by Jodi McIsaac
Cedar took a deep breath, and then stepped into the water after Finn, who had transformed into a seal. He was right—it was cold, but no more so than the ocean waters she had swam in as a child in Nova Scotia. The ocean floor dropped off more suddenly than she had been expecting, but she discovered that she could swim with ease, and the cold water felt good against her bare skin. She dove underneath the waves and looked around. It was as if she had entered another world. The water around her sparkled as shafts of sunlight broke through the clouds and shot through the waves, illuminating small creatures floating beside her and the waving sea grasses below. She kicked her feet and swam deeper, where she could see clusters of bright pink and green anemones growing on an outcropping of rock. She bobbed back to the surface for air, and then dove down again to follow a school of tiny blue fish that darted in and out of a growth of reddish brown kelp. She motioned to Finn and pointed, and he swam alongside her. Syrna was swimming ahead of them, leading the way. They followed her for several minutes, and Cedar was amazed that she wasn’t growing tired. She had never been much of a swimmer before her transformation on the Lia Fáil, but this felt amazing. She dashed up to the surface to catch another breath and realized that Syrna was waiting for them on the shore, in front of the entrance to another cave. A great cliff rose up above them, and Cedar could see that this was the perfect hiding place for the selkie colony. No one could see them from the top of the cliff several hundred feet above, and if boats came too close, they could easily hide beneath the waves or in the caves at the back of the inlet.
“That was incredible,” she said, climbing out of the water. “I’ve never felt like that before. It’s amazing down there.”
Finn transformed back into his normal form and shook the water from his hair. “I agree,” he said. “You have a beautiful home.”
Syrna seemed surprised at his transformation, but she smiled at his compliment, which returned some of her natural beauty to her gaunt face. “Irial used to wonder why we choose to spend most of our lives in our seal form,” she said. “Now perhaps you can understand.” She left her coat behind a rock at the entrance to the cave, and led them inside.
Cedar wondered how Jane and Felix were getting on with the others. She knew Jane would have some sly remark to make about them walking around in their underwear. At the back of the cave was a cluster of five seals. The largest one was in the center, and the rest were lying around her, their sides pressed against hers. Syrna knelt down, and the four outside seals shifted their positions so that she could touch the one in the center. Cedar opened her hand and produced a small ball of fire. Warmth and light flooded the cave.
“I have come, Grandmother, and I have brought help. The Tuatha Dé Danann are here. Irial sent them,” Syrna said.
Nuri raised her great head, which was mottled with gray. She barked at them, and Cedar glanced at Syrna in confusion.
“She can understand you, but she cannot speak any human languages in this form,” Syrna said. “She feels that death is near, and she wishes to die as a seal. But I will translate. She greets you, and thanks you for coming.”
“We are honored,” Cedar said. “We’re very worried about what is happening to you and the other Unseen. Your granddaughter told us that you might know what is causing this sickness. Can you tell us about it?”
There was a series of barks from Nuri, the meaning of which Syrna conveyed to them. “She says she has lived a long time, longer than any of the other selkies. And her mother and grandmother were both blessed with long lives.”
Nuri laid her head back down, and the four seals huddled closer around her and Syrna, who rested a gentle hand on her grandmother’s fin. “She is very weak. It is difficult for her to speak.”
Gently lifting Nuri’s head, Syrna cradled it in her lap, leaning in close to listen. Cedar could hardly tell that Nuri was making any sound at all, but after a moment Syrna straightened up and spoke. “She says you must find the druids, who have a sacred trust to protect the Unseen. There is a curse, and only the druids can break it.”
A sacred trust. She had heard that phrase before. “What curse?” Cedar asked, her heart racing. “How are the druids involved?” Syrna bent down to listen, but her grandmother was now silent and still.
“I want the truth, and I want it now,” Cedar said as she and Finn appeared in Helen’s room without warning. She had sent Jane home to her apartment in Halifax with Felix, hoping that the familiar surroundings would help them reconnect. Felix had taken some samples from the selkies, and he’d promised to take a closer look at them, though he didn’t sound hopeful that he would discover anything new. Cedar had to agree—according to Nuri, the solution to the Unseen’s illness was here in this room. She had realized that in the drama surrounding Jane and Irial and the Unseen, she had forgotten to tell Finn about finding Liam’s assistant. She had filled him in quickly, and then they had headed straight back to Tír na nÓg.
When Cedar and Finn stormed in, Helen was sitting at her desk, writing in a pocket-sized black notebook. She closed the notebook and stood up in one smooth motion.
“The truth about what?” she said, her calm demeanor infuriating Cedar all the more. “I already told you I was involved in no plans to harm you or anyone you know. Or do you not believe this goblet of truth of yours?”
“The truth about your sacred trust,” Cedar said. “There’s a dead selkie who used those exact words. She said the druids have a sacred trust to protect the Unseen. She also said there’s a curse—and that you can break it.”
Helen stared at Cedar, her mask of indifference wavering. “What are you talking about? What has happened to the Unseen?”
