I step onto a rock and hoist myself onto Ainmire's back. I barely have time to grip the rope when he's off, charging through the trees away from the Things.
After a few minutes I glance back. I don't see them. They can't keep up with his pace. Relieved, I turn back around— just as two of them appear before Ainmire, their skinny hands outstretched. Ainmire crashes into one of them, but the other leaps nimbly onto his nose, clinging there with its toothpick arms, its head cocked so it can stare into one of his eyes. Ainmire's gait slows. He skids to a stop, and I fly off his back, smacking hard into the ground. Pain shoots through my body, and I can barely breathe.
From my spot on the ground, I see Ainmire fall.
He slams flat on his side, his eyes blank and his mouth foaming white.
The Thing looked right into his eyes. And that happened. Somehow their eyes are dangerous. I can't look at them straight on.
I'm carrying a small knife; Aislinn insisted. I pull it out and make a shallow cut across the fleshy part of my thumb. Quickly I rub Cathbad's amulet with the blood.
Two blank white faces lean over me, staring.
I turn my head away, and I hold up the amulet, and I yell with all my might in a language I don't even know.
The amulet vibrates in my hand, and through my squinted eyes I see two streaks of golden light shoot out from it. The bright streams catch the Things right in their eyes, and they start shaking and twitching and flopping around. With a popping sound, each one bursts into a thousand ashy pieces, and the bits of them float away on the breeze.
My amulet goes dark.
It's out of power, and there's one more Thing out there.
Hoofbeats. At first I think Ainmire, but no, he's still lying paralyzed or dead or something, not far away from me.
Screaming out of the sky comes a bodiless head with eyes of flame, trailing rivers of dark smoke behind it.
Dullahan. Damn it.
I jump up and run.
I've been running all my life. Running through neighborhoods, through the woods at home. Never did I think I'd be running through a forest in the mountains, with an ancient relic in my pack and a headless rider thundering after me.
I run faster than I've ever run, picking my feet up high so I don't trip. It's dark. Several times I almost fall. I rake my hand through some thorns; a branch hits me in the ribs. I keep running. Running. Pain in my side— even though I'm trying to control my breathing, my panic is taking over. My heart pounds till I think it might explode out of my chest.
The dullahan's head keeps up with me, somehow communicating where I am to the rider. The flaming skull stays high enough so I can't reach it, and the horse's hooves thunder closer. Finally I'm so mad and scared and out of breath that I just stop running, and I throw rocks and branches at the thing, yelling like crazy. It dodges, every time.
Then the huge hand of the dullahan grabs me by my pack and by the neck of my jacket. I writhe, but I can't get the jacket zipper undone— I can't slip out or rip free.
The dullahan holds me, my feet kicking uselessly, as the third Thing patters over to us. I shut my eyes. With his other hand, the dullahan pries my lids up, painfully. And then I'm staring straight into those black orbs in that blank white face— and something snaps in my head.
24
FIGHTER
Aislinn
The dance-fighting is still going on— I have no idea how long it's been, but the frenzied pace of the battle is slowing down. The music keeps pumping, surging through the cavern. I hear some of the druids yelling for others to go shut it down, so I send a group of the pixies and Lianhan Sídhe back to guard Eric and his sound system. Dancing through the fight— it's the only way we can keep this battle going long enough.
Slash, spin, kick. Dodge a bolt of blue fire.
I'm frozen by a spell, and the druid who cast it comes for me, knife drawn.
Then Lydia and George step into the space between us, throwing spells of their own. One of them trips the druid, and pixie couple leap on him at once, knocking him out.
"Thanks," I say, pushing the enchantment off my skin so I can move again.
But as they glance at me, smiling, something red and sharp and glittering thrusts out of George's left eye.
Even as Lydia shrieks, I'm seizing the banshee who stabbed him, grabbing her by the throat and throwing her on her back. Speaking the Life-Stealing spell. I split her powers from her Life-Stream, and I suck in her days, every last one. She sinks lifeless beneath me with a sigh.
