by Jodi McIsaac
“I don’t,” Nuala protested. “I mean no harm to the land. I just want to go back to my home, where I belong.”
Eden raised her chin and looked her captor in the eyes. “Don’t deceive yourself, or insult me with your lies. You don’t want to go home. You want to rule home. You hate Ériu because you have no power there, no influence, no admirers. That is what you crave, and you think if you return to Tír na nÓg, the status that was once yours will be returned to you tenfold. Only there may not be any Tír na nÓg left by the time he and you are done with it.”
Eden glided toward Nuala until they were standing face to face. She took a long finger and pressed it into the center of Nuala’s chest.
“I have seen your heart, Fionnghuala. You see yourself on the throne of Tír na nÓg and of Ériu, putting those you think are beneath you in their rightful place. Your desires run deep, and dark.” Then Eden’s somber expression shifted, and she smiled brightly at Nuala, who blinked in surprise. “Shall we continue?” Eden asked.
“Continue where? We need to wake up. We need to find your father, remember?” Nuala ran to catch up to Eden, who was suddenly several paces ahead of her.
Eden threw her head back and let out a peal of laughter. “Yes, yes, my father! Waiting for me in Tír na nÓg!” Then she stopped without warning, and Nuala narrowly avoided running into her.
“Here are my friends,” Eden said, waving her arm forward. “They wish to meet you.”
Two rows of imposing figures stood in front of them, forming a corridor through which they were clearly expected to pass. The figures were dressed in fine robes that wrapped around them like closed butterfly wings. Circlets of gold and silver sat on their heads, and their skin shone like sunlight reflecting off a rippling stream. Eden’s face broke into a grin, and she began to jog toward them.
“Wait!” Nuala called, and Eden turned around. “Who—” Nuala began, and then she looked closer at the figures and grew pale. “Are those…the Elders?”
“Yes!” Eden smiled. “And some of the others who have gone on.”
“How do you know them?” Nuala asked. “How do you even know of them?”
Eden shrugged, causing the fine lace of her gown to ripple delicately. “I suppose a part of me has always known them. I only meet them here, however, in my dreams.” She looked wistful. “But someday I shall see them face to face. At least, that’s what they tell me.” Without looking to see if Nuala was following, Eden bounced forward to greet her friends.
Nuala slowly followed. She watched as Eden hugged and kissed the first figures in the columns. They were laughing and smiling, too, as if nothing delighted them more than she did. But as Nuala approached, the smiles slid from their faces and were replaced by hostile frowns. She held her breath and tried to make herself as small as possible as she passed between their ranks. Some of the faces she had known before they had returned to the Four Cities. Others had fallen in battle before she was born, and she had only heard tales of their grandeur. The Dagda. Nuadu of the Silver Hand. Manannan mac Lir. Aengus Og. Lugh. Ogma. Dian Cecht. Bodb Derg. The columns stretched out before her and she rushed to catch up to Eden, but she could not outstrip the wave of anger and judgment that emanated from those who had made the Tuatha Dé Danann a race worthy of legend.
Finally, Nuala could see that Eden had stopped just ahead in a small clearing. She walked up to the girl, trying to control her trembling. She glanced over her shoulder and was relieved to see that the glaring Tuatha Dé Danann had disappeared and two rows of stately birch trees now stood on either side of where she had walked.
When she turned back around, a small cry escaped her lips. Across the clearing ran a river, and on the far bank stooped a woman dressed in nothing but her long, raven black hair. Crows perched on her shoulders and head as she squatted down to wash something in the running water. The clear water turned red and murky as it flowed past.
“The Morrigan,” Nuala whispered. She had never met the Morrigan, and was glad for it, but she knew about her all the same. The Morrigan was the goddess of death. There was a time when every soldier in Ireland had lived in dread of stumbling upon a woman washing his clothes in the river, for it meant he would soon die in battle. Despite herself, Nuala moved closer, staring at the cloth in the woman’s hands. Then the woman stood up and rung out the cloth, and Nuala screamed, for the very rags she was wearing on her violently shaking body were turning the river red with blood.
