by Jodi McIsaac
“Cedar?” Finn had come up behind her. “Can we…talk for a moment?”
She shook her head. “There’s nothing to talk about. You betrayed me. I can’t believe you rallied the others against me like that. I would never do that to you.”
“I didn’t betray you,” he said. “I’m trying to save you.”
Cedar didn’t answer.
“If this doesn’t work,” he continued, “if whatever Brighid shows you is wrong, or we still can’t get the jewels…I’ll come with you.”
She was sure she had misheard him. “What?”
“I’ll come with you. We’ll do it together.”
Cedar stared at him. “You just brought the whole Council, along with everyone I know and respect, against me to convince me to not go through with my idea. Now you’re saying you’ll just go along with it? What am I missing here?”
“I don’t want you to reveal who you are. I still think it’s too dangerous. And yes, I tried everything I could to get you to change your mind. But if that’s not going to happen, I’m going to come with you. I’m not going to let you do it alone. If I’m with you, we can open and close the sidhe—it’s the only thing that makes sense. And with my shape-shifting ability, it will be much easier to convince the humans that magic is real.”
Cedar heard his words, but they weren’t sinking in.
“But why?” she asked.
At this, Finn actually smiled. “Don’t you get it?” he said. “I don’t want the Unseen to die any more than you do. But if I have to choose between them and you, I’m going to choose you. Every time. Maybe it is your job to save the world. But it’s my job to save you, to do everything I can to keep you from getting hurt. So if you go, I’m coming with you.”
Cedar tried to think of a response, but her mind seemed to be moving too slowly. Instead she put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him hard. “We will talk about this—all of this—later. But for now…thank you.”
Just then Helen and Felix returned. Helen was carrying a tray with two steaming mugs. “Drink this,” she said, handing a mug to Cedar while Jane propped Brighid up and Felix gently spooned some of the liquid into her mouth.
“How will she be able to communicate with me if she’s unconscious?” Cedar asked, gulping down the hot liquid as fast as she could.
“Brighid has a very powerful consciousness,” Helen assured her. “I’m sure she’s just waiting for you in there.”
“Wait,” Finn said. “What happens if Brighid dies while Cedar is in her head?”
“That, I do not know,” she said. “But the more time you spend debating this, the better the chances that she will die.”
Cedar stretched out on another lounge chair and wrapped Brighid’s hand tightly in her own. With her other hand, she threw back the rest of the tea. She gave Finn one last lingering look, then closed her eyes.
CHAPTER 14
When Cedar opened her eyes again, she was standing inside a long wooden hall filled with people. She looked around nervously, but no one took any notice of her. Two long rectangular tables arranged like a T, heavily laden with trays of bread and meats, filled most of the space. A small group of musicians stood in a corner, playing what Cedar took to be flutes and fiddles, along with some instruments she didn’t recognize.
The hall was dark, and Cedar had to breathe through her mouth to avoid the pungent smells of animals and people who obviously did not have access to modern plumbing. She didn’t know exactly where or when this memory of Brighid’s took place, but she had a feeling it was from a very, very long time ago. Her eyes scanned the crowd, which consisted of mostly men, with a scattering of a few women and children. Then she saw Brighid, sitting near the end of the table, engaged in animated conversation with the man next to her. Brighid was tall and regal once more, her long black hair done up in a complicated plait that wrapped around her head. Cedar edged closer and waved, but Brighid did not seem to notice her standing there.
She wasn’t sure what to expect. She had been able to interact with Eden and Nuala in the last dreamscape she’d crashed. But this was different. She wasn’t inside a dream—she was inside one of Brighid’s memories. Cedar waved her hands right in front of her friend’s face, but she betrayed no sign of recognition. Then the door at the end of the hall burst open, and a messenger rushed inside. He spoke rapidly to the man at the far end of the table, all the while looking and gesturing at Brighid. She stood, nodded to her host, and then followed the messenger outside.
Cedar followed too—relieved to get out into the fresh air. Another man was waiting there. He was short and balding, dressed in a rough brown cloak.
“Eoghan! What brings you here?” Brighid cried. “Why ever did you not come inside?”
The man called Eoghan looked pointedly at the messenger, who hastily left them.
“I cannot stand the niceties of court, as you well know,” he said. “The king is still aggrieved that I refused to enter his service.”
“You cannot fault him for wanting the most famed druid in Ireland at his disposal,” Brighid pointed out. She started to walk away from the hall, and Eoghan and Cedar hurried to keep pace with her. “But tell me, what has happened now? Is it the Unseen? I’m assuming that’s why you have come.”
“I’m afraid so. When we spoke last, I thought perhaps it was an anomaly, that just a few of the abbots wished to do our friends harm. But my son—” He paused, his face stiffening. “My son has converted, and is in the service of the new bishop, the one who was sent from Rome. He still has some honor, however. He warned me that they are quite serious about finding—and destroying—all the Unseen. The campaign has begun in earnest.”
“Why waste their energy?” Brighid said, picking up her pace even more. “The Unseen are no threat to them.”
“They see anything that is not of their god as a threat, including druids such as myself. They wish to banish any signs of magic,” Eoghan said.
