Among the Unseen

by Jodi McIsaac

  “Is your father,” Cedar said. “He’s not you. You are the one with a choice here. You can redeem yourself, save Brighid, and prevent a new war between our people.”

  Thor’s body was rigid, but his eyes were dark, as if a storm raged behind them. “I did not ask for this,” he said. “I did not want this. But I have no choice—you must see that.”

  “You do have a choice,” she said. “And you just made it.” With that, she turned and ran straight toward Odin and Finn, hands blazing with fire. If Thor would not end this, she would—no matter what it took. She threw everything she had at Odin as he darted and dodged around the snake’s coils, trying to avoid the fangs that were as long as his spear. But he was faster than both of them.

  Odin dodged her flames and took both of her wrists in his grasp. She screamed in pain and tried to wrench free, but his grip was like molten lead. His other hand was squeezing her throat. Thor had taken up his father’s battle with Finn, preventing the serpent from coming to her rescue. Cedar tried to focus her fire, tried to fight back, but her vision was starting to blur and she could only concentrate on trying to suck in enough air.

  “You think you have what it takes to rule?” Odin said, pulling her face close to his. “I have ruled this kingdom since before the Tuatha Dé Danann first set eyes on Midgard. There is too much human in you—I can smell it, like a rotting corpse. You’re no queen. You don’t have the stomach to rule a great race, to do whatever it takes. That is why I am still here, and why you have come crawling to me.” He dropped Cedar to the ground and she gasped for breath, her throat burning.

  “You call yourself a king?” she rasped. “No one believes in you; no one follows you. And your own son hates you. You have nothing left, and you know it.”

  He turned away and retreated several paces. For a moment, she thought that she had gotten through to him. But then she saw the spear hurtling toward her. She tried to lunge out of the way, knowing it was futile, but then she heard a great clang of metal, and the spear was knocked to the floor beside her. Thor’s hammer flew back through the air to its master.

  “The Danann were once our allies, Father,” Thor said. “Do we really want to start a war with Midgard and Tír na nÓg? Can we even survive such a war, with so few of us left? I beg you to consider what you are doing!”

  Odin rounded on Thor, his face twisted in fury. His spear was still lying on the floor, and Cedar took her chance. She dove for it and hurled it at Odin’s back. It did not miss its target. It plunged deep between his shoulder blades, and he fell forward at his son’s feet.

  “No!” Thor roared. His hammer fell from his grip, landing with a discordant clang on the stone floor. He dropped to his father’s side and turned him over. Odin’s eyes were open and unseeing. Cedar tensed, ready for another attack. But Thor did not stand; he just stared down at his father’s still face, as though he could not believe the enormity of what had happened. “Father, no,” he whispered. “No, this is not what I intended.”

  “It had to be done. He would have destroyed us all,” Cedar said, but she knew her words would mean little to the son of the man she had just killed. She could feel Finn come up behind her, but she kept her eyes on Thor. She did not regret her actions, but the look of grief on Thor’s face was heartbreaking. She wished this could have ended another way.

  When Thor spoke, his voice was so spectral she had to strain to hear him. “I had a choice. I made it.” His next words surprised her. “The jewels are in the seat of the throne. Take what you came for.” Then he picked up his father’s body, cradling it like a child, and headed toward a door that was set in a crevice in the stone wall.

  “Wait,” Cedar called after him. He stopped. “You did the right thing. You saved a lot of lives. I am sorry it had to end this way. But the alternative—”

  “I know,” he said. “My father’s time ended long ago. He does not belong in this world any longer.”

  “Come with us,” she said on a sudden impulse. “There is no need for you to be trapped here any longer.”

  For a moment she thought he was considering her offer. But then he shook his head and said, “No. I must lead my people now—what is left of us. Tell Brighid I am sorry. And…tell her I never stopped caring for her. She has been the only beauty in my bleak life.” Then he was gone.

  “Cedar—the jewels,” Finn said urgently. He was back in his usual form, and he’d retrieved Eden from behind the pillar. She was unconscious, and he cradled her close to his chest. His leg was stained red with blood, but his jaw was set.