Nuala flung her eyelids open like the door of an escape hatch. She saw nothing but blackness and reached out with the rest of her senses for something to hang on to. She tasted blood and heard a ghastly scream. She forcibly closed her mouth and the screaming came to a sudden stop. She tried to move and realized that one of her hands was tied to something, to another person. She jerked at it and heard a small moan from the body next to her. Then she heard a trembling voice from somewhere in the air above her.
“Nuala,” the voice whispered. “Are you awake?”
Nuala looked in the direction of the voice, but still she could see nothing.
“Who are you?” she asked. “I can’t see you.”
“Open your eyes,” the voice said.
Nuala started to say that her eyes were open, but then she realized that no, they were not. She did as the voice instructed and found herself looking into the lined face of Maeve McLeod.
“I’m awake,” she said. She sat up, turning her head sharply to look at the other body in the large chair. Eden lay there, looking exceptionally small and frail, her hair fanned out on the arm of the chair and her cheeks flushed. Nuala breathed heavily through her nose as the humiliation of the dream returned to her.
She felt bile rising in her throat. She remembered the blood running from her clothes, staining the Morrigan’s hands and dripping from her elbows. She remembered the glares of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the disgust in their faces as she passed between them. She could still hear the ghostly wails of the children echoing off the walls of her mind. It was just a dream, she told herself, Eden’s dream, and none of it was real.
Eden opened her eyes, and Nuala watched her closely, relieved to see no trace of the older dream-Eden. She did not have to be afraid of this strange child. She was still in control.
“Eden?” Maeve said, leaning past Nuala to help her granddaughter sit up. “How do you feel?”
Eden looked over at Nuala, then back at Maeve, and then her face crumpled and she began to cry, her face pressed up against Maeve’s chest. Maeve held her close and looked at Nuala in alarm.
“What happened?” she asked. “Did it work?”
“No, you useless hag, it didn’t work. It was nothing but nonsense. You should be glad I don’t kill you on the spot,” Nuala said.
She snapped her fingers in front of Eden’s face, causing the girl to look up. “Eden! Do you remember the dream? Do you remember what you saw?” For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of the older Eden in the six-year-old’s eyes, but then the girl shook her head, sniffling. “I don’t know. I feel weird.”
“What do you remember? Tell me!” Nuala snapped.
Eden cowered back into her grandmother’s arms, which was difficult given the fact that her wrist was still bound to Nuala’s. Maeve made soothing noises and stroked Eden’s hair. “You had best answer her, dear. It’s okay now; you’re awake. Tell us what you remember from your dream.”
“Flowers,” the girl whimpered. “There were flowers.”
Maeve looked up at Nuala. “You said the dream was nonsense, but she remembers something. Is it Tír na nÓg? Is it enough?”
Nuala stood up, dragging Eden with her toward the door. “Open it,” she said. “Think about the flowers you saw in the dream.” Eden opened the door, but they only saw the yard out front, and Maeve’s blue car. Nuala slammed the door closed. She was not surprised that it hadn’t worked. If what Eden had said in the dream was right, then even she herself did not know what Tír na nÓg looked like anymore. She sat back down in the
armchair, frustration and fear and desperation building inside of her, wishing she could set something on fire or tear apart a boulder with her hands. She was running on borrowed time, but she would not give up. With Eden at her disposal, she could stay one step ahead of the rest of the Tuatha Dé Danann rebels. Soon they would wish they had just let her go, instead of pursuing her like a hound pursues a hare.
She whirled around and snapped, “What time is it, druid?”
“Six o’clock in the morning,” Maeve said, “on Tuesday. You were asleep a long time.”
“A long wasted time,” Nuala snarled, her fear fueling the vitriol in her voice. How much closer were Rohan and the others to finding her now? Had the druid alerted them? She knew she had stayed in one place for too long. They needed to leave, and now—but there was still the matter of the druid. She closed her eyes and opened her mind, reaching out to Maeve. She delved deep into the druid’s heart, and found what she had seen before. Maeve’s desires were simple, strong, and glaringly obvious. All she wanted was for Eden to be safe. Nuala almost smiled. This would be easy.
