by Kate Ristau
“And taking what the Shadows once had. Eri. The queene. Keva. Who cares? They’re all the same. It doesn’t matter who sits on the throne. Bring the shadows back. Cover up the light. We’ll do this all again in a century.”
Keva’s hands were twitching. “You’re blinded by the darkness.”
“Grandchild—ruler—queene,” Lir said. “Is that what they call you? How quickly ages pass. Look around you. The light has covered your eyes—your Eta burns your senses. We dwell in darkness and shadow here.” Shadows spun out from between the clams, twisting over the shape of Lir’s eyes and slicing through Lir’s mouth. “They wander the waters, but they do not define us. They cannot control us.” The clams snapped shut, and the shadows darted away. “They are barnacles. And the Eta are too. We live with them on our bodies, but we do not feed them our minds. We make our own light here, and shine without the Eta.”
“You hide,” Keva said.
“We don’t hide. And we don’t agree. We simply are—why would we be any other way?”
“Come on,” Ciaran said. “This is a waste of time. There’s nothing for us here.”
Áine stepped forward one last time. “Will you please help us?”
“Help you what? Control the Eta? Fight the shadows? Why? What is the point?”
Frustration rolled over Áine like a wave. It crashed into her. “They’re destroying it! All of them. It’s madness. The shadows darken the Hether, and the Eta light up the Aether. The Fairerlands have fallen. Now, we fight for scraps in the shadows or hide beneath the waves while they take what is ours.”
“The girl,” Lir said. “That is what you mean. The thing you haven’t said. They took her. And you will not say her name. Claim her. Claim your father. Stop acting as if you were fighting for something bigger, and fight for them.”
“Don’t tell me what to do when you won’t even break the surface of the water.”
“You hide behind your virtue. You think because you stand on two feet that you can’t fall? The waves cannot catch you. Death swims beside you. Your girl will live for a moment, yet you would raze it all to the ground to save her.”
“I would,” Áine said. “I would break the worlds apart to find her. Then I would build a city in the ashes.”
“And the blood will flow to the sea,” Lir said. “So, you finally see, don’t you? You understand why we are here?”
“You are cowards!” Áine screamed.
“No, child—”
“Don’t call me that! I’m not your child. I am not your little girl. I am a woman—”
“And I am older than the sun. I swam in the waters before the ground rose up. I watched the Eta spill from the sky and the shadows grow in the night. They fight each other, always, just like the Shadows and the Fey. The water rushes on.”
It was pointless. All of it. It was like arguing with a rock or placing your hopes on a star. In the end, it was all the same—nothing gained. Only time lost, and your face wet, while the world fell apart.
Áine turned to Ondine. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Will you take us above?”
Ondine spun and smiled a wicked smile. “Unless I keep you here.”
Áine didn’t even smile. She wouldn’t play her games. The world balanced on the edge of a cliff, and Ondine laughed into the chasm.
Áine reached up and kicked her legs hard against the water.
“Grandchild,” Lir said, but Áine didn’t listen. “Áine,” Lir repeated, her voice booming through the water, but Áine ignored her. She rose toward the surface, leaving the pale-green light behind. Her sister swam beside her.
She wasn’t going to beg. If Lir couldn’t understand right now, then she never would.
As the shadows disappeared, Ondine shot forward, and Ciaran swam beside her. They stopped just below the water’s surface.
The light of the Eta shone down, sparkling against the water’s edge. “The invitation stands,” Ondine said. “For both of you.” She gestured over at Ciaran. “For all of you. Don’t fight their battles. Don’t waste your youth.”
“We live forever,” Ciaran said.
“Unless you die now,” Ondine said. “And I like you. Do not die. Not unless it’s with me.” She smiled again, her teeth gleaming with dark possibility.
“Thank you,” Ciaran said.
“For what?” Ondine asked.
“For telling us we are going to die,” Ciaran said. “For offering to kill us. It’s very reassuring.”
