Riftkeepers: Reckoning

by Carrie Whitethorne

  “I am here, remember,” Charlotte grumbled, studying her soup. “Okay, how about we have dinner here, then go into Prague for a couple of hours?”

  “Prague?” Ferne scoffed, resuming her lunch.

  “It’s a good night, to be fair, Ferne,” Dane said lightly. “You’ll enjoy it.”

  “Fine. Dinner and Prague then. But you’ll come, without complaining?” she conceded, pointing her spoon at Charlotte.

  “Yes. Anything for an easy life!” she agreed in exasperation.

  “I’ll stay with the children,” Alayna offered. “I don’t really like Prague.”

  “See, now Dane’s the third wheel! It won’t work,” Charlotte said in a final, desperate attempt at escaping the night out.

  “I’ll be fine,” he insisted. “If I get bored, I’ll come back here and babysit.”

  Charlotte frowned at him, having hoped he’d agree with her.

  “Honestly, Charlotte, have a great night. I’ll have the children. We can have a little party of our own,” Alayna insisted with a broad smile.

  “Okay, that’s sorted,” Ferne said, an air of finality in her tone. “Dagda, Lottie and I need a lift.”

  “Oh, god, where are we going now?”

  “Shopping!”

  Laden with bags from designer boutiques that Charlotte had only read about in magazines, Dagda trailed behind them looking utterly miserable. Just as she was about to suggest they go home to relieve Dagda from his duty as pack horse, Ferne gripped her wrist and tugged her into a small tattoo parlour.

  “Fe, no,” Charlotte moaned. “I’m not getting a tattoo.”

  “Aww, come on! We’re almost thirty and we’ve never done anything adventurous like this!”

  “I’m not almost thirty; I’m twenty-seven!”

  Ignoring her, Ferne pulled a piece of paper from her bag and said, “Look, what do you think? It’s only tiny. It’ll look pretty on your wrist. I’ll pay!”

  Dagda glanced over her shoulder and said, “Hmm, triskelion.”

  “What does it mean?” Charlotte asked.

  “One of a few things; depends what you want it to represent. Sometimes: mind, body, spirit. Or past, present, future. Others have it to symbolise mother, father, child. Though my favourite is creator, destroyer, sustainer. Fits you very well.”

  Glancing up at him, she noticed his playful smirk and scowled, considering her options.

  Upset her and face the whining, or just get it done? It is pretty. It’d work in purple and black to match my shadow-fire.

  The rest of the family have a tattoo in some form or another, too.

  Ferne knew her well enough to clap her hands and kiss her cheek before she’d even spoken. Turning to the man sat quietly at the counter, she said, “Can we both get this? Left wrist; I’ll have mine in black and red. She’ll have hers in black and….”

  Charlotte sighed at her side. “Purple.”

  Dagda laughed as the man at the counter pulled open a beaded curtain and gestured them inside. “I’ll come back for you in an hour. I’ll leave your bags in your room, Charlotte.”

  Before she could protest, he strode from the shop, the door chiming as he pulled it shut behind him. “Let me go first,” she said, following them inside.

  It took two hours for both of their wrists to be completed. The intricate floral design around the main symbol taking the time.

  “Admit it; they’re brill,” Ferne beamed, paying the artist, and grasping Dagda’s arm.

  “Yeah, I really like it,” she said, admiring her wrist. The hot, itching pain was unwelcome, so she soothed the area with shadow. Fully healed, it looked even better.

  Creator, destroyer, sustainer. It does sound like me. This new me, at least.

  “Can we go back to Houska now, please?” she asked, catching them up.

  “Yeah, it’s gone five; dinner is at seven,” Dagda said over his shoulder. “Callan said he was taking the children to Alayna at five. Said he’ll have you a bath ready.”

  “Nothing like rushing, eh Fe!” she teased, taking Dagda’s free arm.

  Her classic little black dress was certainly that. Strapless, shorter than she’d have liked, and uncomfortably tight. It was obvious that Ferne had pushed for it. The disgustingly expensive shoes were too high, the matching bag so small it seemed a waste of time carrying it.