“Then they are fools. Do they think the people of this land will abandon the truths that are right before them? The kings of Ireland go hunting with the Tuatha Dé Danann. The Merrow guide the fishermen when the ocean is rough. The selkies marry humans and bear children with them. How does this church think it will convince the people that what they have seen with their own eyes is not real? It is absurd.”
“The church is rich and powerful,” the druid said. “We do not know what they are capable of. If they succeed in killing all of the Unseen, the humans will forget they existed within a few short generations.”
Brighid stopped suddenly, and Cedar almost ran into her. “You believe we have reached that point? Are the Unseen in that much danger?”
“I am afraid so,” he said. “We must act now if we are to save them.”
Brighid stayed still, but looked out over the hilly countryside. Cedar thought the scenery looked vaguely familiar, and then realized why. “Tara,” she breathed. But this was not the Tara she had visited to find the Lia Fáil, where there were only shadows and fragments of a grand past. A massive ring fort crowned the hilltop, and barns and smaller shelters dotted the perimeter. Cedar craned her neck to see if the Mound of Hostages, where she had found the Lia Fáil, had been created yet, but it was not visible from where she stood. She snapped back to attention when Eoghan spoke again.
“Brighid,” he said softly. “You are the most powerful being in Ireland—and the only one who cares about the Unseen. The other gods exist only for their own pleasure. You, of all the Danann, have the will and the power to protect those who are vulnerable.”
“I cannot go against the church,” Brighid said, still staring out at the countryside. It was a perfectly clear day, and Cedar could see white-tipped mountains in the distance. “The Dagda has forbidden it. He says Ireland must take its own course, with or without us.”
“But surely there is something you can do,” Eoghan pleaded. “Some spell of protection. Perhaps Tír na nÓg could offer them refuge.”
Brighi
d nodded. “I thought of that as well, but the others have refused. They say the Unseen belong here on Ériu.”
“Then what?” Eoghan asked in a small voice. “Will the Tuatha Dé Danann just leave them here to be slaughtered?”
Brighid turned slowly to face him. “No. Not this Danann at least. I will give them what protection I can…but I need some time to think. I will call for you when I am ready.”
The druid bowed low. “I knew you could be counted on,” he said. Then he turned and walked over the nearest ridge, disappearing from sight.
Cedar stood and watched Brighid for several long minutes. The Elder goddess seemed frozen in place, her gaze fixed on some spot on the distant horizon. Then the world around them started to swirl in a blur of green and blue, and Cedar closed her eyes to keep her head from swimming as she was shuttled into a new memory.
When she opened them again, she was standing on the edge of a small clearing in the woods. The sky above her was dark, illuminated by neither stars nor moonlight. A fire burned in the center of the clearing, but there was no wood. The flames licked at the ground without spreading. Gathered around the fire was a group of people—at least, some of them looked like people; others were something else entirely. She recognized a dwarf, his skin covered in the same dark tattoos she’d seen on Abhartach and the other dwarves at Dun Dreach Fhola. The Merrow, too, were represented, as Cedar could tell from the long multicolored hair that flowed down the back of one of the women sitting in the circle. She was speaking in a low, anxious tone to a woman with jet-black hair, whom Cedar guessed to be a selkie. Beside them stood two horses, one dark and one white, engaged in their own conversation. Cedar assumed they were a púka and maybe a kelpie, but she wasn’t sure which was which. Next was a gaunt young man who sat slightly apart from the others, staring into the flames, ignoring the seductive glances of the scantily clad woman sitting beside him. And a creature no bigger than Cedar’s hand flitted around the fire, propelled by delicate golden wings. It was a meeting of the Unseen.
“Welcome, friends,” Brighid said, emerging from the woods. Sound erupted from all around the fire, as each member of the Unseen started asking Brighid questions, demanding to know what the Tuatha Dé Danann were going to do to help them.
“Half of my people have been caught, and I don’t know what’s become of them,” wailed the Merrow woman.
“They’re setting traps for us, traps we cannot avoid,” the leprechaun said in his high-pitched voice. “I can’t even work in my own backyard anymore.”
“They burned my sister alive,” whispered the leannán sí, who had been making eyes at the leprechaun. On and on the reports went, and Cedar listened with mounting horror. Brighid finally raised her hand. Silence fell once more.
“The Tuatha Dé Danann do not care about your plight,” she said, her voice laced with bitterness. “But I do. Alone, I cannot act against these men who seek to destroy you and your kind. And there is no refuge for you in Tír na nÓg.”
“Then what are we to do?” cried the pixie, hovering in the air in front of Brighid’s face. The goddess held out her hand, and the pixie landed on her palm, folding her arms.
“I have devised a spell that will protect all the Unseen from harm,” Brighid said. An excited murmur broke out around the circle. “You will be hidden from those who wish to harm you. You may still show yourselves to other humans, if you wish, but those who look for you with murder in their hearts will not be able to find you.”
“And what is the cost of such a spell?” the white horse asked in a deep, slow voice. The animated chatter of the others stopped at once.
