Shadow Queene

by Kate Ristau

  Ciaran dropped his cloak into the mud. “I’ll get the kids.”

  The kids. They were her family, her real one—the one she found when the world turned to fire. They were home. “Thank you,” Áine said. Ciaran looked up at her, and her stomach dropped away. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Me too,” he said. He turned toward Keva. “I’ll stay away from you. I don’t want to do those things. I’ll check on the kids, then I’ll head north. I’ll leave Rashkeen alone.”

  Keva reached out her hand, the Eta swirling on her palm. “Take them,” she said, reaching out. “They will help you.”

  He backed away, snapping his fingers, fire blazing from his hands. “I don’t need them. I’ve got a little magic of my own.”

  He turned and ran up the riverbank for the bridge that would take him over the waters.

  They watched him go, and Tiddy Mun gathered his mists to wave goodbye.

  Áine raised her hand. He didn’t look back. “Safe travels!” she yelled.

  He paused for just a moment on the other side of the river, then took off into the forest.

  Her stomach felt empty, and she was tired. So tired.

  He was gone.

  She was left with her sister and Tiddy Mun and a feeling that she couldn’t shake, that the world was just a little darker, and the light would never come back on again.

  Aetheria—they would head to the castle. They would break through the wards and cross to the other side. She needed to help Hennessy and her father. She had to let Ciaran go.

  But she wished she could help him.

  Keva gasped and nearly fell. Áine spun and grabbed her arm, and Tiddy caught her before she hit the ground.

  “Keva!” Áine said. “What’s wrong?”

  Keva’s hand burned hot as iron.

  “You,” Keva said. “You let them in. You let the Shadowspawn through.”

  “What?” Áine asked.

  Keva ripped her hand away.

  “What is wrong, love?” Tiddy asked as he helped her back to her feet.

  “You used the shadows,” Keva said, staring hard at Áine. “You sliced the barrier between the worlds. I couldn’t see beyond the water and the fire. But now, I know. The Shadowspawn. The unworthy. They’re trying to—” She paused, staring off into the trees beyond the water.

  “Trying to what?” Áine asked.

  “They’re coming,” Keva said.

  Nineteen

  There was a body trapped in the tree.

  Hennessy stumbled back, ripping her hoodie free. The little creature growled, but she hushed it, looking at the next stump. A face gazed back at her longingly. She stumbled forward, and there was another one, mouth open as if it were calling her name.

  “What the hell?” A whole forest of faces. Hundreds of them, thousands. Bodies trapped inside tree trunks, mouths open, eyes pleading. How was it possible? She reached out toward the rough bark of the tree—fingers stretching toward that open mouth—when suddenly, its mouth snapped shut. Dark eyes turned toward hers, and the whispering grew louder.

  “Oh, hell no,” she said, scrambling backward, holding the spear in front of her face. “Nuh-uh. This is not a thing.”

  She looked back toward the darkness, toward all those creatures waiting for her. Hungry creatures. In the dark.

  But the forest—it was filled with light. The trees shone even more brightly from the end of the wooded path.

  Of course, the trees were filled with creepy faces. And people.

  “Shite,” she said, lowering the spear. “Tree people. Of course. It’s like perpetual Halloween down here. Decorations and everything. But at least they’re rooted to the ground.” She pulled on the string of her hoodie, balancing on one foot, taking the weight off her ankle as she stared into the deepening forest.

  The light would grow brighter with every step. She would leave the shadows behind.

  She gave in, moving forward, using her spear like a crutch to take the pain off her ankle. Straight ahead. No eye contact. She kept her arms in and gave the trees more space than a leprechaun on St. Patrick’s Day.

  She tucked the creature closer to her stomach. Puppy. It was easier to think of it as a puppy. A dragon puppy. From the depths of hell.

  Hopefully it didn’t breathe fire.

  She leaned hard on the spear as she splashed through the water and down the path. Her ankle hurt. Really, her everything hurt.

  “Tree people,” she repeated. “And hungry bears. And walking tacos that want to eat your soul. Seriously, this place sucks.”

