Through the Door

by Jodi McIsaac

  “Stop singing!” Nuala roared as she advanced on Maeve.

  Maeve stood her ground, moving Eden behind her. “No. I will not fall prey to you,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “You will do as I say,” Nuala said, staring at Maeve intently.

  Maeve laughed, an unhinged sort of laugh that made Nuala’s eyes widen. “Look inside me, if you will. Do you think there is anything in there you can use? Do you think there is anything I want in this world other than to keep this child safe? Your power won’t work on one whose only desire is the opposite of yours.”

  Nuala said nothing, but continued to stare intently at Maeve. Again, the older woman laughed. “Find anything yet? I didn’t think so. I’ll tell you about the only things I’ve ever wanted in my life. I wanted Brogan to love me, but he’s dead, so you can’t use that. I wanted his wife to be dead, and she is. The only desires I have left are for my daughter’s love and my granddaughter’s safety, and I see now you are trying to take both from me. You have no power over me.”

  Nuala looked down at the girl cowering behind her grandmother’s blowing skirt. “Eden! Did you see it? Did you see Tír na nÓg through the stone? Do you remember what it looked like?”

  “I…I don’t know…” Eden stammered.

  “DID YOU SEE IT?” Nuala bellowed, her spittle landing on Maeve’s cheek.

  “Y-y-yes,” Eden whimpered.

  “Run, Eden,” Maeve said, keeping her eyes on Nuala’s contorted face. “Run to the house. Use the door and go to your home—your mother and father are there.”

  “You will stay here!” Nuala screamed at Eden. Then she turned back to Maeve. “Do you really think she can outrun me, or even that she would? Do you even know your so-called granddaughter? She wants to go to Tír na nÓg. It is her destiny.”

  Maeve glanced behind her to see Eden frozen in place, her eyes wide with fear and confusion.

  “My father is at home?” she asked Maeve. Then she looked at Nuala, “You said he was in Fairyland.”

  “Is that what she told you?” Maeve exclaimed. “Eden, my dear, no. Your father has been looking for you, just as I have. He is at your house right now, waiting for you, with your mother.”

  “She lies!” screamed Nuala, and Eden’s head swiveled up sharply. “She does not want you to go, Eden, she does not want you to be a princess. Remember everything we talked about—a magical kingdom of your very own, servants, the most beautiful dresses, as many ponies and horses as you can ride. And your father is there, he wants to see you so badly.”

  For a moment Maeve saw a shadow flicker behind Eden’s eyes. Then it passed.

  “No,” Eden said. “I don’t want to go there anymore. I want to stay here.”

  Nuala’s voice was low and deadly when she spoke. “You will open that sidh, and you will come with me.”

  “NO!” Eden yelled, then turned and sprinted toward the house. Nuala darted past Maeve and stood in front of Eden, blocking her path.

  “Do you think I survived the war by being slow or weak?” Nuala called to Maeve, who was running toward them and breathing heavily. “I may not be able to control you, but I can still hurt you. Now, child, open that door to Tír na nÓg, or I will hurt your grandmother very much.”

  “No, Eden!” Maeve gasped as she tried to catch her breath. “No matter what happens, do not open that door for her. She is taking you to a very bad man. He will kill all of us.”

  “Fool!” Nuala screamed, then reached out and struck Maeve across the face. The blow sent her flying across the yard. She landed on the gravel driveway and felt a sharp spasm of pain in her hip. Breathing hard, she pressed her palm into the rocks beside her, whispered some ancient words, and then lifted her hand into the air. Stones rose from the ground and swirled like a whirlpool in the air. Maeve flung her arm in Nuala’s direction and the stones spun out of the whirlpool and headed straight for her, assailing her with enough force to make her scream in pain and cover her face. Maeve struggled to get to her feet as Nuala tried to ward off the stones. As she straightened herself, she heard Eden cry out. Nuala had grabbed the child and was using her as a shield. With a few hurried phrases from Maeve, the stones landed softly in the grass at their feet.

  “Leave her alone,” Maeve snarled. “This is between us now.”

  “You are the only thing standing in our way,” Nuala said. “Let us go peacefully, and I will let you live. Continue fighting, and I will kill you. Then I will force the child to open the sidh. This is a fight you cannot win, druid.”

