by R. F. Long
Rowan’s eyes passed over him, impassive, judgemental. She might have a soul, but she didn’t deserve it, had done nothing to earn the promise of redemption, the chance of eternal paradise. The thought was all it took to hurl him over the edge. He embraced the inner shadows with all his heart. The chains ignited white-hot against his skin and a howl of agony and fury combined tore its way from him.
Aynia ripped the bit from his mouth. The air that replaced it slid down his scalded throat. She leaned forwards, perching on her toes to whisper in his ear.
“Still want her, Daire?” Aynia’s breath played through his sweat-drenched hair, tormented his flesh. “Her stench pollutes you as it clings to you. After all she has done to you, I know you want her. Even now.”
Her teeth flashed close to his earlobe, sharp and vindictive. But she did not lie. He could smell Rowan’s scent on his body still, though the passion of the night before turned to ashes now.
Yes, he wanted her. And he wanted to tear into that pretty body. He wanted to hear her scream herself hoarse, feel her nails like claws trying to fend him off, her last breath panting against his face as he tightened his grip around that pretty white throat. The Dark Sidhe that clung to the place where he had hoped to place a soul one day roared in victory.
“Matthew,” said Aynia in a low, controlling voice. “Let him go.”
Her thrall jerked towards him, drawn on the golden threads of her will. She must have worked a cunning series of enchantments to ensnare him, for he was as powerful a source of soul fire as his sister. But there was little hope for him now. He was her slave, as lost as Peadar had been all those years ago, willing to do anything she commanded. Rowan had tried to do the same thing to him.
Matthew released the lock holding the chains in place. They slithered from Daire’s body and he stretched, flexing his long constricted muscles, revelling in the newfound freedom. And it was freedom indeed, unfettered by conscience or qualms, freedom to follow his own desires and impulses, a freedom the like of which he had never before experienced.
A bellow of rage rose from within him, a savage cry, and he sprang at Rowan, the girl who stood so still and composed as he bore down on her. Waiting calmly, trusting.
The last rational part of his brain took that in, processed it. As if she was waiting for him. Just waiting.
Daire’s hands latched on to her throat, digging into her neck, bruising, tearing, choking. Rowan’s eyes rounded, the caramel brown in them transforming with a golden light. A light so blinding he couldn’t look at it directly.
But Daire didn’t look away.
The world slowed. It felt like crawling through sap.
The gold chain flared white hot against his hands, the acorn glowing like a newly born star against the pearlescence of her skin. Rowan smiled, even though he was still trying to crush the life from her. She lifted her chin bravely and light exploded from her body. It scorched a path through him, reaching deep inside and scourging away the night. He could feel her unfurling in his heart, reaching into his mind, blossoming in the base of his stomach and shooting out into his limbs. Her soul fire blazed through him and tore away every last trace of the shadow. The Dark Sidhe inside him shrieked where she touched it and fled.
The light dimmed, but her smile did not. She pressed her forehead against his bare chest, her head bowed. Her tired breath played against his skin and Daire knotted his hand in her thick chestnut hair, felt her lips brush where her breath had been.
Trust me, he tried to tell her through his touch, through his love.
I do. Her reply rippled through him as the soul fire finally receded. He didn’t know how she did it. Rowan was ever a wonder to him.
She looked up sharply. “Matt,” she whispered.
“Matt,” he agreed.
They moved together, like one being in two forms. Matthew was kneeling only a couple of feet away. Each grabbing an arm, they dragged him to his feet between them and ran.
Aynia screeched out commands but it was Lorcan who moved, unsheathing his sword in one great sweep of his arm. It arced through the air, straight at Daire.
Daire’s legs buckled. He shoved Matthew and Rowan aside and dropped, rolling across the stone beneath the path of the blade.
“Run!” he yelled.
Rowan didn’t wait for a second instruction. For once, he thought with pride, for once she listened to sense and obeyed, dragging her dazed brother after her.
