by Emma Hamm
Sorcha shook her head.
“Blast. This suddenly became a lot more difficult.”
“It said nothing in the book about needing something of his,” Sorcha said. She pulled the journal out of her back and leafed to the page with the portal drawing.
“I’m not surprised. That’s just a way to get to the Otherworld. But it will put you down wherever it decides, and we need to make sure it’s where you want to go.”
“Then was this all a waste?” Sorcha snapped the book shut. “I cannot go anywhere in the Otherworld, I’ll never be able to find him.”
Aisling tapped a finger against her chin. “Just how close were you to this faerie?”
“Very close.”
“Close enough that he might be thinking of you?”
“Time passes differently in the Otherworld. I don’t even know how long it’s been since we’ve last seen each other.”
Sorcha rubbed her chest. The thought he might have forgotten her made her skin itch. What if he didn’t want her back? He had sent her away to stay safe, but there was always the chance he sent her away because he was done with her.
“I can find someone that’s thinking of you,” Aisling muttered. “Are you ready?”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Sorcha nodded, though nerves made her stomach rise into her throat. Too many things could go wrong. Bad endings ran through her mind over and over until she questioned the sanity of this. She didn’t even know this witch!
Kneeling at the front of the circle, Sorcha scooped up a handful of dirt. “By earth, I open this portal between our world and the Otherworld.”
Aisling crouched at the top of the circle, leaned down, and blew upon the next. “By air, I break the shields that separate our kind.”
Sorcha spat on the next rune. “By water, I lift the veil and create the way into the Otherworld.”
The witch hesitated only for a moment, a feral grin splitting her features. She lifted a hand and snapped her fingers. Fire danced upon the tips, crackling with unnatural energy. “By fire, I open the portal.”
Aisling tossed the fire onto the last remaining rune which burst into flames. The circle melted into the ground as the elements combined. A glassy surface spread before them, and Sorcha stared down into the Otherworld.
It was just as beautiful as she remembered. Green grass so perfect that her eyes watered. Sunlight and faeries flying past the portal without even glancing up at the two women staring down at them.
Aisling sighed. “It never gets old, does it?”
“No. It doesn’t at all.” She missed it so much. Just seeing the land and the faeries made her soul squeeze. “Now what?”
“Now we find someone who's thinking of you.”
“That could take a while.”
“It most likely will. I can’t imagine there’s hundreds of faeries thinking of you all the time. No offense, healer.”
“None taken.”
Aisling spread her hands over the portal and hummed under her breath. “Spirits of the air, aid me. Seek the one who dreams of a red-haired lass, who whispers the name Sorcha of Ui Neill. Breathe into this portal your guidance and bring us to the place where they rest.”
The surface rippled and zipped across the landscape until everything was a blur. It seemed to hesitate in some spots for a few moments, but then continued searching for a person thinking of Sorcha.
She blew out a breath. “Come on. One of you, please think of me. Please.”
Surely she hadn’t been gone that long? They couldn’t have forgotten her already.
And then the mirror stilled, settling on a small patch of moss in the center of a forest. Emerald green and dotted with dew, the meadow was a small slice of heaven.
“Better go now,” Aisling said. “I don’t know how long it will hold, and if it’s moving while you jump then you’ll be tossed into the air.”
“I just jump down?”
“That’s all.”
“Will it hurt?”
“I don’t have a clue. Never been through a faerie portal before. Never even seen someone try it until you.”
The flashing grin she gave Sorcha was not comforting. There was something about the woman that was strange and unusual. Not her looks, Sorcha had seen a fair bit of women who were rough around the edges. It wasn’t the way she moved, or spoke, but something innate that hovered just out of reach.
Sorcha sprang into movement and tossed her pack over her shoulders. “How old are you anyways?” she asked.
“Me?” Aisling put a hand on her chest. “It’s rude to ask.”
“I find it hard to believe you’re worried about my manners.”
Aisling stood, placed a palm against Sorcha’s spine, and shook her head. “I’m younger than you. Eighteen years to my name, and I already know more than most people find out in their entire lives. Say hello the faeries for me.”
“You're how old?”
The witch shoved, hard, and Sorcha tumbled through the portal. She landed on her hands and knees, cushioned by moss. The jolt still knocked the breath from her lungs.
“Aisling!” she cried out. “I’m not done with you yet!”
Sorcha rolled onto her back and stared up at the portal which was steadily shrinking. A bird’s nest covered head poked over the small window and waved. “Have fun!”
“How do I get back?”
The portal closed before the witch could answer.
“Blasted witch!” she grumbled. “I need to get back, eventually!”
She rolled back onto her hands and knees, pulling out the leather bound book. There had to be something within its pages that could help. The portal page flew past, but there were no inked words after that.
Plenty of spells appeared, all to protect herself against faeries and their ilk. Nothing that would help her get home, or even find the creature who had been thinking of her.
Sorcha rolled over, her curls spilling over her face and tangling in front of her. No faeries stared back at her. No birds sang in the trees, and no bugs flitted through the air.
