by Jodi McIsaac
Cedar gave Jane an uneasy look and then glanced up at the sky, which was darkening rapidly under a layer of thick clouds that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere. Finn and Felix also had their eyes trained on the sky, their faces grim. The formerly picturesque setting was growing more ominous by the second. She felt the hair rise on her arms, and wondered if she should send Eden back through the sidh. But when she turned around, it was no longer there. Where once there’d been a doorway back to Brighid’s house, there was now only grass, and beyond that, a long fence. “Where’d the sidh go?” she asked.
“Oops,” Eden said, looking sheepish. “I kinda closed it. I thought we were always supposed to do that so no one could follow us. Is that bad?”
Cedar’s heartbeat quickened slightly. “It’s okay,” she said, but she didn’t like it. Liam’s warnings about Abhartach had seemed less threatening back in the opulence of Brighid’s sunny home. The silence here was too unnatural, and now they had no sidh to escape through if it turned out that he was right. She glanced at the farmhouse in the distance. Their closest exit wouldn’t be close enough if Abhartach chose to attack them.
Cedar started walking toward the tree. Finn was beside her, carrying a spade he had borrowed from Brighid. Eden followed them, flanked by Felix and Jane. The wind had picked up, and it was unusually chilly for late August—Cedar thought she could actually smell winter on the air. She shivered. She was starting to feel strangely unwelcome in this haunted field.
When they reached the tree, they discovered that they were no longer alone. Three bulls had wandered over and were standing on the other side of it, gazing at them with baleful eyes. Two of the bulls were black, and their eyes were as dark as opals. The other was pure white, with no spots or markings anywhere on its expansive hide. Its eyes were a reddish-brown, the color of the mud beneath the tree, and the three of looked at Cedar without blinking.
“Shoo,” she said to them, but they just stood there, watching. “Do you think they’re dangerous?” she asked Finn.
“Nah, they’re just regular bulls,” he said. “Felix, give me a hand with these stones, will you?”
As Felix and Finn heaved the stones off the ground and set them outside the dirt circle, Cedar put her hand on the tree’s trunk, feeling the rough bark beneath her fingers. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain lace through her palm. “Ouch!” she cried, yanking her hand away from the tree. Immediately, Finn was at her side, examining the bleeding palm.
“It’s like… it bit me,” she said. Blood seeped out of a jagged wound that ran across her palm like a knife slash. A smear of blood marked the spot where her hand had been resting on the tree. As they watched, it disappeared, seeping into the bark like water poured on a sponge. Cedar clenched the fist tightly.
“Let Felix look at that,” Finn said, but Cedar shook her head.
“It’s fine,” she said. “We can take care of it later.”
“You two might want to back up,” Felix said. He was standing a few feet away, on the grass where they’d moved the three stones. They hadn’t even started to dig beneath the tree yet, but the ground was trembling. She could feel it through the soles of her feet, a deep rumble in the earth that reminded her of the quakes she had occasionally felt while living on the west coast. But she knew this was no earthquake. Tiny pebbles on the ground began to shake, making the ground beneath the tree look like it was vibrating. The bulls snorted and stamped their feet and then turned and stampeded toward the other end of the field. The other bulls who had been grazing nearby followed them, tearing up the ground beneath their hooves as they thundered away.
Cedar and Finn stepped back to join the others, and Cedar held on tight to Eden with her uninjured hand. As they watched, the tree began to sway violently, its branches snapping through the air like a whip. And then, with a sharp crack that rang through the air, it broke in two, as though a giant had snapped it over his knee. The ground stopped shaking, and a swirl of dust arose from the ground—a small, self-contained tornado of red dirt and pebbles. And then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over, and a man stood before them.
Only, he was not quite a man. He stood only a few inches taller than Eden. His beard fell to his knees in a tangle of gray hair and clumps of dirt, with a few bits of tree root sticking out at haphazard angles. He was wearing what appeared to be animal hides, roughly sewn together by thick strands of leather. His skin was the most remarkable thing of all. Through the dirt, Cedar could see that every inch of it was covered in dark markings, like tattoos. They stood there staring at him for a moment, and he at them.
