Riftkeepers: Reckoning

by Carrie Whitethorne

  Her heart shattered, her chest aching as she pushed Dane out and closed her mind, hoping he would heed her warning and keep everyone at a safe distance. She held back the heartbreak, hid it from the beautiful, terrifying faerie standing triumphantly over her defeated, broken body.

  Her husband: the man who had searched for her, waited for her, and loved her so completely for years without her ever knowing; her unwavering, loving friend, and her family were all coming for her, and she had to complete her task before they came too close.

  Drawing a constant supply of energy, she reinforced her shield.

  “Oh, you can speak to Dane, can you?” Nyja crooned. “What have you said? Told them to run? To where, Charlotte? I’ve won. I’ll have my throne and see them all burn.”

  Unable to speak, Charlotte lay wheezing and rasping, tears streaming from her eyes as they begged Nyja to stop.

  “No,” Nyja said softly, in answer. “No, it’s time for you to die.”

  Always underestimating. I’m not asking. I’m offering.

  Charlotte closed her eyes in resignation, and unleashed the full, destructive force of her power.

  Nyja’s brows knotted as she looked down on her victim. Flames whipped around the wall of her domed shield, one Nyja was never aware she had placed. Heat began to build in their prison as Charlotte’s shadow worked hard against the destructive power that Nyja had left in her body, buying time. Nyja responded, dropping to her knees, and yanking at her hair. Charlotte’s head snapped back, exposing her neck as her pendant crumbled in the intense heat.

  “Stop!” she shrieked, launching a fresh attack on Charlotte’s already failing body.

  As Charlotte burned, she pulled from the earth to fuel her own fire, her shadow cooling her scorched body while locking the inferno in close. The searing heat blistering her skin, Charlotte clenched her teeth and forced herself to focus.

  I’ve kept them safe. It’s what I trained for. This was how it was always supposed to be. I was shown.

  With a final, agonising effort, her shield began to shrink. Smaller it became as she tugged it in closer, concentrating the heat and compressing her roaring, swirling flames.

  Nyja hissed, frantically tearing Charlotte’s injured hand and the dagger from the ground.

  “Stop!”

  No, Nyja. You earned this.

  “STOP!” she screamed in fear and fury at her defeat. On her knees, broken and burning, she lowered her head and began to sob.

  Callan’s roar of anguish echoed Nyja’s plea as he watched them burn.

  Callan, I’m sorry. I love you.

  Rolling onto her back, blistered, flaking skin screaming under her weight, her protective tunic useless against the onslaught of the shadow-fire, Charlotte gasped in short, rasping breaths of arid air. She tried to wet her dry, cracking lips, but the air was so hot, so dry, any moisture her tongue held evaporated immediately and she snapped her mouth shut. Growing weaker, unable to channel additional strength, she forced her eyes open, meeting Nyja’s. Nyja’s hauntingly beautiful, violet eyes. Eyes she’d seen months before.

  Thirty

  One after another, they disintegrated beneath his blade. He hadn’t bothered to use a shield, confident in Markus’ ability to protect them all. With every thrust and swing of his sword, all Callan could think of was finding her. Helping her. Keeping her safe.

  Vlasta and her sons swiftly destroyed the remaining demons in the sky as he, Dagda, and Dane cut through the ones that remained on the ground. The forest had lit up a short time before; Charlotte’s flames working their way through the shadows, picking off the demons as they fled directly onto the waiting blades of the Fae and Druid forces.

  “Dane, we have to move.”

  Yeah, we’ll find them. Don’t worry about her. She knows what she’s doing.

  Their path into the woods clear, they moved quickly.

  Charlotte’s agonising scream carried through the silent forest striking fear and panic into him. He began to run, calling her name. Dagda and Dane followed closely, scanning the darkness for signs of the battling women.

  “Where the fuck are they?” Callan growled, glancing to Dagda.

  “There! It’s brighter over there!” He pointed to his right and veered headlong into the deepening gloom as the light dimmed away.