All was still and silent.
She was home. Sorcha breathed in the clean, sweet air and felt the missing piece inside her slide back into place. This was where her soul belonged.
Tears stung her eyes and she couldn’t catch her breath. She felt as if a lifetime had passed since she’d last walked in this wondrous land. Her fingers sank deep into moss that shimmered with dew.
There was someone here thinking about her. Someone she must have known, for who else would think of her in this place?
She swallowed. “Please don’t be Fionn.”
Sorcha rose to her feet, nearly stumbling. Should she call out? Should she let whomever was here know she’d arrived?
It was the only option. Although it seemed foolish in place like this, Sorcha knew it was the right choice.
“Hello?” she called out. “Hello? Who’s there!”
A twig broke to her left.
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” The voice was young and made her sag with relief.
“Pooka,” she breathed and turned. “It’s me.”
“Who are you?”
“You don’t remember me? It’s Sorcha, Pooka.”
The boy had grown so much since she last saw him. He stood nearly as tall as her. He hadn’t taken the form his mother chose, the patchwork woman had been uncomfortable to look at. Instead, Pooka had chosen a thicker form that leaned heavily towards canine features.
He squinted his eyes. “I don’t know a Sorcha.”
“I put your arm back together when you were little.” She pointed at the appendage. “I told you stories of Macha to keep you quiet and said you were a brave man for handling so much pain with nary a peep.”
She watched him rub the arm, exactly where he had broken it. She held her breath and prayed that he would remember. How long had she been gone? He was so different than she remembered.
“If you’re re
ally her, then what are you doing in the Otherworld?”
“I came to find your master.”
“He doesn’t need to be found.”
“He does.”
“Why?” Pooka gave her a suspicious look. “Are you going to stop him?”
“Stop him from what?”
Another voice interrupted, calling out, “Domnall! Where are you, boy?”
Pooka turned bright red. “You didn’t hear that name.”
“I wouldn’t have used it against you anyways.”
“Domnall! I thought I told you to gather mugwort, not to wander off into the forest and-” Oona stopped talking and halted behind Pooka as she caught sight of Sorcha. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh.”
Sorcha’s words stuck in her throat as all the emotions bubbled up. “Hello, Oona.”
Tears dripped down her leaf-like cheeks as Oona launched herself into Sorcha’s arms. “Oh my dearie! My girl, you are here!”
“It’s been so long.”
“Longer for us.” Oona squeezed her so hard that she could barely breathe. “Oh my dear, sweet girl. How we have missed you!”
“Are you all right? You made it out of the castle?”
“Just barely.”
“Cian?”
“Alive.”
“Boggart?”
“Still with us.”
“Good,” Sorcha mumbled against Oona’s shoulder. “Good.”
“I cannot believe you’re here!”
“Neither can I!”
Oona pulled away, framing her face and touching every part of Sorcha she could. “You’re real.”
“I’m real.”
“How?”
“There’s so much to tell you. But only once everyone is together. Where is he?” She watched Oona’s face fall. The knot in the pit of her stomach clenched hard. “Oona?”
“Oh, dearie. It’s been a long time since he sent you away.”
“What happened?”
The leaves rustled behind them. Cian blundered towards them, shaking leaves from his shoulders. “I can’t leave you two alone for even a second! You wander off like you have nothing else to do—”
He looked up and froze.
Sorcha waved. “Hello, Cian.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m glad you survived the battle.”
He huffed. “Yeah, well. You picked a bad time to come back.”
“Why?” She looked around at the beloved familiar faces. “Why is this a bad time? What’s happened?”
“The master,” Oona said. “He’s…not the same as he was when you left.”
“What do you mean?”
“The king’s forces seek us out. Somehow, Fionn caught wind that Eamonn was building an army. We have been fighting our way through the Otherworld to get to the Castle of Light.”
“I’m sorry, why has this changed him? He’s always been a warrior.”
“You’ve never seen him like this, dearie.”
“I’ve watched him kill for me. Have you forgotten I was there? I was with him when the battle started. He killed five elves and didn’t even flinch. They couldn't touch him!”
Oona winced. “They’re touching him now. I don’t think he cares anymore if they touch him.”
“What?”
Cian shuffled his feet. “What the pixie is trying to say is that he’s falling to pieces. Solidifying more after every battle because the crystals strengthen him.”
“He’s throwing himself in front of the blade,” Sorcha gasped in horror. “That won’t make him stronger.”
Oona played with her fingers, twisting them to and fro. “We’ve been trying to convince him of that, but he won’t listen. He’s certain he’ll get his throne back and save everyone. But now you’re here! Maybe you can convince him otherwise.”
“I can try,” she whispered. “But I don’t know if he’ll listen to me. How long has it been?”
“Five years.”
She rocked back on her heels in shock. “Five years?”
“Five long years filled with fighting and hardship.”
Pooka snorted. “And hunger.”
