by Kate Ristau
No matter how much she tried to recreate that feeling, she never got back to it. There was always something else—or someone else. Always so much weight.
The weight had lifted when she was with Áine. For just a moment, she had felt the possibility that the world had better plans for her—that light and life lay just beyond her sight, and that they could be hers. Then the shadows took that away.
She pushed forward, leaning hard on the spear in her hand. She would get through this. If she had to, she would crawl on her hands and knees and make her way back to the kind of magic she wanted to create. With Áine. They would leave the death and the pain behind and use the Eta to build and to discover—to shape and form bigger, better and brighter things. Things she didn’t even have words for yet. Wonder beyond her understanding.
But first—the monsters. Already, she heard the crashing and clomping of the creatures coming over the ridge.
She tucked the phone in her pocket, flashlight facing out. She patted Rego, asleep inside her hoodie, and grabbed the spear in both hands, widening her feet.
Okay. Same plan as before. Hit and run. Head down the path to Balor.
At least now she had a destination.
His name repeated in her head as she raised the spear and the creatures flooded toward her.
“Ba-lor,” she said out loud. “Ba-lor.”
Then, the light went out.
Twenty
“We need to go,” Keva said.
“Who?” Áine asked. “I don’t understand. Who is coming?”
“The Shadowspawn,” Keva said. “And the Queenesguard. They are all coming.”
“Okay,” Áine said. “I don’t know about the Shadowspawn, but we can handle the Queenesguard. We’ll fight them. We’ll finish this now. We don’t have to run anymore.”
Keva’s eyes sparkled as she turned from the water. “They bring the Dullahan.”
Tiddy Mun laughed. The sound was like the sky breaking open for the rain. “The Dullahan. Of course. You can’t fight her. Her horses are like the wind, and her carriage turns the countryside to flames. She carries her head under her arm. Her mouth is a grin that stretches from ear to ear. When she stops, when she calls out your name, you will die.”
Áine’s mouth went dry. “Who knows what name she will call. It could be Tiddy Mun. It could be Titania.”
“I cannot see it,” Keva said. “I do not know. She is hidden behind the fire and the flames. I cannot fight her.” The Eta in her hands blazed. “This is not part of the plan! She shall not do this. I will not let her.”
“How can we stop her?” Áine asked.
“We cannot,” Tiddy Mun said, spinning his mists through the air.
“We can,” Keva said. “And we will. The Dullahan needs a life. If she calls your name, I will not let her take you. She wants a soul. We will give her one.”
Tiddy stopped swirling.
“Whose life?” Áine said slowly.
“It does not matter. It is all the same.”
“No,” Áine said slowly. “It’s not. Is she going to call my name?”
Keva looked at her, but her eyes were somewhere else. She was seeing possibilities, other worlds and other ways. “There is so much you do not know, Áine.”
“I know what’s right. No one gives their life up for me. That’s my choice.”
“We have few real choices,” Keva said. Her eyes came back, and she looked down at Áine with a sad smile. “But we can make our plans. And we can fight, if we need to. Few will stand before us. The queene has come to bow her head to me. Yet, she brings the Dullahan to stop you. We will show her another way. She will stand beside us when the shadows come.”
“No,” Áine said. It was starting to make sense. She could see a clearer path. “We need to go. Now. We won’t face them here. We need gold.”
Tiddy Mun swirled around her. “You Shadows are all the same. Gold and goods and—”
“To ward off the Dullahan,” Áine interrupted. “We need gold. And maybe a bit of silver. But mostly gold.”
“It will not work,” Tiddy Mun said. “That’s just a story. A myth.”
“It might,” Áine said. And it might buy them a bit more time.
But that wasn’t all they would need. If they were going to fight off the queene and the Queenesguard and the Dullahan and maybe even Tiddy Mun in the end, they needed more help. “We need Eri,” she said.
It was hard to say, but she didn’t have much time. She needed every distraction she could get. And Eri, if anything, was a gigantic distraction.
