by L. M. Hawke
The night was cool. The air smelled of rain, but the clouds overhead hadn’t yet formed a solid shroud. Now and then they parted, opening wide enough to reveal the pale crescent of a waning moon. Ragged patches of moonlight seemed to drift like veils across the landscape. Whenever the faint light touched the blackthorn wood at the crossroads, the trees took on a luminous, silvery gleam.
Una didn’t hear any voice calling to her this time, but all the same, she felt the inexorable draw toward the crossroads. This time, though, she was determined to enter that strange place—and leave again—under her own terms. Every few steps, she reached into the pickle jar and took out a white pebble, then dropped it on the road. The pebbles fell with a soft patter like an intermittent spring rain. She had gathered them from around the gazing pool in her garden; bright white and faintly shining, even when the moon was covered by clouds, the small stones were bright enough to be seen clearly against the dark strip of road. Una was determined that whatever trickery had fooled her the night before, causing her to lose her way, wouldn’t get the better of her this time. She would not fall prey to it again. This time, she was prepared.
There was still a very loud voice in her head that warned her to go back home where it was safe. Una ignored it. She wanted—needed—to know more about what had happened to her the previous night. She was determined to make sense of the crossroads, one way or another—to conquer her fears along with the trickery that had affected mind and senses. When she left Kylebeg… if she decided to leave the village… she wouldn’t do it as a victim, harassed and pursued out of the town, out of the property that was hers by right, whether she really wanted it or not. If she chose to leave, she would leave as a woman under her own control.
Una didn’t hesitate as the dark arch of the trees grew nearer. She stared into their depths, a challenge set in her dark eyes an in the clench of her jaw. Her pebbles pinged onto the road, one after the other. The arch of the blackthorn trees closed overhead.
Una made her way to the center of the crossroads. She turned and looked back the way she had come. She could see the pebbles clearly: a line of luminous white dots stretching all the way back up the hill, demarcating the correct route to the cottage.
You won’t lead me astray again, she silently told the wood. Not this time. I won’t let it happen.
Una turned in a slow circle, holding her arms wide as if issuing a challenge to an unseen watcher. “Here I am,” she said, loud and steady. “So where are you? Show yourself, if you’ve got the guts for it.”
For a moment, silence reigned. Then Una heard the sharp snap of a twig beneath an unseen foot. There was a rhythmic rustle in the trees—the sound of someone coming closer. Una jumped, whirling to face the source of the sounds, staring hard into the dark trees with her heart pounding up in her throat. Regret and fear flashed through her body, but she pushed them both aside. She was determined to face down whoever was lurking the crossroads, whatever was lurking—
Ailill stepped out of a ferny thicket. The clouds parted overhead, and moonlight sluiced down on him, touching with frosty white the planes of his face, setting off his slightly disheveled, dark hair with a faint glow. He said nothing—only stood and looked at Una in silence. But there was a strange light in his eyes—half glad, half pained.
“You,” Una said. “Was it you who led me here last night, then? Was it your voice I heard in the wind?”
Ailill denied it with a slow shake of his head, but still he would not speak.
“Then why are you here tonight?” Una pressed. “What are you doing in this place?”
His appearance unnerved her. It was as if Ailill had known Una wanted to avoid dreaming of him again that night—and was determined to deny her any respite from thoughts of him, from memories of his touch, his kiss. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists as she stared him down.
Ailill stepped toward her, reaching for her, his face soft with apology, his eyes deep with longing. Una stood fast for a moment longer, certain she could resist her attraction to him, certain she could overcome it. But then, with a ragged sigh that was almost a sob, she stumbled forward and went to meet him, her heart pounding.
He held her tenderly against his chest, just as he’d done earlier that day beside the cottage door. His body was tense, faintly trembling, as if once again he was wracked by some indefinable pain.
“Am I dreaming, or awake?” Una wondered aloud. For now at last she knew that Ailill was irresistible. He pulled her in, like a magnet pulling steel, and like the strongest of magnets, he held her with a powerful force. Leaning against his chest, breathing in his scent, Una felt just as she had in her last dream of Ailill: powerless against him, helpless to avoid him—and yet not really wanting to avoid him. Not anymore.