  Maeve stared at Eden, who seemed paralyzed with fear. Nuala had a firm hold on one of Eden’s arms, and Maeve could tell she was in pain.

  “You’re hurting her,” she said. “Let her go, and we will end this. Or are you afraid to face me without a child to protect you?”

  “Eden,” Nuala said as she backed away toward the house, still keeping the child between her and Maeve. “We are going now. Say good-bye to your grandmother.”

  At this, Eden snapped out of her paralyzed state. She struggled and kicked and tried to pull away from Nuala, screaming, “Let go! Let go! You’re hurting me!”

  “Good girl,” Maeve said under her breath. Eden was no match for Nuala’s strength, but at least she was distracted, which gave Maeve a slight advantage. She whispered a few more words and watched as the ground behind Nuala rippled and formed a small ridge. Nuala, who had been expecting flat ground and was concentrating on keeping a firm grip on the squirming child, tripped and fell. Her hand flew off Eden’s arm, and Eden made another dash for the house, now only steps away. As soon as Eden was out of range and before Nuala could get to her feet, Maeve flung out her arms, and the ground beneath Nuala fell away.

  Maeve shouted once again to Eden, who was standing on the front porch, watching the dust rise into the air where Nuala had been standing only seconds before.

  “Go, Eden! Go home! I’ll follow you there!”

  Eden turned toward the front door and reached out her hand. Before Maeve could see if she made it through the sidh, she felt a searing pain in her side. It was only in retrospect that she heard the bang. She felt herself fall to the ground and looked in astonishment at the blood spreading in a large blotch on her blouse. When she looked up again, Nuala was standing a yard away and pointing a dull black gun in her face.

  “I know you’re still here, Eden,” Nuala said without taking her eyes off Maeve. “And that’s good. That shows that you want your grandmother to live.”

  Maeve looked at Nuala in astonishment. She had expected a battle of power between them, Nuala’s incredible strength and speed pitted against her own brand of magic. She had never imagined Nuala would stoop to such a crude human weapon. But there it was, pointed directly between her eyes, and Maeve knew that the moment she started to utter a spell, she would be dead.

  “That’s right,” Nuala said. “I didn’t think I’d have to use this, but you’re a stubborn, selfish bitch, you know that? You could have let her go, with your blessing, even, to become what she is meant to be. Now her last memory of you is going to be of you lying in the dirt in a pool of your own blood because you tried to keep her from her destiny.”

  Maeve tried to block out the pain in her side, tried to think of nothing but Eden. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a weak, whimpering, “Go, Eden. Go.”

  She tore her eyes from the gun and looked over at the porch. The child looked so frail, standing there alone with one hand on the doorknob, the other hanging limp at her side. Her golden eyes were dripping with tears that left tracks down her dirt-smudged cheeks. She looked at Maeve for an agonizingly long second, and again Maeve saw that strange shadow pass behind the girl’s eyes. “It’s going to be all right, Gran,” she said. Then she looked at Nuala, who was still pointing the gun at Maeve’s forehead. “I’m ready.” She gave the door a hearty tug. The last thing Maeve saw was an expanse of brown, dead grass and a tall white tree through the open door. Then everything went black.


  Cedar listened to the phone ringing, silently willing Maeve—she couldn’t bring herself to call her “Mum” anymore—to pick up. The phone rang and rang, and Cedar waited for it to click over to voice mail. But then she heard the ringing stop, and a thin voice at the other end whispered, “Cedar?”

  “Mum?” Cedar asked automatically, and then corrected herself. “Maeve? Where are you?”

  “Cedar, you must come, you must hurry,” Maeve said in a voice so quiet she could barely make out the words.

  “Come where? Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “No, no, I’m not. I’m at the old house. Hurry, dear.”

  The line went dead, and Cedar stared down at the phone in her hand. She grabbed her bag from the counter and headed to her car. Brian, the sentry Rohan had placed in the hallway, yelled after her, but she gave him a few choice words about minding his own business and how she could go anywhere she damn well pleased.