Maeve, however, anticipated her. “You don’t have to charm me,” she said, her voice urgent. “I want to help you. Please. I will be more effective if I’m acting of my own free will.”
“I doubt that,” Nuala said, her voice dripping with scorn, “but I’ll give you one more chance. Then we can try it my way.”
“Let me go to Cedar,” Maeve said. “She will tell me everything she knows. It may give us an idea.”
Nuala stepped close to her and bent down so she was staring Maeve in the eyes. “And how do I know you will not betray me?” she asked softly.
Maeve did not quail under Nuala’s glare. “Because I want to keep my granddaughter away from the Tuatha Dé Danann—all the Tuatha Dé Danann. If Rohan and his people find her, they will heed the prophecy and take her to battle against Lorcan. They will think nothing of her life, her safety. Frankly, I don’t care about your world, or your war. I only want my grandchild to be safe, and to stay that way. I will take her far from here, and hide her, using everything at my disposal. And I won’t fail this time,” she added bitterly.
Nuala considered this, and then nodded. “Then go. Now.”
Eden suddenly yanked hard on the ropes that bound her to Nuala and strained toward the door, knocking Nuala so off-balance that she almost fell. She gave Eden’s arm a firm tug, twisting it sharply enough for the girl to howl in pain.
“Do that again and I’ll rip your arm right off,” Nuala hissed. Eden kept screaming and started flailing at Nuala with her free arm.
“Do you want your grandmother to live, you useless child?” Nuala snarled. “Shut up and do as I say, or I’ll chop her into little bits, I swear it!” She stopped, breathing heavily, then spoke in a softer voice. “Do as I say and you can go home soon.” She opened the door and walked out into the sunlight, dragging Eden with her. She turned around to see Maeve still standing inside the workshop, a tortured expression on her face. “Go! Hurry!” Nuala yelled, and stood watching as Maeve fastened the building’s locks, cast several protection spells, and ran to her car. As Maeve drove away, Nuala dragged the hysterical child toward the empty house.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
For a moment, Cedar felt perfectly happy. She felt well rested for the first time in days, and she could feel the warmth of Finn’s body against her back. The weight of his arm draped over her waist was like an anchor, tethering her firmly to this peaceful place. She could hear the birds singing outside her window, their sound carried on the same light breeze that was stirring the muslin curtains. Finn’s breath on her neck was slow and steady, and she tried to keep from moving, wanting to fix this moment of perfection firmly in her memory. Then she thought of Eden.
“Oh,” she said, the sound slipping from her lips like a child’s dropped toy.
Instantly, Finn’s eyes were open. He propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over to see her face. “What is it?” he asked.
She turned and burrowed into his chest, seeking the strength and safety it promised before she made herself vulnerable to reality, and whatever cruel plans it had for her today.
“It was just that for a moment I felt happy, like everything was okay. Then I remembered that nothing is okay. And it probably won’t ever be okay again.”
Finn wrapped her in his arms and cradled her like a small child, perhaps expecting her to cry or scream. She did neither, but shifted slightly to draw herself nearer to him. She closed her eyes and tried to fight off the wave of despair that threatened to crash over her.
“We’re going to find her, Cedar,” he said. There was no hint of uncertainty in his voice, and she drew strength from his confidence.
She allowed herself the luxury of a few more seconds in his arms, then wiggled her way out of them and sat up on the edge of the bed.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“For what?”
“For whatever this day will bring. For whatever I have to do to find her.” She allowed herself a hint of a wry smile. “After the last few days, nothing can surprise me.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said, tossing back the covers and swinging his long legs out of bed. “But first, breakfast.”
“You make breakfast,” she told him. “I’m going to shower.” Once she was under the hot, steaming water, she was tempted to stay there all day, but she forced herself to keep moving. She had just pulled on a clean T-shirt and pair of jeans, and was towel-drying her hair when she heard a knock at the front door.
