Among the Unseen

by Jodi McIsaac

  “Did she tell you about how her older self lives inside her?” Helen asked. Finn nodded. “I can try to bring that part of her to the fore. She will have the power that’s needed to open the sidh to Asgard.”

  “What do you mean, ‘bring that part of her to the fore’?” Cedar asked. “How could that possibly work? She’s only ever been that Eden in her dreams.”

  “This might be our only chance,” Finn said.

  “Finn, it’s too dangerous!” she retorted. “Do you really want a druid messing with Eden’s mind again after what happened last time?”

  “She’s given us no reason not to trust her,” Finn said. “I think she’s really trying to help.”

  “No,” Cedar said. “I won’t allow it. Eden has been through too much already.”

  “I can do it, Mum!” Eden said. “I know I can!” Without warning, she dropped down into a cross-legged position on the floor and closed her eyes.

  “Eden, stop! What are you doing?” Cedar shouted, but Eden was either ignoring her, or couldn’t hear her. Cedar stared at her daughter, and for a moment it was as though she was looking at a stranger. Eden was a naturally fidgety child; Cedar had hardly seen her sit still for more than a second. But now, she was as still as the furniture in the room, solid and unmoving. Her face was devoid of expression, and Cedar had to look closely to make sure she was still breathing. But as Eden sat there motionless, Cedar could hear something emanating from her. Her Lýra, the musical signature that helped distinguish the Tuatha Dé Danann from humans, grew louder, stronger, and clearer. Cedar was so used to it that she usually didn’t even hear it anymore, but it was as if someone had turned up the volume. And then Eden opened her mouth to speak, but when she did, it wasn’t her seven-year-old self.

  “Hello, Mother,” she said in the deeper, grown-up voice that Cedar remembered from the dream-share.

  “What is this?” she said, rounding on Helen. “What did you do to her?”

  “She’s doing this herself,” Helen said.

  “It’s okay, Mum,” came Eden’s deep voice again. “I’m okay—the little me, that is. She’s fine.”

  “How are you doing this?” Cedar asked. “I thought…I thought it was only a dream.”

  Eden laughed. “It’s more than a dream, I’m afraid. But if I’m not mistaken, we don’t have much time. I can help you. I can open the sidh to Asgard, but not like this.”

  “What do you mean?” Cedar asked.

  “I need to come out.”

  “What?”

  “In order to use my power in the waking world, I need to be in the waking world.”

  “No.” Cedar got down on her knees in front of Eden. She was afraid to touch her, afraid that she might somehow hurt her if she brought her out of this trance…or whatever it was. “Eden?” she said, getting as close as she dared. “Listen to me; you need to come back. You are a little girl, and you are going to stay that way for a long time, do you understand? You don’t need to grow up yet.”

  Eden laughed again. “Mum. My childhood ended the day I opened that first door. You are the one who doesn’t understand. You can’t keep me here forever—or even much longer. Let me be who I’m meant to be.” At this, Eden’s eyes flew open, but she looked past Cedar, straight into the eyes of the druid standing behind her.

  “Free me.”

  “No!” Cedar yelled, and before anyone else could react, she raised a wall of fire, separating her and Eden from the druid. She heard someone scream, and she saw figures moving on the other side of the flames. Then something burst through the wall. It was a phoenix, its feathers the bright red-orange of the fire it had just passed through, but she only saw it for an instant before Finn was standing beside her.

  “Help me get her out of here!” Cedar yelled, but when she turned to pick Eden up off the floor, her daughter was no longer there. Then the flames were snuffed out as suddenly as they’d been created, leaving only a charred line in the room and a thick cloud of smoke in the air. Cedar stared around wildly, wondering who had extinguished them. “Eden!” she yelled. Then she saw her. Materializing from the smoke was the same Eden she’d seen in the dream-share, the one who had saved her from Nuala. Only this time she was real, in the flesh, and walking toward her. She had her daughter’s fine features—her olive skin, her large brown eyes flecked with gold. Her hair was darker, and it tumbled in waves down her back. She was slightly taller than Cedar, and was wearing a black gossamer gown that wrapped around her body like the smoke from which she was emerging.

