by Kate Ristau
It was time.
She swallowed, then pushed the button hard, ripping the phone out of her pocket.
The shadows screeched in the light, clawing away from her, dropping her. She crashed to the ground, her ankle slamming against a sharp rock. She gasped and pulled the phone up to her face. The screen nearly blinded her as she struggled back to her feet. She rolled her ankle, clenched her teeth against the pain, and tried to push away from the rocks, but the shadows were everywhere. The light seared her eyes as she ran her finger up the screen and tapped the flashlight.
Light exploded out, and the shadows screamed. They screeched and roared, releasing her arms, sizzling away. They writhed on the ground and churned at her feet. She flashed her light at them, and they popped, hissed, and fell back into the darkness.
She squinted to see—where had they gone? She broke the darkness with her narrow beam of light. When she flashed the light around her, the shadows scattered into the rocks. She moved the light again, and the shadows hid once more. They were afraid of the light. She was right. Her plan might just work.
Actually, the phone was her entire plan. So, it was good it worked.
She followed one shadow with the light. It skittered away around a rock. Her eyes narrowed. She blinked. Blinked again. Her eyes adjusted, and her breath caught.
“What the—”
Nope. Not rocks.
She dropped her hand to the ground beside her. She grabbed at a rock and pulled it up to her face.
“Not a rock.”
Bones.
She grabbed another rock.
“Nope. Not a rock either.”
Skulls. Skeletons.
She flashed her light into the darkness, and her stomach dropped into the wasteland of death and decay.
Hell. She was in hell.
A graveyard without end, as far as she could see, to the end of her light. Everywhere. How had so many died? Piled on top of each other and crunching with each shift of her—
She stood up quickly, biting back the bile. No. She would not throw up. Wouldn’t get sick. Not here. Not with all the shadows swimming beyond the light. Nope.
She swallowed hard, remembering the push of the button and the flash of light in the darkness. She held onto how it had made her feel—focused on that power, on the feeling of control. At least she could hold onto that.
A shadow slipped by her leg, and she jerked, flashing her light, chasing it back into the darkness.
“This is a terrible plan,” she said, the phone trembling in her hand. “I’m going to die.”
Ten
Eta. Everywhere. Spinning through the air above Áine’s head, sliding into the crowd, and skipping through the legs of the leprechauns. The Eta chased the pixies and the brownies, who climbed the ash trees, twirling after the sprites and avoiding the branches of the dryads. The ashrays shone like rainbow puddles in the morning light, and the fauns looked on with studied disinterest.
The Clearing was packed. Sparkling, beautiful, and oh so bright. She didn’t see the gnomes or the grundels, or any of Titania’s retinue, but she did see Tiddy. He had gathered his mists into a single swirl and was flying over the crowd toward her.
“Where is she?” Áine demanded.
“Slow down, silly sister.” He splashed into her and resolidified with a smirk. Áine let the water trickle down her face. “You’re always so angry,” he said. “It’s very unbecoming.”
Áine leaned in so only Tiddy could hear. “If I could punch you, I would, you useless bag of water.”
Tiddy slid closer, his mist coating her cheek. “See?” he whispered. “Very unbecoming.”
He pulled back suddenly and raised his hands. “Welcome, Áine, to the Clarion Call. We are honored by your presence here, though we did not ask it and would never have demanded it.”
His arms rose higher, and the Eta spun through his misty fingers. “We are here at the call of the Eta. They bring us life and joy, health and healing. They fill our days with endless pleasure. Yet, they ask so little of us. They light our path with joy unending. And when they call, we come. We bow our heads and listen. We do not need to know why, because we know this: The Eta weaves as it will.”
“The Eta weaves as it will,” the crowd repeated.
Áine bit back the words that flew to her tongue. “Where is my sister?” she asked again.
“Come and see.” Tiddy gestured, and the crowd began to part. The Eta shot toward the center of the crowd through the parting fey. Áine and Tiddy followed the path as it slowly opened toward the Speaking Stone.
