Worlds Without End

by Caroline Spector

  At the next stop, we left the tram and cut across West High Street. It was a strange experience, to see almost as many elves as humans walking about. No one gave us a second look. Oh well, perhaps one or two. We were dressed better than the average Dubliner. I know the reports out of the Tir have it that the land is green and milk and honey flow from every stream, but after all, this is Eire.

  Poverty has been at the throat of the people for generations. And goblinization hadn’t changed that. Perhaps no one was starving, but all was not well in the Tír.

  At St. Nicholas Street we headed south and cut west before we reached St. Patrick’s Park. I glanced back to see if anyone was following us. An old woman pulled a shopping cart filled with vegetables, but as far as I could see there was no one tailing us.

  “How long since you’ve been here?” I asked Caimbeul.

  “Oh, I get about.” he said, shrugging.

  “Meaning you’ve been here recently.”

  He gave me hard stare. “Yes. I was here recently. I was invited to attend a wedding.”

  “Whose wedding?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Because I wasn’t invited?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Well, I don’t care about that.” I lied. Weddings were highly symbolic events in the elven community. Full of alliances and power-jockeying. Not being invited meant I wasn’t considered a power anymore. That would hurt me when I went to the Court. No doubt Alachia’s hand at work once more.

  We worked our way across the maze of streets that led to St. Stephen’s Green. Nestled next to ancient stone buildings were brick flats put up in the nineteen-hundreds next to chip-implanting shops. Dublin wasn’t a flash city like New York or LA. She crept up on you and worked her charms in subtler ways. A hint of the past here. A bit of the future there.

  Once we were in St. Stephen’s I relaxed a little. I was certain no one was tailing us: the old woman had turned off on Bride Street. Since then, the crowd thickened and thinned, but no one seemed at all interested in Caimbeul and me.

  “Where do you want to stay?” Caimbeul asked.

  “Stephen’s Hall?”

  “Do they have a decent security rating?”

  “Good enough.” I said. “It’s not like we’re going underground.”

  The hotel overlooked St. Stephen’s Green with its emerald grass and drooping willows. We checked in and followed the troll bell boy up to our suite.

  We left a wake-up call for six.

  * * *

  The rains came at four. I woke to a crash of thunder and the sound of hail hitting the windows. For a moment I was disoriented and thought I was back in the kaer. A suffocating darkness pressed against me. But then I saw the night sky as Caimbeul opened the drapes.

  “Where did this come from?” he wondered aloud.

  “If I were more superstitious.” I said, “I would say it was a sign.”

  “A sign?”

  “Yes. They know we’re here. But it’s more likely this is the Doineann Draoidheil.”

  He didn’t say anything to that. Knowing he was watching there at the window made me feel safe. And as I drifted back to sleep, I smiled.

  Tonight she doesn't dream.

  9

  Bells.

  I swam up from the murky depths and realized before I opened my eyes that it was the telephone. Couldn’t they afford to replace these fraggin’ antiques? I thought. Swatting at the phone, I managed to drag it from its cradle and sent the base crashing to the floor. Damn things, I never got used to them when they appeared and now that they were obsolete, I was still plagued with them.

  “Whazzit?”

  “Your wake-up call.” The voice was computerized and pretematurally perky. I hate that.

  I let the receiver drop. It missed the base and thudded on the carpet. Burrowing further into the covers, I let the lovely blackness drag me down again.

  “Aina.” said Caimbeul, pulling the covers off me.

  “Time to get up.”

  I lay there for a moment not moving. It occurred to me that though we Elders weren’t supposed to mortally wound one another, there was always a first time for everything. Instead, I rolled onto my back and glared at him in what I hoped would be a frightening manner.

  “That won’t work.” he said. He was dressed in black. His hair was pulled back into that annoying ponytail. At least he’d laid off dyeing it red for a while. “I’m not even a little intimidated by your bad moods. I lived with them for years. They just don’t impress me anymore.”