  “I’ve got her, Callan!” Dane called, slowing his pace. “No…no, no, no! Get to her! Stop her! She’s going to…”

  Callan didn’t need to be told. He knew what she would do and he crashed through the trees, racing to stop her before she carried out her plan.

  No, please! Charlotte, please! There’s another way!

  Hoping she could hear his thoughts, he crashed into a small clearing.

  He was too late.

  Nyja had Charlotte pinned down on the ground, her head pulled back by the hair at an extreme angle. “Stop!” she shrieked, pulling a dagger from Charlotte’s limp hand. Dane lurched forward, a strong arm blocking him from moving farther.

  "Dane, it’s..." Blair could hardly speak, but he held firm.

  Tears welled in his eyes and he blinked them back furiously. Jaw set, he bowed his head in resignation.

  Flames swirled around the shield Charlotte had created, locking them both securely inside. Callan rushed forward, desperate to reach her, to stop her from destroying herself. Almost there, Dagda barrelled into his side, knocking him to the ground.

  He fought to get free; his larger, heavier brother pinning him down. “No, Callan!” he shouted, using all his strength to hold him. “You’ll die with them if you get too close! It’s too late!”

  The forest lit up in the violet glow of Charlotte’s fire. The pull of the whirling vortex within her shield could be felt from where they lay. Callan’s anguished, mournful roar of defeat matched the sound of the roaring flames before them.

  Dagda held firm. “Look away, Cal. Look away.”

  With a final, thunderous crack, the flames broke free, the shadow shield shattering under the pressure. Dagda positioned himself over Callan’s head, tucking his own in tightly so that his armoured back would take the blast. Callan, limp beneath him, groaned.

  “Dane? Blair?” Dagda called, checking on their friends.

  Hearing them answer, Dagda hauled Callan roughly to his feet.

  The shadows Nyja had cast over the skies died with her, allowing the weak afternoon sun to filter through the trees. The scene of the warring princesses final battle illuminated before them.

  Callan staggered forward, dropping to his knees on the charred ground where only a circle of blackened earth marked the area Charlotte and Nyja had fought minutes before. Dane stood behind him; Dagda farther back, both watching him in stunned silence.

  “I never believed…” he began, choking on the words. He couldn’t speak. He could barely think.

  Nothing could have prepared him as the unexpected physical pain tore through his chest. He’d expected the crushing sadness, the instant feeling of loneliness, but had no idea that the loss would be physical.

  She’s gone. I’ll never touch or hear her again. Never see her smile, hear her laugh, feel the joy of hearing her call my name.

  Dagda stood motionless as he looked down on him and Charlotte’s remains. As stoic as ever, he showed no sign of shock or remorse. Fury rose like bile in Callan’s throat and he pushed it away.

  Not now. He can’t help it. It’s how he copes. I mustn’t blame him.

  Dane remained well back. He wasn’t sure why.

  Surely he feels the same? Hadn’t he claimed to love her?

  From the small piles of smoking ash that remained, there was a glint of silver light. He tentatively picked the moonstone from its bed and held it in his open palm.

  “She knew. They both knew and didn’t say,” he muttered, glaring at the glowing stone. He pulled his own from his neck, snapping the delicate silver chain, and released the clasp of the protective filigree ball. Together, the spherical gems glimmered and glittered. “She knew t
his was going to happen.”

  With his free hand, he raked the still warm ashes and pulled free her blue topaz ring and Un-Seelie pin. He studied them for a few seconds before turning to Dane. “How did these survive?”

  Dane shook his head. “I…Callan, I don’t know. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have…”

  Seeing his own grief reflected in Dane’s sombre eyes, Callan offered the pin and looked away.

  The trees began to rustle and a thundering roar built from the ground beneath their feet. As the earth began to violently shake, Dagda gripped Callan’s upper arm. “Zander.”

  The earthquake subsided and closing his eyes, Callan took a few moments to compose himself. Finally rising, he turned to his brother and said in a brittle voice, “I can’t leave her here, Dagda.”