  She drove as fast as she dared through the city and onto the highway. She saw an eagle circling in the sky above her, as if it were eyeing its prey, and her heartbeat quickened. Had one of Maeve’s druid spells backfired? Had she found Eden? No, she would have said so on the phone. Cedar wondered if she should call one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, maybe Felix or Riona, but it might have nothing to do with them. Perhaps Maeve had just fallen down some stairs and twisted her ankle. She would wait until she found out what was going on. Besides, the Danann didn’t care about Maeve, or Cedar herself, for that matter. All that mattered to them was Eden.

  She finally sped onto the road leading to her childhood home. She turned into the driveway and pulled up in front of the house.

  “Mum? Mum?” she called, throwing open the car door and running out into the yard. Then she saw her.

  Maeve was lying just feet from the small set of steps leading up to the veranda. For a second Cedar was relieved. She must have just fallen down the stairs; it couldn’t be too bad. Then she saw the blood. She rushed over and knelt beside her.

  “Mum, can you hear me?” she asked, and then gasped as she saw the gash on the side of Maeve’s face, as if someone had struck her hard.

  Maeve’s eyes flickered open. “Cedar,” she whispered. “Thank the gods you’re here. She has taken her; they have gone to Tír na nÓg.”

  Cedar stared at her in shock. “How do you know this?”

  “I tried to stop her; it’s my fault. She swore she would leave Eden behind if I helped her. I believed her. I thought I could get Eden away from them all, from all the Danann.” Tears ran through the blood that was still sticky on her face.

  “What do you mean, you helped her?” Cedar whispered.

  “The starstones…Kier’s and Brogan’s. Oh, Cedar, I’m so sorry.”

  Cedar said nothing. She felt empty and light-headed. Eden was gone, really gone, beyond her reach. She tried to speak, but no sound came out.

  She whirled her head around at the sound of approaching footsteps. Finn stood behind them, his face ashen.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Brian called me, and I followed you, as an eagle,” he said simply and then knelt beside Maeve and started examining her wounds.

  “Eden’s gone,” Cedar said.

  “I heard,” Finn answered, not looking at her. “I’m still not giving up. If she could create a sidh to Tír na nÓg, she can create one from there as well. She can come back.”

  Cedar nodded woodenly, wanting to believe his words, to take comfort in them, because to believe otherwise would surely kill her.

  Finn stood up, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and then pulled Cedar a few paces away. “She’s in bad shape. I’m calling Felix. He needs to get here right away. I’d take her back to the city, but I’m worried about moving her too much.”

  Cedar went back to Maeve’s side while Finn called the healer. Maeve’s hand reached out for Cedar, and Cedar took it in both of hers and held it tightly. “Finn is calling Felix,” she said. “You’re going to be okay.” All the anger she had felt an hour earlier had melted away. It would come back later, perhaps, or maybe not. Right now, there was only pain.

  “Listen to me,” Maeve said, and Cedar bent closer to hear her. “I’m not going to make it. I can feel the other side calling for me. I’m ready to go. I tried…I tried to be a good mother to you. And I’m sorry. I hated them so much. I couldn’t forgive him for leaving me.”

  Cedar squeezed Maeve’s hand back. So this is how it would happen; she would become motherless and childless in one fell swoop. “You were a very good mother to me,” she said, “and an amazing grandmother to Eden.” Her voice broke on the last word.

  Maeve tried to shake her head, but winced. “It’s not too late, Cedar. You can still save her, I know it. And you must, or else he will kill her. What the Tuatha Dé Danann believe about Lorcan is not true. Brogan did not die by Lorcan’s hand. He can and will kill Eden to take her ability. But you can save her. You must save her!”

  “How?” Cedar asked. Hot tears were running down her cheeks. She barely registered what Maeve had said about Lorcan and Brogan. “How can I save her? She’s gone where I can’t go. Nuala and Lorcan are so powerful. I’m just human.”

  “No,” Maeve said. “No. You are the daughter of the great High King. I was wrong, Cedar. You are not human—you are one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. What your mother and I did, I didn’t understand at the time, not fully. We did not change who you are, we only masked it. We weren’t taking away your gift; we were giving you one. Don’t you see? Few, if any, of the Danann would recognize it as such, but a gift it is. We gave you the gift of humanity. It’s a strength, not a weakness.” Her eyes opened wide, and she stared at Cedar intently. “Oh, why didn’t I see this before? You are the answer they have been seeking. Not Eden. You are the dyad—both human and Danann. You are the one who can end this. Use your humanity.”

