“No. Yes. Sort of.” I take a deep breath and gather my thoughts. “Brad is alive, but the god is living in him and using Brad to get to me. Our friendship, our connection—”
“His unrequited love,” Gary offers, turning to look at Mr. Tanner.
“Love is most definitely involved in what Brad feels for her,” Arland says.
“These things draw Brad and Dughbal to my presence, but Arland protects me from him. I can’t show Brad to you yet, but you will see him again. Maybe not during the war, but certainly after.” I thread my fingers through Mirain’s white mane, trying anything to calm myself. “I have to kill him, Mr. Tanner, but once this war is over, the gods will give him life again.”
“Why you, Kate?” Gary asks. “And what can we possibly do to help?”
“Griandor says it’s because I’m pure, but I’ve been asking myself the same question, and you are here because all the worlds must unite against Dughbal.” I don’t want to mention I think they are here only to die.
“And who is Griandor again?”
“He and his sister, Gramhara, are the two gods who gave me their powers.”
Nodding, my stepfather pales. He rubs his hand up and down his left arm. I’ve given them only the gist of what’s going on here, and he appears shaken. What will happen when they see a coscartha or tairb … or me fighting one?
Mr. Tanner looks up, eyes wet. “And killing Brad is the only way?”
“But the gods have promised to restore his life—”
“My son won’t want a life without you in it.”
I know. “They promised to heal his heart, too.”
“Okay.” He draws in a breath. “Okay. I will help. What do you need us to do?”
Great question. Beyond uniting people from all the worlds, I’m not sure what the next step is before killing Brad.
“We need you to stay alive, fight when we say fight, run when we say run,” Arland says.
Bowen trots out ahead of us by a few feet. Through the forest, I see the faint glow of a fire and the shadows of people walking around it.
“Is this it?” I ask.
“This is where Brice said they would be.” Arland calls to all the horses and sets to running. “Come on!”
Brice? Here?
“Halt,” someone booms, shaking the ground with the deepness of his voice, stopping my attempt at figuring out why Brice would be on this side of the Crossing Caves. A huge man with gray—almost green—skin, at least ten feet tall, jumps out in front of us.
Bowen throws Arland from his back then stops and dips his head, almost as if he’s sorry for what he just did.
Flames erupt from my heart, engulfing my body in fire. Mirain sprints to Arland’s side but stops when she reaches Bowen. I slide from her back, then help Arland up.
“What is that?” I whisper, out of breath.
“Móran.” Arland stares past me, eyes narrowed and hard, then backs me up behind him, protecting me from the dark-haired beast before us.
“You are not daemon, but we do not know you. Why you here?” The Móran’s face is square and rocklike. His words are on the grade level of a kindergartner, but the club he carries is nearly the size of my horse!
The bushes behind the Móran shift and shake. I draw my sword, preparing for a battle with a daemon. Not exactly what I expected for our arrival.
Cadman emerges from the forest, and I release the tension in my shoulders.
“Stand down, Huffie. This is Arland and Katriona. They are our Leaders, returned from a long journey to Earth.”
Huffie lowers his club and smiles, revealing two huge front teeth with a big gap between them. “This who you all worried over?”
“Yes.” Cadman places his hand on Huffie’s forearm. “Please, allow them to pass.”
The man moves aside, shaking the earth, nearly knocking me from my feet. “Glad you is alive.”
“Thank you,” Arland says, taking Bowen by the reins. “Your diligence to keeping this camp safe has not gone unnoticed.”
I grab Mirain, motioning for a gawking Gary and Mr. Tanner to follow, then we all walk beyond the gatekeeper Móran.
Arland leans close to Cadman’s ear. “How many more of those do we have?”
“Ten. Many lost their lives in battle already.” Cadman points at a couple extremely short people with long, red hair. “Take the horses. Put them with the others. Do not steal any of their equipment as you did before. You will only increase the danger on your life!”
Gary and Mr. Tanner stay close behind me and Arland, and I’m pretty sure one of them whispers ‘dwarf.’