Daire surged to his feet between Lorcan and the exit covering their flight. The blade whistled as it cut the air and he dodged left and down, snatching Rowan’s bag from the ground. There was something still in there, heavy, solid, burning with iron’s fire. Without a moment to think about it, Daire swung the bag in a wide circle for momentum and released it, right into Lorcan’s chest. It was as effective as any mace.
Aynia and her other guard were still recovering from the burst of soul fire. Breathing hard, Daire backed up, never daring to take his eyes from Lorcan’s limp form, the nearest threat. Aynia dragged herself up on the rocky outcrop, her eyes aflame with malevolence. She stretched out her hands, her fingers splayed wide. She spat out another curse and then screamed the words that set the entire world trembling.
“Tar chugham, a Sluagh!”
The cave wall convulsed behind her as she reached right through the fabric of this mortal realm into the depths of the netherworld. The rocks beneath her grew, transformed, sprouting life and nightmares. Great roots tore their way from the earth and broke free. Combinations of rock and growing thing, secret, hidden and underground creatures wrenched their way into the mortal world, sprouting teeth, claws and stingers. The Sluagh, the Wild Hunt of the Dark Sidhe Realm burst forth, every forsaken creature of nightmare pouring out of the shadows at Aynia’s command.
Daire’s own advice to Rowan shrieked at him, rattling through his mind. Run! He had faced them before, knew what they could do, what they would do without reservation, and he could not face them on his own. Not here and now. Common sense, Rowan would say. Run!
He turned his back on his foes and sprinted after Rowan and Matthew. Catching up with them at the cave mouth, he shouldered much of Matthew’s weight and pulled Rowan after them.
“Don’t look back,” he told her when she protested. “Whatever you do. Just run.”
“The sun’s going down,” she replied, recognising a new dilemma already attempting to supersede the old. Long shadows lined the ground between the trees. “There isn’t much time. You have to get to the veil before it’s too late.”
Chapter Seventeen
Rowan’s chest threatened to rip in two, but she kept moving, punishing herself with every stride, terror pushing her body far beyond her physical ability. Each breath felt like a knife blade in her side. Her legs burned, her eyes streamed tears. Beside her, even burdened with Matthew, Daire drove her on and though she couldn’t see what nightmare followed, his reaction and the savage noises were sufficient goad. They ran, because running was all they had left to them.
With the clearing looming ahead, she fought off her conflicted emotions. Daire would be safe and that was all that mattered. Daire could cross through the gateway in the veil and then it would be over. He’d be okay. He’d live on and forget her brief life. That was all that mattered. That was all she cared about.
Death wasn’t so terrifying, not when she faced it. Just another step on desperate, aching limbs.
They fell into the protection of the clearing, the ring of stones that marked the boundary shielding them. The ancient magic of the iron-stones burst to life and the air stilled around her. The Sluagh couldn’t enter here. For the moment, while the gate held and the acorn still had power, they were safe.
Rowan raised her face and found herself looking directly at her Sidhe lover. His skin had turned ashen.
“I thought—” he began and broke the gaze, ashamed. “I thought I would kill you. I wanted to.”
“I know,” she whispered. She reached for the necklace and
pulled it over her head. She held it out to him, a peace offering. “You thought I betrayed you.”
“But you did not.”
She couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. Whatever happened, Daire, that first night, it affected my memory, scrambled it. I picked this up and then I…” It sounded so pathetic an excuse, a stupid thing to say. She just had to pray that it was so lame he would believe her anyway, because no one could sound as stupid as this and mean him harm. “I forgot.”
Air escaped his nose in a rapid burst. “I tried to make you forget, to protect you, but it didn’t take.”
“It did, until I saw you again. But between meeting you and going to the house, it was all jumbled, bits out of sequence, missing. The key was in my pocket. It was only when I saw it…” Her face crumpled as tears stung her eyes. “I’m sorry Daire. If I had known, it would have been yours in a second. If I’d made the connection between the key and the necklace, if I’d checked my stupid pockets, just emptied them out or—I just…”
Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and her heart lurched in fear.
