An Immortal Descent

by Kari Edgren

My heart skipped a beat... Cate’s altar. Posing as Saint Brigid’s finger this morning had sorely taxed my gift, but the subsequent stunt in the woods had taken more power than all the folks in Dunmore combined.

  “How did you know which bags were mine?”

  “They had shifts and gowns for starters.”

  I grimaced at her reasoning. The stolen altar would already have Justine in a rage, the last thing I wanted was to be inadvertently responsible for the theft of her clothing and other personal effects. Then again, she might well be too busy subduing Captain Lynch to worry about anything more.

  Pulling the saddlebags closer, I unbuckled the flap and rummaged through the contents. “For both of our sakes, I hope you took the right ones.”

  “Course I did.”

  Sure enough, the clothing was mine. “How could you be so sure?”

  “Because everything smelled like you.”

  In the other side, my knuckles grazed against the altar stone. Digging deeper, my stomach sank when I reached the leather bottom. “My knife’s gone.”

  “Weren’t in there. I searched through all your stuff,” she admitted unabashedly. “Found a lovely hairbrush and a pouch o’ pins, but no knife.”

  Damnation. Cate was going to kill me. Which I wholeheartedly deserved for losing the one way any of Brigid’s descendants could kill the wretch without equal reprisal.

  Ailish dropped her gaze to the burlap sack in her lap. “Probably stolen by one o’ the sailors afore I got to it. The whole lot be suffering from sticky fingers.”

  And sheer brazenness, as someone must have entered the cabin while Justine and I napped before supper. How could I have been so careless? Now either James or Henry would have to kill the wretch, unless I was prepared to die on the spot. But what if I found Deri first? How far was I willing to go? The answer came quick and clear.

  Anything to save Nora...

  Ailish pulled a withered apple from the sack and tossed it into my lap. Another landed next to the first. I snatched one up, my mouth watering despite the obvious wormhole.

  Holding two back, Ailish sank her teeth through the leathery peel. “Might have sniffed around the cabin for scents,” she said around the large bite, “if’n I knew the knife be missing.”

  This was the second time she’d mentioned smelling things. The apple dangled in my hand, temporarily forgotten as I darted a glance at Seamus. From the driver’s bench, he was too far away to catch our conversation over the noise from the cart and horse. “Is that part of your gift?” I asked just loud enough for her to hear.

  She nodded and scrunched her nose for emphasis. “Every creature’s got its own scent. I can smell them all, and with Cailleach’s power, I can tell how close they be to death.” Another chunk of apple disappeared behind her teeth.

  My mouth popped open. “You can smell death?”

  “That I can, and when folks are near to dying, I help gentle them to the other side.”

  “You mean that you kill them?”

  Ailish rolled her eyes at me. “No, Selah. I help them cross if’n they’re ready.” I made to speak but she held up a hand. “Most folks don’t fight leaving when the time comes. Others be fearful to make the journey, and they hang on even when their bodies are half rotted. It’s me gift to bring some peace and gentle them into the next life.”

  Peace was precisely what I’d felt earlier this morning when Ailish sang in the rowboat. The serene notes had sounded unearthly, and for a brief time I’d forgotten the misery of being gagged and bound. “Is that why you sing?”

  “It helps to soothe folks and makes the crossing easier.”

  “What if you’re wrong? What if you gentle someone away who isn’t ready?”

  “Me nose is never wrong.” She tapped the tip with her free hand. “And I don’t force anyone who don’t want to go.”

  My own experience said otherwise. “You forced me,” I muttered darkly.

  “Not so. You wouldn’t have crossed to the Otherworld without some yearning to be there.”

  This brought me up short. “I don’t have a death wish, if that’s what you mean.”

  Only a stem remained of the first apple. Tossing it aside, she started on the second. “You don’t need one to yearn for what’s gone before.” She took another bite, her molars moving methodically over the fruit. “Every soul alive has a connection o’ some kind or another to the next life. Yours just be particularly strong.”

