by H A Titus
Marc grinned.
My own smile felt tight and shaky.
"We did it." Eliaster's voice trembled. "We stopped the Lucht from getting the relic."
A spasm tightened Marc's face. Through his teeth, he murmured something in Gaelic. Eliaster nodded. I reached down and grabbed Marc's free hand. My throat tightened, and I couldn't force out the words I wanted to say—how good of a friend he was, how he was gonna be okay, how I was honored to be able to help him. My throat choked on the words. Instead, I squeezed his hand as tightly as I could, hoping he understood.
His eyes flickered, one last shot of bright sky-blue darting through them. His fingers tightened briefly around my hand, then went slack. One last exhale, and he was gone.
My eyes burned. I bent forward, my chest and shoulders caving in from a terrible weight. The smells of blood and dust in the cavern mixed, sending my gut turning again.
Eliaster's shoulders shook as he reached out and closed Marc's eyes.
Chapter 22
In movies, in music, in books, we're told that death looks peaceful. That the dead always look calm, quiet, like they've escaped from our noisy, dangerous world. David and Marc hadn't looked like that in death. They had both been in pain. Even though Marc had died for a noble cause, he had still died in pain.
We left Marc's body, one hand holding most of the fragments of the stone relic he'd given his life to find. I took one of the pieces with me. Roe might want to look at it.
We climbed the well and found our gear in the rubble that the goblins had left behind. My phone had been broken into pieces, and though my computer was still operable, the hard drives I'd taken from Blodheyr's pawn shop were gone.
The rager, Dywor, still lay facedown on the cavern floor, blood dried into a tacky pool underneath him.
We trudged into the tunnels, neither of us speaking.
That final fight in the well played over and over in my mind—the goblin's knife pushing into Marc's body, the stone cracking against David's head—a living nightmare that left me dazed. My steps dragged on the floor. I was bone-numbingly exhausted, mind and body.
I don't know how long we walked until Eliaster stopped and clicked off his flashlight. "Listen," he whispered.
In the echoing tunnels, we could hear footsteps. Dim light illuminated a curve ahead. I shifted my grip on my sword hilt and realized I hadn't sheathed it since I'd retrieved it from Scyrril.
My throat tightened. I didn't want to fight. Didn't know if I could even summon the energy to defend myself. I lifted my sword, and the weapon felt so heavy in my hands that I would have dropped it—except my left hand was locked tight around the grip.
Eliaster groaned and ran his hand through his hair, leaving smears of gore across his forehead.
The lights came around the corner, a dozen or so fae carrying them. In the middle of the group was the one fae I recognized.
"Eliaster! Josh!" Aifric hurried forward.
Eliaster wrapped his arms around the portly fae. "Thank the Almighty. How did you know how to come?"
"I've had scouts watching the Lost Tunnels entrance. This morning they reported seeing Larae and another fae, Unseelie, with a raven tattoo on his arm…I was worried that something may have gone wrong."
Eliaster snorted.
"Llew," I muttered. "Larae betrayed us."
Aifric glanced from Eliaster to me, and his eyes narrowed in concern.
"How long have we been in here?" Eliaster asked.
"Three days."
The knowledge felt like a wall of bricks. Three days in these cursed tunnels, three days since I'd had sleep—beyond getting knocked out by Tuathal's fae—and two and a half days since I'd eaten anything. Strange. I didn't really feel hungry.
I slumped against the wall, rubbing my hands over my face. As if from a long distance, I heard Eliaster and Aifric's voices, but I didn't want to pay any attention to them.
Someplace deep in my mind, someplace that was somehow still working, told me I'd finally given up and was slipping into shock. I couldn't muster the energy to care.
A dark-skinned face came close to mine, a fae I vaguely recognized. "C'mon, Josh. Let me help you." He tried to pull my sword from my hand.
A surge of panic rose, so rapidly that it took my breath again. I jerked away from him, raised my free hand and tried to punch at him.
Eliaster grabbed my wrist. "Josh! Josh, you're okay. Hey. You're with friends."
The dark-skinned fae's name came to mind, random and clear among the fuzziness that crowded my head. Efran. Our guide from the Chicago Market to Aifric's house.
Eliaster slid his thumb between my hand and the sword grip, easing it from my stiff fingers. He handed it off to Efran, then pulled my arm around his shoulders, just like I'd done so recently for Marc. I glanced at him, the corners of my eyes growing hot.
