Above the noise I can barely hear Malcolm screaming, "Idiots! I told you to wait! Let them come to us!"
But it's too late to stop the riders— nothing can stop them now, and I signal for my people to run. As planned, we break our ranks in the center, fleeing to one side and the other from the pounding hooves.
A giant black horse appears at my side, and I cry, "Zane, time to go!"
Zane slings the pack with the Heart of the Earth onto his back, and with a quick boost from me, he mounts the enormous creature, slipping a little on the animal's damp hide. It's the kelpie, Ainmire, tasked with carrying Zane and the stone far away from here. I hope they make it. And I hope Ainmire doesn't get hungry on the way.
Another shout echoes from the clifftop— Malcolm's voice, telling the fenodyree to release their stones. Of course it's the real Kieran again, playing his part in the confusion. The boulders crash from the ledge, one narrowly missing Malcolm as he runs back into the cave. Some of the rocks stay where they land, but others roll down the hill, right under the feet of the dullahans' horses.
And then the fenodyree begin to fall, one after another, from the cliff, pushed by an invisible force. Kieran shoves about half a dozen of them off the edge before his invisibility fails and they're on him. I want to scream, to help him, but I have my own battle to fight.
A rider goes down near me, all tossing mane and thudding body and thrashing legs. The head of the fallen dullahan sweeps after it, screaming, and it rushes at me, snapping its grinning jaws. I speak the curse to immobilize it, and it freezes, hanging in place in the air.
But the rider is up, disentangled from the body of his horse, and he's stalking toward me, huge and hulking, smoke streaming from his gaping neck. Hefting his axe, he swings it, and I barely leap back in time. It whistles through the air, not two inches from my chest.
Laurel leaps forward, her long knife glittering, and as she blocks the next blow. I try a spell to make the Dullahan sleep. It doesn't work; he must be warded.
"Run, Laurel!" I scream, but she dodges the dullahan's next swing, leaps, and slashes her machete right through its immobilized head. The head falls in two halves to the ground, and the rider wavers, quivers, and collapses beside it.
"Go, go!" Laurel yells, and we both run up the slope. I'm shouting and waving for our people to follow— we have to get inside the cave entrance before the dullahan and the fenodyree regroup to defend it. Once they have it secured, we'll have no hope of making it through.
I'm running with all my might, speaking the spell for my fenodyree strength, because I see several of them climbing down the cliff, coming to close the gap at the cave entrance. Crashing hand to hand into the first one, I grapple with him, struggling to throw him to the side so I can make it through. He has the advantage of strength that never runs out. Mine has a time limit.
The fenodyree's hairy hands grip mine, slowly and inexorably crunching and pushing, and I skid backward, almost losing my balance. To my right, Laurel is fighting two fenodyree, dodging the rocks they hurl and slashing at them with her blade.
Screaming with effort, I step to the side and hurl the fenodyree I'm fighting as hard as I can down the slope. He already had the forward momentum going— he tumbles over and over, unable to stop, down to where the dullahan are trampling back and forth through the bushes, fighting pixies and merrows and selkies.
I'm almost into the cave, but two other fenodyree block my way. They each seize one of my arms and start to pull. I transport right out of their grip, appearing behind them. Quickly I seize them by their hair and smash their heads together as hard as I can. They crumple.
"Ross!" I scream. "Now!"
He comes, fluidly shedding his human figure and transforming into his Fae form, an enormous goat— and he charges the remaining fenodyree, tossing them on those sharp curved horns of his. He stays at the entrance to fend off more enemies, and a few of the Lianhan Sídhe surge past him, through the gap, into the cave. Glancing behind me, back down the slope, I see several other pooka in goat form, friends of Ross's, battling the dullahan with their horns and blasting streams of blue fire from their mouths. Most of the pixies have almost made it up the slope to me.
"Come on!" I urge them, and together we pour through the entrance to the cave.
The lights along the passage are out. I pull my flashlight from my pack and click it on, shining it ahead. Three of the Lianhan Sídhe are ahead of me, cautiously advancing along the tunnel, flashing their own lights back and forth.