  I looked away, recalling the intense desire to stay in the Otherworld. How only the memory of Henry and Nora had been sufficient to keep me from taking that last step.

  “My parents and brother are there,” I admitted.

  “Me parents be there, too.”

  “Did you see them this time?”

  “I did, and a wee sister who took me mam on the birthing bed.” The second stem went the way of the first. Finished with the meager meal, Ailish drew up her knees and pulled the cape close, managing to look even smaller.

  “Is that when you fell into Calhoun’s hands?”

  She shook her head. “Not until a year later when me da was attacked by cutthroats coming home from the tavern. Calhoun had become acquainted with the two o’ us soon after me mam died, and he took me in once it be known I had nowhere else to go.” The words sounded matter-of-fact, as though all emotion had been separated from the events that had served to shape her life. “I would’ve been for the parish orphanage if’n Calhoun hadn’t known about me gift and decided I’d be useful.”

  “How very fortunate,” I said dryly. “Though I can’t see how gentling people away would help his trade.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Calhoun taught me to hold back Cailleach’s power, so to give folks a good tingling in their fingers, or maybe a peek at a loved one who’d died. Other times, he would have me tell fortunes for those who wanted to know when death be near.” She stared down at the tips of her boots poking out from beneath the cape. “We never got along from the start, but he kept me around to cook and clean and for all the silver I could put in his pocket.”

  Poor girl. Since her parents’ deaths, she’d been little more than a slave for the man. “I guess Calhoun isn’t the kind of person to act from kindness and a shared bloodline.”

  Ailish spit to the side. “He don’t have the kindness to fill a thimble. And from what I’ve felt, he’s got even less o’ Cailleach to him.”

  I frowned at the revelation. “He told me differently.”

  “Oh, he’s always claimed it, he has, though I suspect that be to have a stronger hold on me.” She lifted her gaze skyward, not that there was much to see beyond the fog. “One thing’s for certain, Calhoun’s got an abundance o’ Balor’s blood, and an evil eye that can kill a man in his boots. It’s why he wears that patch, to keep from striking people dead in a fit o’ anger.”

  I stared at her. “Do you mean the king of the Fomorians?” That ancient race had disappeared from Ireland thousands of years ago.

  “How many other Balors do you know?”

  “None,” I admitted. “But I thought he was a myth.” Surely my mother had taught me that.

  “Balor be real, all right, and with the one giant eye that could level a whole army. Calhoun don’t have that kind o’ power. Mostly he causes dreadful headaches, but I’ve seen him kill men when his blood’s boiling. Paddy’s got it the same, and wears a patch like his da.”

  It came as no surprise that Calhoun’s true gift involved suffering and death. “Have either of them ever used it on you?”

  “Paddy, no, but Calhoun did it twice, and I swore me brain was being picked to pieces.” She pulled her arms tighter, propped her chin on her knees. “‘Tis the worst pain I’ve ever felt, and that’s including when you near burned me up.”

  A recent memory pushed to the
front of my thoughts. “He almost used it on me, didn’t he? When we were arguing over the rope.”

  “He was thinking about it.” She lifted a shoulder, let it fall. “Maybe he does have a few drops o’ Cailleach’s blood after all and didn’t want to be hurting himself in the bargain.”

  Hurting himself indeed. A broken limb or a laceration would be considered hurting oneself. Having one’s brain picked to pieces qualified as unmitigated agony. The thought alone caused a phantom ache to lodge directly behind my eyes.

  Damn Calhoun for a scoundrel. And damn James for insisting we sail on the Sea Witch. A loud grumble shook my stomach, and I grabbed one of the apples, taking a bite. I took another bite, and yet another, my poor mood growing quicker than the apple disappeared.

  Why hadn’t I listened to Justine and Julian and waited for another ship? From first sight, they hadn’t trusted Calhoun, and now here I was stuck in the back of a cart with a mortal enemy for company when I should have been with Henry, the two of us working to save Nora.