The crowd was slow to shift on Áine’s side, but they gave Tiddy room, rustling branches and stomping hooves. He nodded his head at each passing fey, regal and refined, as if he were some sort of somebody.
He wasn’t. He was the same as he always was.
But Áine wasn’t. She was different. Stronger. She wasn’t alone anymore.
Keva. Hennessy. Her father. She would fight for them. The Eta could have weave whatever they wanted. She was getting her sister back.
The leprechauns stuck out their boots to trip her, and she clipped their heels with her feet.
Tiddy laughed and kicked their heels too. They spun around and threw golden coins at his feet, which was weird. The leprechauns were supposed to guard their gold, not throw it at the feet of a walking bucket of water. Áine grabbed a coin and tucked it in her pocket.
“What are you doing?” she asked Tiddy quietly. “This makes no sense. Even for you.”
“This,” Tiddy said, “is what we’ve been waiting for. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”
“Come on, Tiddy. Stop following every twirl of the Eta. They’ve been crazy—out of control. They—”
The words died on her tongue as the crowd parted, revealing a rainbow of Eta swirling and swimming around a throne of golden flowers. Seated high above, in a dress of foxgloves, holding a lily wand, sat her sister. A crown of Eta spun around her brow.
“The Eta,” Áine whispered.
“Have found their new queene!” Tiddy raised his arm in triumph. “All bow before the blessed, the pure, the queene of wonder, glory, and all the Aetherlands—Queene Aetheria!”
The entire crowd bowed, and Áine rushed forward. “Keva!” The Eta spun away from Keva as Áine pulled her sister down into her arms. “This is crazy. You can’t do this. Do you even understand what’s happening? You can’t be the queene. There is only one queene. And she will kill you!”
Keva tilted her head, her eyes shining bright. “I am the queene now. Did you not hear the Call? The Eta have chosen. They want me to rule. I am their queene.”
“Hail, Queene Aetheria!” Tiddy shouted.
“Hail!” the crowd responded.
“No,” Áine said, leaning toward Keva. “They want to rule. Don’t you understand? You’re just a…a vessel to them. You’ve barely had enough time to have a life of your own.”
“I do not need one,” Keva said.
“Yes. Yes, you do. You need time on your own. To find yourself. To live. To be more than what they make of you.”
Keva studied her sister. “What else is there? Only darkness and light and those who cannot see. I choose the light.”
Áine wanted to scream. She had lost her sister once. She wouldn’t lose her again. “They’re just using you! The queene will never let go of her power. She owns that throne.”
Tiddy appeared beside them and rested his hand on Keva’s shoulder. The foxgloves shifted toward his mist. “I spoke with the Queene Mother, Titania. She receives the news with great joy and praises the light of the Eta. She is on her way to join us now.”
Áine recoiled. “Now? She’s coming?”
“Of course,” Keva said. “She comes to kneel before my throne.”
Áine grabbed Keva’s hand. “We need to go. Now.”
Tiddy Mun splashed forward and snatched Áine’s hand away. “She stays,” he said.
Áine dug her feet into the grass. “She does what she wants
.”
“I do what the Eta wills,” Keva said.
Áine saw a flash of movement behind Keva.
Ciaran. Standing by the dryads. She could see a wisp of his hair in their branches.
Tiddy smiled at her. “When it rains,” he whispered.
She wanted to slap the water from his face, but instead, she sighed. He always told her she was too impatient. Reckless. Demanding.
Well, some things never change.
She took a deep breath and reached down toward the dark within her. “Cra na he,” she whispered.
The Eta recoiled, and Áine dove toward Keva. Áine grabbed her arm and pulled her down, tumbling into the heather as the throne exploded behind her. She covered Keva’s body with her own.
A blinding flash—the Eta screamed, and Tiddy dissolved in a spray of steam, hissing against the throne. The dryads shouted their anger.
“Murderer!” they yelled.
“Put out the fire,” Keva told Tiddy. He sloshed toward the flames.
“Come on!” Ciaran yelled.
Áine pulled Keva away from the blaze, heading toward Ciaran.
“Get behind me!” Ciaran yelled.
