If we die, we die together.
Slowly, surely, I'm pushing the druids' spell off my skin. Kieran is probably nearing the end of his magical energy, and the longer he stays invisible, the faster it will drain away.
Fiercely I try harder; I push the magic outward and roll it away from me. I feel it dissipate, but I don't move yet. I just whisper, through my lips, "When?"
And he answers, "Now."
When he appears, we move together, as if we planned it. He lunges at the druid nearest us on the right, and I take the one at the other end of the semi-circle, on the left. They're startled, so the first two fall quickly, one with my knife stuck so deep in his chest that I can't get it back out. Kieran isn't using magic— he must be nearly drained of power, but he's doing just fine with his fists, striking and lunging. I swing around behind the next druid in the line, trying to get a firm hold on him, wrenching at his jaw with one of my hands and digging my fingers into his eye socket with the other.
And then, over my victim's screams, I hear Arden wailing. A piercing, keening cry of despair and heartbreak and loss.
Kieran echoes the cry with one of his own— it's ripped out of him like a half-sob, half-scream.
Ériu's throat has been opened, and her blood is pouring out onto the altar. Malcolm is wrist deep in it, drawing patterns on her body, chanting the ritual. The rest of the druids chant with him, a deep, thrumming chorus of voices.
And the great seam in the cavern wall trembles. A shower of dust and pebbles shake from the ceiling, and the floor rumbles under our feet.
The druid I'm fighting falls, clutching his ruined eye, and I leap for the next one, slashing wildly at her neck. My only thought is to stop the voices, stop the chanting. If I can stop the chanting, this won't happen. The gate won't open.
Another shudder reverberates through the cavern, and more stones tumble from the wall, near the seam.
"Aislinn!" Kieran yells. "Get the stone!"
At the same moment Malcolm paints a swath of Ériu's blood down the length of the demon's leg bone. There's a ripping, cracking sound, and a black line about three feet long runs from the cave floor up the pale seam of rock. The gate is beginning to open.
I'm at the altar in a second, gripping the stone— Malcolm has hold of it too, from the other side, trying to wrench it free from my hands. "Láidreacht," I say, but my magic is spent. I have no strength left, not human or Fae. My fingers slip from the bloody stone, and I crumple beside the altar.
From the doorway in the half-wall behind me comes a great roar, and the stone floor shudders as huge hooves strike rock. Over my head leaps the form of a gigantic black goat with curving horns, and it knocks Malcolm down, away from the altar. Shaking, I manage to pull myself up and heave the Heart of the Earth off Ériu's chest. It falls to the floor with a crash and splits in half.
But the crack in the Gate is lengthening, creeping higher up the seam in the wall.
"It's not stopping!" I call to Kieran. He finishes choking out another druid— the rest of them are breaking their circle, running for the gap in the barrier.
Ross's huge goat form is still on top of Malcolm. Neither of them are moving— strange, because if that crack opens further, they're going to be the first ones eaten.
Kieran comes to the altar, and I see tears shining wet on his cheeks. He picks up the demon-bone and speaks the Dragon-Fire spell, burning it to ash. His face goes white from the effort— he's as spent as I am.
And still the crack runs upward; it's several feet long now.
I look into Kieran's eyes, and I see despair in them. He knows we have lost.
I can't bear to see his beautiful face with that hopeless look. Not when I've seen him happy, vibrant, full of life— like the day we visited Ainmire and the other kelpies at their lake on the mountaintop. The day we first heard the prophecy of Samhain.
The old is becoming new. The hidden will leap from their holes, and the hunted will seek for prey. A door will be opened, and can only be shut by blood.
By blood.
"Kieran, the blood, remember? We can shut the door with the blood of the sacrifice."
Understanding dawns on his face, and he shakes his head. He can't do what I'm asking him to do.
It takes every ounce of strength, every iota of energy I have left. I rip off my shirt, and I soak it in Ériu's blood, pooled around her on the altar. Running to the crack, I paint across it with the blood. Back and forth, back and forth.
"Deireadh," I say, the word to end a spell. "Deireadh."