Ondine sighed, looking down into the deeps; then she turned back to Áine. “The naiads. We will help. If we can. Just come to the water. I don’t care about the rest of your world…but I don’t want you to die for them.”
Áine smiled. “I don’t want to die for them either. I just want to help the kids. Get Hennessy back and help my father find his rest.”
“You’ll need Eri to do it,” Ondine said.
“I won’t,” Áine said.
“Then you’ll need an army.”
Áine sighed. “I know.”
“Safe travels,” Ondine said.
“I’ll see you in the Fairerlands,” Áine replied.
“You won’t,” Ondine whispered. “The Fairerlands are gone.” She swam downward, her tail waving goodbye. They watched her go, then turned and stared up at the surface of the water.
Áine had no idea what was on the other side.
“What did she mean?” Ciaran asked.
“Aetheria.”
“Are you crazy? Take the castle? With what army?”
“With us,” Áine said. “We can do it. Kern is gone. The queene is halfway to the Clearing—”
“No,” Keva said. “The queene goes to the Barrows.”
“Okay,” Áine said. “She’s going to the Barrows. We can beat her there. Get the kids from the dryads, get out, and head for the castle. Aetheria is empty. It’s just the Eta.”
Ciaran laughed. “Just the Eta. Right. That’s like saying we’ll fight the air. Hit the wind. We can’t hold the castle. It’s Aetheria. The Eta form the castle. They spin through the air.”
“And we can stop them,” Áine said. “Come on, Ciaran. We beat the Guardians. You can burn us a path to the castle.”
“But we can’t hold it.”
“We don’t need to hold it. We just need to get to the World Tree. It’s the shortest path to the Hetherlands”
“You heard Keva. We can’t break the wards.”
Áine looked over at her sister. “But she can.”
Fifteen
Hennessy heard them before she saw them. Coming down over the ridge. Crunching and cracking. Bones crushing like gravel beneath their feet in the darkness.
The ground under her own feet had turned to mush—the bones were few and far between down here in the valley. Just mush and mud and wet.
But it was okay. They were far enough away that she still had a chance.
Her foot sunk in, and she pulled it out, a shot of pain rolling up her leg.
“Shite.”
She gritted her teeth and slogged forward, holding the phone out by her feet. “Stupid ankle.” She didn’t have a chance. She just had time. Time to make a plan. Time to prepare for battle. Or time to die.
It was all so dramatic.
Plan. Plan. What was the plan?
Not get killed?
That was a good plan. She liked that one. Actually, no. She wanted explosions. Big ones. Jumping in a SUV—some big American car—and driving straight through those creatures, plowing them up like so much snow. That would be awesome. She would floor it—hit the gas and crash right through them, yelling at them to get off the road. Then she would head to McDonald’s and get a load of chips and a big, disgusting hamburger. Something really ridiculous, with lots of cheese and ketchup, and a Coke. Yeah, the one in the really big cup.
She looked out into the churning darkness and sighed. This wasn’t The Fast and the Furious or James Bond. There weren’t any cars or gas stations or double oh whatevers. It
wasn’t even Mad Max. It was terrible, horrible, and really, really stupid.
A flicker of movement far ahead, just beyond the ridge, then an explosion of sound. Coming on fast. Like they had caught her scent.
“Shite.”
Weapons. She would need more weapons.
She really wished she had a goddamn bouncer like Aaron. She would even take Ciaran. He could light shite up. Sure, she would have to listen to his constant whining and see those puppy dog eyes he kept giving Áine, but at least he would be useful.
Really, she wanted Áine. Someone strong and capable who wouldn’t take any garbage, and who could literally make the ground move beneath her feet. She was amazing. Breathtaking. Gorgeous. And so ridiculously strong.
But instead of a fairy goddess, Hennessy had a creepy bone. And an iPhone.
How was she supposed to fight shadows and monsters? How could she battle death? It was everywhere. The shadows hid behind the rocks, and the monsters charged toward her in the endless night.