Then out of the dark, the snap of gigantic jaws, and blood sprays from the torn neck and shoulder of one of the Lianhan Sídhe. She screams, a hideous bubbling sound, as the long black muzzle and enormous teeth tear at her flesh. Further back in the tunnel, another dark head appears, whites of the eyes flashing, teeth bared, screaming in that husky, unearthly way that only a horse can.
Kelpies.
"Back!" I yell, even as the first kelpie's giant hooves swipe at us. We're lucky they can only reach us single file, but it's so dark and cramped here that it's nearly impossible to fight them. The Lianhan Sídhe ahead of me are shrieking, panicking, as the flying hooves pound their bodies and the kelpie's jaws snap and crunch. Two of the women have their knives out, but they're fighting in the dark, struggling to land a blow.
I have to help them. They're dying, they're dying— I can't transport in here, what can I do?
My knives are useless; I can't get close enough. Instead, I speak the spell for Life-Stealing.
I catch the nearest kelpie mid-rear, and as its hooves come down, the golden Life-Stream erupts from its heart, snaking toward me in the dark, lighting up the tunnel. A second Life-Stream from the other kelpie quivers in the air as well, and I catch them both, drawing them into myself. I didn't want to kill any of the Fae this way. But kelpies are man-eaters, flesh-devourers— and they're killing us. They chose this fate.
As the last bits of the kelpies' Life-Stream rush into my body, I feel something strange— a sensation of change, movement inside me. Did I just take their powers, too?
The two kelpies fall, blocking the passage. I suppose this was part of Malcolm's plan, too— if they died, their massive bodies would slow us down.
The Lianhan Sídhe are staring at me, clutching their wounds. The first one the kelpies attacked lies twitching on the floor, dying. I move past her, wishing I had time to sit with her, to thank her for her sacrifice— but we have to keep going. Clambering over the kelpies' bodies, I see a side passage just beyond them, and with my magical strength I manage to drag the horses into it, clearing the way forward.
When I turn back, there's a crowd of pixies jammed up in the passageway, waiting. Their face shine white and their eyes glimmer as I move the flashlight beam. "Come on," I tell them. "The cavern with the gate is just ahead. You have your wards?"
They nod, showing me their amulets. I nick my arm with one of my knives and rub the blood on my own amulet for good measure, and I touch my pockets to be sure the hoodoo paquet and the charm bag are still there. I'm going to need all the protection and power I can get.
I'm looking forward now, facing the dark tunnel. There's a hint of light far ahead, where the cavern entrance is. The second I reach it, I'm probably going to be face to face with an army of druids.
"Eric," I say, without turning around. "Does anyone know where Eric is?"
"Here, Soul-Stealer," says a voice, and Eric steps forward, with Tom at his side.
"You have what we need?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Good. Let's move ahead, there should be another passage on the right, before we get to the cavern. You can set up there. Follow me."
They all follow, because even though I'm just seventeen, and I've never led anyone into battle, ever, I'm the Soul-Stealer, Druid Slayer.
And I'm terrified. My hands are shaking and all I want is to be back in Kieran's condo, feeling his arms around me. Where is he? Probably still wreaking havoc outside and loving every minute of it.
&
nbsp; For his sake, and for the sakes of the pixies following me, I need to do this. I have to prove to myself that I can do this.
"There's the other passage," I whisper, pointing it out to Eric. "A few of you stay here, with Eric and Tom. Make sure nothing unexpected comes out of that tunnel."
Eric quickly moves into the side passage and unpacks his bag. Several small, ultra-portable, battery-powered speakers. Cables. Extra batteries, lots of them. His phone, with our training playlist.
He nods to me. "Go on. We got this."
The cavern entrance is very near now— just ahead, an archway of yellow-orange light.
"Showtime, everyone," I say.
The beat starts, softly at first, and then louder as Eric turns the speakers up to full volume. The music echoes through the tunnel. It's amazing, the level of sound those tiny speakers can put out.
