The Dark Beloved

by Helen Falconer

  The fish drew cautiously closer, circling him, a glittering aura.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was simple. She could do this. First she had to turn the boat, drive it against the current through the long tunnel, then bring Carla up the staircase to the surface world, carefully noting every twist and turn. The way would be open for them – she had broken the magic that had held the tomb door closed.

  And then . . . back down . . .

  The whole journey might take three, four hours . . .

  I’m so sorry, Shay. As soon as I’ve sent Carla safely home, I’m coming to save you. I swear. Somehow, somehow, I’m going to save you, Shay . . .

  Carla, sitting on the seat just behind her, asked anxiously, ‘What are you doing now?’

  ‘Ssh, let me concentrate.’ Aoife was crouching in the prow of the boat, one hand on the carved neck of the cooshee figurehead, the fingertips of the other hand pressed to her forehead. ‘I’m turning the boat round to take you home. It’s one of my powers.’

  ‘You have powers? Oh, sorry . . .’ Carla’s voice dropped from astonished squeak to humble apology. ‘Of course you do. You told me. Sorry. Still adjusting.’

  Yet when Aoife looked up, the boat was travelling in the same direction as before, at the same steady pace, towards the far end of the lake where oak forests ran down to the glittering water. ‘Hey!’ She slapped the side of the boat, hard. ‘Turn round!’ The craft quivered as if annoyed, and simply sped up, leaving a deeper v-shaped wake behind them. Aoife slapped it again, much harder. ‘Turn round! Ah, that’s better . . .’ The boat was finally paying attention, swinging in a wide, leisurely arc, sending a criss-cross of bright ripples across the shining water. But before completing the circle it stopped turning, and headed straight for the forested bank. ‘Whoa – wait, stop!’

  Ignoring her, the cooshee craft plunged on between the trees – down a hidden dimpled waterway, where gold-green branches arched across the water. The speed of their going pushed their wake up over the weedy rocks, wetting the tangled roots of trees. In impotent fury, Aoife beat on the back of the cooshee’s carved, curved neck. ‘Stop! Stop!’ The cooshee thrust its head forward very slightly, elongating its neck, as the deep oak forests rushed past on either side, taking them further and further away from the limestone city.

  With a groan, Aoife leaned her forehead against the figurehead, and closed her eyes.

  OK.

  OK.

  So the boat was not under her control. But at least it was heading for Falias. In that case she would have to get Carla home from there, through the queen’s pool, under the hawthorns that crowned her mother’s tower. Where Dorocha walked the crystal balconies, gazing out over golden days and velvet nights . . . Waiting for his sweet demon to be done, and Shay’s heart to be broken beyond salvation . . .

  But she had the upper hand. She was here without Dorocha’s knowledge. She had the advantage of surprise. She was going to save Shay. And she was going to get Carla home. She could do this . . . She could. (But oh, the stupid, cruel mistakes she had already made. Abandoning Shay, when she should have known he would never leave her unless a spell had been cast on him. Breaking the magic charm on the tomb door, and never imagining her best friend would have the courage to open it and follow her down.)

  ‘Aoife?’ Carla was beginning to sound scared again. ‘Did your powers not work?’

  Aoife groaned, and pressed her cheek to the cooshee’s neck, trying to take comfort from the painted fur, as if it were one of her living dogs – the ones she’d had to leave in the zoo after they had followed her to Falias. ‘I’m so sorry. I guess my powers aren’t as strong as I thought they were.’

  ‘Oh God . . . Then where are we going – do you know?’

  ‘Mícheál told me the boat knows its own way back to the only proper city here, so I guess that’s where it’s going. I promise I’ll get you home from there instead.’ Although how was she going to get Carla to the queen’s pool while Dorocha was in her mother’s chambers? Every road I need to take lies through him. He threatens everything I love. My powers aren’t as strong as I thought they were. A deep sob was forming in her chest; she swallowed furiously, and choked out, ‘I’m so sorry this is taking so long.’

  Carla said in a quavering voice, ‘It’s OK – we’ve got a bit of time before Mam hits the panic button – she’s at Nan’s overnight and tomorrow is Sunday and she’ll think I’m still with you . . . Which I am, of course. And Dad’s working in England for the whole week. What time is it anyway?’ She checked her mobile, pulling it out of her jacket, which was bundled on the seat beside her. ‘Oh, I broke my phone when I fell. You?’