“Yes,” Keva said. “We do.”
Áine understood what Keva meant. She shook her head hard. “No. She won’t be your sacrifice.”
“She does not need to be. She will give us the time we need.”
“Time,” Tiddy Mun repeated. “We have all the time in the world. We are immortal.” Tiddy disappeared, then reappeared directly in front of Áine. “Except you. You’ve pushed the Eta out. You will die.”
Áine splashed her hand through Tiddy Mun. “I will,” Áine said, her heart pounding in her chest. “But not now. And not yet.”
Tiddy Mun re-formed beside her. “Soon,” he said.
Áine bit back her anger. “Will you take us?” she asked instead of yelling at him. “We need to cross Fachan’s orchard, but we don’t have enough time for his games. The Dullahan rides fast. She will tear us apart.” She could already see the Dullahan’s head swinging from her hand, her neck gleaming red in the glinting light, her mouth like an open maw, collapsing into darkness, calling Áine’s name.
She shook the image out of her head, and Tiddy Mun disappeared.
“Stop it” she snapped. “We don’t have time for this.”
The mist swirled around them, then suddenly pulled tight against an oak. Tiddy Mun leaned against the tree, his gray skin shifting and slipping in the gentle breeze. “You don’t have time.”
“Shohana,” Keva said.
Tiddy Mun bowed his head. “Eloeena,” he replied. “I’ll take you.”
“Thank you,” Áine said.
“Don’t thank me until you’ve heard my price.”
“Of course,” Áine said. “It’s not just us always asking for goods and gold and gods know what else. What do you want?”
“Never ask a fairy what they want,” he said, spinning and stretching his mists between his fingers. “You may not like the answer.”
“Can you take us?” Áine asked again.
“Yes.”
Áine gave up. “What is the price?”
“A lock of your hair.”
“Stop being a creeper.”
He smirked and pushed off the tree. “Fine. I won’t ask much. Just this: when the Dullahan comes, I want her”—he threw a hand over at Keva—“far from her call.” His gesture was nonchalant, but his eyes were intense as he watched Keva from his spot by the tree.
“Why?” Áine asked.
The queene’s trumpets sounded, and Tiddy Mun raised an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”
“That’s her choice. Keva? What do you want to do?”
Keva bowed her head. “So shall it be. There are other battles.”
Áine stepped up next to Tiddy. “Just don’t do anything weird, okay?” He stretched out his hand to Keva and she took it. “Please,” Áine said, and then her breath was sucked from her body.
Twenty-One
“No,” Hennessy whispered, pulling the phone out of her pocket. She tapped it hard. Nothing happened. “Shite. Come on, battery.” She pushed the buttons on the side, but the phone stayed dark. She couldn’t even see it in front of her face. Pitch dark. The light was gone.
And she could smell them coming.
She shoved the phone back into her pocket. “Okay, okay.” She tucked Rego in close and stumbled to the side to confuse the creatures, then dug in her feet. Wonder Woman. That’s who she was. She could do anything. She didn’t need a lasso—she had her spear of truth.
Sure, i
t sounded dumb. But that didn’t matter. It was real. This wasn’t just a comic book—this was a real fight to the death.
She was screwed. But she wasn’t giving up.
She would fight off all the creatures and all the shadows and anyone and anything who came anywhere near her. They weren’t taking her. Not again. Not this time. Sure, there was no light. Sure, she couldn’t see them at all. Sure they had gigantic claws and terrible teeth. And sure, she was fighting with a fancy stick. But she bent her knees, bit back the pain, and clenched the spear—she knew what she had to do.
They roared in the darkness and thundered toward her. She held back until she felt the heat of their breath on her face, then she snapped the spear down. It cracked into a creature with a spark of light, and she shifted to the side. She raised the spear again, but a claw slashed into her thigh. She shook it away, her heel connecting hard. She tripped but stayed on her feet, her ankle barely holding her up.
She held up the spear anyway.