  Ailish watched me, her expression contemplative. “Do you really love him so?” she asked, the question coming from nowhere.

  “Who do you mean?”

  “Henry, o’ course.”

  My shoulders tensed. “How do you know about him?”

  “I listened at the cabin door when you was talking with the other lady. You must love him dearly to give up living so long.” She spoke without the least shame or surprise.

  “You know it’s considered rude to listen through doors.”

  This got a smile. “Been doing it ever since I can remember, being small for me age and quiet as a mouse. The shadows be the best place to gather me secrets.”

  “Did you discover anything else?”

  Her face wrinkled with effort as she reached a hand around to itch her back. Dissatisfied with the results, she took to rubbing the space between her shoulder blades against the cart rail. “I saw how the dark gentleman lusts for you.”

  My gaze slid past Ailish to the trees lining the road. Scraggly branches and fog mixed with an image of olive skin and dark eyes that seemed to watch me with a visceral awareness. “His name is Lord Stroud. I met him three weeks ago in London.”

  She relaxed once the itch was settled. “He wants your heart for his own.”

  I nodded. “So he’s told me.” Over and over again.

  “Does he have a claim to you then?”

  “In a way,” I admitted. “He’s also descended from Brigid, and it’s tradition for my kind to marry within our bloodline. Under different circumstances, I might have loved him, but my heart already belongs to another.” Fully and irrevocably.

  “Is that why you’re in such a hurry to get to Wexford? To wed your true love?”

  If only that were the truth. “I’m going to Wexford to save my dearest friend from Deri and perhaps to kill a witch.” Supposing the witch was real. I still held out the smallest hope that Cate and Tom had been mistaken about the little wretch’s true lineage.

  Ailish’s face fell slightly. “Wished it were something different. Deri be trouble for anyone who gets in her way, but I guess you’ve no choice, seeing she stole your friend. I just hope you don’t get killed afore you can marry Henry.”

  Me, too. A lump formed in my throat, and I hurriedly changed the subject. “What are you going to do when we get there?” At the latest, we would arrive by tomorrow evening, and I imagined Ailish just as eager as I was to part ways.

  She patted the burlap sack in her lap. “I’ve enough coins in me bag to get to England.”

  “Then what? Do you have relations there?” She must have to risk the journey.

  Ailish shook her head. “I’ll make me way to London to find work.”

  “Alone?” She’d be a target from the first.

  “Don’t really know anyone except for Calhoun and Paddy, and they’ll not be coming along.”

  “London is too dangerous by yourself.” With Cailleach’s power, Ailish would be able to avoid some of the hazards that would normally follow a girl of her age and size. But where would she live? And how would she eat once the meager funds were depleted. “You’ll need references and skills to get employment.” At least the kind that could be done with her clothes on.

  Uncertainty tugged at her mouth. “When we were staying in Bristol, I got word o’ this lady in London who helps orphans. She gives them lodgings and teaches them to be bakers and seamstresses and housemaids.”

  I barely stifled a groan. “I’ve heard of her, too.”

  Excitement lit up Ailish’s face. “She’s real then. I’ve been worried that I’d go all the way and she be a made-up story. Do you know where I can find her?”

  “I do, but there’s a problem.”

  “What sort o’ problem? I can’t be more an orphan than if’n I crawled out from under a rock instead o’ being born.”

  My heart tightened from the inevitable disappointment. “The woman is Lady Cate Dinley.” Catria...my great-grandmother.

  “That be the name I heard. What else do you know o’ her? Does she train orphans?”

  “She does.”

  “And is she really so nice as I heard?”

  “She is...” I paused for a moment. Ailish watched me expectantly, but there wasn’t an easy way to put the next part. “She’s also Brigid’s strongest living descendant. I... I don’t know if she can help you.”

  Ailish held still for the few seconds it took to mull over this newest information. “Because I be from Cailleach.”

