Mackenzie felt the silk of Nuala’s wide sleeve trail over her hands. There was no time to think, no time to summon courage. She moaned softly and shifted position, as if she were stirring in her sleep. Her fingers scratched blindly at the fabric above them, and she felt a thread catch on her nail. “Please, oh please,” she begged silently as her thumb joined her finger to tug at the tiny fiber. Her hand went limp a second later. She’d done as much as she dared.
An awful silence had fallen over the bed. Mackenzie made herself exhale as she waited to find out if she’d been discovered.
Inhale, exhale, slowly, deliberately.
She could hear her heart racing, could feel the sweat beading on her forehead. Just when she was sure her heart was going to explode, she heard the faery’s voice.
“For a moment I thought you were awake,” Nuala said softly. Her finger traced a path down Mackenzie’s arm. “But of course you’re not. You won’t wake until I bring the herbs to rouse you this evening, will you?”
The faery’s weight left the bed. “Until then, sleep tight, my sweet child.”
Nuala had been gone for at least half an hour before Mackenzie felt safe enough to move. She raised her right hand toward the light of the nearest candle as she sat up carefully. What she saw between her finger and thumb made her so relieved that she shook her sister’s shoulder.
“I got it! Oh, thank goodness—I got it! Let’s hope it’s enough.”
It was a silver thread, barely a few inches long. Mackenzie held on to it carefully, hardly daring to breathe as she slid out of bed. With her free hand, she felt under the mattress for Breanne’s mantle. Inside the folded mantle was a pouch with the needle Maigret had given her. She threaded the needle with the silver thread and stitched it into the coarse fabric of the mantle. There was enough thread to make a few tiny stitches, but not enough to knot it at the end.
Mackenzie surveyed her handiwork doubtfully. “It has to stay in.” She shook her head and pulled the short thread out again. This time she knotted the thread around a single fiber and then used the blunt end of the needle to work the free ends of the thread into the weave on either side of the knot.
“That’s better.”
She pulled up the light shift she was wearing and wrapped the mantle around her waist so that it lay flat against her skin. She secured it with a slender piece of twine and pulled the shift back down again. The mantle was all but invisible beneath the loose undergarment.
After that, there was nothing Mackenzie could do but wait. She climbed into bed beside her sister and closed her eyes, with no expectation of sleep. Every muscle in her body was tense. Her mind stumbled down one anxious path after another.
In the end, exhaustion prevailed. Clinging to the top cover as if it were a life raft, Mackenzie drifted into a deep sleep not even dreams could reach.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Mackenzie woke retching. A sharp smell under her nose had pulled her back to consciousness.
“There, there,” said a familiar voice. “You’ll be fine in a moment.”
Mackenzie blinked, trying to orient herself. The room was full of pale green light, as if somehow a bit of solstice fire had been brought inside. Nuala sat on the edge of the bed in a scarlet cloak. The hood of her cloak was raised so that only the lower half of her face was visible. Mackenzie saw a bundle of herbs disappear under the faery’s cloak as Nuala withdrew her hand and stood up.
Mackenzie blinked again. Her mouth tasted metallic and she felt sluggish, as if she’d been drugged. Her head pounded dully. It took her a few seconds to realize that it was not her pulse she could hear, but a drum beating somewhere deep in the faery compound.
She let one of Nuala’s attendants help her out of bed. Behind her, she was vaguely aware of a second attendant assisting Breanne to her feet. Mackenzie raised her arms, and the first attendant slid a seamless white gown over her shift. The front of the dress’s hem clung briefly to Mackenzie’s undergarment at the level of her hips. It was only as the attendant was tugging it down, smoothing the bottom of the dress with her hands, that Mackenzie remembered the mantle hidden at her waist.
Her heart instantly accelerated. She was fully awake, all sluggishness gone. It was all she could do not to flee the room at the thought of how close she might have come to being discovered. As if the distant drummer could sense her agitation, the drumbeat got stronger and faster. Another drum joined the first, and then another one, until the room echoed with every muffled beat.