  ‘Out of charge. Carla, about the time . . .’

  Catching Aoife’s anxious tone, the girl looked up sharply – her brown eyes widened and she hit her palm off her forehead. ‘Crap. Don’t say it. I know what you’re going to say because of course you’ve already told me, I just didn’t listen. Time goes ten times faster in the human world than down here . . . Crap.’ Automatically, Carla checked her broken phone again, then shoved it back into her jacket in disgust. ‘How long have we been gone, do you think? Five hours? Aargh, that’s . . .’ Tears rushed into her eyes. ‘Oh, poor Mam – two days, she’ll be in bits . . .’

  ‘A hundred times – I’m so sorry.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘One hour is a hundred hours.’

  For a long, long moment Carla stared at her – brain busy calculating, in rising horror. Finally she blurted: ‘Fifty days? That’s . . . Nearly Christmas already! Oh dear God, poor Mam, poor Dad, poor Zoe . . .’ The sobs came pouring out.

  Aoife cried, heart breaking for her, ‘Look, I texted my mam that I was going again, so I’m sure she’ll guess you’ve followed me and she’ll let Dianne know where you are!’

  ‘Aoife, this is my mam you’re talking about! Do you seriously think she’s going to believe in some absolute, crazy, lunatic— Oh God, Killian!’ Her sobs redoubled. ‘He’ll think I’m dead! That green-eyed bitch will be round there every day comforting him!’

  Aoife protested, ‘He won’t go off with Sinead – he loves you, he told me you were the sweetest girl he’d ever been out with.’

  ‘So what? He always knows when Sinead’s just about to text him! He must have a special alert assigned to her, though he swears he doesn’t – he just laughs and says it’s magic!’ And Carla buried her head in her arms, and wept for a good long while, until finally she shuddered out a sigh and raised her head, saying grimly, ‘Oh well. Maybe Mam will believe your mam, in a sort of a way – at least, just enough not to totally kill herself with despair. And me and Killian weren’t ever going to last anyway.’

  Aoife said instantly, ‘You were . . . I mean, you will.’

  Carla gave her a weak smile. ‘No we weren’t, and we won’t. Here . . .’ And she pulled Aoife onto the seat beside her. ‘I’m being a selfish pig weeping about Killian, when you and Shay have just split up. Though I still can’t believe he would go off with that—’ She stopped. Breathed deeply in. ‘OK. Right. That’s something else I didn’t listen to, isn’t it?’

  Aoife had her face buried in her hands, elbows on knees, fingertips pressed to her eyelids, crushing back the tears. She sobbed: ‘You said it yourself – he wasn’t like that. I should have listened to you. I’m a fool, and now he’s been taken by a demon, and he thinks he’s in love with her, and she’s going to break his heart in some terrible real way, and I don’t know what I can do to stop her, or if anything can stop her – I don’t know, I don’t know anything, I don’t know how to save him . . .’

  I’m not as strong as I thought I was. Even this boat defeats me.

  The overspill of tears pooled in her palms, ran down the inside of her wrists. ‘I don’t know if I can save him, Carla. The truth is, I don’t think I can. He might not even let me rescue him if he thinks he’s in love with her . . . But I’m going to try so hard to get you home, Carla, I swear I am!’

&nb
sp; After a while Aoife felt Carla’s arm slip around her.

  The boat fled on at a furious pace between the high banks. Great shafts of sunlight broke between the oak trees, setting golden gates across their path. The two girls in short black dresses sat leaning against each other – Aoife with her head now on Carla’s shoulder – as the cooshee boat broke through gate after intangible gate. There seemed no end to this endless shining road – just the high earthy banks and the overhanging trees.

  In the end Carla said very lightly, giving Aoife’s shoulders a little squeeze, ‘If we were back in Kilduff now, this is the point where I’d suggest we eat ten dozen chocolate bars and a tub of ice cream. I don’t suppose we’ll be passing a shop any time soon?’

  Aoife sighed. ‘No, but . . .’

  Kneeling on a bed of green cushions in the stern, Carla rummaged through Mícheál Costello’s black bin bag of food, then – with a grunt of satisfaction – ripped open a six-pack of Dairy Milk. ‘How come your man brought all this with him – is there no food here?’