Around the edge of the circle, the Sluagh were massing, piling up one upon the other, body climbing over body, eager to get close to the kill. They made a multitude of noises—growls, murmurings, chitters of delight and howls of thwarted rage.
Rowan’s skin tightened around her. She huddled in on herself and pushed the acorn pendant towards him. “Take it.”
“Can you make it home?” he asked.
She forced herself to focus on the seething mass of shadows again and felt her jaw sag at the thought of running through them.
Daire caught the look and his hand squeezed her shoulder. “If there’s a gap, Rowan. How fast can you run?”
“I don’t know.” The light was fading, the forest treacherous and the Sluagh—the ultimate semi-demonic hunting force—pressed close.
“Turn your jacket inside out,” Daire told her. “Many of them are stupid enough that it may hide you. At the least it will put them off. They won’t know you until you’re past. Do you have any iron left?”
She shook her head. “Just back at the house.”
“Then you’ll have to rely on the iron in your soul. When I open the gate the burst of power will break their line, force the Sluagh back, because it comes directly from the Seelie Court. I’ll channel it, straight towards your cottage. You’ll have to be ready to run.”
“But shouldn’t we stay here? The circle will hold them back, won’t it?”
“They’ll break it down. It might take an hour, maybe two. But they will do it, no matter how many die in the attempt. They are relentless. And once they do, you’ll be standing here, right out in the open. You wouldn’t last until nightfall.”
She nodded, her voice choked in her throat. Then she looked at Matthew’s dazed form. He had been Aynia’s, body and soul. Her brother had betrayed her. Even if he had not, in this state how could he run anywhere? She couldn’t carry him, no matter how much she might want to.
“What about Matt? I can’t leave him here for them.”
Daire nodded solemnly and, relieved to think he didn’t blame Matthew or hold a grudge, she took his hand.
“I’ll need your help,” said Daire. “I can free him, but he will still bear the scars, and should she come within range again, his mind will be vulnerable to her, do you understand? He will blame himself, hate himself. It is part of her curse.”
“I understand.”
They knelt beside him and as Rowan stroked his hair back from his face, Matthew opened his eyes, groggy and unfocused. When he drank too much, he’d looked like that, in days gone by when he had not wanted to take a shred of responsibility for his behaviour and Rowan had been there to pick up the pieces. But he didn’t give her that helpless smile and she knew he was floundering, lost and bewildered. Alone.
“It’s okay, Matt. It’s not your fault.”
“Had to…had to protect you,” he mumbled on numb lips and Rowan’s heart turned to lead inside her. Aynia had used his fraternal love, one of the things he prized, and turned it against the object of that love. She had used their sense of family, of needing one another, and had driven a wedge between them.
“It’s okay,” she said again, knowing it was not, that it might never be again. “Daire?”
His hand closed over hers and she felt the flood of golden warmth, like standing in the brightest sunlight, lifting her face to greet its touch. She could feel a tugging deep within her and thought of Matthew, of her love for her brother and her need to see him safe. She thought of Matthew laughing, of his carefree and jubilant nature, of his quick mind and wit, of all that was good and beloved about him.
Matthew struggled for a moment beneath their touch and then fell still. When she looked again, he stared up into their faces, his expression astounded.
Daire pulled back abruptly and his tone became businesslike as they rose to their feet.
“Cross the stream. Flowing water slows them down and once you’re in the cottage, bar all the doors and windows. Close the shutters. Pretend it’s just another autumn afternoon, that the day grows short as these days do. Lock the storm outside. Run for home, Rowan. You and Matt. Don’t hesitate and don’t look back, understand?”
He pulled her against him without waiting for an answer. His hand slid through her hair and he held her head, cradling its weight. He was normally so sure, so confident, yet she was certain she felt him tremble. Then he crushed her mouth to his as if he could brand her and make her his own forever.
But how could they belong to each other more profoundly than they already did?