  “That’s better.”

  “Change her back!” Cedar demanded, rounding on Helen, who took a step away from her.

  “She didn’t do this, Mum,” Eden said, smoothly stepping between them. “I did. All Helen did was give me the confidence I needed.”

  Cedar was breathing heavily. Everyone else in the room was as still as Eden had been moments before. Cedar looked at the adult woman in front of her and could feel part of her heart breaking. “Please,” she said, looking into the familiar-yet-strange brown eyes. “Go back to being a child. This isn’t right.”

  Eden put a hand on Cedar’s shoulder and drew so close that their faces were almost touching. “I’m still your daughter,” she said. “Eden isn’t gone; I’m right here in front of you.”

  Finn stepped forward, his face ashen and his eyes wide as he approached his daughter.

  “Hey, Dad,” she said, giving him a shy smile.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  “I look like you,” she said, smiling bigger this time. Then she clapped her hands twice and said in a commanding voice, “I know you’re probably all freaking out right now, but that can wait. We have a sidh to open, and there’s no time to lose. Let’s try it again.” She closed her eyes and lifted her arms in front of her, the black dress swirling around her legs as it caught in the sudden wind. The others backed away from her, giving her space. But Cedar moved closer, unable to take her eyes off the woman-child before her. Without warning, Eden’s hand shot out and grabbed Cedar’s, holding it in a viselike grip. Cedar felt a shock as more power than she had ever experienced jolted through her arm. She heard Eden’s voice say, “Together, Mum!” She hesitated, and then she, too, closed her eyes and tried to draw from the deep well of power at the center of her being. She could feel it coursing through her, and the arm that was not holding Eden rose up in the air. She heard a voice inside her head, but she could not tell if it was her own.

  Let go.

  She felt a release of energy, a blossoming even greater than when she’d stood on the Lia Fáil for the first time. She gripped Eden’s hand tightly as the power flowed between and through them. Then she felt Eden’s hand slacken, and she opened her eyes.

  It was more of a gate than a door. It was higher and wider than any sidh she’d ever created. It seemed more solid and corporeal too; two twisting stanchions that curved and joined at the top. There was too much light emanating from between the posts for her to see through to the other side—a bright swirl of purples and pinks, like oil skimming the top of a puddle.

  “You did it,” Finn breathed, coming up behind them.

  Cedar let go of Eden’s hand, staring between her daughter and the sidh in wonder. Then she looked at Finn. “Let’s go.”

  “I’ll come too,” Felix said, stepping forward.

  “No,” Cedar said. “It should just be the two of us—Finn and me. That way, he can’t possibly think we mean to do him harm.”

  “You’re assuming he’ll just hand the jewels over,” Felix pointed out.

  “I’m hoping,” she said.

  “You’re going to need my help,” Eden said matter-of-factly.

  “Eden, you already have helped us. I know…I know you’re not a child anymore—not right now, at least. But this doesn’t have to involve you. Leave this to us, and then we’ll deal with”—Cedar waved her hands in Eden’s direction—“with whatever this is.”

  Eden looked intently at her. “I’m not
going back, Mother. I’ll never be that child again.”

  Cedar flinched as though Eden had slapped her. “We’ll see about that,” she said. “For now, stay here.”

  “And how are you going to get back? Or were you planning on just leaving this sidh open so that Odin can send his army through it to take over Tír na nÓg? I’m sure he’d jump at the chance.”

  “She’s right, and we don’t have time for the two of you to argue about it,” Finn said. “I don’t even know if I can close this kind of sidh. Without her we might have to leave it open. We can end this now, Cedar.” He held out his hand to Eden. She took it, but her eyes were still locked on her mother. Cedar stared back, her jaw set. And then Eden turned her head and took a half step away.

  “Wait,” Cedar said. She seized Eden’s other hand, and the three of them walked through the sidh together, leaving the others to stare after them in awe.