  Cedar ran up the steps to the golden throne. She pulled at its seat, but it wouldn’t budge. “I can’t open it!” she yelled. Finn gently laid Eden back down and limped forward to join her, but not even their combined efforts made it budge.

  “Stand back,” Cedar said at last, and Finn hoisted Eden into his arms again and retreated several paces. Cedar closed her eyes to channel her power, and for a moment she feared she would once again lose control of the fire. Distressing images started to flicker before her mind’s eye—Eden lying limp across Odin’s lap, a trail of blood across her throat; Thor’s hollow eyes as he cradled the body of his father; Brighid’s wasted form shrouded in a blanket.

  She forced her eyes open.

  “Not this time,” she said. She set her hands on the throne and focused all of her anger, all of her fear, all of her determination to save the people she loved—and those she didn’t even know—into her hands. She could feel the power flowing through her veins like lava. White flames erupted around the throne, and the gold started to glow red, bubbling and running into a molten stream that dripped onto the stones below. Cedar could feel the heat, but it did not burn her. She stayed where she was, hands pressed against the throne, until all the metal melted away, leaving only a puddle of gold that ran down the steps, hardening as it cooled.

  Lying in the center of the puddle were the eight blue jewels she had seen in Brighid’s memories. Rather than picking them up, Cedar focused her flames on the jewels, hoping the heat would destroy them. But when she withdrew her hands, they remained unblemished.

  “We’ll bring them back to Tír na nÓg,” Finn said, coming up behind her. His face was pale, and his leg was still gushing blood. Cedar nodded, scooping up the jewels and tucking them inside her gold dress. She started to think of Tír na nÓg, readying herself to try and form the sidh on her own. But before she got very far, she glanced down at the floor where Odin had fallen. Thor’s hammer was still there.

  “Wait,” she said to Finn, running down the steps toward the hammer. She set the jewels on the floor, and then wrapped both hands around the grip. When she lifted it above her head, the sound of thunder rumbled in the sky above them. Then she brought the hammer down with all her force. When she lifted it again, a deep fissure had appeared in the stone floor, and around it was a fine misting of blue dust. She swept up the dust and placed it in her pocket before walking back to the dais and placing the hammer on top of what was left of the golden throne. “Thank you,” she whispered. She realized that Thor would never have left the hammer behind accidentally, even when faced with the death of his father. It had been his final gift to the woman he had once—and maybe still—loved.

  “Cedar, we have to get Eden to Felix—quickly!” Finn said. As he said this, they could hear shouting from outside the tower. Their welcome was over. “Can you do it without her?”

  “Yes,” Cedar said, and as she said it, she knew it was true. “It’s just going home.”

  Cedar opened the sidh back into the common room, where they had left the others. It had been easy, just as she’d known it would be. The room erupted into chaos as soon as they came through. Riona and Rohan descended on them at once, but Cedar ignored them, scanning the room for the person they needed most. “Felix!” she bellowed. “Felix, help us!” And then he was there, taking Eden from Finn’s arms, and the room fell silent around them.

  “What happened to her?” he said, laying his hand on he
r forehead.

  “I don’t know,” Cedar whispered. The fact that they had found and destroyed the jewels didn’t seem to matter anymore, not if Eden’s life had been the price. “I think it was maybe the transformation—she just grew weaker and weaker.”

  Felix sank to his knees, still holding Eden. Finn wrapped his arms around Cedar, and she felt Riona’s hand on her shoulder.

  “Felix, tell me, what can I do?” she pleaded. “Can I get something from your healing rooms? Can I connect with her somehow? What will help her?”

  “I think you’re right,” he said. “I think the power needed to maintain the transformation is sucking the life out of her. But…it might be too late. She might not have enough power to change back.”

  Cedar heard his words, but refused to believe them. There is always hope, she had told the druid, when they thought the jewels were lost for good.

  The druid.

  “Where’s Helen?” she cried.