She couldn’t run—she couldn’t even see them. Her ankle was gone. They barreled toward her, claws crunching and crushing, like an army coming down the ridge, drawn to the scent, drawn to the battle, drawn to the death.
This is it.
She thought of all the times she had been afraid. All the times she had run down the hill or cowered behind her bedroom door. She thought about that fear, that panic, that dread, but she didn’t feel it. Not anymore. It was just a memory. Gone. All those humans—those boys—they didn’t matter – they had nothing on these monsters and their slippery shadows.
They were going to kill her.
They had pulled her into the Hetherlands. They had taken her from the light. They had destroyed so much.
And she was angry.
Angry that she had come so close to the other side—so close to the light and the life and the magic—and they had pulled her back from the veil and dragged her into the darkness.
“Come on, you bastards. You’ll have to do better than that.”
A beast crashed into her and she fell backward, breaking her fall with one hand. She cried out as she hit the ground, and Rego clawed his way out of her pocket. She rolled into a crouch, feeling for him on the ground. “Get back here, Rego!” she yelled. Rego growled, then yipped. Hennessy reached for him, but his yip grew louder, turning from a bark into a roar. Something smashed and shattered in front of her. Hennessy ducked and swung the spear. It cut through the air, connecting with nothing, and then the creature plowed into her. She fell into another beast, all scrambling legs and slashing claws. A screaming pain tore through her shoulder. Teeth or claws—she didn’t know. But it held on and tore into her. She struggled to get away, but then its arms were around her, lifting her up; she felt its meaty breath on her face.
Then another creature crashed into them, and she was thrown loose, tossed away, flying into the air. She gasped and stiffened, waiting for the fall.
But she didn’t land.
The shadows wrapped around her, coiling tightly around her arms and legs, lifting her high into the air. Rego barked below her, struggling and scrambling, then roared in pain.
“Rego,” she groaned and tried to fight the shadows. She pushed them from her arms, kicked them from her legs, but they held on. Tight and spinning around and around her, they had her wrapped in a cocoon, and her head felt heavy, so heavy, and her ankle screamed, and her shoulder was a ring of stabbing pain, and she could feel the blood spilling down her back, and she couldn’t do it anymore. She had nothing left. She was done.
She collapsed into them.
“Invisible airplane,” she whispered; then her head went heavy, her eyes slipped shut, and the world disappeared.
Twenty-Two
Áine spun into the air, the water whipping her clothes against her body and pulsing against her ears. For a second, she was soaked, but then the wind whipped her dry, lashing her face. When Keva flashed by her, she tried to grab her hand, but the wind ripped her arm and forced it back against her.
“Stop it, Tiddy!” Water splashed into her mouth. She coughed and bent her head to wipe the water from her face, then gave in and closed her eyes.
The water washed over her. Tiddy Mun would get them there, or he wouldn’t. She had to trust in something. And if she couldn’t trust Tiddy, she could at least trust his strange fascination with her sister.
But trust had always been impossible with Tiddy. He was wildly unpredictable. One day, he would be a tornado. The next day, the rain.
Growing up, he would play their games—swim with the naiads and dance in the fairy ring—but he always had something wild, something strange in his eyes that held Áine back. Aunt Eri had warned her about him, and even Ratrael had shot her a glance when they danced in the fairy ring. Tiddy’s arms held her too tightly, and the Eta glimmered on his skin like a constellation. He was funny and strong and—
She fell to the ground, and the water hung in the air for a moment, and then splashed on her head.
She was totally drenched. Her shirt stuck to her back and the pantaloons—no, pants—that Hennessy had given her—
The moment flashed through her mind. Sitting on Hennessy’s bed. Waiting for her to come back. Waiting for what would come next. Not knowing. Not understanding. But trusting that things could be okay.
That was gone now.
Now, she knew too much. Hennessy was gone, and everything had changed.
“Looks like you got a little wet,” Tiddy Mun said.
“Not funny, Tiddy,” she said, wiping the water and her hair out of her face.
