ran even faster. “A vessel? Really?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, who even is she? She’s been under for so long. Where was she? How did she survive that? She’s like a little child, but she’s not. She listens. She understands. She knows so much. But can she think on her own? Feel on her own?”
Áine ran harder, and Ciaran struggled to keep up. She didn’t want his questions.
Yes, the Eta were taking over, exploding inside of Keva. She couldn’t stop them. They fell from her fingertips and twirled in her hair.
But why would she want to stop them? Keva loved the Eta. They lit up inside of her—filled her with life.
“She has only felt fire,” Áine said. “Pain. Her whole life. Why would she want anything else? Why would she hold them back? Why would she stop them?”
Ciaran huffed beside her, all of his replies disappearing with each wheezing breath.
Áine’s feet pounded forward, pushing on. Ciaran was lagging behind. With a burst of speed, she jumped over the Pale Stream.
The waters were still and quiet. Everyone departed.
“Where did they go?” Áine asked.
Ciaran splashed through the stream behind her. “I don’t know.”
“I think it’s the Eta,” Áine said. “I mean, Keva was covered in them.” She looked at the maple trees as she passed. “But everything is darker here.”
She slowed for a moment, staring at a deep-brown tree trunk. “The Eta are gone.”
“They’re not all gone yet,” Ciaran said. He pointed up the path. “But they are leaving.”
“Where?” Áine said, her stomach dropping.
Ciaran’s hands were on his knees, his breath ragged and fast. “I think the Clearing. I think they’re all going.”
The Clearing.
The sparkle faded further up the path. Áine touched the trunk of the tree. It was lifeless—the Eta absent. It wasn’t just Tiddy taking Keva. It was the Eta, spiriting her away. What did they want?
She needed to figure out what was happening—needed to be prepared for the Clearing.
No. What she needed was her sister.
She ran harder, as fast as her feet could take her.
“Slow down, Áine,” Ciaran yelled from behind her.
“No,” Áine said. “Meet me at the Clearing.”
She dashed down the path and through the forest. Tree branches smacked her face, and she stumbled over roots as she broke through the undergrowth. First Hennessy, and now Keva. She wouldn’t let it happen. She was getting them both back.
She jumped over logs, taking the shortcut toward the Clearing. When she sloshed through the mud, the pixies landed on her shoulders. She brushed them off. The Clearing. Before she lost her sister. Again.
She wouldn’t lose her again.
The ivy reached up and grabbed her ankle. She twisted, tumbled, and crawled away, kicking at the reaching vines. They shot back toward her.
“Sela,” she whispered, slowing to a stop. “Sela.” She ran a hand down the ivy, soothing it, even as her lip trembled. She was running out of time. She would lose Keva too.
“I’m sorry,” she said to the ivy. “Sorry. I’m following Keva. My sister. Have you seen her?”
The ivy stretched up to the sky.
“Yes. Tiddy took her. I need to get her back.”
The ivy slowly unwound from her ankle.
“Thank you,” she said. She rose to make her way forward again, but the ivy climbed up to the sky, blocking her path.
“Please. I need to go that way.”
It rippled around her, rising to form a solid wall of green, then opening to the right, making a path down toward the river, along the edge of the forest.
“Fine,” she said, knowing she could run along the bank at the forest edge until she made her way into the Clearing. “As you will.”
She followed the trail of ivy, which shifted and parted beneath her feet. The forest opened up, and she splashed into the water, smiling. She would rather be in the water than the stupid forest anyway. Dumb ivy. Stupid plants. The waves gathered around her, and the Clearing was just up the bend.
Her feet sank into the river mud, and she sloshed under the willow’s creeping branches. The water soaked her legs, cool and clean.
“Where are you going?”
Soft voice. Smooth. Silk, and death. Ondine.
Áine took a deep breath. “To the Clearing,” she said slowly.
Ondine swam up on her right, a trail of fins behind her. The naiads followed in her wake. The mud sucked at Áine’s feet, and she slogged forward, but she didn’t stop.
“We’re going too,” Ondine said.
“You are?” Áine asked.
“Yes. Everyone is.”
The water sloshed against her shins, and she slowed to watch the flip of Ondine’s tail. The splash of
water. She forced her eyes shut and pushed her feet forward along the bank. She remembered Ondine’s hands dragging her into the deeps. The flood of water. The overwhelming desire and the ache in her lungs. She took a deeper breath and looked toward the bend. She couldn’t get pulled under. Not now. The Clearing.
