Page 24 of The Dark Will Fall (Twilight Lake #5)

Maeve Cruinn

The Dagda swept past us as he made his way to Manannán mac Lir.

His words echoed through my skull, though they made no sense.

Daughter ?

My mother had told me many stories when I was young. Some were more fantastical than others. Stories of gods, and the birth of the Aos Sí. That the Dagda’s song was so beautiful, Belisama’s tears flowed at the sound of it and formed the Twilight Lake.

The Dagda had once been the ruler of the Tuatha Dé Danann, just as Nuada had ruled before him.

His cloak dragged on the floor, his long dark hair rippling in the sunlight. His steps were sure as he approached Manannán mac Lir at the head of the Quorum.

The Dagda held out his hand, waiting. No one spoke. No one moved.

The sea extended as far as the eye could see. The platform in the arid sun, perched on an orange mountain. There were no clouds, and not a bird in the sky.

A dark spot grew closer on the horizon, whistling through the air. The Dagda snatched his staff as it shot toward his heart like an arrow. The gnarled stick, burnt on one end, and flowering on the other.

I had heard of Dagda’s staff. One of his three tools. The staff, the cauldron, and his harp.

His staff was made of light and dark.

Life and death.

The Dagda turned to face the other gods, his eyes entirely grey. Stone.

Cormac spoke first. “ Eochaid Ollathair .” He cursed.

I remembered the words, but the memory was obscured by a veil, and I struggled to grasp it.

The Dagda nodded once. “Yes, Mer.” His stony eyes softened. “I was cursed, just as you were.”

My mother stood, her hands to her mouth. Her chair squeaked against the stone platform before falling over. The noise was awkward, imperfect. The superior image of the Tuatha Dé Danann and the gods was dissolving further by the minute.

Belisama let out a sob as she rushed toward Dagda, her arms outstretched. “My love.” She cooed. “I searched for you, from Boyne Valley to the Blackwater. We had such a short time together in the Aos Sí. But a glancing visit.”

The Dagda closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to steady himself. He reached out and cupped my mother’s cheek. “I never left the Aos Sí, though I had to leave you.”

A year rolled down my mother’s cheek. “Far be it from me to question you—”

“Just as you were killed at the hands of Balor, I too was a victim of her wrath.” The Dagda’s brow furrowed. “My vessel, a young Undine named Calder Drip, had left behind a mate.”

Belisama gasped. “ Yes . Yes, I think I remember.”

“It was the heartbreak of Calder Drip’s death that allowed Balor to worm her way into Elaine Abyssal’s heart. Though you know her as Elaine Cruinn.” The Dagda shook his head. “But it was Elaine who chose the punishment.”

“You were punished for taking a vessel?” Taranis stood, his face puce with anger.

The Quorum grew loud in outrage.

A shrill laugh cut through the din.

Brígid stood, her fingertips brushing against the back of her chair as she approached the basin in the center of the audience.

“ The Deep wanders in darkness. Their mind twisted and gone. The only mind a monster claims, it’s broken, hurt, and wrong .

” Her cloudy eyes gazed up at the sky, and her voice was remarkably childlike, despite her elderly appearance.

“ The Deep took Dagda’s eyes, and forced him, beak and claw, for only blood can break the curse, and open the Gods' door. ”

“The Kraken,” I whispered, my hands shook.

Dagda met my eyes. “Yes.” He stated unapologetically.

“ You were the Kraken?” My voice cracked.

I had made a bargain with the ruler, the God-King of the Tuatha Dé Danann. I had held his eye in my hand and forced his magic into my body. I had sat on a throne, infused with the Dadga’s magic, and lived ?

The Dagda —King of Life and Death.

Manannán mac Lir cleared his throat, standing from his chair. “Brígid.” He snapped. “Is that prophecy in the book of Making?”

She let out a peal of laughter. “Only in the Mistéireach!” The older lady spun on her heel, her dress fanning out around her in a dance. One turn, and she disappeared into thin air.