“You’re not dreaming,” Ailill said quietly, “and neither am I.”
“You’re really here? It is you, or… or something else?”
“Yes, of course it’s really me.” He lifted her chin with one finger. His bright blue eyes were touched by moonlight, gleaming like the stones she had dropped in the road. “I’m here, and so are you. This is real, Una. It’s not a dream.”
He didn’t sound entirely pleased about that fact. Una frowned as she peered up at him, wondering at the anguish in his voice and eyes. But the strange enchantment of the crossroads had enfolded her. She was intoxicated by the night, by the sensation of Ailill’s embrace. Giving in to the fullness of temptation, she raised herself up on her toes and pressed her mouth against his.
Their kiss went on for what felt like a delicious eternity. Una held tight to him, clutching at his back through his thick sweater. She would have done more than merely kiss him right then—she wanted to do more, much more. But as she pressed more insistently against him, Ailill broke away from with a sudden gasp, pushing Una outward, holding her at arm’s length.
Even in the shadows of the blackthorn grove, Una could see how badly his face had paled. He showed his teeth as he stifled a grunt of pain, then pressed a hand to his stomach. It looked almost like an invisible hand had delivered a terrible blow to his body. But there was no one—only the two of them, alone in the dappled moonlight.
“Ailill, what’s happened?”
He sucked in a pained breath. It hissed through his clenched teeth. Una reached out to touch him, hoping to offer some comfort—but Ailill flinched back from her hand.
“I’ve got to go,” he muttered, staggering away. “Must get home.”
“Wait, I…”
But Ailill didn’t stop. He turned his back on Una and all but ran from her presence, veering off the road, crashing into the underbrush as he scrambled toward his home.
“For God’s sake,” Una groaned, pressing one hand to her forehead.
She had set her pickle jar on the ground when she’d gone for Ailill. She picked it up now, then turned back toward the trail of white pebbles, brow furrowed with annoyance, stomach sinking lower with every step.
Una had no difficulty leaving the crossroads this time. The pebble trail did the trick, leading her straight out of the wood and guiding her up the hill toward home. She had no energy for gloating over the efficacy of her plan, however. She was far too distracted—too hurt—by Ailill’s behavior to entertain any victorious thrills.
This really is the limit, she told herself. He’s batty—absolutely mad. I won’t waste another minute thinking about him. He isn’t worth my time.
She was nearly all the way home before anger overtook confusion and frustration. Una stopped several yards from her garden wall, glaring down at one of the white pebbles in the road. She could feel her face burning with a flush of rage; she kicked the pebble hard, sending it soaring off into a nearby pasture.
Una turned on her heel and marched back down to the crossroads. Oh, this was the end of her entanglement with Ailill, and no mistake. She would leave him well alone after tonight. But first she would give him a piece of her mind. It had always been Una’s habit to go off quietly after a b
reak-up, to leave well enough alone and lick her wounds in peace. But she was done playing the part of the quiet, trouble-free girl. Ailill was going to hear exactly what she thought of him and his poor manners before they parted ways forever. Forever!
She returned to the crossroads and looked about, trying to orient herself, hoping to pinpoint the exact place where Ailill had disappeared into the forest. She scanned the mossy verge of the road, taking careful note of where the ferns and brambles were bent or trampled. There! Una thought she’d found the place, and stepped toward the break in the underbrush, looking for some trail or path to follow back into the depths of the wood.
But just before she could depart from the main road, the sound of voices in the forest caught her up short.
These were not the voices Una had heard on the wind. There was nothing whispery or ethereal about them, though they were faint with distance. The voices came from the place where Ailill had stumbled back into the wood, though they seemed to be several yards deeper.
Una held her breath, straining to listen. The speakers were too far off for Una to make out any distinct words, but the sound of Ailill’s soft and melodious, yet deeply pitched voice was unmistakable. Whatever he was saying, his tone rose and fell in a way that sounded rather desperate… even pleading.