Then he spoke words Cedar did not understand in a deep, grating voice. Felix took at step forward, and addressed the man in the same strange language. “What are they saying?” she whispered to Finn.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I haven’t learned this language.”
They stood still and listened to Felix and the dwarf rally back and forth with their words. They spoke rapidly, and occasionally one of their voices would grow loud and angry. After a few moments they stopped speaking entirely, and stood glaring at each other. Felix was breathing heavily, but the dwarf looked untroubled, though his eyes were dark.
Felix stepped to the side so that he could speak with the others without turning his back on the dwarf. “This is Abhartach,” he said. “He is grateful that we have freed him from the curse of the druids.”
“Will he help us?” Cedar asked, stepping forward. Felix flung his hand out to stop her.
“Don’t get too close,” he said. “I told him about Liam’s concerns and the stories about his cruelty and his death. He is unimpressed, to say the least. Before he decides whether to help us, he wants to tell you his story, so that the world can know the truth about him.”
“Can’t it wait?” Cedar asked. “Ask him if he’ll come to Tara with us and show us where the Lia Fáil is… then we can hear his story.”
“Already tried that,” Felix said, shaking his head. “He’s quite insistent. I had no idea he was a dwarf. They’re even more stubborn than you are.”
Cedar made a face at him and said, “Okay, fine, let’s hear the story. But then we really have to go.” She looked around nervously, wondering if an army of druids would suddenly appear around them.
Felix said a few words to Abhartach, who was still standing remarkably still. Cedar supposed it was a skill he’d had occasion to learn over the last several centuries. “I’ll translate as best as I can,” Felix said. Abhartach started speaking in the same strange, guttural language, pausing every few seconds so that Felix could translate.
“I was a simple peddler with a wife and two sons,” Felix began. “The dwarves were a proud and ancient race, but we kept to ourselves. Most of them, that is, but not I. Ever since I was a young child I had longed to see other parts of the world. Being a peddler was not the noblest of professions, but I had little skill in craftsmanship, and it allowed me to travel as far as my feet could take me, and to meet other races and beings. I sold fine carvings and tools made by my fellow dwarves, plus whatever interesting trinkets I picked up along the way. Whenever I entered a new village, I always found myself drawn to whatever magic could be found there. Sometimes it was the local druid, sometimes a sacred tree or the place where sacrifices were made. Wherever there was magic, I would find it. I could go into crowded markets and point out magic wielders or selkies in their human disguise. As I traveled, I could identify the sidhe of the Tuatha Dé Danann in what looked like ordinary hills and trees to other people. I had always been fascinated with magic, but it was rare for a dwarf to have any gifts in that area, and even then it was usually limited to the shaping of stone and wood.
“And so I began testing myself. I found that I had some rudimentary skills, but I needed a teacher. So I approached the chief druid near my home and offered myself as his apprentice. He merely laughed, saying that dwarves did not possess the necessary intelligence and skill to master the druidic arts. But I did not give up. There we
re many other beings that were skilled in magic, and I was able to find them all. They were not as haughty as the old druid was and were glad to share their knowledge with me. In return, they sent me on quests to find ancient magical artifacts or to determine the best place to perform certain rituals. I traveled far—across the sea and into strange lands—to learn all I could from every creature I could find. Every day, my power grew.
“But it was not enough. I wanted more. I tried various substances to enhance my powers and my affinity with the magical world. Mushrooms, herbs, potions of my own creation… human blood.”
At this, Felix stopped translating and said a few harsh words to Abhartach, who shrugged and kept talking. When he paused, waiting for his words to be translated, Felix exhaled loudly and then turned back to the others.
“It was remarkable. When I drank human blood I could see the world of magic more clearly than ever, and I could see far—not just with my eyes, but with my mind. Word of my power spread, and magic-seekers began coming from all over the world to learn from me. They would freely offer their blood as payment. In my travels I had acquired a great deal of wealth, and was now chieftain. I was never cruel, as your druid has said. No people were better protected than mine, as no enemy would dare cross me.