She hurried out of the bedroom and said, “I’ll get it,” to Finn, who was coming out of the kitchen.
“Wait,” he said. “Let me get it.”
She rolled her eyes, but stood back and watched as he opened the door.
“Mum!” she exclaimed. Maeve was standing in the hallway, being carefully watched by Brian, who was apparently still on guard duty.
“Cedar,” Maeve said, moving forward to embrace her daughter. She stopped short when she saw Finn.
“Good morning, Mrs. McLeod,” he said, nodding at her.
“Finn,” she said, seeming stunned. Then she recovered herself. “Good morning,” she said stiffly.
“Where on earth have you been?” Cedar asked. “Everyone has been looking for you. They went to your apartment and you weren’t there, and we’ve been calling your cell. I was starting to get really worried.”
“I’m sorry, dear,” Maeve said. “I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what? What is going on with you?” Cedar closed her eyes, trying to control her frustration.
Maeve glanced at Finn, who was watching them silently. “Could you give us a minute, Finn?” she asked.
Finn’s expression was unreadable as he studied the older woman. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I’m sure Cedar has many questions for you, questions I am unable to answer. Perhaps you could answer them. I would be most grateful if you would.” He nodded at them both, then turned and walked out of the apartment.
“What was that?” Cedar asked as soon as Finn left.
“That was Finn’s not-so-subtle way of saying I should tell you the truth. The whole truth,” Maeve answered, sitting down on the sofa. “And it’s about time you knew. Sit, dear, we have a lot to talk about.”
Cedar sat. “The whole truth about what?” Her mother looked dreadful. Her gray hair, usually smooth, was frizzy and tangled, and her clothes looked like she had slept in them. The wrinkles in her face were deeper than usual, and the circles under her eyes were so dark they looked like bruises.
“Did they tell you what I am?” Maeve asked without looking at her.
Cedar frowned. “What you are? No. They didn’t tell me anything about you.”
“Is that so? I’m surprised. Well, best you hear it from me, anyway. I’m a druid.”
“A what?”
“A druid. I am one of the very few humans schooled in a certain kind of ancient knowledge…and magic.”
Cedar stare
d at her mother. While she had said she was ready for anything, she wasn’t sure she had meant this. She swallowed. “Is that why you’ve been acting so weird? Because you didn’t want me to find out? How is that even possible? How could I live my whole life with you and not notice that you were a…a druid?”
“Don’t blame yourself for not noticing. I wanted you to grow up as normal as possible, and not as the daughter of what some would call a witch. I used my arts on the rarest of occasions, and even then only out of necessity. I have had to revive my skill over the past few days. I’ve been doing everything in my power to find Eden. It’s why I had to stay away.” There was a pause, and Maeve’s voice softened. “I am sorry for not telling you about it. It’s one of a lifetime’s worth of regrets.”
Cedar didn’t know what to say to this. Was nothing in her life as it had seemed? “Why didn’t you tell me, especially given everything that has happened?” she demanded.
“I should have told you,” Maeve said, “but I didn’t think you would believe me. And, I’ll admit, I was angry that you chose to go with them. It’s no excuse, I see that now.”
“You didn’t think I would believe you?” Cedar asked incredulously. “After seeing what Eden could do?” She exhaled loudly. “You’re just like the rest of them. You didn’t think I’d be able to handle the truth, so you hid it from me.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing. I was trying to find Eden. I’m still trying to find Eden.”
“How? How have you been trying to find her?”
“I’ve been using the art of divination to try to get some handle on where Nuala may have taken Eden. There are many methods of seeing beyond, and I’ve tried every way I know how.”
“Did it work? Did you see them?” Cedar asked.
Maeve shook her head, her eyes sliding to the floor. “No, it didn’t work.” She looked up at Cedar, her eyes filled with a sudden eagerness. “There is more for us to talk about, but first, tell me what you have been doing. What is Rohan doing to find Eden? What is his plan?”