“Why are you going?” Áine asked.
“The Call. Can’t you feel it? It’s in the air above us, swirling around, calling and calling, singing its song, just like us, beckoning, traveling through the wind above, but not below. Never below. Not in the dirt and the water. That is not where the Eta belong. They are creatures of the air. We are the deeps. But still, we will listen. We will come. We will hear. Then, we will do as we always do.”
Áine stopped, closed her eyes, and felt the air around her. It was empty. No pull. No call. Not even a whisper of wind.
“Silly Shadow,” Ondine said. “They’re not calling you. They don’t want you.”
Áine opened her eyes. “I’m going anyway. They can’t stop me.”
Ondine giggled and flipped her tail. “They can’t. And there is joy in that, isn’t there?” Ondine swam on, head above the water, her sisters underneath. The Eta pulled them forward but flowed right past Áine. No whisper against her skin. No shine against the backs of her eyes. Nothing.
At the bend, the naiads crawled across the sandbar, slithering through the sand and digging their hands into the mud. They jerked and lurched, fingernails scraping and clawing, then splashed into the water on the other side. When they came back up, they were each holding a lily in their scaly hands. They swam to the shore and rose to their full height, water splashing and dripping down onto Áine’s feet.
“A gift,” Ondine said, holding a lily out to Áine.
“A gift,” her sisters repeated, holding up lilies of their own.
Áine stilled. “Why do I want a gift from you?”
Ondine wrapped the lily in her own hair, trailing the roots down her breasts and then running it across her lips. “A water lily,” she said. “A gift freely given. It helps you breathe underwater.”
Áine stared at the pink flower as Ondine’s sisters repeated her words.
“What do I need it for?”
“To breathe,” Ondine said.
“To breathe,” her sisters repeated.
“When you leave the air behind you.”
Her sisters’ words floated toward Áine with the lilies they kissed and slid toward her. They smiled, each in turn, then swam around the bend.
Áine watched the flip of their tails, then wrapped the lilies around her neck and followed them.
“You do not need to fear us,” Ondine said, unwrapping the lily from around her neck and floating it toward Áine. “If you have your precious air, you need not be frightened.”
Áine wrapped the lily around her neck and continued around the bend. “It’s not just the air. It’s everything else. You have no hope. No fear. No morality. Nothing matters to you.”
“We have what we need. The river flows, and so do we. Life is different under the water. We do not need your fear.”
“Aren’t you afraid of death? Of losing what you love?”
“Why would I be afraid?” Ondine’s tail slid against her leg. “When I die, I join the water. I flow over my sisters. I feed the fish—my friends. Death? There is no death. Life moves on, no matter what. It only matters if you move with it.”
Áine shook her head softly. “If that’s true, then life is worthless. Nothing matters, and we’re no better than the fire fey or the kelpies—”
Ondine whipped her tail, spinning toward Áine. “You are no better. Why would you think you were? At least I can trust the kelpies—”
“What are you talking about? The kelpies are murderers. They’ve killed the fey for centuries—lured us in and pulled us under. Drowned us. At least you offer something with your siren call. They only offer death.”
“They offer you the ride down into the deeps. It’s not always death beneath the waves.”
Áine stopped, staring at Ondine, trying to understand what she meant. But Ondine only winked, flashed her tail, and dove under. Áine ran her hands over the water lily around her neck, and Ondine emerged from the water to swim beside her again.
“Even if it were only death, who are you to hold them back? The fey live forever—”
“Until they sail for the Fairerlands.”
“Yes,” Ondine said. “Of course. Light and love and a brighter world. I won’t ruin that dream for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“The only way to the Fairerlands is by the silver boats or slicing fins, through the Merrows Crossing.” She flashed her tail at Áine. “You should go there sometime. You should see what I’ve seen.”
Áine realized with a start that the world had gone quiet. The waters had stilled. The Eta hung on the edge of Ondine’s breath. “What have you seen?” Áine asked slowly.
“I’ve seen what death looks like. I’ve seen your light.”
The rest of Ondine’s words were lost in the rise of voices coming from the Clearing. Áine looked toward the break in the trees, then back at Ondine. “Please,” she said. “Wait for me. After. We need to talk.”