Eliaster nodded, his own eyes tearing up. "C'mon, let's get out of here."
#
The next few days were a blur. I remember being given something to eat and drink, and arriving at Aifric's house. I think I slept a full twenty-four hours there, and another fourteen as we drove to Springfield.
At least, I think I did. I have no memory of the trip.
When we arrived at Roe's, I called my parents and told them I'd been out of town with friends and my phone had broken. It was as much of the truth as I could tell them. They accepted the story, as far as I could tell, though Mom did scold me for not borrowing someone else's phone and at least letting them know I was okay.
Then I retreated into the library and sat on the floor in front of the fire.
Eliaster had disappeared as soon as we'd gotten to
Springfield. He didn't tell me why. I didn't care. Even with all the sleep, I still felt tired. I closed my eyes and let the warmth of the flames soak into me. No one had ever told me grief felt like this—an unshakeable chill in my bones, a clenching in my gut.
After a few hours—even keeping track of time felt too difficult at the moment—Roe came in, carrying a tray of sandwiches. She set them down on the coffee table, then joined me in front of the fireplace, leaning her back against the legs of one of the overstuffed chairs.
"How are you?" she asked.
I turned to face her and leaned my elbows onto my knees, supporting my chin with my hands. Before I answered, I studied her face. Roe's clear blue eyes were rimmed in red, and a tear track down the side of her face glimmered in the firelight.
"Marc was the first person close to me that I've lost," I said, my voice low. "I'm lucky, I guess. Even both sets of my grandparents are still alive."
It didn't answer her question, but they were the only words that even came to mind.
Roe nodded and looked into the fire. "I remember when I lost the first. I was thirteen, and my mother was killed by an Unseelie lord. All she'd done was not move out of his way quickly enough. I thought I'd never feel pain like that again…but I did. I've felt it more times than I care to remember. It never gets any easier."
I squeezed my eyes shut. "And here I thought that if I ever found another world, it would be through a wardrobe."
She gave a hoarse laugh.
"Roe…" I bit my tongue. What was I supposed to say now? I opened my eyes.
She leaned forward and hugged me. I wrapped my arms around her, dropped my face to her shoulder, and sobbed until my chest ached.
She patted my back. "You were Marc's brother, you know. He always said that about you."
I nodded and leaned back, rubbing my face dry with the sleeve of my jacket.
She reached into her pocket and withdrew a metal bracelet. Marc's bracelet. For the first time, I realized the two pieces, hammered into a circle and bound together with two pieces of stitched leather, were sword shards.
She fiddled with the bracelet as she spoke. "I spoke to Marc's mother. Aifric's men retrieved his body, did you know that?"
I shook my head.
"We're having his funeral tomorrow. We found a plot of
land in the Overworld."
I smiled. "He'd like that."
She nodded. "Marc would want you to have this." She held out the bracelet.
"I can't…"
"Please, Joshua."
I let her drop the bracelet in my palm. It felt lighter than it should have. I held it up, watching the reflection of the flames dance in the smooth metal.
"And as a warning, I think Eliaster wants to speak to you soon. Cormac tells me that he wants you to help us more."
After what I'd been through? I tightened my jaw.
She held up her hands, palms up. "It's not fair to ask of you. After all, you're not accustomed to the Underworld—you didn't grow up here. You don't fully understand us. And really, after Eliaster lied to you as he did, I will not blame you if you leave the Underworld behind forever.
"But please, think about it, Josh. The Lucht Leanúna would have the pathstone, if it wasn't for you. You may not have been born to this life, but I feel as though you belong here."
She stood up and stepped out of the room.
I ran my fingers along the bracelet. Roe had said I could choose, but it wasn't that easy, really. I'd never leave the Underworld behind. I never could. I still had the ability to see through glamour. Maybe it would fade in time, but I doubted it. I would see fae, and they would notice me, for the rest of my life.
I slid the bracelet into my pocket.
#
Marc's funeral was held that evening. They'd chosen an oak-shaded cemetery behind a white country church some way from town. The funeral was short and simple—just Marc's closest friends and family paying their respects as the setting sun sent orange rays slanting through the tree leaves. I was the only full human in the crowd. Even Cormac Tyrone was there, though Eliaster conspicuously was not.