  “How? How can I end this?” Cedar asked again, but Maeve did not answer. She had closed her eyes, and her breathing was barely detectable. “Mum?” Cedar asked. She put her ear to Maeve’s chest, and heard nothing.

  “Mum!” she wailed. This couldn’t be happening; it was impossible that she could lose them both. The pain ripped through her and she cried out unintelligibly, her hands in her hair, pulling at it as if the physical pain could lessen the torture she felt within. She was shaking, and when Finn knelt down and wrapped his arms around her, she tried to fight him off. He tightened his hold and kept her from falling apart as she sobbed uncontrollably into his chest.

  Then she heard his voice in her ear, and there was an urgency to it that made her glance up. “Cedar, look,” he said. She looked where he was pointing. On the other side of the driveway, near the old workshop, grew a tall cedar tree, and Finn was staring at it.

  “What?” she said, not understanding, not caring.

  “Can you see it? The tree, it’s shimmering,” he said.

  Cedar looked back at the tree and squinted her eyes, still blurry with tears. It looked the same as it always had, thick with blue-green needles, tall and foreboding. She had always been a little bit afraid of that tree as a child.

  “Look again, look harder,” he urged.

  He helped her to her feet and she walked closer to the tree, staring at it intently, trying to see the tree as he did. Maeve’s voice came back to her. You are the dyad—both human and Danann. Slowly, she began to detect a slight glimmer on the outer branches. Then it spread, needle by needle, as though a curtain were being drawn to let the sun through.

  “Watch out,” Finn said, and grabbed her arm. She had been looking at the tree and not the ground beneath her, and had almost stepped into a deep pit. She tore her eyes from the shimmering branches to look down, and jumped back with small cry.

  “Who—” she began, unable to finish the sentence.

  Finn knelt at the edge of the grave. “This is Kier, your mother.”

  She knelt down beside him and gazed at the peaceful face nestled among the roots. “
One of my mothers,” she corrected him, the tears still running down her cheeks.

  “Maeve did well to bury her here,” Finn said. “The land will keep her in peace.” He got to his feet, his eyes searching the ground near the tree. He saw what he was looking for and walked over, scooping Kier’s necklace from the ground. “Perhaps you would like to keep this,” he said, handing it to Cedar.

  She took it from him wordlessly and gazed at it. “Thank you,” she said, closing her hand tightly around it. Then she looked back up at the shimmering tree.

  “What does it mean?” she asked him.

  “It’s a sidh,” he said.

  She looked at him unbelievingly. “How?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know for certain, but I think it must be Eden.”

  Cedar grew pale. “Or Lorcan.” Haltingly, she told Finn what Maeve had told her about Brogan and Lorcan. His face darkened.

  “Even if that’s the case, I don’t think he did this,” he said. “It’s not his style. This is subtle, beautiful magic.”

  “But this isn’t a door. Eden needs a door.”

  “Maybe not. Eden is the only sidh-opener I’ve ever heard of who used a door, and who was able to make one appear in the other place. The others before her, they could turn any object into a sidh, as long as there was a corresponding object on the other side. A hillside to a hillside. A waterfall to another waterfall. A tree to a tree. Maybe in Tír na nÓg she can use her power in ways she couldn’t here.” He took another step toward the tree-sidh, and then stopped. He looked back at her and held out his hand. “There’s only one way to know for sure.”

  Again, Cedar heard Maeve’s voice in her head. You can still save her. She didn’t know how, but she knew that if Eden had created this sidh, she was summoning her. Hope flooded her veins. All was not yet lost. She looked at the glimmering tree and thought of the world beyond it, a land of war, where a ruthless warrior was bent on the destruction of everyone she loved. She thought of Riona’s strength and kindness, and Felix’s easy smile. She even thought of Rohan, of how he tried to lead and protect his people despite impossible odds. She thought of her father, a great king of the Tuatha Dé Danann who had loved a frail human, and of Kier, lying in the grave at her feet, who had given all her energy to bestow Cedar with a gift that would conceal her true identity and ensure her safety. Kier could never have known that Cedar would meet and love another of the Tuatha Dé Danann, or that she would feel more alive, more at home with him than with any other man. She could never have known they would bring a Danann child into this human world, a world some wanted to protect and others wanted to destroy.