  As she applied her makeup, there was a knock on the door.

  “It’s only me,” Dane said, opening it a crack.

  “I’m nearly ready; come in,” she said, concentrating on not smudging.

  “Bloody hell,” he breathed, perching on the edge of the bed.

  “What? I didn’t choose it. Ferne made me buy it,” she said, now even more self-conscious. Tapping his wrist, he said, “Well, it’s seven. You’re late for your own birthday dinner.”

  “I’ll be two minutes, if you’ll just shush,” she grumbled.

  After considerably more than two minutes, he became impatient. “You can’t polish a turd, Lottie.”

  “Nope, but you can roll it in glitter, you prick” she sang, smiling sarcastically through the mirror.

  Pressing her lips together, she pushed her lip-gloss into her glittering handbag and turned to face him, brows raised. “Okay. I’m ready. Happy?”

  He gave her an all-over look of approval and smiled fondly. “You’re stunning,” he said, extending a hand.

  Her eyes met his as he pulled her to her feet and she kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Dane, for being such a good friend.”

  “Thank you for having me,” he said, pulling her close and escorting her to dinner.

  The room broke into deafening applause as they arrived. She blinked at the crowd in the ballroom, then remembered to smile. “Oh my god,” she squeaked as Dane dutifully stepped aside to allow Callan to take her hand.

  “Happy Birthday,” he murmured, as he kissed her cheek. “You look ravishing.”

  “I’m certainly poorly dressed for a bloody ball!” she hissed.

  “It isn’t a ball; it’s a party. Ferne helped Father to arrange it,” Dane said, grinning at her astonishment.

  Ferne dashed over and hugged her tightly. “Surprise!”

  “I’ve never been so set up in my life. Having fake arguments at the table at lunch time, Ferne? I can’t trust any of you!” she scolded, looking around the room. “Are the kids here?”

  “Stuffing their faces at the buffet tables,” Alayna laughed. “They were waiting patiently, but you’re so fashionably late they were starving.”

  “I’ll find them later,” she said, as Taran and Caoimhe came over.

  “Happy Birthday,” Caoimhe said, giving her a huge hug. “We’ve left a gift on the table.”

  “Table?” Following her gaze, Charlotte saw a table laden with beautifully wrapped gifts. “Oh, wow…are they all for me?” she whispered.

  “All for you,” Taran said, kissing her cheek. “Happy Birthday.”

  “Wow. I don’t know what to say, this is…” She looked around the room speechless.

  The ceiling and walls were draped with lilac swags and floral garlands, beside the table filled with gifts was another with a cake that had so many tiers she couldn’t count them. It was beautifully decorated in lilac and white icing to match the décor of the room.

  “This is how we celebrate the birthdays of our dearest friends,” Markus said, taking her hand and kissing it. “Many happy returns.”

  “Markus, thank you. This is wonderful. I—” she stammered.

  Reaching into his jacket, he said, “I understand there is a table for your gifts, but I wanted to present mine personally.”

  He held a small, square giftbox, tied with a simple black ribbon. With an encouraging smile, he placed it in her hand. She took it tentatively and gave him a questioning look. He nodded expectantly as she pulled the ribbon. Opening the box, she gasped. “Markus, it’s beautiful.”

  Inside was a small amethyst gem, mounted on a pin. The stone was smooth, polished to sh
ining, reflective perfection. Tilting the box, the light glinted on its surface, revealing an engraved snowflake. She stroked a trembling finger along the etched symbol and smiled up at Markus with watery eyes.

  “Welcome to the Un-Seelie council, Princess Charlotte of Avalon,” he said in a loud, clear voice. The crowd of faeries and Druids behind him burst into applause as her still trembling hand left the stone and covered her mouth.

  Unable to say anything, she threw herself into his arms. He lifted her with a low chuckle. After a few moments, he lowered her to the ground, kissed her cheek as he asked, “I assume you accept?”

  She looked to Callan, who gave her an encouraging nod, and said, “Of course I do. I’m honoured, Markus. Thank you.”