As the last of the funeral-goers drifted away, I crouched down by Marc's grave. Nearly a hundred little votive candles flickered around the freshly-turned ground, left by the funeral goers as a memorial. The soil was damp, cool, as I put my hand on it. Marc's mom had asked me to say something, but I couldn't, not in front of everyone.
"Marc—" I cleared my throat. My eyesight was blurry as tears slipped down my face.
I couldn't even say anything here, alone. How could I even make sense of the knotted feelings in my gut? In a way, I was responsible for his death. I'd tried to bargain with Larae, and that was why Llew had knifed Marc.
If I'd just listened to Marc that first night—if I had just kept my mouth shut and let Marc and Eliaster handle things, rather than thinking I could solve everything, like life was a math equation…
Cormac had spoken over the grave, had said hollow words about how Marc had died for a great cause. And he had. Marc had chosen to fight and die like a hero.
I pulled away, particles of soil clinging to my palm. "I'll miss you, man."
I stood and pulled the bracelet out of my suit pocket. The sunlight flashed off the blade pieces. Why had he wanted me to have this? If he'd been hoping I would carry on his work, like he'd carried on after his father had died, then I was a poor substitute. I started to lay the bracelet next to a clump of candles.
"Josh?"
I spun around, my hand going to my side, automatically reaching for the sword I'd stowed in the back of my dorm room closet.
Eliaster leaned against a tree close by, arms folded over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles.
I stood, curling my fingers tight around the metal bracelet. "How long have you been there?"
"Didn't want to disturb you." Eliaster stood, walked over to the grave, and pressed his hand into the moist earth. He closed his eyes and murmured in Gaelic under his breath, then stood, leaving a handprint beside mine.
"Did Roe talk to you?" he asked.
"I don't know what I'm going to do yet." I clenched my hand around the bracelet. "Why did Marc have to die?"
"I've asked myself that a thousand times. I don't have an answer."
"I thought you—" I shrugged and gestured to the cross necklace hanging around his neck. "Aren't you supposed to have all the answers to life?"
Eliaster snorted. "No one has all the answers, Josh." He slid his hands into his pockets. "I keep feeling like if I could have done something, maybe…" He scuffed his foot along the grass, not meeting my eyes. "But that thinking will eat at us like acid for the rest of our lives, if we let it. I can't go on thinking that it was my fault. Llew chose to drive in the knife."
I'd never seen him fidget like this. Why was he so uncomfortable?"
He looked me in the eye. "I'm here to apologize again. And to tell you that…Marc spoke to me right before he died. Remember that?"
I nodded.
"He said you were a warrior." Eliaster nodded to the bracelet. "He told me to tell Roe to give it to you. Said you were a better warrior than he ever was. I wouldn't have agreed with him when I first met you, but your journey with us forged you into someone different. I don't say this as a guilt trip, but to show you that I'm committed to what I said in the Lost Tunnels, that I will trust you. This isn't your born fight, but I'd be honored to fight it alongside you."
I rubbed my neck. I could accept my new role. I could become a Seelie warrior and fight against the darkness pervading my world. I could find Llew and Larae and make them pay for what they'd done to Marc.
Eliaster was right, it wasn't my born fight. But I knew about the threat to my world—my family and friends. If I didn't help, and Fear Doirich broke into my world, I'd never be content knowing that I let it happen while I sat by. I had the knowledge to change things.
I could stop more people from dying.
I slipped the bracelet onto my wrist. The steel was cold and hard, but it somehow conformed to the shape of my arm and flexed as I moved. I looked up at Eliaster.
The fae broke into the first genuine grin that I'd seen on him. "Good choice."
I grinned back. "Let's go kick some monster butt."
Josh and Eliaster's adventures continue! The Crucible Book 2: Burnt Silver is now available!
H. A. Titus is usually found with her nose in a book or spinning story-worlds in her head. She first fell in love with speculative fiction when she was twelve and her dad handed her The Lord of the Rings. She lives on the shores of Lake Superior with her meteorologist husband and young sons, who do their best to ensure she occasionally emerges into the real world, usually for some kind of adventure. When she's not writing, she can be found rock-climbing, mountain biking, or skiing.
She can be found at hatitus.com and is active on Instagram, with an occasional foray into Facebook.