Had somebody waylaid him? Una wondered. Were there bandits in the forest—was Ailill in trouble? Certainly she had seen stranger things in this wood than bandits. She wouldn’t be surprised to find robbers in the forest now.
But as Una listened, caught and held by her indecision, the other voice answered Ailill’s plea. Rich and low, it was yet unmistakably feminine, and seemed to twine through the thickets and underbrush like a snake slipping along on its glossy scales.
The woman was chiding Ailill, her tone severe. Una almost thought she could catch a few words—forbidden, cannot leave me, disloyal—but she could never quite make out what the woman was saying.
Ailill answered his companion again in that half-pleading tone. Then, with Ailill still making his pleas, Una heard the tread of distant footsteps—growing more distant all the time. Ailill and his unseen companion were continuing on through the wood, toward his home and away from Una and the crossroads.
When she was sure they were gone, Una let out her breath in an explosive sigh. Pain, guilt, and a terrible, dirty shame boiled inside her, each emotion clamoring louder than the others.
So. Ailill had another woman. That explained all his strange behavior perfectly, didn’t it? From his hasty disappearance after their shagging, to his eagerness to see her sell the cottage and leave Kylebeg forever.
And apparently the other woman knew all about Una now; that would explain her stern voice and Ailill’s pleading, apologetic tone. She must have followed him to the crossroads, and seen him embrace Una, seen him kiss her.
Una clenched her teeth. She felt like sicking up in the bushes, but she refused to give into her anger and hurt. She swallowed hard, keeping the sick down, along with the scream of pure fury that was boiling inside her, straining to break free.
It wasn’t the first time Una had been used in that way—so some blasted man could cheat on his girl. But even though it had happened to Una before—more than once—she never found it any easier to bear. She wished the crossroads would open up and swallow her whole. What did it matter that she’d had no way of knowing what Ailill was up to? That didn’t change the facts. She’d been party to a betrayal—and had got her own heart wounded in the bargain.
“You bloody bastard,” Una said coolly, when she was sure danger of a ripping scream was past.
Then she headed for her cottage again, stomping up the road with head down and shoulders hunched. With every step she took, Una said to herself, You fool, you fool, you bloody, blind fool.
14
Una slept soundly that night, for the first time since her arrival in Kylebeg. The night was untroubled by dreams, as still and relaxing as a warm pool. She woke refreshed, enshrouded in a calm of perfect, crystal-bright clarity. Ailill had been right: Una had only needed one night of restful sleep to realize once and for all what was best done.
She spent the morning and afternoon cleaning up the cottage. She dusted every nook and cranny with damp rags, organized Nessa’s old things into more modern displays, and cut heavy, sweet-smelling bouquets in the garden, filling old vases with flowers to brighten the inside of the house. Una was determined to make the cottage feel as welcoming as possible, so it would sell quickly, and she could put Kylebeg behind her forever.
Her mind was entirely made up now. Her attraction to Ailill still lingered in her soul, despite knowing how rudely and selfishly he had used her affections. That was something Una would not—could not—accept. The sheer strength of her attraction to Ailill felt dangerous, sinister. No man should ever be able to stake such a complete and thorough claim on her heart after only a few days’ time. Especially not a man like Ailill, who toyed with women without regard for their feelings and then wheedled them into accepting him back into their hearts once his deceptions were found out.
Propelled by her simmering anger—at Ailill, at herself—Una worked tirelessly throughout the day, losing herself gratefully in the physical labor, allowing all her thoughts to vanish in the rhythm of her work. When she heard the unexpected rumble of the O’Malley bike coming up the hill, Una was surprised to find that it was well past noon. She stretched the knots out of her lower back and arms, watching as Kathleen, her head and shoulders barely visible over the garden wall, dismounted the bike and hurried toward Una’s gate.