Cadman leads us up the side of a cliff. Gray, crumbling stone. Small, dark, and round entry. Light at the back. My visions showed me this place before. I’d love to protest, to run away, to never step foot inside, but I already know there’s not much I can do to change the outcome.
Touching the small of my back, Arland encourages me to keep moving, and I do, because I can’t stop. I won’t stop. I have to keep fighting, although I doubt where we rest has much to do with him dying. Or maybe it does and I’ve already changed the future. I’m not sure, but I cannot continue to worry about him when so many others have already suffered.
The cave is small and has a fire burning in the center. Smoke drifts up through a tiny hole in the top. Soldiers lie against damp walls, arms wrapped around their shins. Some of them sniffle, others moan. Everything reeks of body odor and dried blood and feces.
My stomach cries out to empty its contents, not that I’ve eaten much recently. I got only a couple bites of Muriel’s soup, and according to Brit, that could have been months ago. I search around for my sister, Perth, Rhoswen, Flanna—anyone I recognize—but my eyes haven’t readjusted to the dark.
Cadman takes a seat by the fire and motions for us to join. The confusion I felt earlier infiltrates my thoughts again. There’s no life in this cave, no happiness, no hope.
Arland laces his fingers with mine. “We are hope, Kate, and we have been gone. This is why Cadman brought us in here.”
I swallow hard, and I pray he’s right.
The four of us sit around the fire. The light illuminates battle scars all over Cadman’s face. I wonder what happened in Ollmhor; nothing here injured him that way. He’d be dead.
“Seeing you both in good health does wonders for my faith,” Cadman says, breaking the eerie silence. “The spirit beings from Gaoth threatened to leave if the Leaders of our army did not appear.”
Arland picks up a stick from next to the fire, then pokes at the burning logs. “I would like to call a meeting. Everyone should attend.”
His voice echoes around the cave, rousing soldiers from their resting places. People lumber to their feet and stumble closer to us, closer to the flames. I recognize so many faces, so many injured friends and … family.
“Brit?” Her eyes are black with exhaustion. Her body is frail and thin. I jump to my feet and rush to her.
“Kate.” My sister wraps one arm around my waist. “You look so healthy, and you brought … Gary.”
Heat burns my cheeks. Her energy for life, her life itself … she’s dying. Everyone in this cave might be dying. My power bubbles inside. Dughbal did this. Not me. Not Arland. These people should not suffer any longer, and they shouldn’t have suffered in the first place.
Blue fire radiates from my body. Arland runs over to us. Standing on the other side of my sister, he offers me his hand. We’re stronger together, and Brit needs us. Everyone needs us.
I take his hand. “Wake up. Come to these people. Heal them. Restore their energy. Fill them with peace, love, hope.”
Sprites materialize from everywhere, filling the cave with pink, glittering light. The beings pass over each injured person, blanketing their skin with a healthy glow. Some soldiers stand immediately and smile as though the war around us has ended, while others need more time, coughing and spurting up blood.
The magic lands on my sister last, working on her harder th
an the others. Cuts line so much of her exposed skin, and blue veins bulge from her pale, thin arms. Her green eyes glaze over, and Brit slumps in my arms, dragging me and Arland down with her weight.
“No … .” I kneel next to her and move hair from her face. “God, Arland, please tell me we aren’t too late.”
Arland takes my sister into his arms and carries her over to Cadman, leaving me on the ground.
“What happened to her?” Arland demands, laying my sister by the fire.
The sprites still hover like sheets of silk flying in the wind, but she hasn’t moved. I haven’t seen her chest rise or fall. She shows no signs of life.
Gary brushes her cheek with the back of his fingers, head hung low, eyes glistening. “My child. My beautiful, beautiful girl. Please don’t leave us.”
Brit opens her eyes and squints. “I’m here,” she wheezes.
Words are exchanged between Arland and Cadman, but I can’t hear anything aside from my sister’s ragged breaths. I crawl over to her, body trembling, heart pounding.