  “I’m here, Your Majesty,” Helen said, stepping out from behind Nevan and Atty. Her face was full of sorrow—and fear.

  “Can you help her? She said you were teaching her how to access her power. Can you undo the transformation?”

  Helen looked hesitantly at the limp girl in Felix’s arms. “I’ll try.”

  She knelt down next to Eden and cupped the girl’s face in her hands. She spoke softly into Eden’s ear, a strange, humming language that Cedar didn’t understand. She placed her hands on Eden’s chest as her voice rose, filling the room. Then she stopped, and looked back at Cedar.

  “The little one is still inside. But she needs her mother. Come, tell her you are waiting for her.”

  Cedar knelt beside them, and Felix shifted Eden into her arms. She could feel the hot tears rolling down her face, stinging the raw marks Odin’s ravens had left on her cheeks. Eden’s head was lying against Cedar’s shoulder, and Cedar buried her face in her daughter’s hair, her eyes squeezed shut to try to stem the tears. “Come home, baby. Come back, and be my little girl again.”

  There was a wave of power, like a burst of energy passing through them. She felt the change take place in her arms, but she was afraid to open her eyes in case she was wrong. Then she heard the voice of her little girl. “Mummy?”

  Cedar’s eyes flew open, and there was Eden—small, beautiful, and wonderfully alive—gazing up at her with wide brown eyes. Cedar held her close and started to cry in earnest, finally free to give in to the magnitude of what had just happened. But she smiled through her tears as she felt Finn’s arms wrap around them both. He was weeping and laughing too, and then Felix was clapping him on the back and shouting, “She’s okay!” and Nevan was so happy they could all hear her cheering inside their heads, and Niall was scrambling over them trying to get to Eden, and it was pure, glorious pandemonium.

  Finally they all managed to stand, and Cedar turned to Helen, one arm around Eden. “Thank you,” she said.

  Helen smiled, her gaze still on Eden. “You have a very special girl there, Your Majesty.”

  “We found the jewels,” Cedar said, suddenly remembering. “We destroyed them.” There was another round of cheering, and Cedar gave them an abbreviated version of what had happened in Asgard. “So I used the hammer to destroy them,” she finished, pulling a handful of sparkling blue dust out of her pocket. They all crowded around to see it. “I don’t know if it has any further use or not, but I thought I would bring it home just in case.” She looked at Felix. “Did it work? Has the curse been broken?”

  “I’ve been here the whole time, waiting for you,” Felix said. “Let’s find out. Would you mind?”

  Cedar nodded and opened a sidh into Felix’s home. Everyone in the room started to crowd toward it, until Felix held up his hand. “Let’s not startle him to death,” he said. Cedar gave Eden another squeeze before following Felix through the sidh. They jogged down the hall to Irial’s room and pushed open the door.

  He was gone.

  Cedar and Felix exchanged startled glances, and then Felix ran over to the bed and stared down at the empty sheets. “What the…where did he go?”

  “It’s a good sign!” Cedar said. “He couldn’t have gone anywhere if he was still sick. He could barely move!”

  Together, they ran through Felix’s halls of healing, shouting Irial’s name. There was no answer. Felix seemed worried, but Cedar was too elated by Eden’s recovery to be unduly concerned. They destroyed the jewels; it must have worked. “We’ll find him. We only just broke the curse, so he can’t have gone far.” They went outside and started walking around Felix’s home, looking for any sign of the wandering gancanagh.

  They found him standing on the banks of the river, staring into the water as it rushed past. He was dressed in the simple robe they had given him, his hands outstretched in the wind. “Irial!” Cedar called. He turned, and she let out an involuntary gasp. He had been breathtakingly handsome even while near death. Now his cheeks were flushed with health and his eyes shone with new life; he was the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen. Without thinking, she ran to him and flung her arms around his neck. “It worked!” she shouted, hugging him tightly. He seemed startled by the sudden show of affection, but then his body relaxed and he returned the embrace. She pulled back, grinning. “You gave us a bit of a fright, running off like that! How are you feeling?”

