by Kate Ristau
Hennessy shook her head. “Áine said…she said that Oberon believed in balance—”
“He did. And so did I. Until the shadows brought me here.”
“What exactly is this place?”
“It’s the Castle of the Shadow Kings. Well, it was. The kings are long gone now. Titania had them killed centuries ago. The sluagh have been leaderless—chaotic—”
“They’re monsters.”
“And they’re out of control. Yes. I know that. I thought so too. But then I had time. More than enough time to think and to really see. To understand.” He ran a hand slowly over his scalp. “Can’t you see what’s happening? Your technology—your magic—it’s killing the shadows. Darkest nights are becoming nothing more than a memory. The shadows are hiding wherever they can, and they are growing weaker. The shadows are trapped here and disappearing there. They have nothing left. And neither do the sluagh. They’re sick. Hungry. Violent. The shadows are dying.”
“Good,” Hennessy said. But that wasn’t right. The shadows had lifted her up, caressed her skin. Healed her and carried her. They had helped her.
But she also remembered the skulls, the bones, the claws, the death. “They are evil. Seven hells, have you even walked around? It’s nothing but fields of death and decay. It’s lifeless. They’ve destroyed everything.”
“You walked through the Fields of Raswee. You’ve stepped through the battlefield. The fields ran red with blood. I should know. I led that charge. For Titania and for the king. In the First Balor War, I fought back the sluagh. And the Shadows. I brought fire and light. I brought death.”
“Shadows?” Hennessy asked. “Humans?” She ran her fingers over the spear in her hand. A skeleton had held the spear upright. She had ripped it from its hands. “The fey…they did this? They killed all those people?”
“Not people. They killed fairies and naiads and dragons. They killed dryads and pookas, red caps and the Dullahan. They sliced her head clean off. They murdered her daughters. And they created all those monsters.”
Bones. So many bones. Creating a road to this very castle.
“It’s not so clear now, is it?” Creed said. “Right and wrong? Good and evil? Eri is destroying the shadows—that’s her job. She thinks she is saving the world. She’s powerful beyond imagining. She’ll destroy everything for her goddamn cause.”
“So would you,” Hennessy spat out.
“I would. I did. Don’t you understand? I fought for Titania and for the Eta. I abandoned my son. I let Titania take my wife. She has my other son. I did…I did terrible…I killed thousands of sluagh, and then I guarded the crossings. I kept the sluagh in the darkness. I left them all to die or to descend into madness. When Áine threw me into the shadows, I thought my time had finally come, that I had fought the good fight.
“But I was wrong. I’ve been fighting the wrong fight. Now I’ve been trapped here for centuries, waiting to make things right.”
“But you can’t fix it here,” Hennessy said, looking him straight in the eye. “You can’t fix it at all. You served the queene, and she serves the Eta.”
“But she doesn’t,” Creed said, leaning his head against his hands. “That’s what I’m trying to say. Titania is still trying to balance the scales. But she can’t play her hand, or she’ll lose the Eta. They’ll turn against her—like they turned on me.
“It’s all because of you humans. It was easy enough before you found your own light. Now the Eta have technology on their side too. The Eta will destroy all the shadows—destroy the darkness—and then what will stop them? They already sliced through the Fairerlands. They’ll rip the darkness straight out of the Shadowlands. The humans won’t stand a chance. Your plants will die. Your oceans, boil. How much light can your world take?”
He couldn’t be right. Was it really the Eta? Had they spread like a virus across the worlds?
“Eri doesn’t see it,” Creed said. “She never has. She only fights what is in front of her face. She sees shadows, and she destroys them. The Eta love her for it. And Titania—she’s fumbling in the dark. We need a new leader. A stronger leader. Someone who understands the shadows—”
Hennessy laughed, pushing her hair back out of her face. “Why would anyone follow you? You’re crazy.”
“Not me,” Creed said, taking another step forward. Rego growled, but Hennessy held up a hand. “You,” Creed finished.
Thirty
Áine rolled over and got to her feet, her head spinning. She stumbled, her feet cold, wet, and covered in ash.
She couldn’t see.
Her eyes—she rubbed them gently, clearing away the last of the ash, and then she was up and running toward her aunt, running through the ring of death. Hoping. Praying. Wishing.
But not even a whisper of light or shadow remained. Just two dark forms, pale, lifeless. No Eta. No shadows. No movement. No life.
She fell beside her aunt. Reaching out an arm, she turned her over, and Eri’s head rolled into Áine's lap. Her neck, slack. Glassy eyes. Cold already.
Dead.
Áine didn’t have much time.