  At least there was light, and it was getting brighter, and those trees weren’t going anywhere. She tried hard not to look at them, sloshing through the water, squinting, heading toward the bright glow coming from the center of the path.

  The light burned so brightly, she couldn’t see what she was walking toward. After what felt like days in the darkness, her eyes wouldn’t adjust. She was staring into a brilliant green sun.

  The light resolved into a tree trunk—Of course, another tree—stretching up into the sky, branches reaching upward, farther than she could see. It was breathtaking, and the longer she looked, the more colors she saw. It wasn’t just green. A rainbow flashed down its trunk—it glowed from the inside. And all that light and color and beauty spun down from the branches and through the trunk and right before her eyes and into a giant sword, driven straight into its trunk.

  The sword shone silver through the rainbow light. She leaned in close, and could hear a deep hum, vibrating through the tree and down to her feet. She reached out to touch the sword—

  “I would prefer you not do that.”

  Hennessy dropped her hand and limped around to face the voice. Nothing. She searched through the ethereal forest. No one. Just more trees, stretching all the way back into the shadows.

  “Here,” it said.

  She turned around again, tightening her grip on the spear in her hand. “Where?”

  “Right here.”

  A flicker of movement on the trunk of a tree. She stepped away from the shining Christmas tree and moved closer to the voice and the creepy forest. Light flowed from the trunk of the tree in front of her, but it was mostly reflecting the giant rainbow tree behind her. She squinted into the light and saw the shine of the face, eyes, and mouth in the trunk.

  “Damn tree people,” she muttered.

  “Do you mean dryads?” it said. The lips stretched and puckered the bark. “You should not curse them. They are very sensitive. But that does not matter to us. We are not dryads.”

  “Nah,” she said, tapping the spear. “I meant tree people. You all look like tree people.”

  “And you look like a Shadow,” it said. “Which is very unfortunate.”

  Hennessy leaned a hand on her hip. She was done with this bullshit. “And why’s that? You have a problem with Shadows too? You’re a stupid tree.”

  “I do not blow this way or that. The winds of time do not bend my branches, for I took my oath. As long as the Eta remain and the shadows flee from my light, you could be a troll for all I care. You are not my duty.”

  “Who are you?” she asked, staring at the swirl of bark that formed its eyes.

  “Once I was called…they named me…Huon of Bordeaux. But that name is just a memory now. That life is gone. In this moment, at this time, I am here, and that is all that matters.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “To protect the king, of course.”

  Hennessy looked around and scrunched her face up at the tree. “What king?”

  “Oberon.”

  Hennessy tilted her head in confusion. “Oberon is dead. Áine told me.”

  “Death and life are neighbors, are they not? We never travel very far. Sometimes we linger, and sometimes we are called back.”

  Hennessy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t get it. Where is he?”

  “Behind you.”

  Hennessy turned around, but all she saw was the giant tree. “I hate to tel
l you, but that’s just a tree,” she said.

  The whispering stopped, and the forest grew still. “Just—” Huon began. He didn’t finish. His mouth remained open, the words caught in between.

  “What?” Hennessy said. “What are you freaking out about?”

  “You should watch your tongue. Your words are air, but that tree…it is life. The tree is Bel—the shining one. The sacred tree. It is the center of us all. It was chosen by Oberon to connect us, to bring our worlds together. Bel’s trunk is here, but its branches stretch into the Shadowlands, its roots lead into the Aetherlands, and its leaves are scattered in the Fairerlands. It holds the world in its bough, and Oberon sits on its throne, held fast by his silver sword.”

  “This isn’t making any sense,” Hennessy said, tapping her fingers on the spear. “Oberon is dead, but not dead? Because of a tree?”

  “Yes, child. Do you not remember Oberon’s sacrifice? He plunged his sword into his heart—”

  “To create the barriers between the worlds. Yeah, I know. Áine told me.”

  “And here he remains, holding together the worlds and all the crossings between.”

  Hennessy stopped tapping. “The crossings. Does that mean…Can I cross here? Can I go home?” She said the words, but they seemed wrong. “No, not home. Can it take me to Áine—to the Aetherlands?”