Revenge isn't enough. If I could spit out some years, give them to George, I would; but he's gone. Lydia sits on the back of the druid they knocked out, frozen in shock.
"Lydia, you have to move." She nods and tries to pick up George, to bring him with her.
"No," I say. "No, he has to stay here. Please, Lydia. Go back to Eric and Tom."
Wordless, broken, she wanders away, just as a hooded druid charges me. I spin, slamming into the druid with all the force of my anger.
"Soul-Stealer!" someone calls.
I hear the shout as the druid before me crumples, hood flying off, exposing a sheet of purple hair. For a second I'm stunned. "June."
"Soul-Stealer!" The voice is nearer, more insistent. It's one of the pixies, tugging on my arm. "The Far Darrig sent me. He said I was to remind you to drink, and to check the time."
Time. Drink. Those words should mean something to me.
"Come," says the pixie, insistent. "Come."
She pulls me to the edge of the room, to a space that's clear of fighters for the moment. I take the water bottle she thrusts into my hand and I drink— and then I realize how thirsty I am and I drink more. I didn't bring my phone to the fight, but I have a watch. It's melted from pooka flames, though.
"Do you have the time?" I ask the pixie.
"It's midnight," she says.
It's been five hours since sunset already. But sunrise won't happen for another eight hours.
I feel suddenly sick and exhausted. "We're not going to make it."
"Don't say that," says the pixie. "We have to." But I can see in her eyes that she knows I'm right. Many of the druids are bloodied and beaten, and some are unconscious, but too many are still on their feet, wielding their bottles of blood and flasks of other fluids, casting spells. Even now I see a pixie explode— just explode on the spot, chunks of flesh spattering the others around him with gore. One of their pooka catches another pixie with a blast of flame; the next second the pooka goes down, with a Lianhan Sídhe on his back, slicing his throat.
We have to keep fighting, so I jump back into the mess of bodies and weapons and spells. A cluricaun slashes my thigh, a burning seam of pain that splits the muscle. I can't dance or fight as well because of the wound, but I do my best.
We're lucky that none of the Fae or druids on the other side are any better at fighting than we are. We have a physical advantage because of our training with Tom and Eric; but they're better with spells.
We might make it, if we could just break down their lines enough to get through that wall and rescue Ériu and Arden. And if the Heart of the Earth stays out of their reach. Zane must be many miles away by now; and if the druids had another stone, they would have already used it.
There is hope.
Suddenly June is facing me again. I don't know how long ago I knocked her out, but she's back for vengeance now. The lights of the cavern glitter on her long knife, her facial studs, and her gritted teeth. Blood stains the shaved side of her head.
First she tries a spell, but I'm protected with a blood ward, a shield knot, and the voodoo paquet Zane gave me. She lunges for me, knife darting, her purple hair swinging. I whirl and try to kick her, but she sidesteps into my space and drives the knife into my left shoulder. I scream and drop my blade from that hand. Kicking the second knife from my other hand, she darts behind me, seizing me in a vicious chokehold.
"Korrigan," she says fiercely in my ear. "This is for Stanley."
She's
squeezing, cutting off my breath. I feel like arching back to gain air space, but if I do I'll be off balance— she'll drag me to the ground and then slit my throat. Through the panic and the darkness at the edges of my vision, I try to remember what Zane and I practiced. It seems so long ago.
Chin down to my clavicle. A rapid crouch, leaning forward, pushing my hips back, all one motion. Elbows pointing down to my knees, yanking hard on June's throttling arm. Keeping my fingers tight together, I jab upward at her eyes. My left arm doesn't work well because of the shoulder wound, but my right hand hits the mark— I feel the squish of her eyeball against my fingertips.
She screams, and I whirl away as she slashes wildly at me with her knife. I don't have time for a spell; I react the only way I know how, spinning into a dance move and walloping the side of her head with a powerful kick. Something cracks, and her eyes slide out of focus as she falls. I'm crashing to the ground, too— the pain in my thigh and the force of the kick threw me off-balance— and I land right on my wounded shoulder. For a second I black out.