She pulled out the leprechaun coin. If she ever needed any luck, she needed it now. She spat into her hand, grabbed a fistful of the dead earth, and dropped it into her palm, then rubbed it between her fingers. The cold turned hot, sizzling in her hands. She took one deep breath and glanced up the path. The Dullahan walked toward them, and Ciaran was running through the heather, headed toward the ring.
“Kian has them,” Áine said. “He took Minka and the girls to Aetheria.”
“I couldn’t find them,” Ciaran said, stopping just outside the ring of death. “I tried. I’m sorry.”
When he looked down at her, at the dirt in her hands, his eyes grew wide.
“Me too,” she said, then placed the leprechaun coin in her mouth.
His mouth opened, but she didn’t hear a sound as the gold melted and she scraped the mud across her forehead, carving in the mark of the beast.
For a moment, time slowed. A flash of warmth across her face. A memory. Sitting on the ferry. Waves rolling in. Hennessy collapsed beside her. Salty air. Eri’s bread. Light and sweet and full.
And then a thousand memories, all at once. Eri’s hands in the dough. Push and flip and pull and push and flip and pull. Áine at her feet. A simple song on Eri’s lips. Ciaran laughing, running down the path. Tiddy Mun lifting them up. Her sister transforming. Her mother dying. Her father standing at the door. Eri’s house. Her home. Her life.
Then the scream tore through the Barrows. Ciaran collapsed beside her, hands over his ears. Áine heard the sound on the edge of her memory, but she didn’t want to leave the warmth of the hearth. The smell of the bread rising. Eri patting her hand.
“You shouldn’t have done that, you know,” Eri said, wiping the flour from the counter. Her finger pointed at the mark sizzling against Áine’s skin. “The mark of the beast. You’ll suffer. You’ll walk.”
“I had no choice,” Áine said. “You. Hennessy. My father. I’m bringing you back. I’m bringing you all back.”
Eri stared back at the door. “You should have let us go.”
Áine shook her head, but Eri didn’t fight her. She just reached out her dark hand. It smelled like yeast and honey. Áine took it.
Another scream broke through the silence.
“The Dullahan,” Eri said. “She keens for me. She will come soon, and I will go.”
“Where?” Áine said.
“I cannot see,” Eri said, staring past Áine and into another place, another time.
“Don’t,” Áine said, squeezing Eri’s hand. “Don’t go. Not yet. I need you.”
Eri lifted her hand and rubbed Áine’s cheek. “You don’t. Not anymore. You never really have. You’re strong, and you’re brave, and the world isn’t good enough for you. I know I never was. But that doesn’t matter anymore. You’re stronger than you know. And you’ll go where I can’t follow, through dust and shadow.”
<
br /> The Dullahan walked through the door, her head cradled in her hands. Tears dripped from her cheeks. “Time,” she said.
Eri nodded. “I’ve had enough of it.”
A tight squeeze, then Eri dropped Áine’s hand, and they both followed the Dullahan out the door.
Already she could feel it. The need. The desire. To walk. To move, ever forward, ever on. Until she earned her freedom along the path of suffering. Until she freed them all.
How long would she walk? How far would her feet take her? How dark was her mark?
“I’ll find you,” Áine told Eri. “And I’ll find them.”
“You’ll find death. I cannot see beyond that. You’ll walk.”
They stopped beside Eri’s lifeless body in the ring. It wasn’t hers anymore. It was empty, tangled in vines.
“It was easy,” Eri said. “All this.” She gestured at her body crumpled on the ground. “I didn’t know it then, but I was blessed.”
Áine took a hold of her hand one last time and brought it to her lips and kissed it. “We both were.”
Eri squeezed her hand tightly, then straightened her shoulders and walked with the Dullahan to her carriage.
The Dullahan pulled open the door.
“I’m riding fancy,” Eri said.
“You deserve it,” Áine said.
Eri bowed low to the Dullahan and then stepped up into the carriage. The Dullahan shut the door and turned toward Áine, her head in her hands, an eternity of questions in her eyes.
Áine did not answer one.
So the Dullahan climbed atop the carriage. With a crack of her whip, she sent the horses off, and Eri waved out the window.
“I’ll see you in the Fairerlands,” Áine said softly as the carriage shimmered and faded into the light.
Already, she was losing the memory of Eri’s hand clasped in hers. Áine’s fingers scraped the air, then wrapped around themselves.
She wanted to go, needed to move. But she could still see him. Ciaran. His body bent, hands over his ears, mouth wide open—unmoving. Frozen in time. An army of dryads behind him.
He would be strong. He would be more than this moment. He would help Keva. He would find the Barrows children. He would fight for a better world.
And then she would be back.
She lifted her foot. She walked to the edge of the ring of death. She glanced down at Ciaran one final time, his face still frozen in agony, and she stepped across the outer ring.
She walked.