  He removed the pin from its box and attached it to her dress. “Well, that is a relief. I half expected you to turn me down.”

  “As if I would!” she gasped in mock horror and disbelief.

  Smirking, he turned to the waiting crowd. “I believe this is a party?”

  As he spoke, the bright lights dimmed, disco lights flashed, and music played. Ferne grasped her hand and pulled her away into the crowd, leaving everything she was feeling and wanted to share unsaid.

  Over the course of the evening, she managed to dance with everyone except her husband. Finally, Callan found her and pulled her close. “I’ve never seen you enjoy yourself so much,” he said over the music.

  “Yes, you have! I distinctly remember two balls and a wedding. I also have vague memories of a Beltane festival.”

  “I have vivid memories of a Beltane festival,” he growled in her ear as he pulled her into a quiet alcove.

  “I was drunk…” she said, biting her lip.

  “Stop it. We can’t stay back here long anyway. You’ll be cutting your cake shortly,” he muttered, leaning in to kiss her. “How do you feel about your invitation to sit on the council?”

  “I don’t know. Honoured. Confused. I’m thrilled to have been asked. I wouldn’t have accepted otherwise. How do you feel about it?”

  “I couldn’t be more proud of you. You’ve earned it.”

  She let out a relieved breath and he kissed her again. “Come on, you haven’t had a drink for hours. You must be gasping.”

  Charlotte giggled. “Are you hoping to get me drunk, Mr. MacAidh?”

  “Absolutely,” he purred in her ear, leading her to the tables laden with food and drinks.

  Alayna found her after she’d managed to swallow three very large goblets of wine. “Congratulations!”

  “Thanks; I wasn’t expecting that,” she admitted.

  “Markus thinks very highly of you, Charlotte. You deserve the recognition for everything you’ve done for us.”

  “I haven’t done anything…”

  “You gave us the children. You had those poor witches buried. You’ve risked your life protecting the world from the greatest threat it has faced in decades. You’re far more deserving of your position than anyone on the Seelie council,” she said, earnestly.

  “Don’t let Dagda hear you say that,” Dane said, tugging her back with a hand around her waist.

  She leaned into him, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder and smiled. He said something quietly in her ear and she giggled. With a slow wink to Charlotte, he disappeared, taking her with him.

  Well, that’s a first…

  The music stopped and Callan led her to the cake table. She was handed a long, silver knife as Callan took her goblet, and the cake was suddenly lit with dozens of candles.

  Markus beamed as he said, “Make a wish, Princess.”

  After a few moments of difficulty, Dagda helped her to blow out her candles with a breeze of cool air. With a grateful smile, she dug the knife into the soft sponge cake and the crowd applauded her again. She was served the first slice of decadent chocolate and cherry cake that was so large, Callan had to help her eat it.

  Caoimhe and Taran took the children back to the suite for the evening and soon the ballroom was empty.

  “Dance with me,” Callan said, pulling her into his arms.

  She laughed as he spun her. “There’s no music playing.”

  Taking her hand, and dipping his head to brush his lips over hers, he led her around the dancefloor.

  “I love you.”

  He held her gaze as they danced in the silent ballroom, studying her face as though submitting every intricate detail to memory. “I love you, Mo Bheatha.”

  Ten

  Markus eyed her coolly.

  “He doesn’t know anything, Markus. You’ve seen it; I’ve seen it; Dane’s seen it. He’s lost his daughter. He needs the support of his family.”

  He looked back to his work, she returned to her book.

  “Fine. I tried,” she muttered, flipping a page.

  The leather-bound diary held personal accounts from all members of the council; of the takeover of Houska during the last world war. Pouring over the text, she focused the parts she found useful, scribbling notes on a piece of parchment. Her eyes flicked from the text to the tattoo on her wrist repeatedly.

  Creator, destroyer, sustainer.

  “Interesting choice,” Markus muttered.

  “Ferne chose the symbol,” she told him, not looking up from her work. “She wanted past, present, future, but I’ve nothing to look back for.”

  “No?” he asked, giving her a curious look, and placing his pen on the desk. “Your past has shaped who you have become, Charlotte. However painful, however dark, it’s brought you here.”

