by M. C. Aquila
She felt the dampness of the log under her, then felt the moisture in the air; they were not so different—
“I tell you, my son saw gnomes last night!” a woman seated on the next log over exclaimed. “They were nasty little beasts, dashing through the woods—they hissed at him something fierce! But they kept running. Something scared them. Nearly scared the life out of my little boy too.”
Deirdre and James glanced at each other; she barely suppressed a giggle, making him smile.
“But those ghosts don’t ’urt anything, s’long as they aren’t on your land,” said a man seated near her, taking a quick drink of his beer.
“Gnomes aren’t ghosts, you bleeding idiot,” cried a man with a slight Scottish accent from the other side of the fire. “Gnomes and other faeries might look like ghosts sometimes, but they aren’t! Now, the Shambly Man… That’s a ghost.”
“What’s the Shambly Man?” Deirdre asked, tilting her head.
Everyone around the fire went quiet. All eyes fell on the man, clearly waiting for him to begin. James gulped, hunching down, looking like he’d prefer to be somewhere else.
The man leaned forward, saying in a low but clear voice, “The Shambly Man, he was a normal chap, just like you or me. He worked on his family’s farm, and he was mad in love with a rich man’s daughter. Yet he was so poor that marriage wouldn’t be possible. In order to make a name for himself and win her heart and hand, he accepted a quest from her family: retrieve a lost heirloom, a diamond necklace.
“On this quest, he killed many Unseelie monsters, everything from your rotten gnomes to monster dogs. He killed the Black Shuck of Norfolk and the giant Fachan of Falkirk and strung up the Spring-Heeled Jack that roamed these very parts!
“After three hard years, he found the necklace and returned to his lady’s town, not far from here. It was a moonless night, and he was walking. Then, out of the darkness, a car careened out of nowhere; it struck him hard and fast”—he slapped his knee, making Deirdre jump—“killing him instantly. And who was the driver, you ask?”
The man paused and looked around at everyone. Deirdre was about to shout “Who?” when he finally continued, “None other than his own love, who was out for a night on the town—with her new fiancé.”
Everyone booed or sighed or muttered; Deirdre let out a shocked, “No way!”
The man nodded. “Now the Shambly Man haunts the roads of this region, searching for the road he died on and searching for his love, to give her the necklace. So if you’re ever driving on a dark night, you may look in your mirror and see a person at the forest’s edge—a person you didn’t see when you looked just a moment before.”
James shrunk down as though he’d like to disappear into the ground. “But what if you’re walking?” he asked in a squeak. When everyone looked at him, he cleared his throat and asked in a firmer voice, “Going by what you said, he wouldn’t show up if you’re walking, right?”
“You think so?” The man narrowed his eyes. “You ever feel like someone’s watching you—someone you can’t see? You ever stop walking at night and hear footsteps behind you? Ever see a shadow in the forest that, if you glanced back a second time, wouldn’t be just a stone or tree like you thought it was?”
James didn’t respond, his eyes as wide as saucers.
“Never look a second time, lad. Don’t try to see who’s watching you. Just let him keep watching from the dark.”
The man then straightened and took a drink; the others around the fire either clapped or joked or jeered at him. Deirdre clapped along, smiling. James and Alvey were the only ones who stayed quiet.
“Are you all ready?” Iain had approached them from the caravans. “The merchants I spoke with said, with these caravans headed to the Wayfaring Festival, there should be plenty of places to camp nearby for the night.”
Deirdre jumped to her feet, ignoring Alvey’s whining as they all headed out of the market and toward the woods again. As they got farther away from the people and the noise, she remembered what she was doing before the story began: connecting with Water Magic.
When Alvey snapped that she’d push herself, Deirdre let go and walked a little slower, reaching out with her thoughts and her hands, feeling at the damp air like she had earlier. The magic in the afternoon fog rolling into the forest soon spoke to her of water nearby and far away throughout the forest. It mentioned water in the hills, the trees, and in a castle. It showed her moisture collecting on the smooth, exceptionally white cliffs under the old fortress.
