Page 14 of The Dark Will Fall (Twilight Lake #5)

Maeve Cruinn

Forward, backwards. Left, right.

I paced the clearing, trying to decide which way to go.

I was never very good at deciding.

I didn’t have much experience in making my own choices. Ever since I was a youngling, after my mother had passed, I’d been told where to stand. What to say. What to eat and when.

The forest was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. If I fell over, I wouldn’t have known the ground from the sky.

What was the point of opening my eyes at all, in such darkness?

Which way ?

Any was better than none.

I chose forward.

The moment I put one foot in front of the other, the leaves gave way. A path formed, of compacted dirt and stones. The path was lighter than the forest floor, giving me some semblance of direction.

If there’s a path, perhaps, there’s a destination . I reasoned to myself.

The darkness watched me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I kept moving as fast as I could without breaking into a run. Whatever hid in the shadows was a predator, and predators gave chase when prey ran.

Sweat clung to my brow and rolled into my eyes, burning. My breath caught in my lungs, and my heartbeat roared in my ears.

I had spent what amounted to weeks with Cormac Illfinn in the lagoon, and he had not shown a single sign of weakness. No hunger twisting his stomach, or thirst clogging his throat. He did not sleep, not like I did. All of my shortcomings compounded, leaving me faint.

Something rustled in the darkness.

The only sound in the empty forest was my labored breath.

I stopped and spun on my heel, searching wildly in every direction for the source of the sound.

If Manannán mac Lir was testing me, would he send a beast for me to fight? Or a puzzle for me to solve?

I had no idea what a ‘trial’ meant to a god.

“That path is dangerous .” A voice whispered, bouncing around my skull. “ Perhaps, you should take the road less traveled...”

Fear lodged in my heart like an arrow.

“No,” I whispered, without realizing it.

I’d learned the hard way that I couldn’t trust the voices in my head.

Gritting my teeth, I marched forward. Fists clenched, as my instincts screamed about the predator in the darkness.

“Are you sure you’re going the right way?”

I wasn’t sure, but I’d picked a path and I intended to stick to it.

“ You can always change your mind .”

“For feck sake!” I snapped. “I’m going this way!”

Something chuckled in the darkness. The sound was no longer in my mind but had manifested physically.

I could only see an outline. A shadow within the shadow.

The shadow extended a hand until a green flame burst into existence. I’d grown so accustomed to the darkness that the flame seared my retinas, leaving an afterimage even when I closed my eyes and looked away.

The stranger was male, with eyes as green as the flame in his palm. Pale face, pointed Fae ears, and a cloak made of living darkness. His face held the kind of beauty that made my stomach hurt with longing and grief.

I did not recognize his face, despite his good looks and the knowing expression in his eyes.

Cormac has green eyes . I thought to myself, as I was locked in the stranger's gaze.

Somehow, Cormac Illfinn’s face, floating to the forefront of my mind, broke whatever spell the stranger held over me.

I frowned and stepped back. I gripped my chest.

I’d almost forgotten Cormac.

I felt him inside my chest. If my heart were a fiddle, then Cormac was one of the strings.

But there were three others.

Why were there three others ?

“I have to get home,” I said.

“Are you sure this path will get you there?” The stranger asked, with a smile in his eyes.

“It's none of your concern.” I squinted, tilting my chin to look down my nose at him.

“Ah.” He waggled a finger. “But you’re in my domain, God-Child.”

“Your domain?” I wrinkled my nose.

“That's an unfortunate habit.” He gestured to my nose. “It gives away your thoughts.”

I rolled my eyes. “Manannán mac Lir sent me here.”

“Did he now?” The stranger cocked his head to the side. “To the Mistéireach ?”

I didn’t answer.

He sniffed the air. “You reek of salt water and blood.”

I lowered my nose to my shoulder and gave a discreet sniff. The stranger caught the motion, even in the darkness, and laughed with much more force than I would have liked.

My jaw hardened as the stranger held his belly and threw his head back, as if I had done the funniest thing in the world.

“Belisama’s ilk.” He guessed, snapping his fingers and pointing at me. “You may call me Ruadán. It seems that I have been tasked as your guide.”

“Are you a god?” I asked. “One of the Tuatha Dé Danann?”

“Aren’t we all? I was once, I think.” Ruadán smiled wryly. “Though I don’t think you are. Not truly. One foot in the Aos Sí, and another in the Mistéireach. ”

“Do you know my mother?” Hope entered my voice, like a raindrop in the ocean.

He ignored my question. “Are you sure you want to walk this path, god-child?” He glanced at the compacted dirt as he began to walk. “There are less painful ones.”