“They’re dying,” Cedar answered. “Most of them—all of them, maybe—are sick, and now they’re starting to die, one by one. We’ve been trying to help them. A gancanagh came to us a few days ago, very ill, to give us the news. A friend of ours, a leprechaun, has died. And I’ve just returned from the selkies on Inis Mór. They’re all dying too.”
Helen sat down hard on her chair, her hand covering her mouth. Then she let out a small moan and said, “So it’s come to this already. We’re too late.”
“Who’s too late?” Cedar asked. “What is the curse? How can we break it?”
Helen shook her head, her hand still over her mouth. When she stayed silent, Cedar wrenched the door open. “Find Rohan and tell him I need the goblet of Manannan mac Lir in here right away,” she told one of the startled guards in the hallway.
“There’s no need,” Helen said quietly. She seemed to be doing battle with herself. Her mouth was a tight line, and she was folding and unfolding her hands in her lap. Twice she took a breath and seemed about to speak, and twice she closed her mouth. Finally, she spoke. “We are not permitted to speak about it—to anyone,” she said. “But it appears the curse has come at last.”
Cedar waited, trying not to interrupt with more questions.
“What the selkie said was true, although she probably didn’t know the entire story,” Helen continued. “I certainly don’t, and I doubt anyone who’s still alive does.” She spoke slowly, as though carefully choosing her words. “Many hundreds of years ago, no one knows how long exactly, a spell was cast that bound the magical creatures of our land—the Unseen—to humanity’s belief in the magical realm. As long as humans believed in that which they could not see, the Unseen would live in peace, avoiding the notice of their enemies.” She shook her head slowly. “I’m sure it seemed like a prudent decision at the time, perhaps even a necessary one.”
“Why was it necessary?” Cedar asked.
“They had enemies,” Helen said simply. “The church, perhaps, or this could have happened even before Saint Patrick arrived in Ireland. But it is safe to say that there have always been forces in the world that wish to dispose of the magical creatures of old. I don’t know who their enemies were, but the danger must have been great for them to make such a bargain.”
“Maybe it didn’t seem like that
much of a risk to them at the time,” Finn said, looking thoughtful. “If this happened centuries ago, no one would have imagined that humans would stop believing in the magical realm. Before science and technology came onto the scene, magic was the only way humans were able to explain the world around them. Belief in the hidden realm was part of their everyday life. It was part of who they were. So it must have seemed like a safe bet.”
“So the deal was that the Unseen would die if humans stopped believing in magic? That’s what’s happening?” Cedar asked. “Logheryman was fine just a few weeks ago. According to Irial, he was too. Why would it happen so suddenly?”
Helen’s blue eyes had a haunted look to them. “I didn’t think it would happen that way. Of course, there are still some who believe,” she added. “We druids, for example, but there are few of us. And there are other humans who believe in the old places where magic runs particularly deep. But it appears that there are no longer enough to sustain the power of the spell. It must have passed a certain threshold, which triggered the curse.”
“But the selkies said you could break it,” Cedar protested.
Helen shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid they were mistaken. Once, it would have been true. The druids were given the task of guarding the eight precious jewels that were used in the binding of the spell—or curse, depending on how you look at it. If the stones were destroyed, the bond between the Unseen and humanity would be broken, leaving them defenseless against their enemies. Keeping those jewels safe was our most sacred trust.” She gazed at the floor, her face etched with sadness. “But we failed. Despite all our efforts, the jewels were stolen…and they’ve never been recovered.”
“So maybe that’s why the Unseen are dying—because these jewels were stolen,” Cedar said. “Did it happen recently?”
“No. They were stolen in 1007, in the summer, to be precise,” Helen said. “The jewels had been embedded in the cover of what is now known as the Book of Kells, but the book was stolen from the church where it was being kept. When it was found, it was missing the cover—and, of course, the jewels.”
“Why was it in a church if the druids were supposed to guard it?”
“I have no idea. But I do know that at least one druid was always with the jewels, and one of us has remained with the Book of Kells ever since in case the cover is found. There were some missing pages attached to the cover, which might help identify it as belonging to the Kells manuscript.”
“So that’s why you and Liam were at Trinity College—to be with the Book of Kells,” Cedar said, remembering what Rohan had told her.
“Liam was preparing to retire, though based on what you’ve told me, I suppose he had other plans. I was to take over as Keeper of Manuscripts after he left.”
Finn had been following the volley of their conversation quietly. “So if the jewels are destroyed, the bond between the Unseen and the humans will be severed, is that right?”
“Possibly,” Helen answered. “I am not sure how the spell works. But it stands to reason that after the bond is broken, they will no longer be subject to the frailties of human belief. However, they’d still be vulnerable to their enemies.”
“But if no one believes they exist, it’s not likely they have many enemies left,” Cedar pointed out. “At least they’d have a chance.”
Helen set her elbows on the desk and put her head in her hands. “In theory, yes. But it doesn’t matter, don’t you see?” she said. “The jewels are gone. The druids searched everywhere for them. I told you—there is no hope.”
Cedar stopped pacing and looked down at the woman. “There is always hope,” she said, feeling the fire build up inside her again. “What else do you know about the jewels? Do you know who took them? Where they came from? What they look like?”