  “No, the crossings are blocked by Oberon’s wonder. His sword holds them together but separates us all. You must take another path.”

  “Which one? Where? I’m not going back out there, into the darkness. Have you been out there recently? Things are really falling apart. It’s out-of-control murder time. Those creatures are ravenous. They’re trying to eat me.”

  “You cannot stay here. We have nothing to give you. Nothing to eat. Nothing to drink.”

  “And I can’t go back out there.” The dragon puppy squirmed inside her hoodie, and she rubbed her hand against the fabric. “I’ll die out there.”

  “You will die here as well. Your fate is not very promising.”

  “I’m choosing to ignore that,” Hennessy said. “What are you eating? Can’t you just share?”

  A deep rumble, like a laugh, traveled through Huon’s mouth. “Can you eat the air? Can you drink the Eta? Oberon feeds us through our roots. He protects us with his light. You cannot remain unless you take the oath, unless you vow your life and gift your body to him. Bow your head, kneel before him. Stay and become one of us. Then he will protect you. He will feed you. He will save you.”

  Hennessy backed away slowly, twisting pain in every step. “Nope. No thanks. I don’t need to be a tree. We’re cool. I’m good. I like my body. It’s awesome.”

  “Where will you go?” Huon asked, and the thrumming of the sword grew stronger. “The crossings are warded. The shadows await. You have nothing. No one. Only death and darkness. Remain with us. Make the forest strong with your light.”

  “No thanks,” Hennessy said. “I’ll take my chances.” She pushed a strand of hair from her face. “What’s out there? What’s on the other side of the forest?”

  “Death. And more death. Shadows, and then flames.”

  Hennessy sighed. “Can you be just a little more straightforward? Riddles. Myths. Memories. What are my choices? Do I have any other options?”

  The trees whispered around her, uttering words she couldn’t understand. “There is one who could help you,” Huon said. “A vessel of the shadows. We call him Balor. But he has other names. In other times. He is not always the same. Always, he changes.”

  “Cool,” Hennessy said. “Where can I find him?”

  A long time passed before his mouth moved again. “Your flippancy belies your fear.”

  Huon seemed to be waiting for her response. She focused on the water soaking through her boots. The coolness helped her ankle some. “Okay?”

  A sigh then, like a whistle through the branches of the trees. “You will come back to us. This we know. You will be transformed. But we are not afraid. We do not hide in our fear like the children of the Shadows. We rise in it.”

  “And so do I,” Hennessy said. “Which way to Balor?”

  Tree branches parted and twisted, forming a path that would take her past the rainbow tree and out into the darkness.

  “Through the shadows and into the fire.”

  She took a deep breath and followed the path with her eyes. Already her heart beat against her chest.

  “Why do you linger?” Huon asked.

  “They’re out there,” she mumbled. “Waiting. Hungry. Seven hells, I hate this. I don’t want to fight them.” The image of the first creature she fought rose before her, crying with hunger. She didn’t want to kill it. The dragon puppy whimpered in her pocket. She thought of how terrible it all was. But then she remembered the claws, the teeth, the rage.

  “Then do not,” Huon said. “Embrace them. Become them. Save them.”

  Hennessy shook her head hard. “No. I’m done with saving people,” she said. “I’m gonna save myself.”

  “We all bow to gods we create,” Huon said. “You must kneel before you rise.”

  Hennessy nodded at Huon—saying nothing, meaning nothing.

  She was done. Her arms ached, her head throbbed, and her ankle pulsed. Rest. She wanted to rest. No, she wanted to collapse on the couch and sleep until sometime next week. Or the week after. She had no clue what day it even was anymore.

  But she couldn’t sleep here, and she would never wake up if she didn’t get something to drink soon. She had two choices. Become a tree or walk back into the darkness. And that first choice sounded really dumb.

  Turning, she gripped the spear in her hand and stumbled past Huon.

  “Wait,” Huon said.

  She paused, feet having gone cold in the water.

  “The rule of three is what I give you. I have already given you one and offered you another. Two more I have, but only one I give. Which will it be? The creature in your cloak or the spear in your hand?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Hennessy said. “You really need to be more straightforward.”