She shook her head. Stupid shadows. Dragging her away from Áine. Leaving her in fairy hell. Away from the light. Away from cars and McDonald’s and a stunningly beautiful fairy. Away from everything good. Away.
After everything that had happened—her house blowing up—actually, her entire neighborhood blowing up—she had had that chance within her grasp. She had died, she had come back to life, and she had grabbed onto that thin thread of possibility that she could leave it all behind. That she would escape the Shadowlands and finally find her way to the light and the love and the magic.
But that was all fairytale trash. The Eta didn’t want her.
She clenched the bone in her fist. No one did.
She could still see her brother in the doorway.
“What are you doing?” Collum had asked.
“Nothing,” Hennessy answered, shoving the brochure back in her bag. “When did you get home?”
He reached over and grabbed her bag, then pulled the brochure back out. The swirl of color on the front darkened in his hands. He stared at it for a few moments, eyes narrowing. Her shoulders tensed, and she braced her hand against the table.
He laughed then, thick and hard, and threw it back at her. It slid against her hand and fell to the floor.
“As if you could,” he said. “Are you polluted? You won’t make it in, you know. Why would they want you?”
She reached down, picked up the paper, and carefully placed it back in her bag. “Maybe they will,” she said quietly.
“Nah,” he replied. “They won’t. Why would they? Your fancy paintings? All that color? I could do those with my eyes closed.” He stumbled for the fridge, opened it, and leaned against the door.
“I’m sure you could,” she mumbled.
“I’m sure I could too,” he said. He tapped his hand on the door, then slammed it shut. “You think that just because you got some fancy paint, all the world’s gonna fall in your lap.”
Hennessy reached down for her bag and scooted back her chair.
Collum stepped in front of the door. “I work all day in that goddamn kitchen, and you know what it gets me? A beer. Food. And another day in the kitchen. You’ve been working in that pub because that’s what you’re made for. Carrying pints and taking orders. You ain’t smart, and you ain’t going nowhere. You’re staying right here. You’re taking care of ma, and you’re making me a goddamn sandwich.”
“No,” Hennessy said. For the first time. In a very long time.
She had only had a second before he was across the room. Her world exploded in a flash of light.
Now something snapped in the darkness, and she spun toward the sound, whirling her phone to face the shadows.
The light fell on a charred circle, barren and black, with no bones, no rocks, nothing except one lone skeleton and a long, thin staff driven into the ground beside it.
With a flick of her wrist, she tucked her phone halfway into her pocket so the light shone out. She dropped her bone and sloshed over to the staff, her feet sticking in the mud. When she stepped into the circle, the ground was hard and dry. The skeleton’s fingers wrapped around the base of the staff.
It was metal, glimmering deep and black in the light of the phone. Delicate lines stretched from end to end, like lightning etched in the night sky. One end spun into a circle, beautiful and dark. She reached out her hand and touched it. Cold, so cold. Iron, maybe?
The creatures growled and roared. They were getting closer.
She tightened her grip and pulled—back burning, ankle aching—but the staff was stuck firmly in the soil. She held it in both hands and kicked the base.
Her ankle screamed, but she pushed past it, kicking again and again, hard against her boot heel. Then she leaned back and wrenched hard, quick, and fast, and the staff broke free from the dirt and settled into her hands, half as tall as she was. It was sharp on one end, almost like a spear, with the iron circle blunting the other side. She spun it around, holding out the pointy end.
Did James Bond fight monsters with a giant spear? This seemed a bit more like Resident Evil or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In a pile of mud. With terrible lighting.
She moved slowly from side to side to keep away the shadows. She had enough to deal with at the moment and definitely didn’t need a bunch of creepy-crawly things sucking her up into the air.
Spear raised, she shifted back and forth, waiting.
Then her eyes caught a glimmer of light on the horizon. She squinted, blinking. It couldn’t be. There was nothing out here. Nothing. Just shadows and death. She rubbed her eyes and opened them again. The light remained. Shimmering just beyond her reach. It was real.