“I will come back for you,” he murmured against her lips, pressing his forehead to hers. “I swear to you. I will find a way back and I will bring help.”
Rowan just nodded, not trusting herself to form words. The shadows lengthened, the sun almost set, twilight upon them. Daire pulled away from her, every movement reluctant.
Behind him, the world rippled like water in a still pond disturbed by a pebble. Light reflected on those ripples, the red of the sun, the white of the unrisen moon. Daire locked eyes with her and stepped backwards, vanishing into the veil.
A flash of light burst out of the circle, sending the Sluagh tumbling backwards. They vanished into the shadows and undergrowth as a blue flare shot outwards, an arrow of light heading straight through the woods in the direction of the cottage. Rowan wrapped her hand in the material of Matthew’s jacket lining and dragged him with her in pursuit of the light, out of the stone circle and into the twilight.
“Where are we going?” he yelled, jerking back into reality as if a bucket of icy water had been upended over his head. Shocked and frightened, he stumbled after her. Only her determined grip and her momentum kept him on his feet.
“Home. We have to go home. We’ll be safe there!”
“Rowan, the things I did…the things I said…”
Rowan gritted her teeth and stumbled, her legs pounding on the uneven ground.
Now? He wanted to talk about it now?
“This isn’t the time, Matt,” she snapped. “Save your breath and run.”
The forest closed around them, a dark and treacherous tunnel. As the dying light deserted them, Rowan and Matthew crashed through undergrowth, scrambled over fallen logs and slick moss-covered stones. Brambles tore at her clothes and hair. Her foot snagged and she landed heavily, flashes of wildfire bursting before her eyes.
Lying there, she could hear them coming, a stampede of misshapen forms. The Sluagh laughed and jeered, surging at her like a dark tsunami. She rolled over to face the massing enemy. They merged as one, split apart, limbs and claws, teeth and glowering eyes, spilling over one another to reach her.
Matthew seized her shoulders and heaved her back onto her feet, his grip far stronger than an older sister might give him credit for. Holding her arm tightly, he broke into a run, jarring her into motion at his side.
Rowan could feel the gap closing. She smelled their putrid breath and the itching in the air as they reached for her, huge clawed fingers hovering at her back. Edging closer, straining, grasping.
The ground dipped abruptly beneath their feet and she splashed through the stream, the fast-moving water tugging at her ankles. Gaining the other bank, she dropped to her knees, panting for breath. Matthew bent over, clutching his sides, his face ghostly in the half-light.
Only then did Rowan dare look back. She could run no further, at least for a moment, but Daire had been right about the water. The Sluagh ranged all along the opposite bank, clambering over each other in frustration but unable to reach their quarries. A mix of animal and forest, of stone and skin, they howled, hissed and creaked.
Rowan pulled herself to her feet and backed away from the bank.
“You okay?” she asked Matthew.
Sweat drenched her brother’s body, but this time from battle and flight rather than the fever of Aynia’s enchantment. His eyes had lost the glassy vagueness the Dark Sidhe had put there. When he noticed Rowan’s study of his face, shame bled through his grim expression.
“Okay,” he confirmed. “Rowan, they’ll find their way across, downstream or…”
A deep groan brought them both up and alert. On the other side of the stream behind the jeering Sluagh, a tree rocked wildly, creaking in protest as it swung from side to side. Rowan and Matthew watched it like musicians following a metronome. They were tearing it down. Its broad trunk moaned, a sound which rose to a scream and then it gave, the branches tearing into its neighbours.
“They’re going to build a bridge,” Rowan said. “Move.”
Running towards home, towards safety, Rowan tried to blot Daire from her mind. If she made it to the cottage she could lock the doors until morning, but he would still be gone. The wards might hold, even against the Sluagh, but she feared it was a long shot. Nothing could hold forever under a concentrated assault. Not even a stone circle as old as this forest. Certainly not a human cottage with a few basic protections. Even if he could find a way back, it would probably be too late.