  “I need nothing but Oberon.”

  “That seems a little over-the-top. Codependent or something. But if you are giving out fortunes, I want to know about the puppy in my pocket.”

  “Name it,” Huon said. “And it will claim you.”

  That seemed easy enough. She looked down at the spear in her hand. She should have asked.

  “You want to know more of the power you could wield?” Huon asked.

  “Yes,” Hennessy replied.

  “An answer I cannot give, but a question can be yours. Are shadows quarrels? Do they fly true?”

  “Squirrels?” Hennessy asked.

  “Quarrels,” Huon repeated.

  Hennessy shook her head in frustration. “I don’t understand.”

  “Like the creature in your pocket, evil is not always what it seems. Sometimes it is just hunger, desire, and need. Sometimes it is control. Other times it is fear that clenches the fist. Do not judge us all on the failures of one. Even shadows can fly.”

  “Okay,” Hennessy said, nodding. “Name the dragon puppy. I can do that.”

  Huon bowed his head, and all around her, the forest grew quiet.

  “Name the puppy,” she repeated as she hobbled and splashed around the rainbow tree toward the path through the forest.

  She stopped when the light was still bright, and pulled out the dragon puppy, staring down into its scrunched-up face and endless eyes. “What should I name you?” Hennessy asked. “Martin? Gertrude? Hugo? Reese? So many choices, and so many names.”

  She examined the spikes running down its back. “You’re tiny. But you can’t have a tiny name. You’ll grow big and strong, I’m sure. You’re almost kingly. Regal.”

  The dragon puppy tilted its head.

  “How about Rego?” Hennessy said, and the dragon puppy yipped. “Rego it is. You can claim me, and I will claim you. We are ours.”

&
nbsp; She tucked Rego back into her pocket.

  “Name the puppy. That was easy. Now, the hard part. Something about evil. And shadow, then flame.” Her stomach rolled with hunger. “How about cupcakes, then pie?” She reached the edge of the light and stared into the shifting darkness.

  They were waiting for her. She knew it. But she had to go anyway.

  “I wish it were cupcakes and pie.”

  She came out of the last of the forest glow, pulled out her phone, and tapped the flashlight back on. The light created shadows along the path. She slipped quietly through the mud, scanning the hills on each side. The path would be easy to follow, but she was like a sitting duck—or a walking one. “Quack,” she said, then laughed, then covered her mouth.

  She had to stay quiet and move fast. Maybe they didn’t know she had made her way through the forest. Maybe she still had time.

  But really, she was screwed. She lowered her hand from her mouth and shuffled on. The creatures would flood down the hills, and she would stand there, holding up her cell phone and gripping her spear, headed toward Balor—who, by the way, didn’t sound like a super great guy. She could swear she had heard that name before.

  “Balor,” she mumbled. “Ba-lor.” A scary dude. A bunch of fire. It didn’t sound very promising. But maybe he was a tree too. That would be easier. He would be stuck to one spot. Rooted. She could run away.

  But there was fire. And trees didn’t do fire. He probably wasn’t a tree. Of course, trees also didn’t glow green or flash rainbows like some crazy rave in the forest.

  She wished it were just a rave, that these were the shadows before the music started and the lights flashed on.

  The last concert she had been to was the Frames. Tom was supposed to go with her, but he bailed, and she had the best night of her life. Unbelievable. She knew every song by heart, and sang and danced all night, her body rumbling beneath every word. It was the kind of night where magic seemed possible.

  Of course, magic was possible. It just wasn’t anything like she had imagined. It was darker, more powerful, and a lot less beautiful.

  She hadn’t known that then. So she got the T-shirt—the one she was currently wearing—to help her remember. It had cost thirty-five dollars, but she splurged, spending the last of her tip money. She wanted to remember that night, that feeling, that freedom. It still amazed her, this idea that she could feel that alive. That she could be alone but not lonely. That a wave of her arms could move the air around her, playing music on her skin. She bought the T-shirt to never forget the joy of it.