Keva tilted her head, her face drawn up in a mask. Áine, grabbed her arm and pushed past the leprechauns. They scampered away, and the Eta snatched at Áine’s ankles. Ciaran blasted the air around them with a burst of flame.
“What do we do?” Ciaran asked. “I can’t hold this for long.”
Áine spun around, searching for an escape. The only path led them back down to the river.
Never below. Ondine had said. Not in the dirt and the water.
She knew where they had to go.
“We run,” Áine said. She dragged her sister forward, glancing at her face as they headed toward the riverbank. Now she was calm. Serene. Happy.
They nearly fell down the riverbank. Ciaran blasted heat behind them.
“I can’t really control this!” Ciaran yelled.
“Good!” Áine said. “It will give Tiddy something to do!”
A warm sound washed over her as she hit the sand.
“Áine,” Ondine sang. “You came back to us.”
The waves lapped against the beach. Ondine and her sisters splashed along the riverbank. Three kelpies broke the surface behind them.
“Áine?” Keva asked.
Áine let go of Keva’s hand and looked into her eyes. The calm was gone, replaced by uncertainty, edging on fear. There were some things even Keva couldn’t see.
Carefully, Áine unwound a water lily from her neck and wrapped it around her sister’s throat. “I’m sorry,” Áine said. “We have to go under.”
The Eta flashed around Keva’s head. They shoved at Áine’s arms.
Keva’s eyes narrowed. “They do not like that.”
In a flash, the Eta spun around Keva’s neck—swirling, sparkling, and removing the trail of flowers.
“They made you queene,” Áine said quickly. “Now, you choose. Please. Come with me. Give me time. Let me explain. Let me show you.”
The sky broke open. A flood of light rolled down the riverbank, and Ciaran came rushing down after it. “I can’t hold him back any longer. He’s lost it.”
Keva held Áine’s gaze. “I will go with you. I will listen to your words. And I will leave when I choose. The choice is mine.”
The Eta slackened around her neck, released the water lily, and slid down around her hands.
“What’s going on?” Ciaran asked. He blasted the sand all the way up the riverbank. “Why aren’t we leaving?”
Áine unwrapped another water lily from around her neck. The Eta had listened to Keva. She watched her sister run her hands through the water. Hopefully, the water would hold them back.
“Let’s go,” Ciaran said. “Get in the water. Start swimming.”
“We’re not swimming,” Áine said. The kelpies cantered forward, stopping at the water’s edge. Fiery red eyes flashed, and water flowed down their black manes.
“Seriously?” Ciaran asked. “That’s your plan? Death? They’ll kill us. They’ll drag us under. We’ll drown.”
Áine handed him the water lily. “Put it around your neck. It will help you breathe.”
Ciaran sighed, the water lily dangling from his fingers. “Flowers aren’t going to save us. They’ll eat us alive. We’re seriously going under with them?”
“That’s right, love,” Ondine said, drifting to Ciaran’s side. She took the water lily from his hands and slowly wrapped it around his neck. He leaned in closer, closer, his eyes—
“That’s enough,” Áine snapped. “Let’s go. On the kelpies.”
Keva climbed on her horse, patting its neck. It nuzzled her fingers.
Áine jumped onto her kelpie, and it nipped her foot. She tucked in her heels.
When Ciaran settled onto his kelpie, it tried to buck him off. He laughed and held on tight. “We’re all going to die.”
“Come with me!” Ondine sang. “Into the deeps!”
Áine’s heart skipped as Keva went under, a wall of water crashing over her. Áine ducked down, ready to dive, but something latched onto her arm. Fingers of mist—a spray of water. Tiddy.
“Return the queene!” he yelled. “You cannot take her into the deeps!” Tiddy splashed up Áine’s arm, soaked into her shirt, and gathered under her arms. He pulled Áine off her kelpie and up into the air, spinning higher and higher, but a hand locked onto her ankle.
“Pull him under!” Ondine yelled. “He’ll fall apart.”
Áine struggled against him, wiping him off her arms and hands. But every time she had a hold of him, he dissolved and grabbed onto her somewhere else. Ondine’s scales dug into her leg.