Thirty-One
Hennessy stared up at Creed. He gestured toward the blackened throne.
“That’s crazy,” she said. “I’m not running your shitshow. Find someone else.”
“Hennessy, you’ve known darkness. You’ve tasted death. You’ve lived with technology, and you’ve longed for the light. Who better to lead the shadows? Don’t you understand? The Shadowmagic exploded out of you. You’re incredibly strong. Unrelenting. You fought the sluagh. And the shadows trust you. They brought you to me. They’ll fight for you. They need you.”
Hennessy looked up at the fires lining the throne room. The shadows had disintegrated at the castle gates. “Why do you light all of these fires? Why do you keep them out?”
“They will not listen to me. I’ve hunted them. I’ve killed them. I kill them still. I have no food, no water. They are the only thing keeping me alive.”
She stared into the flames, watching the flickers push out against the darkness. Light and shadow—she could see it now. Even if Creed were lying—which he probably was—even if he were setting her up…well, Rego would eat him. And besides, Hennessy understood what was happening to the shadows. She knew the pain and the hunger of the sluagh. She heard them, understood them. She wouldn’t leave them to die.
But what did Creed really want? She remembered what Áine said, that he would never unbend his knee. That he was a coward. A murderer. “Are you unbending your knee, Creed? Are you giving in? Abandoning your queene?”
“Yes,” Creed said, and he slowly walked toward her. His steps were stiff and loud; they echoed down the hall. Rego watched him, eyes sharp, as he stopped in front of Hennessy.
He towered above her. She held her spear in her hand, ready to strike.
But he bowed his head, and his voice came out soft. “I’m bending it to you.” He fell to his knees in front of her.
She stared down at the tattoos covering the top of his head. They swirled red and black in the flickering light. She couldn’t believe it—he was kneeling in front of her.
Her heart pounded in her chest. If he was right, the Eta would never stop. The darkness would recede, the shadows would fade, and so many would die. And if he was wrong—well, she would fight her way to Áine. They would figure it out. They would find their future together.
Balance. That was what the Eta needed. Darkness to meet the light. And Creed was right—she understood the darkness.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“Put out the lights,” she said, gesturing to the torches that lined the hall. “And I’ll show you how to see in the dark.”
The End
About the Author
Kate Ristau is a folklorist, an author, and the Executive Director of Willamette Writers. Her essays have appeared in The New York Times and The Washington Post. She is the author of the middle grade series, Clockbreakers, and the young adult series, Shadow Girl. In her ideal world, magic and myth combine to create memorable stories with unforgettable characters. Until she finds that world, she'll live in a house in Oregon, where they found a sword behind the water heater and fairies in the backyard. You can find her online at Kateristau.com.
Acknowledgements
I started Shadow Girl in 2008. I didn’t know then how long of a journey it would be to book two, and how much the story would change. When I began, Áine was naïve, there was a prince, and the story was one of discovery. Twelve years later, the story became one of possibility.
Áine lives in a world full of powerful women, and she is on her way to becoming one herself. This was the world I grew up in. My godmother, Mar, fighting for what she wanted the world to be; my Aunt Kathy, refusing to back down while always holding me up; my Aunt Marge, opening her front door; Susan, showing me the world wasn’t all shadows – we make the light; and my mom, the person I wish I was and the woman I want to be. Her kindness and her love continues to change the world, and to change me.
I was lucky to have so many women walk before me.
At times, my journey seemed incredibly easy. My sister, Christina, broke the ground before me, so I walked on safer footing; she still amazes me. My friend, Maren, showed me what friendship is; she taught me how to put on my oxygen mask. Writers like Tina, Rosanne, Susan, Laura, Waka, Teresa, Debby, Simone, Therese, and Jenn opened up a whole new world to me. Gail showed me how to step into the person I wanted to be, and Jenny taught me forgiveness (along with Wordpress!).
I got the chance to publish this book in a press full of incredible women: LeeAnn, Mikko, Heather, Karen, M.K., and so many others. Charlie gave me ideas, Laura at Indigo Editing cleaned the book up, and Ben made it shine.
In a world powered by women like Amy, Amber, Lisa, Kathleen, Kirsten, Mimi, and Rebecca, I’m also lucky to have men like Robert, Chris, Armin, Eric, Bill, Mark, Curtis, Steve, Miller and Dover writing along with me.
And, of course, Bob making it all possible (everything, always) while Wonder asking, can I please read Shadow Girl yet (one more year, my king!)?
I began this story writing what I knew the world to be, and now I’m writing what I want the world to be. Tall Kate, Bow Tie Kate, and Jenny (Kate) showed me how to do that. We can write the worlds we want, and we can be the people we want to be. I believe in you three, and I believe in myself because of you.
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