  Forcing himself to make eye contact, Dagda said firmly, “I’ll see that she’s brought home. They need you, Callan. Go to the children.”

  Not looking at his brother, or his lifelong friend, Callan walked farther into the forest until he could feel the castle wards were gone, and went directly home.

  Leaving the two moonstones and Charlotte’s engagement ring on her dressing table, he walked numbly into the bathroom. Unable to look at himself in the mirror, he undressed, dumping his dusty armour on the floor and stood beneath the shower. Alone with his grief-muddled thoughts, he focused on the sound of the running water.

  She’s gone. She left me. Left us.

  She sacrificed herself for all of us.

  We didn’t deserve her…I certainly didn’t deserve her.

  I should have left her in that café and never looked for her again. I’ve done this. I’ve taken my own children’s mother from them.

  How am I going to explain? How am I going to raise them without her?

  Once his hair was free from Daeva remains, he dried and dressed. Turning to retrieve the moonstones, he glanced at the bed and noticed the book and box. His gaze travelled to her side of the bed, to the pillow he knew would hold her scent, and quickly looked back to the items waiting. Sitting down, he pulled the book into his lap and began to study the photographs. At the back was a large print of them on their wedding day. His eyes welled with tears as he studied her smiling face; turning the page to find the letter she’d written for him weeks before.

  He arrived at the cabin as the light was fading. Caoimhe sat on the veranda, waiting anxiously for him. He’d appeared several feet from the building, hoping for a few moments to prepare himself before facing Zander and Enya.

  She crossed the small lawn before the house and held out her arms. Callan let her hold him, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as she whispered, “Callan, I’m so sorry.”

  “She’s gone, Ma. What do I tell them?”

  Smoothing the hair on the back of his head, she said, “They know. Zander felt her pass. They need time, and love, and support. We’ll grieve for her together, Callan. It takes time.”

  Leaving the comfort of his mother’s arms, he dug in his pocket, pulling out four, small velvet bags.

  “She left gifts. One each for Enya, Zander, Dane, and myself.” He opened one of the bags, dropping a small sphere into Caoimhe’s palm. “She must have made them herself: two of these, her world.”

  Caoimhe smiled sadly, turning the gemstone replica of the earth over to examine it. The fused emerald and sapphire globe glittered in the dying rays of the setting sun.

  “What did she leave for you?” she asked softly, handing it back.

  “A ruby heart,” he said with a thin smile.

  “She didn’t do it to hurt you, Callan. She did it to keep you safe.”

  Fastening the bag, he pushed them all back in his pocket. “I know. She did it for all for us. I just don’t know how to do this on my own.”

  He kissed her cheek, then looked to the cabin. With a slow breath of resignation, he made his way inside to be with his children.

  Before he could close the door, Taran stepped into his path. There was nothing to say. No comforting words. There was nothing he could do to console his son. Instead, Taran gripped his shoulder and squeezed. Callan nodded once and stepped aside, allowing him to pass, and closed the door silently behind him.

  Enya was sitting in the window, her knees pulled up to her chest as she looked out over the eastern side of the lake. Zander sat beneath, his back against the wall. They didn't respond to the sound of the door closing. They didn't look to him as he crouched beside Zander and took their hands. Enya squeezed first.

  “I...”

  You’re what, Callan?

  Lost. Hurt. Terrified.

  “I'm sorry.”

  Swallowing hard, he looked down at Zander. “I tried. I—”

  The quiet sob that came from Enya shattered what little control he'd managed to muster and the tears slipped.

  Zander, releasing his hand, rose and buried his face in Callan's shoulder before his own tears flowed. A large hand splayed across the small boy’s back, he felt every lurching sob and his heart broke for them.

  Enya slowly climbed down from the window and rested her head on his other shoulder. She didn't cry. His hand slowly stroking her hair, Callan held her, desperately trying to maintain some level of composure.

  “She…she left you something.”

  Zander looked up first. His emerald eyes, bloodshot and puffy, searched his father’s. “What?”

