I turned to Peg. “You don’t think …”
“Indeed I do.”
“Aoife,” I breathed, smiling up at the swan. “We did it. We reversed the curse. But then—where are my siblings?”
A low rumble sounded from outside, almost as if a thunderstorm were rolling in. But then came a whistle. Thoughts whipped through my mind lightning fast, and I turned for the foyer. Footsteps followed in my wake, but I hadn’t the time to see whose they were. I burst open the doors, and indeed, just before the manor lay a line of thin silver train tracks. The sound of an engine chugged louder as a navy-blue train grew larger in my vision until, at last, the wind smacked my face and the whistle blared in my ears, and then … silence.
Smoke danced with the snow. In the distance, the swan—my mother—flapped about at the edge of Starlight Valley, and I could see the thorn trees begin to wither like the chimney vines had, as if on demand. Sighs of wonder and relief encircled me. I turned my attention to the train again, and as the passenger doors opened, out stepped three young adults, two men and one woman. They were tall, hair pale as seafoam, eyes dark as midnight, and lips red as hawthorn berries. They emerged from the smoke, and the woman smiled in my direction.
“We’re looking for our sister,” she said. “They call her Finnuala.”
Epilogue
EACH ONE OF US was a tiny sunflower seed, rough to the touch and cloaked in black, drifting through the ragged wind. Not a hat nor a hair out of place, we were black swans, flocking to the final resting place of our beloved storyteller. Father Cooley said the prayers, and we sang “The Parting Glass,” no one looking at another, but all gazing out to the mainland. Though the sky grayed and the grass across the isle turned to mist and the clouds rumbled with ominous thunder, the water was still. It seemed that today Inis Eala mirrored Nuala’s soul.
As I cradled Nuala in my palms the very way I did Rodney and Georgie-Mae’s new baby girl, Lucy, I remembered the Virginia mountains. I wanted to climb them when I went back. I wanted to meet the people. I wanted to feel that hot American sun on my neck.
Just as the thought drifted into my mind, I felt a warmth against my shoulders, the calloused hands I knew to be Da’s. Conn and Fiachra stood on either side of Da. Beside me came Darcy, hands held by Sojourn and Posy-Kate, and then Ena on my other side, leaning down and kissing my cheek. It felt like a story, that kiss.
I tiptoed to the edge of the cliff where the hawthorn tree stood nearly bare and shivering. My naked feet crunched frost underneath me as I came to the very edge, toes curled over the ledge. A tear snuck out the corner of my eye. But when I thought about it real hard, it wasn’t such a long way to fall.
As my fingers creaked like old doors and rickety stairs, I closed my eyes and whispered to Nuala, “Your family is home, Nuala. Me and Ena and Conn and Fiachra too—we all came home. You were the sort of thing miracles are made of. I promise I’ll make miracles too.”
I opened my palm. The ashes slid through my fingers and drifted into the November wind, slipping away like the heather I used to dream about. That other place I used to dream about. I wiped that tear away.
After all, it wasn’t such a long way to fly.
Acknowledgments
Without the help of many people, this book would not be a book. I want to thank the entire team at Yellow Jacket and New Leaf Literary & Media for their work, kindness, and patience, as well as my family and friends for their support. At Yellow Jacket, thank you to my editor, Charlie Ilgunas, and the publisher, Sonali Fry. Thank you to the editorial assistant, Courtney Fahy; the copyeditor, Anne Heausler; and the managing editor, Dave Barrett. Thank you to the designers, Rob Wall and Natalie Padberg Bartoo; the publicist, Paul Crichton; and the marketing manager, Nadia Almahdi. At New Leaf Literary & Media, thank you to my agent, Suzie Townsend, and her assistant, Cassandra Baim. Thank you as well to Jaida Temperly, who helped me begin my career. Thank you to Con Moriarty for guiding me through Ireland. Thank you to my family, friends, and mentors. And most of all, thank you to my readers for your support and beautiful imaginations.
The Serendipity of Flightless Things Page 18