It filled her mind and heart with images and cool sensations of flowing, ebbing, streaming, and seeping, yearning for the rain in the clouds above to pour pure, flowing water—
She ran smack-dab into Iain’s back, stumbling backward. Iain reached out and caught her arm immediately, steadying her.
“You all right?” He chuckled. “Magic again?”
“Yes, it’s going to rain!” She pumped her fists in the air, unable to contain the excitement she felt from the magic around her.
Alvey and James groaned, and Iain’s face fell a bit. He soon recovered and said, “Is it showing you things again—is that it?”
“Yes! Well, sort of.” She immediately shared everything she’d just experienced. “And it was showing me more of the forest, and there was this castle in it—”
Suddenly Alvey rolled her chair between the two of them, asking, “Pray, where is this castle?”
“I don’t know.” She stepped back before Alvey could roll over her foot and asked, “Do you think I could ask the fog to show me? Do you think we could stay there for the night?” She directed the last question at Iain.
“Possibly.”
Alvey nodded, saying, “Scout it out; we shall decide after you discover how near or far it is. Make haste!”
“Okay, okay.” She slowed her pace, beginning to reach out to the fog again.
But it was harder to focus as Alvey talked loudly with Iain. The blond girl cupped her hand under her chin and smiled up at him in a charming way that was so unlike her, Deirdre rubbed her eyes and looked twice.
Is she being nice because he’s the one cooking all the meals? I shouldn’t let him do that; tonight I’ll help him. Whether he wants it or not.
She nodded firmly, then shut her eyes. Remembering what it had been like when she asked the cave floor to move two days ago, she reached out and told the fog: You’re in the castle in this forest. Show me you, in the castle.
She was treated to a deluge of images of fog seeping in through spaces big and small within a ruined castle. It was too much to make sense of, and she quickly pushed the images away.
To see the way there, I need to go about this differently. She opened her eyes, holding her arms out. The swirling magic in the air felt like sheer, cool silk flowing past her.
Flow right to the castle—show me your way to the castle, she thought. Show me a way that I can go with you easily.
Obediently the fog showed her the first turn in the woods, leading to an ancient stone trail that wound uphill and eventually reached the castle’s open, dry, and intact cellar.
And it’s only… She let the images float through her head again. They went through all at once, but it was not overwhelming like before. I think just an hour away. She giggled and clapped her hands. This is perfect!
They reached the basement almost two hours later. Only when they’d reached the winding, uphill paths did Deirdre realize just how steep they were. However, Alvey’s chair took them easily; she pushed now and then, the chair somehow doing most of the work.
By the time they’d gotten to the top, the half-elf girl was the only one not puffing or complaining about sore muscles.
“You are all so hopeless.” She snickered, though her tone demurred as she added, “With the exception of Iain, of course. It must come with the training he has done, methinks?”
He just waved a hand in response, still regaining his breath as they staggered into the basement.
The ca
stle itself was not ancient, probably first built in the seventeenth century. It had towered above them as they walked up, dark and moss-laden, supported on its far side by steep, smooth white cliffs.
Inside the cellar was some rubbish and broken bottles, but after pushing it all into the corners of the room, they found an intact fireplace. Iain cleaned it out while Deirdre and a reluctant James tidied up places to sleep. As they did so, the rain sprinkled and then poured outside.
After they’d finished, James began to sift through the piles of rubbish.
“What’re you looking for?” Deirdre asked, sitting down next to Alvey, who had dozed off. “There’s lots of broken glass over there.”
He stopped and raised his eyebrows at her. “I just wanted to see if there was something useful. Sorry, do I need to ask for permission?”
Reminded of some of the cheeky girls at the orphanage, Deirdre resisted rolling her eyes. “Of course not. Just be careful. Who knows what might be hidden in that junk?”