Going back, I sop up more blood. Spread it over the seam, from the floor as high up as I can reach.
Finally Kieran comes to help me, smearing Ériu's blood high above my head, up to the top of the crack. When his blood-stained fingers touch the tip of it, the rock wall shudders again, and with a loud snap, the split in the seam closes. It's whole again, smooth under the shining blood. Not a crack to be seen.
And all is still.
I stand there, my hands red, blood staining my chest and my stomach. Kieran faces me, eyes wild and weary, the blood of the woman he loved like a sister dripping from his fingers.
He's going to hate me now. He's going to blame me for her death.
I was the one who kept him from going to her. Kept him from protecting her, insisted that we focus on battle plans. And now she's gone.
I turn away from him, from those ancient silver eyes brimming with yet another grief. I can't bear the knowledge that this one is my fault.
And when I turn, I see death again.
Ross is still on top of Malcolm. One of his goat's hooves crushed Malcolm's ribcage to a pulp; and Malcolm's sacrificial knife is deeply embedded in Ross's heart.
I will not cry. Not now. Not when Arden is moaning, heartbroken, from her place on the floor; and when Zane lies frozen in madness or terror just steps away.
With my knife, I cut Arden's ropes. She doesn't even get up; she lies there, sobbing, her tears running over her bruised cheeks and darkly wetting the gray stone floor.
When I reach Zane, I kneel and cup his handsome face in my hands. My fingers leave trails of blood down his cheeks.
"Zane. Wake up, please."
He's staring at me, breathing but sightless, petrified, his body rigid. I don't know how to break him out of whatever spell he's under.
"There's nothing you can do for him," says Kieran from behind me. "The curse of the Amadán Dubh is permanent. It's paralysis, and madness."
"But you— you didn't warn me about the Amadán Dubh."
"I didn't know. They shouldn't exist anymore."
"No. No, it can't be permanent. He still has a life to live, things to do. He's going be a cop, and get married, and have little cute kids..."
Behind me, I hear movement, a moan. I turn and it's Laurel, coming out of whatever spell the druids threw at her. And past her, through the gap, I see some of our allies trickling into the room— pixies, a merrow or two. A few of the Lianhan Sídhe.
Wailing, the Lianhan Sídhe rush upon Ross's body, stroking his fur, running their fingers along the curves of his horns. I recognize them from the club, and from his rooms. Their grief is loud, dramatic. Mine feels hollow and dry. I'm too empty to cry for Zane, too tired to wail for him. I sit by his side, my empty hands useless.
Laurel kneels beside me. "What do we do for him?"
"Nothing," I say. "Kieran says there's nothing we can do."
"Screw that," she says. "There's always something. Whip out a spell, or grab one of the druids and make them fix him."
"Laurel, it's not going to work," says Kieran gently.
She stands and whirls to face him in one fluid motion. "So what, you're not even gonna try?"
"I've seen this before," he says. "It can't be undone."
She slaps him, right across the cheek, hard. "Screw you!"
"Laurel!" I jump up and stand in front of him. Why are the tears coming now? My jaw shakes so I can hardly speak. "It's not his fault."
&nb
sp; She faces us, breathing hard for a minute, and then she sinks to the floor beside Zane, and I join her, and we cry together.
As I'm crying, I begin to be aware of the tortured mass of pain formerly known as my body. I've been cut, burned, bruised, stabbed, and completely exhausted. I'm going to fade soon, pass out completely while my magical energy recharges. Already I can see spots of black floating in front of my eyes.
Sitting beside me, Kieran doesn't look so great himself. His shirt is in ribbons, and there's a big slash across his chest— it looks shallow, but it has bled all over his ribs and stomach. He has a cut across his cheekbone, and another at his neck, and part of his jeans have been burned away— there's a huge, raw, red-and-black burn on his leg. No Ériu to heal him this time. I wonder if the wounds will scar.
Suddenly I feel a change in the air, a faint prickling over my skin.
Magic.
"Well met, Aislinn. Far Darrig." It's Badb's rich voice.