“I don’t,” Helen said in a small voice. “The druid who was in charge of them at the time was killed. So we have no idea what happened. Only that they are gone and have never been found.”
A slow smile stretched across Cedar’s face as she realized what needed to be done. “We can save them,” she said. “We’ll find the jewels and destroy them.”
“Haven’t you been listening?” Helen said, her voice now sharp. “The jewels are gone. How do you possibly think you will find them?”
“By asking someone who can find any magical object—Abhartach the dwarf.”
CHAPTER 9
Eden and Nevan were in the library room at the Hall, which Eden had taken to calling the “school room,” since this was where she had her lessons—sometimes with Nevan, sometimes with Riona. When her dad had first shown this room to her and her mum, both of their jaws had dropped. It was completely circular, and instead of walls it had hundreds of bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes and manuscripts, some of them taller than Eden, some so small they would fit in the palm of her hand.
Eolas, a skinny man with long, thin arms and huge blue eyes that seemed too big for his head, was in charge of the books. He reminded Eden of an insect, although she made sure never to say so. Whenever they wanted a book from the top shelves, he would float to the ceiling as though he weighed nothing at all. Eden looked for wings, but he didn’t seem to have any. If he wasn’t there, a ladder that reached all the way to the ceiling would float across the room, hovering just a few inches off the ground. Eden had wanted to climb it since the first time she set eyes on it, but Eolas had told her it was just for grown-ups. She wasn’t allowed to touch the books, either, not even the ones she could reach, unless one of her teachers said it was okay.
“Guess what?” Eden asked Nevan. “I’m going to meet another kid my age later today.” She told Nevan what her mother had said about Niall. “How come there aren’t more kids around here?” Nevan looked up from the book in front of them. There was only a single table in the room, made from a dark wood in the shape of an X. She and Eden sat beside each other along one of the arms of the X. “Well,” Nevan answered slowly. “It’s partly because of the war. Those who stayed here were afraid that Lorcan would take any children whose powers he desired. But the Tuatha Dé Danann in general have far fewer children than humans; we always have. The birth of a child is a rare and special occasion. But it also means that the children who are here don’t have very many playmates.”
“Do they all have special powers? Every one of us?” Eden asked.
“Eventually, yes,” Nevan answered.
“But why do people have different abilities?” Eden asked.
“No one knows for certain,” Nevan said. “Usually a firstborn child has the abilities of both his or her parents, and the other children just inherit one gift. Sometimes a child is born with an ability that neither of his or her parents has. There are patterns, but no hard and fast rules.”
“So if you and Sam had a baby, it would be able to control the water and talk inside peoples’ heads?”
“If we had a baby, that would be one possibility, yes,” Nevan answered, amused.
“How come some kids get an ability that their parents don’t have?” Eden asked. “What makes them so different?”
“I don’t know,” Nevan answered, shrugging her petite shoulders. “Perhaps it is meant to address an imbalance in our people. If more gardeners or musicians are needed, more children are born with those talents.”
“Yeah, but who decides which kids get which abilities?”
Nevan’s laugh bubbled out of her, and she reached out and ruffled Eden’s hair. “We don’t know how it all works, O inquisitive one. It might just be chance. But if you ask me, I think there are powers out there beyond us that direct the flow of our lives.”
Eden sat and pondered this for a moment. She had thought the Tuatha Dé Danann were the most powerful beings in the universe. To think that there might be something beyond them…
“Shall we turn back to our lesson?” Nevan asked, interrupting Eden’s thoughts. She turned reluctantly back to the book in front of them. They were learning about the Elders, which was interesting,
but right now she was much more concerned with how you could get different abilities than the ones your parents had.
“This is Aengus Og,” Nevan said, pointing to a picture in the book. “His greatest feats included—”
“Hey, I’ve seen him before!” Eden exclaimed.
“You have?” Nevan asked. “In another book, you mean?”
“No, in my dreams!”
Nevan shifted in her seat to stare at Eden. Eolas, who had been working at the other end of the table, suddenly went still, and the scratch of his quill was for once silent. “You have dreams about the Elders?”
Eden shrugged. “I didn’t know that was who they were,” she said. “But they’re really nice. Always smiling and laughing. We have a great time together. But they’re just dreams.” She leaned over the book in front of them, suddenly much more interested. “Can I turn the pages?” she asked. “I want to see if the rest of them are in here too.”
Nevan nodded, and Eden started eagerly flipping the pages. “Yeah, she’s in my dreams too!” she said, pointing to a picture of a tall, smiling woman with blonde hair spilling to her ankles. “And this guy!”
Nevan stared at her in shock. “That’s my father,” she said in a small voice.
“Really?” Eden said. “Your dad is an Elder? How come you’re still here, then? I thought all the Elders left. And I’ve never seen you in my dreams.”
“My parents were Elders, but I am not,” Nevan said, her voice still barely above a whisper. “I was born here, in Tír na nÓg. Only those who were born in the Four Cities can return.”
“Huh,” Eden said. “That’s too bad. Do you miss them?”