Then I'm awake again, collecting my knives and slipping them back in their sheaths, crawling away from the fight, out from under all the stamping feet and the volleys of spells shooting back and forth. Patches of flame shoot from a pixie's fingers, spell-thrown, but the druid who was the target spits out a counter-spell and the flames evaporate halfway to their mark. The Fae may have powers, but the druids are strong with their own brand of magic.
I crouch by the wall, half-hidden from the battle by the body of a dead pooka. It's getting unbearably hot in here. Not enough air for all the bodies, not enough ventilation to release all the heat of the pooka flames. I'm sweating, panting, dizzy, and I can tell that some of the pixies are feeling it, too. Even as the music ramps up its rhythm again, their movements are slowing.
I think I'm going to pass out again, and in this crowd, that means death. I take my water bottle from the small pack on my back. But before I can drink, there's a commotion at the entrance to the cavern.
A dullahan thunders into the room, riding through the dancing pixies and the spell-casting druids, heedless of who he tramples along the way. His head glides high above him, cackling and screeching, "Heart of the Earth! Heart of the Earth!"
Lying across the headless rider's lap is Zane. The pack with the stone is still on his back, but his face is what terrifies me. He wears a look of frozen horror, his eyes fixed and glassy, mouth open and jaw rigid. Like something literally scared him stiff.
Behind the dullahan glides a tall figure in a white suit, excruciatingly thin, its pale thin fingertips set against each other. Its thin neck swivels back and forth, turning its oblong head this way and that. When it turns in our direction, I see a glistening white blank instead of a face. No mouth, no nose, just two black pinpoints for eyes.
In spite of the pounding music, in the middle of the fighting, everyone in the crowd pauses and moves away, clearing a path for the creature. It crosses the cave floor with tiny, quick steps, almost like the mincing movements of a ballet dancer.
"Amadán Dubh," gasps one of the pixies, the girl who made me drink the water.
"What?"
She looks at me, sheer terror in her eyes. "Unseelie Fae," she says. "If it locks eyes with you, it can paralyze you or make you insane. But it— it can't be here. They shouldn't exist anymore."
"Zane!" The cry bursts out of me, and I rush forward. But the dullahan carrying him is already passing through the opening in the wall.
And the Amadán Dubh turns to face me, cocking its head to one side.
I'm shaking with exhaustion and fear, but I step forward, and I speak the Life-Stealing spell in the strongest voice I can muster.
Nothing happens. The creature prances toward me with tiny quick steps, thin white fingers twitching, reaching.
Unseelie Fae. Maybe my Korrigan magic doesn't affect it.
It's creeping nearer, nearer.
Why can't I think of that fire spell Kieran taught me?
The pixies back up, away from me, leaving me to my fate.
I take out both my knives, and as its fingers reach for me, I slash; but the Amadán Dubh is faster, and it pulls back just in time, tilting its head again. Quickly I look away.
"Hey!" A voice from the other side of the cavern, and someone steps forward— a tall, dark-skinned figure with a thick mass of black braids over one shoulder. She's streaked with blood and sweat, but she holds up the glittering, dripping machete and says, "Come and get it, you ugly son of a bitch."
Laurel. I laugh, out of pure relief that she's still alive.
The Amadán Dubh swerves, lightning quick, and patters toward her.
"No!" I leap after it, and as it reaches out to grab her, I sink both my knives into its shoulders. It falls, its fingernails grazing her chest; and I crash to the floor on top of it.
And then its blank face swivels completely around and looks at me. I'm staring into those blank, black pinpoints of eyes, and a voice in my head starts to scream.
A flash, a splatter. Something wet on my face. Laurel grabs my shoulder and pulls me to my feet, off the Amadán Dubh. It lies headless where she struck it down.
"Thanks, friend!" I say, wiping blood off my face. "You're a badass."
Her dark eyes are fierce. "You're pretty tough yourself. Now let's get through that wall. I think they're about to start the ritual."
The druids and pixies around us all look about half-dead. I suppose the magic use is taking a toll on everyone, especially the humans.
"Take them down!" I yell to the pixies who are still on their feet. "Knock them out, kill them— just keep them off our backs!"