Kieran pulls himself up with difficulty; I can tell it hurts him to stand, but he manages that and a bow of respect.
I can't. I just can't.
Kieran reaches his hand to me, a red glove of Ériu's blood coating it. I glance up at him, expecting to see displeasure, anger, reproach for her death. But he's looking at me with nothing but sympathy and love.
I put my left hand in his. The claddagh ring I wear is stained with blood, too, but I remember what it means, and I stand as close to him as I can, against his side, with his arm around me.
The Morrígna pause at the altar. They are dressed in gowns the color of blood, with crows' feathers arranged like crowns in their hair. Around the edges of the room, the rest of our allies gather, and all of the survivors are battered, singed, and wounded like us. A few druids are hauled in, gagged and bound. Their eyes tell me they have no will to fight anymore.
"I am Nemain of the Morrígna, Venom of Armies and Crier of Death," says the oldest of the Fates, her voice echoing through the room, to the furthest reaches of the crowd.
"I am Badb, the Raven, Queen of Banshees and Harbinger of War."
"I am Macha, Bane of Men and the Sovereign of Sickness."
"On this day you have won a great victory," says Badb. "The Second Gate is shut. We will seal it ourselves, and our world will be safe from the Aos Sí. Aislinn Soul-Stealer, and Far Darrig, Curse-Maker, you are released from your debt of souls."
A tingle on the back of my hand makes me look down. The blue swirl is fading, disappearing. I look at Kieran and I want to smile, but I can't. Not yet.
"Thank you," I say, stepping forward. "But please, is there anything you can do— for Ériu, or for Zane."
"Ériu's line is already cut," says Nemain, watching me from under her sagging eyelids. "You would have us stitch on another's life to lengthen hers?"
"She could have some of mine," I say. "Please. And Zane, he's— the Amadán Dubh paralyzed him. See?" I move so they have a clear view of his body.
"Ah, the Seer," says Macha. "A beautiful human, so strong of heart. It is a pity." She glances at her sisters, and the look is like a question. Badb nods once.
"One boon will we grant," says Nemain reluctantly. "To do more would be to interfere beyond our roles. You may have the soul of either Ériu or this Seer child."
I can't look at Kieran. I can't ask him to do this, to give up his friend and sister of centuries, for my human ex-boyfriend, the guy he wanted dead just a few months ago.
But he's already speaking, his voice hollow. "Ériu had millennia. This boy has had less than two decades. She would want it to be him."
"And so it is," says Nemain. She walks over to Zane, her red gown swishing across the bloodstained floor and brushing aside the ashes of the demon bone. When she reaches him, she crouches and lays one wrinkled hand on his forehead and another on his heart.
"Seer," she says. "Awake."
25
BREAKING
Zane
Blood. Bones.
Bits of my brain unraveling, spiraling through the air in front of me.
A vein, pulsing by itself in the dark.
Something following me, no don't follow me, I've already been cut apart, please leave me alone
Screaming
Roaring a roaring a roaring in my head
Heart ripped out pulsing in front of me, it's mine, put it back in, please put it back
Black, shot with red.
A flash of white. Eye? Bone? Laughter in my brain.
This is hell, and it goes on and on and on my friends and it never ends, it never never ends
And then
Silence.
The pieces of my mind are far, very far away from each other.
Slowly they are coming back. Something draws them, a voice maybe, or a magnet. I laugh inside because a huge magnet drawing back together the pieces of my mind-- it's funny.
And then, they all snap back into place, and I'm me again.
Whole. Here.
I can think. I can hear and see.
And the first thing I see is anxious green eyes in a dirty, blood-smeared face. Red hair, coming out of its braid and sticking to a pale forehead and neck.
"Zane?"
I recognize it as my name. But I can't find hers yet. The pathways are still reforming in my head.
A darker face next to hers. Black braids, full lips. I try hard, and I find the name for this one. Laurel. Her name, her face, they're familiar, with years of friendship behind them.
"Laurel," I say, and it feels like coming home. I realize that I have a hand, attached to my body, and I reach for her with it. She lunges for me, gathering my head and shoulders in her arms, her lips meeting mine.