Nuala nodded her head, and the attendant who had clothed Mackenzie draped a white cloak over Mackenzie’s shoulders. An identical cloak was wrapped around Breanne. Nuala nodded again, and her attendants each took a white-robed girl by the hand and led them to the door.
Mackenzie desperately wanted to look back at her sister as they traveled down the first hallway. Instead she forced herself to stare forward, to walk slowly and deliberately as if she were still in a trance. As the drums got more insistent, Mackenzie’s fingers curled more tightly around the attendant’s hand. Everything inside her felt clenched. She could barely breathe.
They reached the surface too quickly. Mackenzie couldn’t help hesitating at the giant doorway. She had to take an extra half step to fall in stride with her escort again, but no one seemed to notice.
There were no tables in the courtyard this time. Instead, tiered stone seats rose to form an amphitheater. At the center was a huge faery bonfire, its green and white flames stretching like columns all the way to the sky.
Mackenzie didn’t see the others dressed in white until they were only a few paces away. They stood in a silent circle around the bonfire, all but camouflaged against the pale, heatless flames. A moment later she was part of the circle, with Breanne beside her. The attendants slipped away.
Even with three layers covering her skin, Mackenzie felt naked under the piercing eyes of the faeries seated above her. She could almost feel their excitement, like static electricity in the air. It took all of her will to keep her expression blank, her feet rooted to the ground.
The drums beat one final frenzied tattoo and fell silent. The hair on Mackenzie’s arms rose as a wild, keening cry went up from the faery host. It was a terrifying sound, like a gale-force wind howling over the glens, like a tribe of banshees wailing for a lost child.
Beneath the terrible chorus rose another sound. Out of the corner of her eye, Mackenzie saw Finian step forward into the circle around the bonfire, his pipes under his arm. He played a single sustained note that grew louder and louder until it had eclipsed the faery cry. When the last faery was silent, he began to play in earnest.
Mackenzie’s limbs twitched involuntarily as the piper played. The music had an even stronger effect on the young woman in white standing to the piper’s right. Her arms rose first to trace strange, jerky shapes in the air. Soon her whole body was twisting and contorting in a painful-looking dance. The movement carried her closer to the flames. Mackenzie didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t turn away. She flinched when the young woman crossed over into the fire.
It was a horrible sight. The woman was a puppet to the relentless music. She was a rag doll tossed back and forth by the flames. Her spine arched, her limbs twisted at impossible angles. Her mouth opened wide in a silent scream.
Mackenzie wanted to throw up. She wanted to run to Finian and wrestle the pipes from his hands. Her eyes slid to the piper, less than a dozen yards away. His eyes were closed, his expression unreadable. In the pale firelight, his skin looked gray.
There was a series of long notes, and the fire expelled the woman with a violent crack. Her white cloak had turned the color of ashes, the same color that all the faeries’ attendants wore. No one came forward to help her when she fell in a heap.
Finian had to step around the still woman to reach the next person in the circle, a pale young man Mackenzie recognized from the first banquet. The nightmare process was repeated. The piper played, his victim danced, the fire expelled another one of t
he solstice-bound. It was the same every time. There were three young women between Finian and Breanne, then two, then one.
Under the cover of her cloak, Mackenzie fumbled with the string that secured the mantle around her body. She could feel the knots through the material of her dress. The first knot came undone easily, but the second was too tight. Her eyes remained locked on the piper as she struggled with the second knot.
He had finished with the last young woman.
He was moving.
He was standing beside Breanne.
Mackenzie’s movements became more frantic, but it was already too late. Breanne’s arms had risen. She had begun the awful lurching dance. Tears of anger and desperation appeared in Mackenzie’s eyes. She yanked on the string beneath her dress, stumbling to her knees when it finally broke.