Not all darkness. Not all death. There was something more. There was light! And that meant—
She should go. Toward the light. It wasn’t that far. She searched the ridge, and the creatures charged forward through the darkness.
Not now. Not enough time. Slipping and sliding, claws glinting in the glimmer of her flashlight, they flew down the hill toward her.
“You can do this,” she whispered, tightly grasping the spear in front of her. “It’s just like Buffy or something. Or Batman. No—Wonder Woman. You have an invisible airplane. You’re He-Man. Or She-Ra. You have the power. You’ll be fine. You can do this.”
The first creature bounded toward her on four legs, feet launching into the air. She reeled back and slammed it in the face. The creature screeched as a flash of light cracked out of the spear. She clamped down on the spear, spun around, raised her other arm, and crashed into another creature. The force of the blow knocked her to the side, and her ankle gave way beneath her. Another creature sprang onto her in the half light, and she raised her spear just before it leapt on her. It crashed into the spear, screeching in pain. She pushed the spear in deeper and lunged to the side, holding on but trying to get away at the same time. The creature clawed her face, slashing across her skin. She screamed and shoved it back as hard as she could. It took the spear with it, deep in its gut—melting, dissolving.
“No!” Hennessy screamed.
She saw a flash of limbs—more creatures coming. Crawling to her knees, she dove for the spear and grabbed it in her hands like a baseball bat. She pulled her shoulders back, widened her stance, and then swung hard and deep. Her spear collided with the creature’s head, and it exploded to the side, knocking the spear from her hands. A splash of wet crossed her face, and the creature sloshed into the muck. Shadows swarmed over it. She turned her head to see what was coming next, but a huge blackness crashed into her. She stumbled but held her ground, pushing hard and quick. The creature fell backward, and she took off through the mud, snatched the spear, and headed toward the light.
Hit and run. That was the plan. She would smack them as hard as she could. When they fell, she would run ahead, stop, and wait. Then she would hit them again.
She couldn’t run faster than them. But if she took her time, she could make it to the light.
She heard them s
crambling behind her. She stopped, turned around, and raised her spear. Two more; they looked like a melted dog-man and a walking taco. She kicked the first one in the knees, then slammed the spear into its head. It fell on the other creature in a swirl of clawing, flailing limbs, and she took her chance—she ran away. Fast, hard, arms pumping, feet pounding. She headed for the light.
Sixteen
“I refuse,” Keva said. The water swirled around her feet.
“Keva,” Áine said.
“It’s ridiculous,” Ciaran said. “We’ll die. We’re all going to die. Even if Keva has all the Eta in the Aether, the queene will skin us alive.”
“You don’t have to come,” Áine said slowly.
“It’s crazy!” Ciaran said, slicing the water with his hands. “We’ll die for nothing.”
“For her, Ciaran. We are doing it for her. She didn’t have to help us. But she did. And now she needs our help.”
Ciaran reached out and touched her arm. “Áine. Listen to me. We can’t…We have…We need…If we at least had Eri. I mean…the Shadow might be dead.”
“Her name is Hennessy,” Áine said, ripping her arm away from Ciaran. “And even if she is dead, I’m headed to the World Tree.”
“This is suicide, Áine. Why are you doing this? You’re not thinking. We need an army. We need help.”
“Now we need help? You have no idea what we need.”
“Stop being so Oberon-forsaken selfish! Take a second and make a freaking plan.”
“I’m not doing this again, Ciaran. I have a plan. I’m going to the World Tree. With or without you. I’m not going to beg Eri for help. You realize she used us, right? For years. And she never came back for Keva.”
“She couldn’t,” Keva said. “She was—”
“I don’t care why,” Áine snapped. “She didn’t come back. I don’t trust her, and I don’t need her. I can do this myself.”
“You will not,” Keva said. “I will go with you. Yes, that is where I will go. The Eta will follow.”