“Have you been traveling all this time?” Sorcha asked.
“We haven’t stopped since the battle.”
She exhaled and tried not to think of their struggles. There would be time for that. She had all the time in the world now to be with them. But, there was something she had to do. And she couldn’t wait any longer.
“Where is he?” Sorcha asked.
Oona pointed. “Through the woods in the glen.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
Sorcha handed off her pack and smoothed her hands down her simple, blue skirt. “Please take this back to your camp. I’ll join you later.”
“You’re going to him?”
“I am.”
The Reunion And The Throne
Leaves fell from the trees, green and bright. They smelled so sweet compared to the winter she had left.
Her hands trembled as she walked through the forest towards the glen where Eamonn stood. Would he even want to see her again? Had he missed her as much as she’d missed him?
Tiny orbs of light burst into the air from their haven atop the leaves. They trailed after her, landing in the curls of her hair and nesting deep within the coils. Perhaps they felt the rapid beat of her heart and heard the whispered promise of a story coming to life.
The forest was so quiet. Sorcha picked her way through the moss, avoiding every twig or stick that might give her away. She didn’t want him to know she was coming. She needed just a few more minutes to control her breathing, feel the tingle in her fingers, and face the fear of rejection.
She brushed aside a tangled length of vine and there it was. The glen that glowed gold in the sunlight.
And him.
Eamonn sat on a stump in the center of emerald ground. An unfamiliar sword laid across his lap, and he stared down at it.
He had changed. The crystals had spread, but it was more than that. He was in the sunlight without a cloak, without fabric covering his face. Eamonn was bare to the world, and he did not flinch away in fear.
She placed a hand against the nearest tree to balance herself. The dream Fionn had shown her was true. He had truly become more crystal than man, and yet he was still hers. She could feel it.
He must have been deep in thought, because he did not look up. She stepped onto a twig and let it crack beneath her heel.
“I asked for solitude.” His deep voice sent shivers down her spine. “I need no company, Oona.”
She couldn’t speak. He sounded the same, even though time had passed. It was still him.
His shoulders hunched forward before he growled. “Oona, how many times do I have to tell you?”
Sorcha watched him stand while holding her breath. He turned around, and their eyes met. Lightning danced between them. The wind rushed into the glen, whipping the tail of his braid that was longer than she remembered.
But it was his eyes that held her. Like a physical touch, a whisper, a promise.
“You came back.”
“Of course I did.”
“After all this time, you came back.”
He took one step towards her, a lurching step before catching himself as if he didn’t know whether he had the right to touch her. She let out a choked sound, and then they were running towards each other. She didn’t know which one moved first, but it didn’t matter.
His arm wrapped around her, one hand lifted to cup her face and press her forehead against his, breathing her in.
“I thought I’d lost you forever.” His breath fanned against her lips.
“How could I stay away?”
“You aren’t safe here.”
“Is life worth living if we are not together?”
Eamonn bent, lifting her by the hips until he could kiss her without straining. They poured their frustrations, their longing, their heartbreak into a single
kiss that wiped those emotions away.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her fingers into the grooves of his shoulders. He was solid and real, the man she had desired for so long. Finally, she could clasp him to her chest and breathe him in.
Her back hit a tree, the bark digging through the fabric of her dress, but she didn’t care. Sorcha traced the angular curve of his jaw, down the strong column of his neck, into the deep crevices she didn’t remember.
Eamonn kissed her as if he were a drowning man. Each lingering pass of firm lips and biting crystal healed her fragile heart. He didn’t just take her lips, he devoured her.
He drew back for a second, pressing a raspy moan against her throat. “I should let you go.”
“Please don’t. I only just got you back.”
Her words snapped the tether of his tight control. His hands were everywhere. Splayed open against her spine, pressing her closer to his body while sliding up the smooth length of her thigh. Her dress parted and warm air danced along her calves.
Every nerve ending in her body fired until all she could feel was him. He licked a trail of fire down her throat and across her shoulders.
This time was different than the first. He didn’t hesitate or draw back, he did not allow her to take control. Somehow, she understood this moment was not about how much they missed each other. This wasn’t just a reunion or a heartbreaking moment to remind each other they existed.
He wanted to brand her with his touch because he’d come so close to losing her.
The fabric of her bodice tore as he moved too quickly. Sorcha gasped and arched her back.
He licked a trail from the hollow of her throat to her breasts. She forgot how to breathe as he drew the tight pebbles into his mouth. Their first time had been so sweet she hadn’t been able to think.
Now she felt as though she were adrift at sea and he was the only raft in sight. She clutched onto his shoulders and rocked on the waves they created.
His hand slipped underneath her skirts, slid up the back of her thigh and clenched the globes of her bottom. He pulled away from her chest, breathing into her ear, “I have missed you.”
“Stop toying with me,” she ground out. “Now, Eamonn.”
“We’ve hardly gotten started.”
“I will learn every inch of your body again, but I cannot wait any longer!”