Breanne was inches away from the fire. Mackenzie grabbed the mantle, pulling it so quickly from her waist that it tore her skin. “Stop—can’t you see what you’re doing?” she screamed at Finian.
She was too occupied with the cloth in her hands to see the piper open his eyes. She didn’t see the flicker of shame pass over his face, or see his fingers falter. There was a pause in the music, but Breanne had already crossed over into the pale flames. Mackenzie didn’t see Nuala come up behind her either, as she plunged into the fire after her sister.
A jolt of electricity shot through Mackenzie’s body when she threw the mantle over her sister’s shoulders. There was a delay, like the pause between thunder and lightning, and then the pain registered. Mackenzie’s head shot back and her face contorted, but she held on to her sister with a death grip. She held on as a third figure joined them in the flames, screaming with fury.
Nuala was almost unrecognizable in her anger. Mackenzie heard the faery hiss something, and Breanne thrashed and changed shape under Mackenzie’s arms. She was a wild horse, bucking and braying while Mackenzie clung to her neck. She was a fox, snapping at Mackenzie’s hands. She was an eagle with terrible talons and a vicious beak.
“It’s all an illusion, it’s all an illusion,” Mackenzie repeated desperately to herself. She buried her face in her sister’s shoulder and held on.
The feathers disappeared as Breanne changed again. Her torso stretched, becoming impossibly long. She was a sea serpent, thrashing and flailing. She was a dragon with razor-sharp scales that tore Mackenzie’s clothing to shreds. Mackenzie’s hands were raw and her muscles throbbed, but she would not let go. Even as she felt Breanne’s flesh shift again, even as she heard Nuala howl, she knew she could hang on forever if she had to. She felt a wave of elation. She was going to win her sister back!
And then her sister’s voice whimpered in her ear. “Let me go, Mackenzie! Please—you’re burning me—please let go!”
Mackenzie opened her eyes. Breanne was back in her own body, but naked now. Angry welts had formed where the mantle rested against her skin. They began to blister and ooze even as Mackenzie watched. “Get it off me!” Breanne begged, tears streaming down her face.
Mackenzie felt her own eyes well up. “I can’t, Bree. It will be over soon, I promise! You have to hang on!”
But it wasn’t over soon. Breanne writhed in Mackenzie’s arms, and her cries became more desperate. Mackenzie closed her eyes, but there was nothing she could do to escape her sister’s screams. They ricocheted back and forth in her skull. They pierced her brain so she couldn’t think. They went on and on until Mackenzie couldn’t take them anymore. She couldn’t hold on. She had to let go— Mackenzie heard a new sound just as she was about to release her sister. Finian was playing across a great distance, his music rising steadily until it was as loud as Breanne’s howls. The pipes didn’t block out the agony in Breanne’s voice, but they softened it. Just enough— Mackenzie tightened her grip around her sister’s shoulders. She gritted her teeth and held on.
Everything fell silent.
The world went black.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mackenzie was on her back in a boggy field, staring up at a leaden sky. She blinked as the first raindrop hit her face.
“W-we’re soaked. We’re completely drenched,” she heard Breanne say through chattering teeth. “What happened? Did we go swimming with our clothes on?”
Mackenzie sat up carefully. “I don’t know. I think we fell into a stream.”
“I must have blacked out,” said Breanne. “I had the weirdest dream.”
Mackenzie swiveled to face her sister as the images in her head came into focus. She seized Breanne’s arm. “You’re okay! We made it back—both of us!”
“Back? Back from where?” Breanne asked warily.
“From the world below! From Nuala and the other faeries! We’re here, Breanne! We’re safe!”
Breanne shook her head and pulled away. “Uh-uh. No way was that real.”
“It was real,” Mackenzie said as she struggled to stand up. “Maigret, Finian, Nuala. You were there— you know what I’m talking about. I can see it in your eyes!”
Breanne was still shaking her head and looking at Mackenzie like she was crazy as she got to her feet. “I had a dream,” she insisted. “A really weird dream.