Una went to the door to greet Kathleen, serene and certain, ready to deliver all her news—about Ailill at the crossroads last night, as well as her firm and final decision to sell the cottage. But as Kathleen came hurrying down the path toward her, Una checked, eyeing her friend warily. She could see that something was wrong. Kathleen’s face was even paler than usual, and there was a tension to her clipped stride that raised a sudden fear in Una, setting her nerves on edge.
“Una,” Kathleen panted as she barged into the cottage, “I’ve got to talk to you. I’ve just figured something out—something huge.”
“What is it? Kathleen, calm down. You’re worrying me.”
“Sorry… sorry.” Kathleen pressed a hand to her brow, squeezing her eyes shut. She was visibly struggling to rein in her excitement and agitation, for Una’s sake.
“You aren’t going to believe a word of this,” Kathleen said more calmly, “but I swear it’s all true. I was reading your gran’s journal last night, and some of the things she wrote about—”
A chill walked up Una’s spine. She smiled lightly, hoping Kathleen was oblivious to her sudden disconcertment. “You did better than I could, if you were able to make sense of all that tiny handwriting.”
“I have a reading glass,” Kathleen explained, gesturing to her hand bag. Una supposed the journal must be lurking in the bag. “It magnifies,” Kathleen went on. “I was able to read it well enough once I made it big enough to see.”
“Wish I’d thought of that,” Una muttered.
“Some of the things old Nessa wrote about—often, I mean, returning to the same subjects over and over again—they reminded me of other things I’d read long before, and—”
Una knew, with a hot prickle of dread, that she didn’t want to hear what Kathleen had to say. She shrugged casually. “I don’t suppose you uncovered anything all that interesting. I—”
“Keep quiet, won’t you?” Kathleen burst out. “I’m trying to tell you!”
“Sorry,” Una said, blushing.
“I went over to Da’s office today. He’s a bit of a local historian, you know. I dug about for a while, and found his old book of bloodlines. I knew it had to be somewhere in his mess of books; he never would have got rid of it.”
“Bloodlines?” Una asked, risking another chastisement from her friend.
“Yes, yes. Da likes to keep track of all the old families who’ve been in Kyleb
eg for generations. It’s a… a hobby, I suppose. Searching through old birth-and-death records isn’t my idea of a good time, but he thinks it’s loads of fun. What can I tell you? He’s an odd sort. Anyway, once I’d found his book of Kylebeg bloodlines, I was able to trace Nessa Teig’s ancestry—your ancestry. If the documents Da recorded can be trusted—if the rumors they report are true—then your grandmother was something special, Una. And so are you.”
“Something…” Una’s mouth had gone dry as a bone. “Something special? What do you mean?”
“I found it nine generations back in your grandmother’s family tree. And another incident on another branch of that same tree, but eleven generations in the past.”
“What are you talking about, Kathleen?” Una said, rather sharply.
Kathleen grinned at Una. Her green eyes shone with excitement, and no small measure of awe. “You’re part Sidhe, Una dear.”
“Shee?” Una repeated the strange word. She didn’t like the way it slipped across her tongue and teeth. It was entirely too easy to say—too comfortable.
“The Sidhe are the Fair Folk—the Seelie. Only, ‘Sidhe’ is their own word for who they are… what they are. The other names we know them by—Fair Folk, Shining Ones, that sort of thing—those are all human-made names.”
Una let out an explosive snort of laughter. It was all too much, after her strange and infuriating night. She couldn’t accept this foolishness now. “That’s daft, Kathleen. I can’t be part fairy. I’m just an ordinary person.”
“I believe you are of the Sidhe,” Kathleen said, suddenly sober. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“No; it doesn’t make a bit of sense,” said Una crossly. “I think this is about the maddest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re taking a piss, aren’t you? It’s not very nice—not considering everything I’ve gone through lately.”
“But that’s exactly why I’m so certain, Una.” A flush of triumph glowed on Kathleen’s cheeks as she explained. “Everything you’ve gone through—all the strange happenings. Kylebeg is an odd little place, but it’s not that odd. These things that have happened to you—your wandering about at the crossroads, the visions you saw there… and you said you felt pulled toward the crossroads, too, compelled to go there.”