James mumbled something in reply, turning his back on her.
Standing, she walked to the entrance of the basement and looked outside. Holding out a hand under the drops, she shut her eyes and listened. Rain always fell in waves of whispers. As she began to speak to the magic within it, she realized she’d always been hearing the magic in those whispers without knowing it.
There was something else out there in the rain, between the falling drops, speaking of nights ever since the first moonrise of the world—
“I am utterly starved!” Alvey suddenly said, her voice pitching high.
And I promised I’d help cook. Sighing, Deirdre stepped away from the rain and the night.
Chapter Three
After dinner, the group’s spirits brightened. The warmth of the hearth fire chased the numbing cold away, and the scent of pan-fried garlic, wild mushrooms, and rosemary overpowered the damp scent of the castle. Though the wind whistled outside and the rain pelted the castle ruins, Iain was warm and cozy. He sat on the floor with his back against a sturdy stone pillar, settled in for the first watch of the night, his axe beside him.
Iain had been surprised when Deirdre helped prepare supper. She hadn’t minded when he had asked her if she would tie her hair up to keep it safe from the fire and from getting into their food. In solidarity, Iain had also tied back his hair with a bandana.
It had taken longer than normal to get the food onto plates as he and Deirdre laughed every time strands of her hair had bounced out of her ponytail like metal springs. They stopped when Alvey demanded that they hurry with the food and stop chatting.
After eating dinner, Deirdre had settled down to rest after offering to take the next shift in two hours. Iain had agreed and then sat back, listening to the soothing sound of the rain.
Alvey was reclined in her chair, bundled in her shawl, and was breathing evenly; Deirdre was curled up on the floor with her back to him; and James, closest to the fire, occasionally turned in his sleep.
A cold raindrop hit Iain’s forehead; he flinched and squinted at the dark chasm of the ceiling. There was a large opening that revealed the remains of a crumbled staircase that probably used to connect to the basement. Iain scooted over, determined to remain dry for as long as possible.
After a few moments of silence, he decided to examine the amulet he had found in the dwarf’s cave a few days ago. Iain produced the amulet from his pack and held it in the palm of his hand; the surface was smooth.
On a whim, he clasped the chain around his neck, feeling the solid weight of it against his chest. It was soothingly cool even through the fabric of his jacket, like fresh, running spring water.
He stared at the surface of the amulet until his vision glazed, searching for the word that he saw days ago, willing it to appear in a shimmer as it had before. But the amulet was blank. The only engravings were the Celtic knot around the outside.
What am I even doing? I was delirious from that fight, and it was dark in the cave. It doesn’t mean anything, and it certainly didn’t want me to take it. That’s completely bonkers.
If, somehow, it did say something… maybe it’s a magical trick to get people to buy it. That would make sense.
But it hadn’t seemed like a showy trick or something dark or evil. When he had picked it up, an overwhelming sense of peace washed over him that was unlike anything else he’d experienced; it had not been like the manufactured calm of pretending he knew what he was doing. It was real.
He wanted to experience that again, given everything that he had learned over the past few days about the creature that had claimed his brother and mum. About their father. About the brewing war.
“Jewelry’s never suited me anyway.” Iain smiled wryly and unclasped the chain. He tucked the amulet back into his pack, giving it a cheeky squint to let it know he didn’t trust it, just in case.
I’ll just take one day at a time. Foremost, we’ll focus on finding Mum and guiding Deirdre to the Summer Court and then warning them. That’s all I can do.
And with that thought, he did feel a small sense of relief. He set aside any concerns of the war with the Summer and Winter Courts, of the barrier, and of his father’s role in all of it. Until they reached the Summer Court, he knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it on his own.
* * *
Maybe that creepy storyteller was right. There is something constantly watching me, James thought bitterly as he lay facing the lazily burning hearth fire. Two someones. But they aren’t ghosts at all.