  I muttered something unintelligible, hoping it would be taken for a scathing remark. But it wasn’t. He knew me too well.

  Stumbling to the bathroom, I hoped that there was at least hot water for a shower.

  * * *

  We rented a car and made our way west from Dublin out of Dublin County through Kildare to Offaly and into Galway. A heavy mist lay over the land making the greens muted and soft. Much of the land had gone wild. I knew this was part of the Awakening.

  The land was going back to what it was before humans had put their mark upon it. Remnants of that earlier time existed before the Awakening. The Giant’s Causeway in Antrim was one such place. Some said it was cooling lava that produced the hexagon-shaped stones leading from the mountains down to the sea, but I knew better.

  “How are you going to find the Court?” Caimbeul asked. “They could be anywhere.”

  “Yes, but those who know where they are keep to certain places. We’re going there.”

  “To the tombs?”

  “Yes, and other places.”

  “You know how I hate the tombs.”

  “Life is suffering, Caimbeul. Didn’t you know that?”

  * * *

  Because of the fog, it took us four hours to reach The Burren. The land here was wilder than other areas of the Tír. Perhaps because the people who lived in this part of Ireland had never been far from their Celtic roots. Even before the Awakening, Gaelic was the primary language for large sections of Galway.

  As we passed, I saw fingers of gray rock clawing up through the thin soil. Dark green thorn trees twisted against the fierce ocean wind. Sheer cliffs dropped down to rocky seashores.

  The Burren was a flat plain of gray limestone rock. Deep fissures cut down into the slabs of stone, scarring the rock. The only things that grew there were wildflowers that sprang up between the cracks.

  I parked the car and we started up the Burren. Once there would have been tourists clambering over the outcroppings. Now there was a stillness that hung in the air and seeped slowly into my bones.

  “Come on.” I said softly.

  We made our way, for once not bickering about how fast or slow one or the other was going. I stopped every so often to pluck flowers that grew from the crevices. I wove them into necklaces as we walked. I kept one for myself and handed one to Caimbeul. He gave me a skeptical look, but slipped his into his pocket.

  The mist was getting thicker and thicker as we walked. I stumbled over the uneven rock and wished I’d thought to bring a walking stick. Then we were upon it. A large fissure in the rock. It was large enough for one of us to slip through at a time.

  “Well.” I said. “I’m going down. You can wait here for me if you want.”

  Caimbeul gave a disgusted snort.

  “You think they’ll listen to you without me?” he asked.

  I looked up at him then, deep into his forest-green eyes. We knew each other well, Caimbeul and I, and I knew this ploy for what it was.

  “Oh yes, dear Harlequin.” I replied. “I think they will listen to me very well. They know who I am.”

  * * *

  It was cool in the cave. We were crawling on our stomachs down a long passageway with only a small light to lead us. I’d cast the spell once we’d found ourselves in this narrowing corridor and I couldn’t hold my flashlight any longer.

  “Remind me to tell you how much I enjoy crawling through a cave in my very best shoes an
d coat.” Harlequin said.

  “Don’t complain.” I replied. “It could be worse.”

  “How so?”

  He ran into my heels and gave a little oomph.

  “It could be wet.”

  “Oh, what a lovely thought.”

  Just then I crawled around a corner and popped out into a large cavern. Stalactites and stalagmites grew down from the ceiling and up from the floor.

  In the center of the cavern was a lake. Its surface was mirror perfect and black as night.

  I turned around and helped Caimbeul as he too crawled out. There was dirt and dust covering his clothes. He slapped at it, but it didn’t help. When he looked up at me again, I could see the annoyance in his face. I put my finger to my mouth, then pointed at the lake.

  I walked away from him toward the edge of the water. The only sound was the crunch of stones under my boots. As I reached the edge of the lake, I leaned over and picked up a small stone. Straightening, I spoke,

  “Hear me, Fin Bheara, King of the Daoine Sidhe, King of the Dead. It is Aina. I would speak with you.”