She’s going to be okay. She’s alive. The sprites helped her.
“I knew you’d be back.” Brit cracks a faint smile and sits up slowly, pressing her hand to her chest.
I urge her back down, but she fights me off. I would do the same, so I allow her to do what she wants.
“You were just … .” Gary shakes his head. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Brit leans into my open arms, and even though she’s okay, I can’t stop crying.
“Kate is powerful.”
He eyes me warily. “So she is.”
“Sir. The Scouts have returned,” someone with a tinny, little voice calls from the entry of the cave.
I turn around. A short, heavy-set man, just as rocky of a build but not nearly the size of Huffie, stands in the doorway, sword in hand. Flanna beside him, smiling. She’s covered from head to toe in filth and has a wild look about her eyes.
Arland gets up and offers me his hand. “You ready to fight?”
Brit scoots aside, and I grab hold of him. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Nice to see you two again,” Flanna says, the white from her teeth the only “clean” I see on her body. She points at the short man oddly covered in the same amount of muck next to her. “This is Tarik Rocktracker. He arrived here with hundreds of his brothers from Draodín, but many did not survive The Battle of the Crossing Caves.”
The implications of that battle are disastrous. I don’t even want to ask, but I’m sure I’ll learn one day.
“Tarik, this is my cousin, and son of High Leader Maher, Arland Maher, and this is his bhean chéile—or wife—Katriona Maher.”
The Bheagan sheaths his small sword then clasps his hands behind his back, tipping his head. “Great tales have been told about the two of you, but you have a lot to prove. Many have died, my family members included. Where have you been?”
Tarik shifts his gaze from me to Arland, puffy bags around his ice-blue eyes nearly as large as his round, porous nose. I’m sure everyone was concerned about me and Arland, or rather if we were ever coming back. I imagine plenty of the beings from other worlds thought we gave up on Encardia, but it was never our intention to be gone for so long. We didn’t even know we were … .
Arland stays still, shoulders squared, staring at Tarik. “We were trapped in time, and you are correct, we do have much to prove. Rather than standing here discussing things which cannot be changed, tell me what news the Scouts have carried back to us.”
He turns and walks swiftly down the incline, grumbling under his breath, and the three of us follow. A small group forms around the cave exit, and they all stare.
“Grumpy little thing, is he not?” Flanna laughs, wrapping her dirty, crusty arm around mine, drawing my attention to those next to me. Even her clothes are caked in red clay. “Vanora made great friends with them. I believe I understand why our world was closed to theirs. They are not a nice people.”
“Why are you covered in mud?”
She looks down herself and huffs. “Only way to hide without you and Arland around to conceal us.”
Guilt fills every corner of my body. “Flanna?”
My friend glances at me.
“How many people died?”
Hugging me closer, she takes a deep breath. “A lot. More than I can count. We had to leave bodies behind, so many of those who are unaccounted for may still be alive—”
“Who?”
Arland laces his fingers with mine and squeezes, clearly engaged in my conversation with Flanna.
“I do not even know how many we started with because of how we started, but no one you knew, or anyone who was close to you.”
That doesn’t make their death any easier, any less sad.
“Sir,” Cadman calls from behind us. “I need to inform you of what has happened since we returned.”
Tarik mutters even more and keeps moving forward. The rest of us continue after him.
“Catch up, Cadman. There is no time to stop. Tarik has news we need.” Arland smiles, staring after the man.
Something tells me proving ourselves to Bheagans isn’t as easy as just being here and being powerful. We have to kiss up a little, but Arland seems to be enjoying himself.
“Arland! Katriona!” Tristan runs away from an unusually sized—and colorful—group of people. They are built the same as us, just thinner. Some are taller or shorter, but their skin … oranges and blues, greens and reds.
“They come from Mhara. You cannot trust them, no matter how much like us they seem. Although Mharans can survive out of water, they prefer to live in it. Creatures of the sea are opportunistic. Do not forget that.” Arland’s warning doesn’t come with a scowl or even a touch; he maintains a safe distance from me, calm, unwavering.