Ever since what happened at the cave four days ago, when his rescue plan had gone awry for reasons beyond his control, Iain and Deirdre had been keeping an eye on him, waiting for him to mess up. It was bad enough that Iain didn’t trust him to do anything on his own now—he had also involved Deirdre.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the cave.
But when he closed his eyes, what had happened replayed in his mind. Boyd shoving his face in the dirt. Iain being beaten, and Boyd threatening to kill him. Commander Walker’s corpse. And a sick, shivery feeling in his stomach that hadn’t gone away.
Probably because we’ve been rained on ever since… and my socks are still wet. That’s probably it. Once it stops raining, I won’t feel all cold anymore.
As James tried to sleep, he couldn’t help but recall the story of the Shambly Man and another presence he was recently made aware of: the Cait Sidhe creature. As they had walked through the foggy forest to the castle ruins, James had occasionally glanced over his shoulder if he heard something rustling through the freshly fallen, red autumn leaves, only to see nothing there.
He looked once. Not twice.
Maybe something is watching me.
That creature, Cait Sidhe or whatever it was, was the only one who could give him the answers he needed. Maybe Dad had the answers, but he would never give them up even if James hadn’t decided to have nothing to do with him again.
James shivered and scooted closer to the fire like an inchworm. Then, trying to be as quiet as possible not to alert Iain, he reached for his notebook and a pen from his pack beside him. He hadn’t gotten any privacy or quiet since he’d left Neo-London, and the near-constant chattering drained his energy. As he flipped through his notes, James felt better than he had in the past few days.
He found his notes on Mum’s letters, right next to his newest notes on magic and everything he could remember about Cait Sidhe creatures. For now, he focused on the traces of magic in the letter Mum had sent to Marko.
The paper crinkled as he unfolded one of the crumpled letters.
“You still up?” Iain whispered from behind him. “Mind keeping me company?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, you mind, or yeah, you’re still awake?”
Sighing, James sat up. He gathered his books and notebook in silence and then walked over to where Iain was sitting, his still-damp trainers squelching with each step.
The moment he settled down, Iain said, “Written anythi
ng down about the gnomes yet? Because I have a few notes for you on how badly their bites itch.”
“They don’t itch normally,” James deadpanned. “Unless they’ve laid their eggs.”
Iain’s smile vanished instantly.
“I’m only joking.” James snorted. “The look on your face—!”
“Cheeky.”
James shook his head. “I’m skipping the gnomes. Um, at least until the memory of the pain fades.”
“Those were one of the top creatures on your list to meet, yeah?” Iain grinned his sly grin, which was never a good sign. “More than— What are those things called that you fancy so much? Nymphs or something?”
Trying to seem unaffected by the remark, James ultimately failed when he tensed up and sucked in his breath. Iain laughed and tried to play it off like a cough.
James glared at him over his notebook as he wrote with more ferocity.
“You’re not plotting against me, are you?” Iain squinted at him. “Because it’s a little unnerving when you write like that.”
Ignoring him, James absently scratched his arm under his sweater sleeve and said, “Those bites really do itch, now that you’ve said it.”
The brothers talked for a bit longer, recounting the gnome fight again and discussing if Deirdre’s idea of a sport with the creatures would ever catch on professionally and how they might finally be interested in watching football matches if it did. Eventually they lapsed into silence.
After a few minutes had passed, Alvey jerked awake across the room with a few loud sniffs, causing James to nearly jolt out of his skin. His notebook tumbled out of his hands. Beside him, Iain grabbed his axe, alert. Then, with an incoherent mumble, Alvey flopped over and fell back asleep.
The brothers exchanged amused glances.
“Jumpy?” Iain nudged him.
“You’re jumpy.”
Then Iain swore as a fat raindrop hit his cheek from the stairwell above them. When he went to wipe it away, it smeared across his face, nearly black in the faint light. Iain stared at the stain on his hand, his breath catching.