  My voice rang out and echoed against the silent rocks. For a long moment there was nothing. No answering sound. Then, there was a grinding noise. The ground trembled and I stumbled a bit before regaining my balance.

  The water began to bubble and boil. Steam rose from the surface and soon blanketed the entire room. From the water rose a boat. It was made of wood and gold. A throne was affixed in the center of the deck. Sitting in it was the spirit who liked to be known as Finvarra.

  He was as I remembered, perhaps even larger than before. The power of the Awakening had seeped into his veins as well as mine.

  The boat moved toward the shore where I stood, cutting smoothly through the water, leaving only the slightest wake to mar the perfect sheen. I could see no oarsmen or sails, but that is the way of faerie. It stopped about a meter from shore and rested there.

  “Greetings, Finvarra.” I said. “You do me a great honor.”

  He laughed. It was harsh and grating, and yet it sounded like music to me.

  “Aina.” he said. “Sweet mother. How may I help?”

  “I would find the Seelie Court, Finvarra.” I replied. “Though to hear some tell it, I am no longer considered a power in Tír na nÓg.”

  “Come down from there, Caimbeul.” Finvarra said. “You make me nervous lurking about.”

  I heard Caimbeul curse as he slipped and slid his way toward us.

  “You haven’t answered my question.” I said. “Where is the Seelie Court?”

  Finvarra leaned back on his throne and studied me. I returned the favor. His gray eyes were as piercing as ever and the sharp planes of his face were more cruel than kind. A thin gold circlet rested on his brow. Long thin hands rested on bony knees. His clothing, made of leaves and bark and animal pelts, reminded me of what we’d worn in Blood Wood all those centuries ago.

  Then I noticed that lying at his feet was a young woman. She was dressed in a tight purple dress with thigh-high black patent leather boots. Part of her head was shaved so the datajack she’d had implanted could be easily accessed. She seemed to be asleep.

  “Up to your old tricks again.” I said.

  “ ’Tis nothing.” he said. “A harmless amusement.”

  “What would Oonagh say?” I knew I had to play along.

  “What she doesn’t know . . . Besides, this is all rather off the point. You wish to know where the Seelie Court is currently residing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps they don’t wish to be found.”

  “No. I suspect they don’t. And I suspect I know why they don’t want to hear from me.”

  Finvarra smiled at me. His teeth were yellow and very long.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.” he said. “Perhaps I can help you. If you are willing to do something for me.”

  “And what might that be?” I asked.

  “A test.” he replied. “A simple challenge of your will. My subjects will be more than happy to administer it. If you succeed, we take you to the Court. If you fail, well, that will be your lookout, won’t it?”

  “And who decides whether I win or lose?”

  “Why that, dear mother, you will have to figure out for yourself.”

  With that, the boat sped away from me. It left barely a ripple in the water and the mist closed around it, hiding it from my sight. I stepped forward, the edge of the lake touching my toes. What now? I wondered.

  “Well, that was helpful.” said Caimbeul.

  I spun about, ready to give him a cutting remark when behind me something burst forth from the water and grabbed me.

  In a flash I was being pulled down into the blackness. The water was freezing and I hadn’t caught a breath. I fought against the urge to inhale. My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see much. I looked down and saw that I was being held by a each-uisge. My legs were helplessly stuck to its chest and forelegs. Its clawed hands were clasped about my thighs. The head was that of a horse with razor-sharp teeth.

  It would pull me down into the water until I drowned and then feast upon my flesh, except for my liver, which it would no doubt spit up at Caimbeul’s feet. It was a prospect I didn’t relish.

  I let myself go limp, playing dead, hoping this would slow its descent. It did. Then I jerked my arms apart and uttered the words. Between my hands a whirling of water started. It began to glow and lit the each-uisge with blue light. The water spun faster and faster until it narrowed into a fine, laser-like point. I pointed it downward at the each-uisge’s head. There was the muffled sound of a shriek, and then the creature’s head disappeared. Its claws went slack on my thighs, but I was still stuck to its chest.

