by Sean Cullen
“It smells like teenage boy, though.”
“That’s what I am, so …”
“Yeah,” she said. “About that …” She pulled the only chair over to the bed and sat down opposite Brendan. “It’s dark.”
“Yeah. I like it dark.”
“People like ... like you can see in the dark pretty well though,eh?”
Brendan laughed. “Yeah. People like me can.”
Delia blushed and looked a little uncomfortable. She looked around. “Where’s the little one ... What’s her name?”
“BLT?” Brendan offered. “She’s out with some of her friends tonight.”
“Good,” Delia said firmly. “’Cause I wanted us to talk.”
Brendan didn’t answer beyond raising his eyebrows. He just waited.
After a few seconds, Delia seemed to make up her mind. “I’m sorry I haven’t been talking to you lately.”
“That’s not unusual, really …”
“Just shut up, okay? I’ve been thinking a lot about all this and I needed some time to myself to work it out. It’s a lot to take in. I thought you might be a criminal or a drug dealer or something. But it turns out …”
“It’s worse?”
“Yeah. But it’s also much better. It’s incredibly amazing, in fact! I know you’re probably worried about telling Mum and Dad.”
“I’m crapping my pants, actually.”
Delia shook her head. “You shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t be afraid of talking to them and telling them what you are.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Probably. But then I’d remember that they’ve never once been angry about who I am. They get angry about what I’ve done but never at who I am. They’ve always supported us whatever we’ve wanted to do. If you think they’d be angry about what you are then you’re selling them short.”
Delia stood up and went to the stairs. She descended a couple of steps and looked back up at Brendan. “Just like you sold me short.” She stepped down out of sight.
Brendan sat in the darkness thinking about what his sister had said. Every word of it was true. Imagine how much easier the last weeks would have been if he’d had his Human family’s support. He should have told them right away. He made a decision. He picked up the phone and dialed Kim’s number.
Two hours later Brendan sat in the living room watching his dad playing the guitar and singing “White Christmas.” At the Clair household, Christmas Eve was a night for family. His mother laid out a delicious spread of cold food and baked treats for everyone to enjoy. There was the antique punch bowl full of eggnog, his mother’s mother’s recipe. His father brought out the guitar and forced everyone to endure a sing-a-long of Christmas carols. A fire burned in the fireplace. The Christmas tree was illuminated and all the decorations hung, each one a family memory of years past. Delia was rolling her eyes as Dad impersonated Bing Crosby. Everything was in place. Brendan felt a swell of happiness. He was making the right decision. He had no idea what would happen to him in the days and years to come, but at this moment everything was right in the world.
The doorbell rang. His father stopped playing and looked at his watch.
“It’s kind of late,” he said. “Are you expecting anyone?”
His mum, frozen in the act of lowering a plate of cookies to the coffee table, shook her head.
“It’s for me, Dad.”
His dad laid the guitar down. “Is it Charlie?”
Brendan felt a pang of sadness. “No. She’s ... Her family’s away.”
“Who, then?” Brendan’s mum headed for the door. Delia stood up and joined Brendan and his father as they moved into the cramped foyer. Delia caught Brendan’s eye and winked. He smiled back.
Brendan reached the door first, and after a deep and steadying breath, he turned the knob and opened it wide.
Standing on the front porch were Aunt Deirdre, Uncle Greenleaf, Uncle Og, and Kim. They all wore subdued Human clothing and looked so awkward standing on the stoop, wrapped bundles in their hands, that Brendan almost burst out laughing.
“Brendan?” His mum said. “Who are these people?”
“This is Kim. Dad’s met her. This is Og and Mr. Greenleaf. And this is—”
“Deirdre D’Anaan?” Brendan’s father said incredulously.
“Hello,” Deirdre said with a wry grin.
“What’s going on here, Brendan?” Mrs. Clair demanded sternly.
“Mum ... Dad ...” Brendan began. “I have a lot to tell you …” And for the first time, he found himself looking forward to it.
Epilogue
Pûkh watched impatiently as the stone was pried from the ground and dragged to the horses chosen to bear it. Straps were wrapped around its girth and secured with powerful Wards.
Pûkh sighed. He was content. He had seen the boy Brendan and tested him. The boy had the power. He had the gifts of the Ancients. He would be the key to Pûkh’s plan. With Brendan’s help, he would find the other Prisoning Stones and release the most powerful of the Dark Ones. They would be grateful to him. He would be rewarded for his patience and loyalty. Merddyn would be humbled. No one would stand in their way as they took this world back for the People of the Moon. The People of Metal would be crushed underfoot forever.
It galled him that he needed Brendan Morn, but the boy had the true gift. Pûkh was powerful, but there was something absent in his power, some flaw in his Art that crippled his attempts to find the stones on his own. Brendan was pure. He could sense the Wards on the stones that Merddyn had hidden so effectively for all these years.
Pûkh turned his head to gaze upon the slump-shouldered figure of Charles.
“You have been very useful, Charles.”
“I told you I’d show you the stone,” Charlie said sullenly. “I have shown you. Now, fulfill your part of the bargain.”
“Not yet,” Pûkh laughed.
“But you said you’d tell me who my parents were.”
“And I will, as soon as I have assured myself that this really is a Prisoning Stone. I must return to Tír na nÓg to do that.”
“That wasn’t our agreement.”
Pûkh laughed. “And you are such an honourable creature? Betraying Merddyn and Brendan both? What would they think of you, if they knew what you were doing?”
Charlie sneered. “Merddyn has made me wait for centuries. He keeps promising me he will find my parents but he never does. I can’t wait any longer. Brendan …” She stopped, biting her lip.
“Yes?” Pûkh prompted.
“I swore I’d never tell you anything about him. I told you about the stone, not him.”
“Hairs are being split, dear. Hairs are being split.”
The stone secured, the Wild Hunt prepared to rise again into the night sky.
“All right,” Charlie said, ignoring Pûkh’s laughter. She stood in silence for a moment before clambering up into the saddle of a fierce-looking horse. Its red eyes rolled back until she stroked it and whispered into its twitching ear. Instantly, the creature settled. “Let’s go then.”
Pûkh barked an order and the company mounted up. They rose into the sky, the Prisoning Stone in tow.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank all of those who get books into the hands of readers: the printers, the proofreaders, the editors, the librarians, and the small book shops that have really been the link between the kids who want the stories and the writers who want to tell the stories. Thank you. And also, I want to thank squirrels ... because no one ever does.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
An Introductory Note from the Narrator
Prologue
Part 1. Feet in Both Worlds
School
Instruction
Talent
The hot pot
Home life
Part 2. The Shadow Dancer
Another Note from the
Narrator
Evisceration
Home invasion
Night running
Charlie’s story
The new girl
Boundaries
The circle
Alliance
Part 3. Preparation
Another Note from the Narrator
Music
Doughnuts
History
Dawn flyers
The wild hunt
Stakeout
The last day
Nemesis
The gathering
Faerground
Solstice
Proving
Part 4. Proving
Yet Another Note from the Narrator
The ordeal of stone
Responsibility
Breaking the circle
Rules
Family
Epilogue
Acknowledgments