The pixies and the Lianhan Sídhe rally and move toward the druids, but there are still three human-form pooka guarding the gap in the wall where Zane and the dullahan disappeared. Laurel and I race toward them, weapons ready, and as they intake breath to scorch us with a rash of blue fire, I cry out the Life-Stealing spell. And I run the blade of my knife down my ribs. The blood flows from my ribs and thigh, and the pain flows, and I use the power to boost my spell. This is going to weaken me— it will probably finish me, but I have to break through. I have to open the way to the gate, or no one will be able to get in to stop the ritual.
I catch the golden Life-Stream of the pooka in my hands. I don't want their powers— why would I need to breathe fire? So I rip the power stream away from each and focus on the years alone. As I absorb their days, my body begins to glow golden, and I hear gasps and screams from some of the druids left in the cavern. A few of them actually fall to their knees and give up, right there.
The pooka fall, empty shells. I'm still feeling the rush of drinking their lives, but I know it won't last.
"Hurry, Laurel!" I call, and together we run through the gap in the wall.
There's a strange silence in this deeper half of the cavern, as if a spell has been cast to block sound from the other side of the wall.
Twenty druids stand in a half-circle around the stone altar. Ériu lies chained to it, her beautiful face mottled with bruises and her dress torn open. They have set the Heart of the Earth on her chest; I can tell its weight is making it hard for her to breathe. Between her parted legs lies the gigantic leg bone of the demon, Wynnie's dead beast.
Malcolm stands on the other side of the altar, opposite us, in the center of the half-circle of druids. He's wiping his glasses on his robes.
"Right on time," he says. "About six more hours till dawn, plenty of time to get this done."
Laurel and I advance, but Malcolm laughs and motions to one of the druids in the circle, who speaks a quick series of words and thrusts his hand toward Laurel, palm out.
And that's when I see that Laurel's neck is bare. In the scuffle with the Amadán Dubh, she must have lost her amulet, the ward protecting her from druid magic.
She chokes, and her eyes roll back white in her head. I rush to catch her as she falls.
"Don't worry," says Malcolm. "She's alive. She
'll live long enough to be a nice appetizer for the demons when they arrive."
"You're the demon," I snarl, standing up. "Where is Arden?"
"Here." Her voice is barely a croak. She's lying on her stomach some distance away. She's been hogtied, and she looks bruised and battered just like Ériu. Even further behind her, in the shadows by the cavern wall, lies Zane— not tied with any visible ropes, but equally helpless. The dullahan who brought him rushes past me, back through the gap in the wall, holding its leering head under one arm.
"You're going to pay for what you've done to them," I say, stepping forward, knives held in my clenched hands. But as I open my mouth to speak the Life-Stealing spell and end them, every one of the druids begins chanting at once. There's a terrible buzzing from the blood-drawn ward on my chest, and the Celtic knot amulet I wear begins to burn my skin like fire. And then I can't speak. My voice is gone, stolen. My defenses are down, broken, and without them I'm completely vulnerable when they speak the next spell— one that binds my body and leaves me motionless.
"Good," says Malcolm. "None of that unpleasant soul-sucking business in here. We've got work to do, ladies and gentlemen."
He's talking to them as if I'm not there, giving instructions, handing out supplies.
At first, I panic. I feel like a prisoner in my own skin, invisibly bound and gagged, unable to speak or move. This spell, woven by all of them, is like iron bars around my body, too powerful for me to break through. My breath comes fast and frantic.
And then I hear it.
The softest whisper at my ear. A faint, familiar scent in the stuffy air of the cavern.
"Aislinn."
He's here. Finally, Kieran is here.
And with his presence comes the certainty that I can break through any spell they've bound me with, because once, months ago, I resisted him. And at his full strength, he is more powerful than all of them.
I reach deep inside myself, to the root of all that makes me who I am— Korrigan, druid, power-stealer, dancer, leader, killer. But at the burning center of me, I am a survivor, a fighter. And I am a woman who loves a man.
Samhain Page 24