He’s showing strength, leadership. He always does.
“Opportunistic how?”
Glancing at the beings who look like they belong on a coral reef, Arland narrows his eyes. “A meal to them is a meal.”
I shudder.
“I am so happy to see you.” Tristan fists his hand over his heart, interrupting my revelation about our cannibal comrades. But I guess the Mharans aren’t the same species as us, so they aren’t truly monsters … .
Attempting not to stare, I place my full attention on Tristan. The young soldier’s slight smile doesn’t match the emphasis of his words. The eager look he had before his first Scouting mission has been hardened by months of fighting. He’s grown into a warrior.
“It’s good to see you, too, Tristan,” I say.
The Bheagan stomps his foot. “Share the information with them.”
The Draíochtan warrior glares at Tarik, and Flanna clears her throat, softening the look on Tristan’s face … but not before he clenches his fists. Everything about him and Flanna is rigid, and everything about the small man is smug. Who’s in charge here?
“We made it back into The Meadows. There are no daemons in the city,” he says.
“And our people? Have they survived?” Arland’s face is a blank slate, but I know on the inside he’s holding out hope for our people to be okay.
Tristan grins. “Yes. Quite a few have, sir. They should never have remained there.”
“Why did they?” I ask.
Arland and Flanna both look at me, their eyes sympathetic.
“The same reason my family died, Kate: Dufaigh,” Flanna says, no hint of anger in her voice.
Tristan puffs out his chest, clasping his hands behind his back. “There was a woman there; she was a Communicator and knew living underground is the best way—”
“Cairine … .” Arland says, slightly breathless.
Sometimes I forget how close he and my aunt were.
“I believe that is what the others said her name was, but she—”
“Died.” I wish I could connect to Tristan the way I do Brit and Arland, but I’m not sure how. We don’t need to rehash bad
memories. Not today.
”She was on water duty and never returned. How did you know?” Tristan’s shoulders slump, and his hands fall limp at his sides. He thought he had great news, and he does, just not new news.
“I’m related, and she and Arland were close.”
Tarik pulls out his sword, which is more the size of a dagger. My sister was right when comparing them to dwarves, but only in height. He’s not overly fat, his teeth and ears aren’t pointy, and he doesn’t look mean; though he does have long red hair with gray streaks in it hanging from his head and face. At least Draíochtans are the same size as humans; life would have been miserable for me on Earth if I looked anything like an elf from the North Pole. “The other news, young one.”
“We have managed to corral the remaining daemons. Brice and Saidear came up with an idea: force them all toward one location and put a group of us in the middle … make them think our numbers are diminished. We have never all gone into a fight at the same time, so they do not know how strong or weak we truly are.” Tristan waves his arm as though he’s calling someone over. “Ailos believes the fewer we have in the center, the better, but he does not know where the big army should hide while the daemons move toward the battlegrounds.”
“Deadly … .” Arland rubs his chin and paces back and forth between us and the fire. “But this is a wise plan. Kate has already seen who will be in the center of the final battle.”
“Seen?” Tarik peers up at me. “You mean to say she is a woman of prophecy?”
I don’t think he means the woman of a prophecy, but more that I’m a Seer, a realization Arland has wanted to prevent our people from thinking.
“Not in the same way most are gifted. She sees the same time period over and over, but with different surroundings, people, and outcomes. Her most recent vision named Saidear, Tristan, Flanna, Cadman, Brit, Perth, as well as her and me. There were many others in that future, but not named.” Arland continues pacing, but he’s calculating, taking inventory of the men and women outside the cave, trying to remember how many were inside, rehashing the details of so many of my visions. Ten horses here at camp. Thirty Draíochtans in the cave. Forty-two soldiers outside. Twelve visible Mharans. No idea how many Gaothans. Brit died. I died. Fear courses through him, matching the panic bubbling inside me.
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