“We do,” Ondine said. She dove under the water and came back up, splashing water into Áine’s face. Áine rubbed her eyes, and Ondine laughed. “Let it drip,” she said. “A little water will do wonders for you.”
Áine stepped onto the muddy beach and made her way toward the riverbank.
They were gathering in the Clearing. There hadn’t been a Call in a thousand years, not since the Fields of Raswee ran red. Fey and Shadows. The blood had called them then. The light called them now.
Ondine had said the Eta were pulling them toward the Clearing, but nothing dragged Áine toward the riverbank. No wind, no light for her—she felt nothing but the water dripping down her face.
The voices grew louder, and Áine’s stomach twisted. No Shadows here, only fey. The Eta had called the naiads, the pixies, and even the kelpies—they would wait in the Shallows. Half the Aetherlands would be in the Clearing, and the Eta would be crawling everywhere.
She squared her shoulders. She was walking straight into the hands of the Eta, and she was getting her sister back, no matter what she needed to do. She would light the Clearing on fire. She would tear down the forest and throw kindling on the flames. Rescue Keva. Set her free.
Then she would head back to the riverbank. She would find Ciaran and help the kids, and then she would head to the Cedar Crossing. She would figure out how to get to Hennessy.
Aetheria was too far. She would cross before the brightening. The cedars were closer, the crossing just on the other side of the forest.
She ran over the plan in her head. It was the worst plan. It was the best plan. It was the only plan.
She didn’t have surprise on her side. She would have to grab Keva and break away. Say sorry, and convince her later.
When she dug her hands into the riverbank, she pulled the grass up by the roots. Her feet slipped on the sandy embankment, but she dug in and pushed up and over the side, landing on her stomach. She jumped up and headed through the break in the trees.
When she stepped through, all her plans fell apart.
Nine
Slowly, Hennessy moved her hand to her back pocket. The shadows loosened around her, sliding gently between her fingers.
She could feel the fear trickle down her arms and into her hands. Her heart punched against her chest, and her mouth went dry.
“You have to stop doing this,” Nana had said, wiping the blood from her hand.
“It’s not my fault,” Hennessy said. “They chased me all the way to Dromineer. I fell down. I hurt my knee.”
“You’ll hurt more than your knee next time,” Nana said. Hennessy scooted back on the table, and Nana pulled up her pant leg.
Nana shook her head, dabbing the blood with her cloth and her alcohol. Hennessy winced and bit her lip, but
she held it in—she had cried enough.
Nana pulled the pant leg back down. “You need to stop using your feet and start using your head.”
“Why? I can run faster than them,” Hennessy said, sitting up a little straighter. “I almost made it.”
“But then you didn’t,” Nana said.
Hennessy’s face scrunched up, and she couldn’t stop the tears this time. They slid down her cheeks. “I didn’t,” she said, hiding her face in her hands.
“Oh, gariníon, you are so fast.” She pulled Hennessy’s face up to hers. “You run as fast as Gráinne with Finn Mac Cumhaill on her heels.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “But you’re better than her. You don’t need to run when you have a head on your shoulders and a brain in there too.” She tapped Hennessy’s cheek. “You don’t need to run,” she repeated. “You need to stop them—make them not want to chase you. Outsmart them like the little leprechaun you are.”
Hennessy jumped down off the table. “You could just pick me up, you know.”
“Sure look it,” Nana said dismissively. “But I won’t always be there to do that. And your brother won’t be no help neither, and your ma’s in a bad way. It’s you, a chuisle.”
It was always Hennessy, always had been. And when Nana died, she was really on her own, running or hiding or finding another way around it all.
She had never hit anyone. Not until Áine and those boys made her so mad. Wankers. Disgusting and drunk. It felt good to stop them. To at least do that one thing right.
But now she was fighting shadows. She was swinging at the air. She had to think. She had to be better than she was.
Slowly, she wet her lips and pushed her fingers into her pocket.
Cool plastic. Smooth glass. Her fingers wrapped around her phone.
She grasped the phone in her hand, focusing on the feel of the plastic against her skin as her head went light.
It felt like that when they hit her. It felt like pain and fear and waiting. It felt like the edge of a tornado, waiting for the storm.
But it never felt like power. Not until now.
She took a deep breath and let it out, her finger hovering over the raised circle.