  My lungs were burning and spots floated before my eyes. The dead weight of the each-uisge was pulling me down. I had a panicky moment as I started to inhale some water. With every ounce of power left in my arms, I swam up to the surface. Just as I thought I would never reach it, I broke through. The air hurt as I gasped. I floundered for a moment before Caimbeul grabbed me by my collar and pulled me from the water.

  He laid me, none too gently, on the stony bank. I coughed up water and hacked out some bile. My legs felt heavy, and I realized the each-uisge was still stuck to them.

  “Cut it off.” I said.

  “That won’t work. You’ll have pieces of it stuck to your pants forever.”

  “Well, it’s better than dragging the whole thing along with me.” I said, coughing up more water.

  “Take off your pants.” he said.

  “Oh, fragging hell.” I said. I unbuttoned my jeans and skinned them off. It took a while between the wet and the each-uisge.

  “And so that was the test?” he asked.

  “N-n-no.” I stammered. My teeth were chattering and gooseflesh had broken out over my body. “T-t-that was a warning. They’re serious about the test.”

  “Well,” he said, looking chagrined that he hadn’t helped, “we’d better get you out of those wet things.”

  He wrapped his arms around me. I let myself lean against him and take in his warmth and scent. It was good to be there, if only for a moment.

  She can’t move. Legs and arms like lead. But she hears . . . things.

  Things rustling beyond her line of sight.

  Things with evil intentions.

  10

  “What next?” Caimbeul asked.

  I was sitting in the back seat of the car pulling dry clothes on. My coat and boots were ruined, so I wadded them up in a towel I’d taken from the hotel. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have indulged in that sort of petty larceny, but these weren’t normal times.

  Caimbeul was driving. We were heading southwest away from The Burren. I pulled a heavy gray sweater over my head, then slid on black jeans. Sneakers were next, after which I climbed over the front seat to the passenger side.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Drier, at least.” I replied. “But that brackish smell is goi
ng to stay with me for a while.”

  “Not just you.”

  “My apologies.” I said. “Next time a each-uisge decides to have me for a snack I’ll be sure to tell it not to get you wet at the same time.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” he replied.

  “De nada, babycakes.”

  “You know I hate it when you call me babycakes.”

  “Like I said, ‘Life is . . .’ ”

  “I know. I know.”

  * * *

  We stopped in a small town south of The Burren for food. It was fast approaching dusk and I wanted to be out in the countryside as soon as possible. The air was tanged with sea salt and humidity. Though it wasn’t that cold, the damp seemed to seep into my bones, making them ache.

  Leaving the car at the restaurant where we’d eaten, we walked to the edge of the town. The road out of town was little more than dirt and cobblestones. It had played hell on the suspension of the rental. I imagined Caimbeul was making a running ledger in his head of all the expenses of the trip. When this penurious streak had come on him I didn’t know.

  “Look.” he said, grabbing my arm and pointing. Off to one side of the road was a grove of trees. It was shaded purple and gray in the twilight. A fog had rolled in from the sea and made everything look fuzzy and insubstantial. Surrounding the grove were a series of tiny flickering lights that bobbed and floated three meters above the ground.

  Then I heard the faint, delicate tones of music. A flute and recorder, I thought. Perhaps a viola thrown in there.

  “Ignis fatuus.” I said. “Will-o’-the-wisps.”

  The flower necklace I’d made while we were walking The Burren was waterlogged, but still serviceable. I’d rescued it from my coat after we’d reached the car. Now I put it around my neck.

  “I can’t believe you’re using that.” Caimbeul said.

  “Whatever works.”

  “Primrose necklaces to reveal faeries?”

  “Yes.” I said. “And you’d better put yours on. I don’t want to lose you.”

  He snorted.

  “I know it hasn’t occurred to you before, Harlequin.” I said. “But you don’t know everything. Some magic isn’t complex—some is made up of simple things. And sometimes, that’s the most potent magic. Because it’s so obvious that everyone overlooks it.”