And now, it's time to show the druids something they never expected.
As the music crescendos, we rush down the corridor and pour into the cavern.
I knew they would be waiting. They were expecting us, and they have spells ready. But they didn't expect this maelstrom of whirling limbs, this terrifying frenzy of dancing and spinning and leaping and kicking. The music fuels the pixies— it's in their blood, and mine, and we are unstoppable. The first row of the druids crumples before us.
But row after row of druids stand behind that first line. And I see the horned heads of pooka, some still human and some in goat form, ready to spew their blue fire. Snickering cluricauns waving nightsticks and nunchucks, and a handful of banshees wielding knives.
Behind them all is a newly erected wall that reaches just above the heads of the tallest pooka. It cuts the cavern in half, from side to side, and there's only one gap, right in its center. This is something new, something the druids built as extra defense. I can see the top of the pale seam of rock, far away on the cave wall beyond the druids' barrier.
Quickly I take it all in, and then I whirl back into the dance. The music, the dancing— it's protection. It's safety and pleasure and desperate need all at once. My legs and arms are weapons; I'm a whirlwind, a power born of music and magic, and the pixies and I spin through the druids' ranks like tornadoes. As long as the music plays, I'm invincible; nothing can stop me.
And then I feel something, a force like a physical blow, but invisible, and in spite of my ward and the paquet, I'm thrown backward. I slam into a pixie, and we both lie still for a second, breath gone and heads pounding from the impact. The female druid who threw us is chanting, coming forward, bloody knife dripping. I struggle to my feet, speaking a protective spell, tracing a second knot over my skin with my blood, and when her spell strikes me again, I barely feel it. Using my magical strength, I punch her straight and true as Zane taught me, and her head snaps back. She falls, unconscious or dead— right now I don't care which.
After that, I enter a strange headspace, a place of heart-pumping music and fury and magic and fear. I'm all fire, all motion— I react, I move, I dance, I fight.
One coming on the right. Kick, slam, duck.
Another druid, striking down a pixie on my left. Pivot, spin, thrust with my knife.
A banshee, screaming for blood and death, coming straight at me. Dance in, seize her, throw her with all my strength.
My arm— painful heat.
A pooka's fire, burning on my sleeve. I pull my leather jacket off, desperately, and trample out the flames.
More pixies coming into the cavern, along with more Lianhan Sídhe. Kieran isn't in this group; he must still be fighting the fenodyree and dullahan outside.
The Lianhan Sídhe are more deadly than our dance-fighters— they whisper distracting words in the druids' ears, making them forget their spells. I see one druid stripping off his clothes, chasing a Lianhan Sídhe till she throws him on the ground, wraps both legs around his neck, and snaps it.
I don't see Ross, the merrows, the selkies, or any of our pooka— I had the pooka on our side wear a red strip of cloth so we would know them. They must still be outside, with Kieran.
Worse than the spells being flung at me, worse than the flames of pain in my arm and the bruises on my legs from all the kicking— worse than everything is not knowing if he's all right.
But I push the fear to the back of my mind. The banshee I threw is up and coming at me again, shrieking, brandishing a knife. Right now, all I need to do is survive.
23
THRILLER
Zane
Ainmire gallops through the forest with me on his back for a couple hours, until we are far, far away from anyone or anything that could be trying to follow us.
My legs are seriously chafed, and my muscles ache from holding onto him for so long without the right gear, like a saddle or bridle. All Kieran could persuade the kelpie to accept was a rope round his middle for me to hang onto. The whole time, the wet black mane kept slapping me across the face and hands. The backs of my hands are sensitive and swollen now from the whipping horsehair, and from the feel of my face, it's probably not in much better shape. Plus, the stupid stone keeps thumping against my back, which I'm pretty sure is bruised up now.
I had some riding experience from summer camp, and I guess I always thought of riding as a cool thing to do, fun and exciting. But now I know better. There's no way I would be able to ride a horse for a full day like the guys in fantasy movies do— especially not a horse this big and scary.