“Now the druid who had rejected me as his apprentice had gone mad with hatred and jealousy. He would watch as the travelers would pass his house to come to mine, for my skills exceeded his in all things. He thought I was a demon and started spreading lies about the origins of my power. Twice he sent a great warrior to kill me, and twice I dispatched the attacker with ease. He would not fight me himself, of course, because he knew he could not overcome me.
“But though I was powerful beyond measure, I had never been permitted to study the druidic arts. Parts of their lore were still a mystery to me. The last person the druid sent to slay me was not a great warrior, nor a powerful magician or rival chieftain. It was my own son, who was still a young man.
“My son believed, as others did, that I was immune to death. He believed it more strongly than most. He was a foolish child, too eager to please others and too proud of our family’s high standing. The druid told him that I could be killed with a sword of yew. My son, of course, denied it. He said that there was nothing in this world that could kill his father. And so the druid bet him a very large sum that he was wrong, which my idiot son thought would be an easy way to become rich in his own right. So that night he plunged a simple sword of yew into my heart. The druid was wrong: I did not die. But I was trapped inside my mind, unable to work my body or use any magic. To the world, I appeared dead. I heard my son’s wails and my wife’s keening. I heard the druid tell the villagers that I would terrify them no longer if only they would do as he commanded. They buried me upside down, because the druid told them that only human chieftains should be buried in the traditional way, standing up straight and proud. He said I was an evil spirit and that the only way to keep me from haunting them was to sprinkle thorns around the grave and to raise a dolmen over my feet. But I have been alive these many years, waiting for someone to free me from my prison at long last.”
When Felix stopped speaking, there was silence. Finally, Cedar spoke. “Please tell him that we are grateful for his story and that we will do what we can to redeem his name among the Tuatha Dé Danann and among the other magical beings of the world.” She waited as Felix translated this for Abhartach, who nodded gravely. “Have you told him why we need his help?” she asked.
“Yes,” Felix said. “I will ask him if he has decided.”
Cedar squeezed Eden’s hand while they listened to Felix and Abhartach converse. She knelt down to her daughter’s level. “There, now you can say that you’ve seen a real live dwarf,” she said softly.
Eden smiled. “I didn’t think he’d be so dirty.” Cedar laughed, but the smile slid off her face when she took note of Felix’s stormy expression.
“He says we ask too much,” Felix said. “He has been in the ground for more than fifteen hundred years and has no desire to return there. He will exact his revenge on the druids, but not in open combat.”
Cedar stared at him incredulously. “But we freed him!” she said. “And he won’t help us?” Her face was flushed, and she glared at the dwarf, who stood there impassively.
Felix held up a hand. “He won’t come with us to retrieve the stone,” he said. “He says he’s not at his full strength, obviously, and he fears that he might not be able to defeat an army of druids. But he will help us find the stone.”
“How?” Cedar asked. “How can he do that if he won’t come with us?”
Felix rubbed the back of his neck. He was staring at the ground, silent. Then he looked directly at Jane. “You heard the story,” he said softly. “He needs blood. Human blood.”
All eyes were now on Jane, whose face had gone ashen.
“No!” Cedar said quickly. “I’m human, he can use me.”
Felix shook his head. “It is Danann blood that runs through your veins. Jane is the only true human among us.”
Jane stepped forward. Her chin was held high, but she couldn’t disguise her trembling. “Okay,” she said. “It’s okay.” She grabbed Cedar’s hands tightly, trying to force a smile.
“Jane, no,” Cedar said. “I won’t let you. There’s got to be another way.”
Jane shook her head. “But there isn’t, is there?” she said. “This is so much bigger than any of us. It’s my world that’s in danger, and I’m glad I can finally do something to help.” She looked at Felix. “Does he need… all of my blood?” she asked.