Someone giggled. “I think it was really funny.”
Áine pulled her hair back and looked up. When she raised her eyes, she saw them.
The Barrows children. Minka. Rashkeen. Saroo.
Three dark faces shining back at her. Brownies, grown tall in the Barrows, ready to play.
They fell on top of her, laughing and giggling. She squeezed their hands, their faces, and they squealed and squirmed against her.
“What are you doing here?” Áine said. “Ciaran said you were with the dryads.”
“We were,” Rashkeen said.
“But Auntie came to get us,” Saroo added.
“She is so mad,” Rashkeen said, rising to her feet. She wiped off her skirt and looked at Áine knowingly. “You are in so much trouble.”
Áine wanted to reach out and pull her back in. Already, she was so big. So strong.
“She says you so much not good,” Saroo added, her face a mask of seriousness.
“And she said the dryads gave us too many saffie cakes,” Minka said with a smile, revealing a row of glinting red teeth.
Áine tapped her nose. “I could have guessed that from your teeth, my sweet.”
“Who’s she?” Saroo asked, peering up at Keva.
“Look at her hair,” Minka said, pointing at the darkness slicing through the auburn wave.
“She looks like you,” Rashkeen said slowly.
“But she doesn’t,” Minka added.
“She’s so old!” Saroo said, then broke into a giggle.
“Hush now,” Áine said. “She’s not that old. Well, she was. But it doesn’t matter. She’s fine.”
“Who is she?” Saroo asked again.
Áine smiled and took Keva’s hand. “She’s my sister.”
Keva nodded her head and smiled too. “I am Keva.”
“Keva.” Eri’s voice broke through the Barrows children, and they went running back to her.
“She’s so beautiful, Auntie!” Minka said. “Can we keep her? Where did she come from? Is she from Aetheria?”
“No,” Áine said, her eyes trained on Eri’s face. “She’s not. She’s from the Shadowlands. But you knew that, didn’t you, Eri?”
Eri’s face was flat and dark, but the corner of her mouth twitched up. “I’m glad you’re home, Áine,” she said quietly. “I’m glad you’re both home.”
“Come on, girls,” Rashkeen said. “Let’s head ba
ck inside.”
“But I want to hear,” Minka complained. “Why is Áine so mad?”
“You know,” Rashkeen said, “I think I have a few more of the dryad’s saffron cakes inside.”
“Hurá!” Saroo said.
“I love this day,” Minka shouted, heading for the cottage.
Rashkeen followed behind them, nodding to Áine as she closed the door.
Áine spun toward Eri. “You’re unbelievable,” she said. “You left her! All those years ago! You left her to Creed, and to the queene, and—”
“Shh,” Keva said, touching Áine’s arm. The Eta jumped from her skin onto Áine’s shirt.
Áine wiped them away. “No, Keva. You don’t understand. It could have been better. So much better. You could have been safe here. With us.”
She glared up into Eri’s eyes and saw a flash of scarlet there against her dark skin. Creed’s words came crashing back to her. Leanán sídhe—a soul sucker. “No,” Áine whispered. “Not safe. We were never safe here. All those years. What did you do to us? What have you done?”
Eri’s brow furrowed, and she reached out a hand. “I’ve only ever cared for you, Áine. You and Ciaran and all the Barrows children. You are everything to me. You have always been.”
“You lied to us. You never told me about Keva. You never told us what you are!”
Keva reached out her hand again, and Áine pulled away from her. She wasn’t going to let this go. Not anymore. Eri had kept her secrets for long enough.
But her voice trailed away as she stared into Eri’s eyes. She couldn’t hide the darkness there. It pulsed along with Áine’s heartbeat. Eri was full of it—was full of her. “What did you do to me?”
“I saved you,” Eri said, her voice gentle, pleading. “I saved you from them. Creed and the queene. They were stealing her Eta. You don’t understand. Niamh. Your mother. When she was hiding in the Aetherlands with your bastard of a father, they were draining her every single day.”