My brow wrinkled, and I thought to myself for a moment. I didn’t know why, but something about the path felt right .

“I’m sure.” I nodded as I followed the strange man into the forest.

The light of the moon broke free from the canopy of branches above my head, as the scent of wood smoke and cooked meat filled my nostrils. The stranger sauntered through the undergrowth without making a sound.

We reached a break in the trees. Another clearing, but bathed in the orange light of a fire. Warmth washed over me, highlighting how cold I had been without even realizing it.

I glanced at Ruadán, but he was gone.

I froze, searching the shadows, but found nothing.

“Is someone there?” A frail voice drifted from the fire.

My heart leaped to my throat.

The clearing was no longer empty. A hut made of sturdy wood, and a log bench by the fireside.

A teapot hung over the flames, on a hook.

A female fae warmed her hands by the fire.

Pointed ears and floor-length silver hair.

A face free of wrinkles, and a cloak around her shoulders.

She searched the clearing with milky eyes.

When I shifted from one foot to the other, she found the source of the sound immediately—turning to face me.

“Did Ruadán bring a guest?” The blind woman asked, her voice as delicate as the wind in the trees.

I cleared my throat. “Hello.” My tongue tripped over the word.

Relief settled over her features. “Come, God-child. Sit. Have some tea.”

I studied the camp, waiting for some unknown instinct to tell me what to do. When I found no hint or unspoken sign, I walked over to the fire and sat on the end of the log.

“I can’t stay long,” I told her, rubbing my arms. “I have to get back.”

“Where?” She smiled, the fire reflected in her milky eyes. “To Manannán mac Lir? Or to the Aos Sí?”

“How do you know about that?” I frowned.

“The Mistéireach whispers.” She nodded knowingly, waving the fragrant smoke in front of her face. “If you can’t remember, perhaps, sit a spell. The smoke has a way of revealing the truth.”

“What does the smoke tell you?” I wondered.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “That one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, a god banished long ago, has placed a mark on you.”

I reached up, rubbing the skin over my heart, though I didn’t know why.

She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Not that mark.” She placed her fingers to the column of her throat. “You’re all fragmented. A broken Silver, without a destination. There were places you were meant to go. Things to do, but it's all muddled.”

“Are you a soothsayer?” I asked.

The woman tittered a laugh to herself. “ No .” She shook her head before finding a second wind of mirth. “But the Aos Sí has been written. The Fae have been born and remade more times than I can count.”

“What about the Tuatha Dé Danann?”

“Gods don’t change.” She reached for the long branch at her side and used it to pull the teapot from the hook. “No matter how much they might want to.”

“Sídhe don’t change much either,” I told her.

She barked a laugh. “I suppose it seems that way. Sometimes you have to walk backward to truly see.”

“Did Balor mark me?” I asked.

The woman searched the ground, muttering about cups. “Balor?” She repeated the name a few times. “I haven’t heard that name in an age.”

“Balor in the Aos Sí,” I told her.

She nodded approvingly. “You’re remembering.”

“Balor killed... Ah! ” I cried out in pain, pressing the heel of my palm against my forehead.

“How did you die?” The woman asked, finding a cup by her foot. “Did Balor kill you?”

“No.” My brow creased. “The Kraken’s eye. Cormac reached for it. He... He reached for it ...”

“And then?” She poured the tea and handed me the cup. The tea was sharp but not unpleasant.

“He turned to foam, and I went with him.”

“There is a moment when a soul moves through the ether.” She nodded approvingly. “It's a hole the size of a pinprick. You must have been mixed up nicely to have wormed your way through.”

“Who are you?” I squinted.

“You may call me Bríd.” She searched for another cup. “Balor has a weakness, you know.”

“They do?” I sat up straight.

“The gods called him the Scorching Sun .” Bríd gestured for me to drink. “He could destroy any being, any stronghold with a single look from that horrid red eye of his. The sky turned white, and destruction followed.”

“We call him Balor of the Deep, in the Aos Sí,” I added. “I didn’t see his eye. Just... Holes.”

“Many years ago,” She rubbed her face. “Balor brought the Fomorians here, promising them a new home in the Tuatha Dé Danann. He wanted the throne and killed Nuada to do it.”

“Nuada...” I echoed.

The Siren Queen’s face floated before my eyes. Her endless black eyes and dark wings.

Bríd sighed. “We all make mistakes.”

“Killing the ruler of the Tuatha Dé Danann was a mistake?” I scoffed. “I’d say that’s too light a word.”