When she kisses me, I come back to myself, all the way. I remember Aislinn, I remember why we're here in this cavern, and I know I was gone, lost somewhere in a void, until someone put me back together.
Behind Laurel and Aislinn stand three women— it's not hard to guess that they're the Fates— and Kieran.
"Your boon is granted," says one of the Fates to him. "The Seer's mind has been returned."
Kieran nods and says "Thank you" in a broken voice. Near him, Arden lies on the floor, sobbing.
"What happened?" I ask.
"We stopped the gate from opening," says Aislinn. "But Ériu is dead, and so are many of the others."
Ériu. Dead. The goddess, the healer. Now I know why Arden is so broken-hearted. And Kieran— he and Ériu were close.
"I'm sorry, man," I tell him.
He nods once and walks away, toward a big stone altar. Blood runs down the side of it in thin rivulets, red against the gray stone.
"I'm going to— I can't help it—" says Aislinn suddenly, and she passes out right there on the floor in front of me. Laurel looks terrified.
"She's got to recharge her magic," I say. "She'll be okay." But I'm not sure that any of us will. We've all got serious wounds, like hospital-worthy damage.
A handful of the pixies have real jobs as paramedics or nurses or doctors. Kieran gave them instructions to stay back till the end of the battle and then come in to help, and they arrive a few minutes later with their gear. We were counting on saving Ériu and having her there to help with healing, but that's not gonna happen now, so we have to make do with what we've got.
I'm bruised, and I have a headache like a jackhammer pounding in my head, but I'm one of the more able-bodied ones, so I help with the corpses that litter the cavern. All but a few of the surviving druids and their allies have slunk away, so it's just us, and our dead, and their dead.
Kieran questions the remaining druids about how to strip a Korrigan's Life-Stream. "If you want to live," he says, smiling in that scary way he has, "you'll tell me what I need to know."
I'm busy carrying bodies outside, so I don't watch the whole thing— but there are a few screams, and cracking bones, before they give in and talk. When he's satisfied, they stagger out of the cavern as fast as they can go, clutching their broken fingers.
The druids can't be trusted to guard the gate any longer, so Badb assigns a couple of banshees to prowl the area and scare off anyone who might come by. She and the other Fates perform the ritual to seal the gate permanently, but they don't help out with any of the cleanup. Once the ritual is complete, they wander from grave to grave outside the cave, to honor the dead Fae.
Kieran refuses to let us bury the dead druids and their Fae friends. Instead, he gets some of the pooka to help him pile those bodies right in front of the white seam in the wall, blocking the blood-painted crack. "A deterrent," he says, "for the next time the stars line up and some idiot wants to try to open the gate."
I think it's damn creepy, but I don't argue with him. He looks like he might crack any second and do something crazy— or crazier than usual.
Burying the dead takes hours, thanks to the dark, and the cold, and the rocky soil of the forest. It's not like in the movies, where we can just burn the bodies and be done with it. Can't do that out in the woods, especially not in a protected zone where there are supposedly endangered bats. I haven't seen a single bat. Probably just a story made up by the druids guarding the place.
When it comes time to bury Ériu, Kieran handles the body himself. He won't let anyone else touch her, or shovel the dirt into the hole; and he lays a stone over the spot, writing on it in Gaelic with his own blood.
Little by little, the surviving Fae leave the mountain and hike back to the road, to their cars. Most of our allies made it through the battle. They'll have scars, but they're alive.
Finally Laurel comes up to me. She's so tired she's actually trembling. "Hey, Z. Think we could head out now?"
I nod. "How's Aislinn?"
"Good. One of the pixies bandaged her up. She's still sleeping."
"Awesome." I take a second look at Laurel. In spite of the blood and sweat, man, she looks amazing. Super strong, and super hot. Like some kind of slayer chick, right out of a movie. "You kicked ass last night, huh?"
She touches the long knife at her belt. "I kinda did. Felt good, and horrible at the same time."
Samhain Page 25