  Cupping his freckled cheek, he wiped a tear away before shifting his arm around Enya. “A gift. They were waiting back at home.”

  Enya stepped back as he reached into his pocket, watching him closely.

  Smiling sadly, he looked down at the small, velvet bags in his palm before handing them over. “She made them for you.”

  Enya didn't open hers. “Why?” she whispered.

  Callan wasn't sure what she meant by the question. Why did she leave them gifts? Why was she dead? Why had she left them all? “Because she loves you.”

  That statement seemed to be her limit. Her lip quivered and she swayed slightly. Callan caught her in his arms and cradled her to his chest as she cradled the unopened pouch, silent tears soaking his t-shirt.

  “I'm so sorry, sweetheart.” It was feeble. It offered no comfort. He didn't know what else to say.

  Zander moved back to the wall beneath the window and sat cross-legged. With his head bowed, he studied the small object in his cupped hands.

  Callan glanced his way as he held Enya, her wracking sobs muffled by his shoulder; he wondered at his silence. “Zander?”

  His head snapped up. His lips were tilted up in a small smile and his eyes shone with unshed tears and what appeared to be joy.

  Feeling the tension change in Callan’s body, Enya lifted her head and pushed her damp hair from her face. Remembering the small bag, she opened her own, Callan's eyes flicking between them. “What?”

  The smallest giggle escaped him as he lifted the little globe. “I can feel her.”

  Enya moved to sit beside her brother, holding her identical gift beside his as Callan sat on the ground before them.

  “She isn't gone, Daddy.”

  Despite the lurch in his stomach, that he couldn't be sure was from grief or hope, Callan frowned, scratching an eyebrow with a thumbnail.

  You know better than to disbelieve him. This needs to be followed up.

  “What does that mean?”

  Zander shrugged his slight shoulders. “Dunno. But she's here.”

  Enya looked up expectantly. Not having had any time to process Zander’s declaration, time to investigate the possibility, he simply smiled at her and offered a nod of his head. She instantly brightened.

  “What does it mean?” she asked, turning the globe over in her fingers.

  “That you're her world. She lived for you. She’s”— he faltered, unable to say it in front of them—“kept you safe.”

  “She isn't gone, Enya,” Zander said again firmly.

  “Come here.”

  They scooted from the wall and cuddled
into Callan as they admired their gifts.

  They're going to be okay. We'll be okay.

  They sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The tears seemed to have subsided for now, their grief eased slightly after Zander’s strange revelation. Callan clung to that small hope as he held his children. Held their children. He’d keep them safe until he found a way to make Zander’s feeling a reality.

  Thirty-one

  Alayna sat on the bed watching Dane carefully. They hadn't spoken a single word after he'd returned to the castle. She'd been healing the few injured Druids that remained when he stepped over the rubble that had once been the perimeter wall and gripped her arm. She didn't have to ask what happened.

  Charlotte was gone.

  He stood by the window, a towel slung around his hips after showering, with one hand braced against the frame.

  “What can I do?”

  The muscles in his shoulders tightened as his fist clenched.

  “Dane. I can’t begin to imagine what—”

  “No. You can't.” He squeezed his eyes closed in silent admonishment at his tone before speaking more evenly. “I couldn't stop her, Ally. I watched him watch her die. She wouldn't listen. She didn't even try to get away.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it, covering it with her hand. He heard her choke back a sob and hung his head.

  “Ally, I can't. I shouldn't have dragged you up here. You should go home.”

  Crossing the room, she said, “I want to be here for you. I know what she meant to you; how much you loved her. Please.”

  As her hand brushed his shoulder, he faced her, eyes swimming with tears. “I’m sorry.”

  Hand trembling, she reached up and wiped a tear away. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Do you really want me to go?”

  He looked at her, his mouth twisting in an apologetic half smile. “Your brothers need you, and I need…I don't know what I need, but I'm not good company. I'll sort myself out and be back in Avalon tomorrow. Tell Taran I'll cover Dagda and Callan for a while.”