“Come on!” she yelled. “Use your power!”
She couldn’t focus. Water splashed everywhere. But the pain in her leg brought her back. She narrowed in on the fire and heat, and slowly made her way up her body from her knees to her thighs to her hips to her stomach and into the darkness sunk into her skin like a weight. She dug in deeper, ignoring the pulsing and the pulling, the pain, and she found it.
Spoiled and coiled, desolate, like an old regret. She didn’t know where it came from, but it was there—underneath. And it was hers.
Tiddy yanked her further up into the air. She smacked his hand away and nearly splashed into the water, but he caught her under the arm, and then his fingers re-formed around her neck.
“You’re only alive because that’s what Keva wants, Shadowgirl. You should have stayed on the other side. She’s ours now.”
“No,” Áine gasped. “She is her own.”
Áine splashed through Tiddy’s hand, took a deep breath, and then screamed.
No words. No Aethernoe. She screamed, and rage flowed out. It pulsed and thrummed, spinning and thick. Darkness exploded out of her mouth, a terrifying shadow. She grabbed a hold of its twisting tail, turned, and slammed it into Tiddy. He screeched and steamed, struggling and crying out, until he dissolved and re-formed on the shore.
She spun the shadow toward her, and it scraped the sky, rending a dark slash through the air, like a break in the heavens, casting out into an endless night.
She stared at the crack—the break in the sky—as Ondine pulled her down. Water hit her lips. She raised her head and sucked in a breath, and then she was under. The world went quiet as she swam into the deeps, the shadow clenched in her fist, trailing behind her.
Eleven
Something was moving in the darkness. Just beyond the ridge. Something that didn’t hide from the light. Something that seemed to be coming right for Hennessy.
It wasn’t a shadow—no sliding, slithering grace. It was flesh and bone, stumbling toward her. She veered to the right, feet pushing aside a stick. Just a stick this time. The ground was clearing; her boots settled into the dark soil, her ankle aching, with only an occasional crunch underneath. How many bones had she passed? How many dead? She tried not to think about the bodies, the shadows
wriggling beyond the light, or the darkness coming for her.
If she thought about it, she would realize how completely terrible everything was.
So she didn’t. She shone her phone around her to break up the shadows again, then scanned the ridge. The shadows scattered in the light, except for one. A big one. It lumbered forward, like an unreasonably large, steroidal football player.
She bit her lip hard, weighing her options. Run. That was the best choice. She couldn’t outsmart a demon football player—it wasn’t like the Grady boys. When Nana had told her to outsmart them, Hennessy tried a tactic that Nana did not expect: she became friends with their enemies. Their bigger, older, and much stronger enemies. After years getting kicked into the mud, she finally had an easy walk home from school. Well, except for the new kid walking beside her. But that was a sacrifice she had to make. And it didn’t hurt until later.
Run. That was the best plan. Except her ankle was twisted, sprained, already swelling inside her boot. How was she going to run? And where would she go anyway? There was nothing back the way she came. Who knew how far the shadows had carried her? And who knew what lay on the other side of the darkness? The death meadow could go on forever.
She tightened the strap of the heavysack and glanced at her phone: 20 percent. The flashlight was sucking the battery dry. “I’m not going back that way,” she said to herself, and to anyone else who was listening. “You hear me?”
The football player moved closer, and so did she, a flash of pain with every step. She needed to get past it—the ridges rose to cliffs on either side of her, and there was no way around. She was stuck in a giant ditch. If she tried to crawl up the side, well, she would fall. She wished she had taken that rock-climbing class. Or that class on how to not die in fairy hell.
If she couldn’t get around the lumbering mass of dark sportsmanship, she would have to fight it.
“Put your weight into it,” Ryan had told her.
She didn’t want to fight. He had known that. She stood in the back of the pub with her hands up in front of her. “This is ridiculous. Come on, Ryan. You know I’m not going to hit anyone.”
“I hope you don’t,” he said. “That’s why I’m here, anyway. So you don’t have to. But if you need to—if one of these wankers gives you sass—I want you to know how.”