“There is a cost,” Brighid said, nodding in the horse’s direction. “But not an insurmountable one.” Slowly, she withdrew a silk cloth from her pocket and unwrapped it. She lifted it up to show eight blue jewels. In the firelight, they looked as if they were alive, the colors dancing and shifting inside them. “These jewels come from the Four Cities, the homeland of my people,” she said. “They were once used in the swearing of oaths, but their power is hardly just symbolic. Once we cast the spell, the stones will hold the essence of the agreement made by each of you.”
“And what is this agreement?” the white horse said, tossing his mane.
“Over all my long years, there is one truth I have come to count on,” Brighid said. “There is nothing so powerful—for good or for evil—as belief. The men who persecute you believe they are doing the right thing by snuffing out that which they deem unnatural. But they are the anomaly, not you. This spell harnesses the power of the humans’ belief in us, in magic, in the world they cannot see unless we choose to show it to them. As long as the humans believe, you will be protected from harm.”
“And if they stop believing?” asked the raven-haired selkie.
“It will not come to that. To be human is to believe,” Brighid said, her head held high. “But should the unthinkable happen, or should humanity itself be on the verge of extinction, the bond can be severed by destroying the jewels that bind the agreement. I will ensure that the jewels are kept safe, should this ever come to pass.”
The black horse snorted and pawed at the ground. “How do we know this will work?” he asked, his voice dripping with suspicion. “You said the Tuatha Dé Danann will not help us. I find it hard to believe they approve of this plan.”
“The Tuatha Dé Danann do not know of it,” Brighid said stiffly. “You are right. They would not approve.”
The horse snorted again. “You’re asking us to tie our existence to the faith of humans,” he said. “How do we know this isn’t just some other way of eradicating us?”
“Because I am taking the same risk you are. Once you have each sworn on a jewel, I will swear by all eight. Your fate will be mine.”
The black horse lowered his head. One by one, the beings around the circle nodded their acceptance too. “There is still a risk,” the Merrow representative said. “But it is one I will gladly take on behalf of my kind if it means we will be shielded from those who would see us destroyed.”
Brighid nodded. “Then each of you must take one of the jewels, and I will cast the spell.” The Unseen each accepted a jewel. Some of them held it up close, gazing into its depths as though mesmerized by what lay within.
This is it, Cedar thought. If only she could stop this moment from happening, but what would have happened instead? The Unseen would still have been wiped out. She watched as Brighid paced around the woodless fire as if in a trance, chanting strange words and raising her arms to the sky. In unison, as though by some secret signal, the Unseen started to chant with her, clutching the jewels, which had begun to glow with some inner light. Cedar felt goose bumps dance across her skin. What was happening here was so much more powerful, so much more ancient than anything she had ever known. She felt ashamed of her people for abandoning the Unseen to their fate, and proud of Brighid, whom she had once mistakenly thought of as one of the most self-absorbed creatures in existence. Brighid was the only one who had stood up for these ancient beings, and now she was paying the price with her life.
Brighid raised her arms once more, and the jewels flew into her outstretched hands. The Unseen were silent as the goddess continued to chant, and then a ball of light rose out of the cluster of jewels, floating high in the sky before exploding like fireworks over those gathered in the clearing. Brighid sank to her knees, and the fire in the center went out.
“It is done,” Cedar heard her say into the darkness.
When the darkness lifted, Cedar’s vision was assaulted by blue. She almost took a step forward, but then she looked down and froze. She was standing on the edge of a cliff. Waves crashed into the rocks below her, and the ocean stretched out as far as she could see, blending in with the hazy azure sky at the horizon. Then she noticed someone standing next to her. Brighid’s long hair flowed out behind her like the sails of a great ship. She was dressed in a long white gown that floated gently around her, defying the strong winds that whipped and tangle
d Cedar’s hair.
Brighid turned and started to walk inland. Silently, Cedar followed, looking around for some clue as to where—and when—they were. As they crested a small hill, Cedar could see a group of men building a structure out of wood. They seemed to be in the center of a small island—Cedar could see glimpses of blue on the horizon in all directions. Brighid continued toward the men, and Cedar hurried to keep up. None of the men seemed to notice Brighid, until one man on the edge of the building site glanced up in their direction and jumped back with a shout.
“What is it, Colum?” one of the others shouted. The man named Colum stared at Brighid, who stood quite still in front of him, and then gave an uneasy glance back at the others. It was obvious that they noticed nothing out of the ordinary—certainly not a regal woman dressed all in white. Colum turned his gaze back to Brighid.
“I have come from the Lord,” she said. Immediately, Colum dropped to his knees.
“He’s having another vision, like the one that brought him here to Iona,” Cedar heard one of the other men mutter, and they all pulled back a respectful distance.
“What do you want with me?” Colum asked.
Brighid smiled and helped him to his feet. “You will do great things for your Lord,” she told him. “Your exile from your native land will not be in vain. But the Lord asks a favor of you.”
“Anything,” he said, unable to look Brighid in the face. Cedar listened, enraptured.
“You have heard my name,” she said. “Brighid of Kildare, they call me. The Lord has seen fit to send me to give you this task.”
“Brighid of the holy fire,” he whispered, falling to his knees once more.