  “I feel…wonderful,” he said, as though he could not quite believe it himself. “How did you…?”

  “We found the jewels after all,” Cedar said. “They were in Asgard. It’s a long story, and you’ll hear it all later. But I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Felix was staring at Irial as though he, too, could not quite believe the transformation. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to examine you one last time, just so I can document the change. It won’t take long.”

  Irial nodded, but his face was somber. “Toirdhealbhach—Felix—I just need to say again how sorry I am about what happened with Jane. And…you know it wasn’t the first time I allowed a human woman to touch me, even after I knew what I was. You gave me the chance to do the right thing all those years ago, but I haven’t always done it. This brush with death…well, I’ve had a lot to think about. It won’t happen again. I guarantee it. I want to live freely, and I want the same for…for women like Jane. There will be no more entrapment, not from me.”

  Cedar watched as the muscles in Felix’s face twitched. But then he closed the gap between him and Irial and embraced the gancanagh, pounding him on the back before stepping back. “You’re going to do just fine,” he said. “You might not believe so yet, but the world is lucky to have you in it.”

  “Why don’t you two head back to your place, Felix, and you can check Irial over one last time. I need to go see Brighid. She must already know that we succeeded, but I want to tell her about what happened with Thor. I think there might still be a chance for them.”

  “I’m sure Jane will be glad to see you as well,” Felix said. “Ask her if she’ll come back with you. We’re long overdue for an honest talk.”

  They returned to Felix’s house, and Cedar stepped back through the sidh to her own place, where Finn, Eden, Helen, and the others were still gathered, listening to Finn tell the story of their time in Asgard from his perspective. They all looked up at her expectantly as she entered.

  “He’s fine,” she told them, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face. “He’s in perfect health.” She took hold of Finn and Eden’s hands. “We did it.” Then she told them about her plan to go see Brighid and bring Jane back here—and Brighid, too, if she wanted to come. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Eden with a wink.

  She opened the sidh into the entrance hall of Brighid’s home, and after giving her one last wave, Finn closed the sidh behind her.

  “Hello?” she called, expecting Vanessa to show up out of nowhere like she usually did. But her voice only echoed in the cavernous hall, which was darker than normal. “Hello?” she called again. “Vanessa? J
ane? Brighid?” She walked down the hallway and swept around the corner, where she saw a faint light flickering from behind the glass doors that led to the balcony. She slid open the door and stepped out. Jane was standing against the railing, watching the sun rise behind the great mountains that rose up out of the ocean. “Jane?” Cedar said softly, feeling a dreadful certainty descend upon her. Something horrible had happened here.

  Jane turned around. Her eyes were red and her skin was blotchy. Black mascara streaks were smudged down both her cheeks. She shook her head sadly, and then her chin crumpled. “I’m so sorry, Cedar.”

  “No,” Cedar whispered, running over to the lounge chair where they had left Brighid. It was empty. The blankets that had covered her were folded neatly at the foot of the lounge, as was the simple black dress she had been wearing.

  “What happened? Where is she?” Cedar stared at Jane in confusion, refusing to believe what her eyes—and the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach—were telling her.

  “She fell asleep after we sent Eden back to Tír na nÓg,” Jane said. “And…she didn’t wake up. I sat next to her the whole time, holding her hand. I had my fingers on her wrist, so I could feel her pulse. But then it…stopped. And a few seconds later she just disappeared. There was this white wispy thing that kind of hovered here for a minute, and then that was gone too.”

  Cedar sank down onto the foot of the lounge, too shocked to cry. “I was too late,” she whispered. The sun had now crested and was flooding the balcony with light. It was a new day, a new world. Brighid had been part of this world for hundreds of years, and now she was gone. The people and creatures of Ériu had suffered a great loss, even if they did not realize it.

  “Ceeds, what happened?” Jane asked. “Did Eden find you? Where is everyone?”

  “It worked,” Cedar said, still staring at the empty space where Brighid should have been. Haltingly, she told Jane everything. But her triumph was now tainted by the knowledge that it hadn’t been enough.