Yeah, Ainmire is scary as hell. Kieran warned me to be careful, cause I guess he eats people, sometimes.
When the kelpie finally stops, it's in a small clearing by a mountain stream. He shakes himself, like he wants me to get off, so I do. Then he steps into the stream, kneeling right down in the water and rolling over.
After getting his coat good and drenched, he clambers back out over the stones and stands near me, rolling his wild eyes around and tossing his head up and down. Occasionally his ears prick forward, then backward, swiveling to catch the sounds of the forest.
I kinda wish he'd just go away.
I pull out my phone and play a game, trying to forget that he's there. After a while I turn the phone off. Gotta spare some battery power for when Aislinn texts me that the battle is over. If she doesn't text, we'll just head back at dawn.
More time passes; I'm not sure how much. The only light I have comes from the amulet on my chest, and by its glow I notice that Ainmire keeps flaring his nostrils in my direction, and pinning his ears back. At one point he comes closer, lips wrinkling back to show two rows of scary-looking, enormous yellow teeth. He champs them together, once, and then walks away, shaking himself.
He's getting hungry.
Then I remember— Kieran gave me something for this.
I pull the raw rump roast out of my pack, from its spot underneath the stone. Unwrapping it, I throw it a little distance away from me, onto a flat rock. Ainmire comes over immediately, sniffing it and then tearing in with those long teeth of his. The meat squelches and rips, and it's gone almost instantly. He stalks toward me, head down, sniffing, looking for more.
"I don't have any more, Ainmire," I say, backing away. He whinnies, a fierce sound in the dark forest. Damn, why do I get myself into these situations?
Kieran also gave me words to say. I fish the paper out of my pocket. He wrote it down like it sounds, not like it's supposed to be spelled in Gaelic, and I'm grateful for that. Holding, my amulet in one hand, I say the words. There's pulse of yellow light from the amulet, and Ainmire's muscles shiver under his black coat. He bares his teeth, with a hoarse sound that's almost like a faint scream.
Quickly I say the spell again. More light from the amulet, and Ainmire suddenly reverts to his human shape. The dude is totally naked, and it's cold out here. I wonder if I should offer him my jacket.
"Midir gave you that spell?" He doesn't look happy about it.
"Yeah, sorry. In case you— tried to eat me."
"We do not usually extend our friendship so far as I have done for
Midir," says the kelpie. "But I owe him. So you are safe."
He sits on a rock, cross-legged. A cold wind ruffles the forest, and I hunch deeper into my jacket. But Ainmire has no protection against the chill.
"Hey, Ainmire, do you want my jacket?"
"Why?"
"It's cold, dude."
His eyes narrow and darken. Note to self, never call a man-eating kelpie "dude."
"Never mind," I say.
The silence, and the darkness, and the cold are really starting to get to me. I didn't think carefully about what it would mean to be the stone's guardian, to keep it hidden out here. It means I don't get to help them. It means I have no idea what's going on, or who's still alive, or anything. I don't even know if the druids somehow managed to start the ritual anyway. For all I know, there could be demons from the Otherworld creeping toward us through the dark right now.
Just as I think it, something crunches and snaps in the forest behind me. I turn, and Ainmire bounces lightly to his feet, scanning the trees.
There's a quick patter, a rustle, just behind me. It sounds like a small animal in the underbrush.
Another pattering, rustling noise from the woods across the stream, and a third from the trees beyond Ainmire. He backs up, toward the stream, motioning for me to follow, and swiftly he transforms into a water horse again.
Before I can swing up onto his back, three figures emerge from the trees.
They have white, shiny skulls and faces— no hair, no eyebrows, no nose or mouth. Just blank white heads, each with a pair of black, beadlike eyes. Inhumanly thin, dressed in white suits. Long pale fingers. Necks weaving back and forth, reminding me of the sinuous neck of Aislinn's beast form.
But the worst part is the way they move. Tiptoeing, prancing through the underbrush with these little quick steps. Patter, patter, patter. Closer and closer.
Samhain Page 23