You heard me mumbling or something, and now you’re trying to mess with my mind.”
“It wasn’t a dream—I can prove it.” Mackenzie ran her hands down the sleeve of her jacket, and her voice faltered. “Except…I don’t get why we’re wearing our old clothes. This isn’t what we were wearing when we left.” She undid the wet jacket with some difficulty and slid one of her arms from its sleeve to inspect her sweater. “It doesn’t make sense. I had to tear a piece off this sleeve to weave into your mantle. It was the only way I could free you after you drank from the solstice cup.”
Breanne’s face was flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Why are you so afraid of the truth?” said Mackenzie.
“You said you could prove it. So—prove it.”
Mackenzie turned away in disgust. Her expression changed when she spied something sticking out of the mud a few feet away. She dropped to her knees, and within seconds she’d dug out a hollow piece of wood. The slender tube was already crumbling. The finger holes were barely discernible.
“Here—here’s the proof,” Mackenzie said triumphantly, holding it out.
Breanne snorted. “What’s that supposed to be?”
“A piece from Finian’s pipes! Don’t tell me you don’t remember Finian, because I know you do. Hey, where are you going?”
“To the farmhouse,” Breanne said without looking back. “By the way? You’ve totally lost it.”
Mackenzie watched her sister for several seconds before calling to her. “Hey! Breanne!”
“What?”
“You’re not limping!”
“So why didn’t you let me go if I was screaming in pain?” Breanne asked later.
“Because I knew it was an illusion,” said Mackenzie. “You weren’t really being tortured.”
“But how could you know that? How did you know you weren’t burning my skin off with that mantle thing?”
“It had to be an illusion,” Mackenzie said with a half smile. “You said ‘please.’ If you’d really been in pain, you would have been swearing at me.”
It was ten thirty at night. The two sisters were in their beds in the guest room of the farmhouse. They’d found their way back just before dark, fifteen minutes before Uncle Eamon returned in his Land Rover. Aunt Joan had been beside herself when she’d seen the state of their clothes. They’d had to endure a tongue-lashing for leaving Cushendun and traveling cross-country on their own, but their only “punishment” was a mandatory half-hour soak for each of them. While Breanne sat in the bathtub, and Mackenzie sat beside her in an old washtub filled with heated water, Mackenzie told her sister everything that had happened after Breanne had drunk from the solstice cup. Breanne had remained skeptical throughout the evening, though she couldn’
t deny that her leg really was better.
Breanne shifted in her narrow cot. “So according to your version of events, what happened to the piper guy?”
“I don’t know,” said Mackenzie. “The solstice fire must have destroyed Finian’s pipes when it transported us back here. Maybe the fire set Finian free too, sent him back to his own time. I hope he’s all right, wherever he is. I would have let go of you if it hadn’t been for his music at the end. He saved us, whether you believe any of this or not.”
Breanne remained silent for a few seconds. “Look, I don’t remember anything about solstice cups or evil faeries or any of that other stuff. But I do know you went into the water after me. So you can stop working the fantasy angle. I’m grateful, already.”
Mackenzie’s smile was hidden in the darkness. “So what are we going to do to kill time tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. There’s this cool ring somewhere out there that keeps slipping through my fingers. Want to look for it with me?”
“You’re a real comedian, you know that, Breanne?” Mackenzie was still smiling as she drifted off to sleep.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I couldn’t write without the time, space and encouragement my family so generously provides. I am especially grateful to my husband, Bern, who helped fulfill a childhood dream when he applied for a teaching exchange that made it possible for our family to live in Northern Ireland for a year. For keen eyes and a clear voice, many thanks to my editor, Sarah Harvey.
RACHEL DUNSTAN MULLER is the author of two previous children’s novels: When the Curtain Rises and Ten Thumb Sam. The Solstice Cup was conceived while Rachel was living on the northeastern shore of County Antrim, Northern Ireland. She currently lives on the edge of a small Vancouver Island community with her husband and five children.
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