  Aoife sat on the seat facing her, chin on hands. ‘There’s plenty, but there’s a group of older changelings who like to smuggle sweets down from the human world. They’ve never lost their taste for factory flavourings.’

  ‘Good for them. Here . . .’ Carla tossed her a chocolate bar.

  ‘I don’t feel like . . .’ But of course, she did: as soon as it was in her hand, she was starving as always.

  ‘Coke? Club lemon?’

  ‘Coke.’

  ‘There you are. Full fat, plenty of caffeine, none of that zero crap.’ Carla passed her the can. ‘Get that into you –everything will seem a lot more do-able once you’ve got your blood sugar up.’

  Aoife cracked open the can – surprisingly cold, as if fresh from the fridge – drained it, and ate the chocolate bar in two bites. Probably not the complete solution to defeating demons, but Carla was right – she did feel better for it. Although still starving.

  Carla was nodding encouragingly. ‘Good woman. How about a sandwich? You probably could do with some protein as well.’ She had pulled two tin-foil trays out of the sack, and set about tearing off the clingfilm. ‘Ham or egg mayo? Have one of each.’

  ‘OK.’ Aoife began to eat her way steadily through both trays of sandwiches, which Carla had rested on the seat beside her.

  ‘Oh, lookie here – Oreo biscuits! Take a few of these.’

  ‘Thanks.’ It was bizarre. Here she was, in the middle of the most terrifying time of her life, having an ordinary picnic on a river with her best friend – just as if they were little girls again, when they used to paddle a cheap rubber dinghy up and down the shallow stream behind Carla’s house while stuffing their faces with picnic food identical to this.

  Carla was peeping under the lid of the huge plastic tub of ice cream. ‘Chocolate chip. We’d better eat it quick, it’s beginning to melt. I’m amazed it even lasted this long, if your man brought it all the way from Kilduff. Ah, a packet of plastic spoons! Here . . .’

  Aoife prodded the surprisingly firm contents of the container with one of the spoons. ‘Keeping things cold was Mícheál’s special power. I guess the power stops working now he’s . . . being transformed.’

  ‘Maybe being a fish for a while will suit him, then. They’re cold-blooded, aren’t they? How does that rebirth thing work, by the way?’

  Aoife paused with her first spoonful of ice cream halfway to her mouth. ‘I’m not quite sure, to be honest. All I’ve been told is, fairies don’t die. They get transformed. I haven’t actually seen it happen, but I saw something really amazing when . . .’

  ‘When what?’

  Aoife cleared her throat, blinking back the sudden onrush of grief that had stopped her speaking. She left the plastic spoon stuck upright in the ice cream. ‘When me and Shay came here before . . .’

  Shay, I’m coming and I will do the best I can to save you . . .

  Carla shovelled ice cream into herself very rapidly. ‘I really do want to know, but not if you can’t bear to talk about it.’

  ‘No. It’s OK.’ It was good to remember. And not just because it gave her the chance to talk about Shay, in better times. By the time Donal died, he had been gone so long from the human world – it felt important to speak his name aloud. ‘This dear little boy helped us when we first got here. His name was Donal, and he was adorable and he saved our lives – twice, actually. First by finding us buried under rocks. And then with this juice he made out of hawthorn berries – very, very strong. Don’t ever touch it, by the way, unless you’re ninety-nine per cent dead and need it to come round. But then something terrible happened. This enormous cat attacked him . . .’

  Carla, who had been listening with great interest, nearly choked on the ice cream. ‘What attacked who?’

  ‘A cat attacked Donal, and killed him, right in front of us—’

  ‘There are lions?’ Carla threw a terrified glance into the deep woods rushing by.

  ‘This wasn’t a lion, it was a cat-sidhe – a fairy cat – a white domestic cat, just very, very big.’

  ‘Big enough to kill a child?’

  ‘About two metres long.’

  ‘Oh good God. Poor kid.’

  ‘I know, it was beyond awful. And I didn’t understand my powers at all then – I didn’t even know I had half of them – and I couldn’t do anything. But there was this one good thing. Shay kissed Donal as he was dying, and after we buried him, his grave transformed so fast, it was beautiful – flowers and apple trees grew overnight, and the apples were so incredibly sweet, and bees and birds flocked to them.’