  CHAPTER 17

  When they emerged on the other side, there was no question that it had worked. The world they were now in was remarkably different from their own. Gone were the trees and meadows and gentle hills of Tír na nÓg. The land around them seemed carved entirely out of stone, great slabs of rock rising up on all sides. Thick clouds obscured the sky, but Cedar could make out jagged mountains looming around them. A few scraggly trees were trying to eke out an existence here and there on the cliffs and ledges, but to Cedar’s eyes it seemed to be a futile attempt. How could anything grow in this land of cold, hard gray?

  She was still holding Eden’s hand, and all three of them were craning their necks skyward. They were standing at the base of a great arched gate that was hundreds of feet tall, the top concealed in the clouds. On either side stood column after column, curving into the distance as far as Cedar could see, forming a massive and impenetrable wall. Each column was of a different design, and some protruded from the wall while others were slightly recessed, with towers jutting into the sky, black windows making gaping holes in the wall. A chill ran up her spine, and she tightened her grip on Eden’s hand.

  “Amazing,” Eden whispered.

  “Are the Norse gods…giants?” Cedar asked as they took a few tentative steps forward. “Everything just seems so…huge.” In Brighid’s memory, Thor had seemed no larger than the average Tuatha Dé Danann male.

  “I don’t think so,” Finn said. “But I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

  They reached the base of the gate and started to pass beneath it. It was eerily silent. The only sound was the soft fall of their footsteps on the cobblestone passageway. A single raven circled overhead before disappearing into a puff of cloud and then reemerging. The clouds grew thicker and lower as they passed between the walls, which were as deep as a city block. They still held hands as they slowly moved forward.

  When the clouds suddenly lifted, a man stood before them. He had red hair that fell past his shoulders and a red beard with a single braid down its center. Dressed in polished armor, he gripped a large stone hammer in his hand. Cedar recognized him at once.

  “Thor,” she said, letting go of Eden’s hand and stepping forward.

  Thor stared at her, his expression fierce but curious. He did not relax his grip on the hammer.

  “You are Tuatha Dé Danann,” he said, the hint of a question in his voice.

  “Yes,” Cedar said. “I am Queen Cedar. This is Finn—Fionnbharr—and Eden, our daughter.”

  Thor swept his eyes over Cedar’s companions, his gaze lingering on Eden for a moment that felt far too long. Cedar and Finn were still wearing their human clothes, whereas Eden was wrapped in the gossamer gown. “How did you come here?” he demanded.

  “Through a portal from Tír na nÓg,” Cedar said, gesturing to the open sidh on the other side of the gate. Thor narrowed his eyes, and then stalked past them toward the sidh. “Close it,” Cedar whispered to Eden, and just as Thor reached the sidh, it snapped shut, leaving only empty air where there had once been a gateway between worlds. Thor turned around slowly, his eyes dark.

  “You have something of ours,” Cedar said with as much authority as she could muster. “We would like it back.” When he did not answer, she added, “Brighid sends her regards.”

  Cedar heard the unmistakable rumble of thunder from somewhere above them.

  “You speak of the jewels,” Thor said slowly. Cedar waited, hoping to draw out more information from him, to determine if he would be a friend or foe to them on their quest. “I expected you sooner.”

  “My predecessors did not wish to anger your father,” Cedar said. “Nor do I. But we have no choice—we had to come. We only want the jewels, and then we will leave.”

  “Did she send you?” Thor asked. “The Brighid I knew would have come herself.”

  “Brighid is dying,” Cedar said bluntly. “We need the jewels to save her life.”

  Her statement had exactly the effect she’d been hoping for. He gripped his hammer tightly in both hands, his body suddenly tense and coiled.

  “Dying? How is that possible?”

  “You know how it’s possible,” she told him, her gaze unflinching. “She showed me her memories. I saw the two of you together. She told you about how the Unseen were protected by the jewels. Well, the humans have turned from their belief in magic, and so the Unseen—and Brighid—must die. She didn’t tell you that part—that her fate was tied with theirs.”