  She shrugged, scribbling another note on her sheet of parchment.

  “Where’s your entry?” she asked, not looking up.

  “I was absent at the time,” he said evasively.

  Crap.

  He stilled, hearing her thought. “Dane mentioned my…friend?”

  “In passing,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to pry.”

  He gave her a wan smile, picking up his pen. “As I said, our pasts shape who we become,” he said quietly, returning to his work.

  “Mark,” Izak said in a strained voice, appearing in the middle of the room.

  Charlotte’s head snapped up to see him knelt on the ground cradling Klara. His flame red hair had fallen forward, covering her face. Charlotte sprang from the sofa, her book and parchment toppling from her knee, and joined them on the ground.

  “What happened?” Markus asked urgently, as Izak rocked back to let them see.

  Klara’s face was a network of black lines, her armour cracked and flaking over her chest. Her breathing was shallow and she appeared to be unconscious.

  Shit, no…

  “Nyja,” Izak snarled.

  “Dursek, healers! Izak, place her on the sofa. Charlotte, remove the shadow-fire from her body,” Markus barked, striding to the sofa.

  “What? No. You and Dane…” she spluttered.

  “There’s no time. I can’t. Quickly,” Markus said, nodding to Klara’s face.

  I can’t…

  You must. Feel for it. Search for the corrupt magic in her body and pull it out. Your own power will crush it.

  Scrambling to the sofa, she glanced at Izak. He was looking directly at her, wide-eyed and pleading. She turned her attention back to Klara, closed her eyes and took a breath, placing her fingertips on her colleague’s forehead.

  Find it…

  Her power sank into Klara’s body as she traced the black lines with her eyes. The shadow followed, seeking the corruption as it travelled. As it began cleansing, she felt her head spin. Unexpected nausea rose, causing her stomach to churn. Pressing harder, her power moved further and faster, washing through Klara like a furious river.

  Get it out. Get all of it out. Help her.

  The sensation changed as she came to the end of the corrupted parts of her body. The lines were fading and she breathed a heavy sigh of relief, her stomach settling, then tensed again. Her shadow came to an abrupt stop as it met a new power. Pure, clean, and familiar.
>
  What is that? It doesn’t feel wrong…

  No, that’s her. Don’t harm her. Leave her power. It isn’t a threat. Just move back. Clean her again; back the way you came.

  The dizzy feeling intensified, bile rising in her throat as her shadow dragged the remaining corruption from her friend and back into her. She cried out in fear as her hands blackened and she ripped them away.

  The doors burst open as three healers rushed in, their palms already filled with a pure, white light.

  Izak lifted Charlotte out of their way as she stared down at her shaking hands. Leaning into his chest, she managed to whisper, “Think I got it.”

  “I think you did,” he said, seating her in an armchair, watching as her hands began to return to their normal colour.

  Markus gave the healers instructions and they disappeared with Klara, then he turned and came to kneel at her side. Taking her hands, he said, “Thank you, Charlotte.” He turned them over in his own, studying the blackened tips. “What happened? What did you do?”

  “My shadow met hers. It felt…wrong. No, not wrong. Different. So I pulled mine back, cleaning as I went. I must have gone too fast and pulled it back into me.”

  He nodded, watching closely as the black faded away entirely and her normal skin colour returned. “Remarkable, Charlotte. You really are remarkable.”

  “I think I need a drink…” she mumbled, rubbing her forehead.

  “Dursek, something sweet, please” he said softly. Dursek bowed and left the room.

  “How long will they be at the portal?” she asked.

  I just want Callan.

  “When you’re recovered, I’ll have Callan brought to you,” Izak assured her.

  She offered him a weak smile and said, “I think Dane has a bit more control. He cleansed mine over three sessions.”

  “Yes,” Markus said, “but you’re proving to be more powerful than Dane. You stand up to far more punishment. What you just did would have made Dane seriously unwell.”

  Dursek returned with a large slice of her birthday cake and a pot of tea. He poured as she ate.

  “We’re going to be eating this for months,” she said with a weak laugh.