Felix translated her question to Abhartach, who answered in a couple of terse sentences.
“He says he can tell you are very dear to us and that he’ll try to take only what he needs. He says… there is a risk, but he cannot see the stone without the blood.”
Jane took a deep breath and squeezed Cedar’s hands again. “I haven’t talked to my mum in ages,” she said. “If it… doesn’t go well, tell her… tell her I ran off with some nice guy and that I’m very happy,” she said with a teary smile. “Nah, don’t tell her that, she won’t believe you. Just make something up. But tell her I love her.”
“No, you’re going to be fine. She’s going to be fine, right?” Cedar looked imploringly at Felix.
“Yes,” Felix said, his face like stone. “I’ll make sure she is.”
“So, how do we do this?” Jane asked. Felix held her gaze for several heartbeats before turning back to Abhartach.
“He says a bowl and a knife is the traditional way. In my opinion, it’s also the safest. I say that we go up to that farmhouse and see if we can’t find the proper supplies there. Then we can open a sidh to get the hell out of here once he tells us where the stone is.”
Finn nodded. “We’ll have to go to the farmhouse to make a sidh anyway,” he said. “Let’s go.” Cedar grabbed Eden’s hand and started walking, but stopped when she heard Abhartach’s angry voice behind her. “What is it?” she asked Felix, who looked grim.
“He thinks we’ll try to escape,” he said.
“Why would we do that? We need his help,” she said.
“He wants to do it here,” Felix said. “He says he is too weak.”
“Fine,” Jane said in a loud, clear voice. “Let’s do it here. Finn, can’t you transform into a scalpel or something?”
He shook his head. “No, but…”
“One of the big cats should work,” Felix interrupted. He sat Jane down on the grass and held out her arm. “Just make it as clean as you can.” He beckoned for Abhartach to come closer, and spoke to him quietly. “I’ve told him that I will control the flow of the blood, and that he may collect it in his hands and drink from there. Under no circumstances is he allowed to drink directly from your body. I want you to tell me if you are feeling weak or light-headed.”
Finn frowned in concentration for a moment, and then Eden squealed. “Watson!” she cried. A housecat that was identical
to her neighbor’s pet climbed up onto Jane’s lap, and Jane stroked it, laughing.
Felix smiled. “I told you one of the big cats,” he said, flicking one of the cat’s pointed ears. “But this will do. Give me a claw.”
Finn obliged, holding out his paw and extending his claws. Felix told Jane to relax and then deftly swept the claw in a small, neat line up her forearm. Cedar turned Eden toward her and hugged her close. Immediately, bright red blood began running down Jane’s arm and dripping off her wrist. Abhartach, who was kneeling beside her, held out his muddy hands to catch the drips then lapped at them like a dog.
“Never fancied myself a cutter before,” Jane said, smiling weakly. The cat gave her one last purr and licked her arm, then jumped down onto the grass and transformed back into Finn. Cedar reached out to him, and he put his arms around her.
“This isn’t right,” Cedar whispered, her voice muffled by his chest. “I should be the one doing this, not Jane.”
“You don’t always have to be the one making the sacrifices,” he told her. “We all want to see Nuala defeated. You were the only one who could destroy Lorcan… and Jane is the only one who can help us here. She’s going to be fine. And I think she’ll be more than fine if Felix has anything to say about it.”
Cedar grinned despite her worry. “They seem like such an odd couple… but perfect for each other at the same time. Do you think they’ll stop fighting for long enough to see it?”
“I think they already see it… and it scares the hell out of both of them,” he answered.
“Interesting choice of cat,” Cedar said. “And it made me think: When I first found out that Eden was missing, Watson stayed with me for the whole night. It was so strange; usually he doesn’t visit for more than a few minutes. Was it you?”
Finn shook his head. “No, I was still on my way back to Halifax,” he said. “But it wasn’t Watson. It was my mother. She told me about it later. She was worried that you’d be angry because she had invaded your privacy, but she couldn’t bear the thought of you spending that night all alone.”