  “As different as it may seem right now, we’re still mortal enemies.” In truth, I didn’t know what that meant anymore, except that our gifts opposed each other on the most basic level. Even so, I was fairly certain Cate wouldn’t want Ailish living in a room full of vulnerable children when she could gentle one of them away at any moment. She was Cailleach’s descendant, after all, and it stood to reason that her desire to encourage death rivaled my desire to fight it.

  Every bit of light had drained from her face, rendering it dull to the point of listless. “I see.”

  “Ailish, I’m so sorry. I wish there was something else I could do.” It astonished me just how badly I felt on her behalf.

  “Don’t trouble yourself for me. If’n this lady can’t help, I’ll find another way to survive. Anything be better than going back to Calhoun.” Sadness followed as she moved to the front of the cart to nestle into the pile of sacks between the barrels.

  I watched her for a moment, a slight form that hardly appeared a bump in the pile. A mop of brown hair pillowed her face. Dirt smudged her forehead and streaked across one cheek. In truth, she looked insignificant in every way, and would have passed unnoticed in most situations. Much like a mouse.

  Something about the image caused a complexity of emotions to unfurl in my chest. How had someone so small endured Calhoun’s brutality for all those years? And now, on her own, how would she ever survive in a place as depraved as London? Obviously what Ailish lacked in physical size, she more than made up for in spirit. But after my limited experience in the rookeries, I doubted this would be enough to save her. Even armed with teeth and claws, she was still a mouse, and in all likelihood would be eaten alive.

  Drawing in a slow breath, I tried to clear my head of this newest complication. First and foremost, I came to Ireland for Nora’s sake, not pick up stray orphans. No matter how awful I felt about the situation, Ailish would just have to fend for herself. If I managed to survive the next week, then perhaps I could find a way to help. Until that time, I had to stay focused on the task at hand and try my hardest not to get killed. Considering what waited in Wexford, Ailish may well be safer hundreds of miles away in London.

  Weariness weighed on me, and whatever body part hadn’t gone numb ached like the dickens. I needed sleep but unlike Ailish coul
d find no rest with the constant jostling of the cart. The horse continued at a steady pace, and it wasn’t long before the fog began to thin and we left the woods behind. As we crested a small hill, I caught the first signs of Passage East.

  The horse plodded through the sleepy village to where the road ended at the water’s edge. Ailish lifted a groggy head to glance around while Seamus went to arrange passage. He spoke to the ferry master at length, and after dropping some coins into the man’s hand, they approached the cart together.

  The man skimmed a disinterested look over the barrels and gunnysacks. “Drive on,” he called. “The current be in your favor and me lads will have you in Ballyhack ahead o’ the dark.”

  Two large men appeared at each side, one slipping a blindfold over the horse’s eyes before guiding the cart across the plank and onto the ferry. Recalling my last venture through a river, I closed my eyes tight and prayed to be spared a near drowning this time. Minutes passed, and I heard the splash of long poles moving in and out of the water. Still, I didn’t dare look, my eyes remaining shut until I felt the horse walk again.

  Another hour passed by the time we arrived at a humble cottage. The front door banged open, and a woman rushed out, followed by four young girls. Seamus jumped from the cart and was soon enveloped by his family.

  “Did you miss me so?” he asked good-naturedly. “Or are you hoping for a bag o’ sweets?”

  “Sweets! Sweets!” the youngest girl cried, who looked no more than three years.

  Seamus laughed. “So I thought, me wee darling.” He pulled a small bag from inside his coat. “Take this and go back inside. I need a word alone with your mam.”

  The youngest girl took the bag of sweets and dashed indoors with her sisters close behind. When the door closed, Seamus turned to his wife. “I picked up two lasses on the roadside, Jane and Sally Duggan. They’ll be spending the night in the barn, and then be for Wexford in the morning to meet up with their da.”

  The woman gave him a resigned smile. “You’re too soft-hearted for your own good.” She turned to us. “Me name’s Fianna. Come on down, and I’ll show you where to bed whilst Seamus sees to the horse.”