  He stared at Cedar for a long, disbelieving moment, and then his shoulders slumped and his hammer hung loose at his side again. She felt almost sorry for him. He really hadn’t known it would come to this. He looked down at the stone passageway beneath their feet. “I told her it was folly. But she was so certain. Even I believed her, in the end.” His voice was low and quiet, as though his own memories were tugging at him.

  “And then you betrayed her, and stole the jewels for your father.”

  “It is something I have regretted for many lifetimes of men.”

  “You can make up for that now. Give us back the jewels, and you’ll save her life.”

  “What will you do with them?”

  “Destroy them,” Cedar said. “It will break the bond between Brighid and the Unseen and the humans.”

  She could see the conflict on his face. His mouth was a thin, hard line, and one of his eyebrows was twitching. His hands were clenched at his side, one of them still gripping the great hammer.

  “It is not a decision I can make,” he said at last. “But I will take you to my father. Have you no finer clothes?”

  Cedar wanted to kick herself for not thinking to change. How could she present herself as the queen of a great race on par with Odin and his kin when she was dressed like a human college student? “No,” she answered. “We are still in disguise from a trip to Ériu, and we had no opportunity to change. I hope Odin does not take offense.”

  “It is hard to say what will give him offense these days,” Thor muttered, but then he seemed to check himself. “My father is a proud man. We had better find you something suitable for an audience with him, if you do not object.”

  He led them the rest of the way under the gate and up a long, winding pathway of large cobblestones. The sound of his boots echoed against the stone walls and buildings that rose up around them.

  “Where is everyone?” Cedar asked.

  “There are not many left,” Thor answered without elaborating. In the distance Cedar could see a long hall, so long she could not see where it ended. The roof looked like polished gold, and the walls were all silver. She could make out large doors along the side, but no windows.

  “Is that Valhalla?” Finn asked with wonder.

  “Yes,” Thor grunted. “The perpetual circus of fools.”

  They stayed silent for the rest of the journey, until Thor took them through a door at the bottom of a large round tower. A spiral staircase rose above them, hugging the stone walls. Thor rang the cord of a heavy brass bell, and a few seconds later an old woman with a long gray braid emerged from a side door. Her
pale eyes grew round at the sight of them. She was followed by a young girl, to whom Thor spoke quietly. The girl bowed before leaving the room by the same door through which they had entered.

  “Give these two the finest garments you have,” Thor told the old woman, gesturing toward Cedar and Finn. “Something that has not yet been worn in front of my father.” He glanced at Eden. “She’s fine. She can wait down here with me.”

  “She’ll come with us,” Cedar said. “And I know she doesn’t look it right now, but she’s only seven years old, so you keep your eyes off her, do you understand me?”

  Thor looked taken aback, and Cedar wasn’t sure if it was because he wasn’t used to being addressed in such a manner or if he was shocked—and disappointed—to learn of Eden’s true age.

  “Seven? But how…?”

  “I’m not seven anymore,” Eden said, a hint of steel in her voice. She was looking at Thor in a decidedly grown-up manner. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

  Cedar grabbed Eden’s arm and pulled her to one side, though there was scant room for privacy in the small chamber. “You are seven, whether you look it or not. We let you come with us, but that doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want. I’m your queen, and more important, I’m your mother. You don’t argue with me in front of”—she struggled for the right word—“foreign gods. Is that clear?”

  Eden exhaled slowly. “Yes, Mum. I apologize.”

  “Looks like family dynamics are the same everywhere,” Thor said, smirking. “Perhaps we should all go up together.” He headed up the spiral staircase, followed by the old woman. Cedar hesitated, wondering if they were being led into a trap. She gave Finn an inquiring glance, but he shrugged, so she followed Thor and the woman after glancing behind to make sure Eden was coming too.

  The room they entered was much larger than the one at the bottom of the stairs. It was still round, but as large as the common room in Cedar and Finn’s home. Bolts of fabric in a myriad of brilliant colors and textures hung from the walls, along with reams of lace and gold and silver thread. An ornately carved wooden chest stood between two tall, narrow windows, curved to perfectly fit the wall. Dresses and robes as fine as any Cedar had ever seen hung on the marble mannequins that stood throughout the room.