  Carla was slightly unconvinced. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Really, it was good. I think the idea is, you get absorbed into other living creatures and then get reborn as one of their babies, and so on until you come back as whatever you started out as. If Shay hadn’t been a lenanshee, Donal’s transformation would be taking a lot longer.’ With a catch in her throat, she added, ‘Ah, that little boy was sweet. You’d have loved him if you’d met him. I hope he comes back as himself soon.’

  For a while Carla gazed thoughtfully at her knees, clearly considering the science of rebirth – then abruptly lay back on the pile of green silk cushions, hitching up her short black skirt to expose her now very slim legs all the way to the top of her thighs. ‘This weather is fabulous. Come on, stretch out your legs like me. We’ll both be gorgeous by the time we get home – the only ones in Mayo with a genuine tan instead of the dodgy streaky stuff.’

  When Aoife didn’t answer, Carla turned her head to meet her eyes. ‘I haven’t lost it and I’m not being incredibly brave, or blasé, or callous. I’m still petrified and I absolutely realize that this is a dangerous place, and I know you must be in bits about Shay. But we’ve been awake for a long time, and it can’t just be me that’s exhausted. It’s good we’ve got some food inside us. Now we need some sleep. Whatever comes next, we’ll be the better for it.’

  ‘Carla, you’re amazing—’

  ‘I’m not, I’m just boringly sensible. Now come and lie down.’

  Obediently Aoife went to settle beside Carla on the cushions – although sitting stiffly upright, with her arms around her knees. She couldn’t imagine how she could ever sleep again.

  After a while, still wakeful herself, Carla murmured: ‘Robin.’ The small bird was perched at the far end of the boat, on the long nose of the cooshee figurehead. ‘Oh, that’s sweet . . .’ The red-breasted bird had fluttered the length of the boat and was now pecking sandwich crumbs around Aoife’s bare feet. Occasionally it stopped to fix tiny bright green eyes on Aoife, its head on one side.

  On impulse, Aoife held out her hand, forefinger extended. The robin hopped up onto her knuckle, scratchy little claws digging in.

  Carla smiled, rising on her elbow. ‘Is that him, do you think?’

  ‘Him?’

  ‘Donal. That little boy. Didn’t you say birds were eating the apples?’

  ‘Oh . . .
That’s a lovely thought. I wish it was possible to know.’ She moved her finger to bring the robin closer. It put its head on one side, and stared at her closely. Its eyes were brilliant green, as Donal’s had been before death (no, transformation) closed them. ‘Donal?’

  But with a feathered shrug, the robin hopped back down among the crumbs, and continued pecking busily around her toes.

  Carla had flopped onto her back again, face up-tilted to the sun, eyes closed, the soft green shadows of the oak trees rushing over her bare skin. A kingfisher flashed over – a blink of electric blue – and the sun came and went in sweeps of heat.

  With a sigh, Aoife lay down beside her friend. Maybe it was better to get some rest before Falias. When they got there, she would figure out what to do, and how to persuade Shay to leave a girl so beautiful, he would surely refuse . . .

  Taking Aoife’s hand and lacing their fingers together, Carla said sleepily, ‘Don’t worry. We’ll save Shay, the two of us. Didn’t we already kill a pooka? You and me?’

  All at once Aoife was amazed by the memory. ‘That’s so true! You smacked it across its head with the oar! You actually got in the last blow!’

  Carla smirked with pride. ‘I did.’ Then shuddered, eyes squeezed shut. ‘Ugh, it was so disgusting when all its black fur started peeling off . . . I can’t imagine any demon comes worse than that. Look out, you bad things! Here we come!’

  ‘Oh, Carla . . .’ Warm tears rose into Aoife’s eyes. There was something so natural and comforting about her best friend being here in this world with her, promising to help her like the two of them had been helping each other ever since they were little girls. Since they’d paddled up and down the stream behind Carla’s house. Or, in Declan Sweeney’s field, wandered up the fairy road holding hands, playing a game that they never realized would turn real. ‘It’s all right – I’m going to have to fight my own battles from now on. But thank you so much . . .’

  There was no answer.

  Aoife tilted her head back further on the cushions, gazing up. The canopy of leaves rushed overhead, sunlight pouring through in through every gap, blinding her in golden bursts. The air was pleasantly hot even in the passing shade, a soft breeze flowing over her face and bare legs and arms.