Manannán mac Lir pinched his brow.

The Dagda’s eyes sparkled.

“It seems you cannot control your wains , Dagda.” Manannán mac Lir snapped.

“Brígid comes and goes as she pleases.” My mother bit back. “Everyone knows that.”

While the gods bickered, the Dagda held my gaze.

My father ...

Pain ricocheted through my skull, and I pressed the heel of my palm to my eye, wincing.

Cormac rubbed my shoulder; his brow creased with concern. “Something isn’t right.” He told me. “First, the hunger. Then memory loss—”

“Belisama said it was because I was born in the Aos Sí. That I am not a true being of energy.” My nose wrinkled. “Once I get back to the Aos Sí—”

“ If you can get back.” Cormac narrowed his eyes, gesturing to the squabbling gods.

“I have to get back to Rainn, Tor, and Shay.” I pleaded.

“They’re alone against Balor. I won’t let them die.

They’re mine .” As my memories returned, drop by drop, as did the fervent desire to get home to my mates.

“Every moment spent talking about it, instead of doing something, is time wasted.” I threw my hands up in exasperation.

“They seem more concerned with their drama than discussing Balor’s plans to lead an army to the Tuatha Dé Danann.” Cormac’s lip twitched.

“I’m more concerned about the lake,” I told him. “If the Fomorians are beasts of energy, do they need vessels like the gods do?”

Horror coated Cormac’s features. “I didn’t think of that.”

I scratched my chest, feeling the unblemished skin where Shay’s mark should be. My mother had told me about my bonds. The basin had shown me my Shíorghrá. It was as if the threads connecting my memories and my mind had been snipped—slowly weaving themselves back together.

I remembered Balor and the horrid coral face behind her glamour. I remembered the Whispering Pass and all those bodies...

“The Whispering Pass.” My eyes flicked to his.

Realization dawned on Cormac’s face.

“She’ll make more bodies, won’t she?” I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath.

I didn’t hear the Dagda approach. His eyes were made of lichen-marked stone. A statue brought to life. The other gods bore some mark of their domain, but the Dagda was the God of life and death. He stared down at me, like a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

“What is your magic, Maeve Cruinn? What do you claim as your own?” His heavy brow furrowed as he leaned in and studied my face. “The water, or the souls within it?”

I glanced at the other gods. Manannán mac Lir threw his hands up in exasperation, and the sea gull on his head let out a squawk as he argued with another god.

“My magic?” I echoed.

“She controls water.” Cormac’s jaw hardened as he met the Dagda’s eyes.

The god cocked his head to the side. “You control the Twilight Lake.” He corrected. “What of the Dark Sea? What of the rain, or tears?”

I winced, thinking of the ancient and mighty sea and my inability to even grasp more than a drop.

I licked my lips. “The Twilight Lake. And blood. Or the water inside a body.”

The Dagda looked pleased. “Perhaps you favor me after all.”

“I favor my mother.” I bared my teeth.

The Dagda laughed. “If you say so.”

I looked at the male in front of me and felt nothing. I could not see myself in the planes of his face or the color of his hair. His magic was locked down and pressed against his pale grey skin, the opposite of mine.

Belisama, my mother, looked the same as she had done in the Aos Sí—though I couldn’t tell if she had changed her appearance so I would recognize her.

It was difficult enough to wrap my head around the idea that my mother was a member of the Tuatha Dé Danann, inhabiting the body of a Sídhe female named Caoimhe.

I had lived an entire life since her passing. Grown up, and traveled the length of the lake and the Night Court. I had faced the Dark King and lived to tell the tale.

Many times growing up, I had curled up on my paltry bed and cried, wishing out loud to go ‘ home’. To die and be reunited with my mother.

Now that I looked at her, I felt a sense of emptiness.

All my dreams and expectations were just fabrications.

A profound sense of mourning filled me, made my bones heavier, and my breathing labored.

Cormac reached out and knitted his fingers with mine.

The Dagda nodded approvingly. “Would you follow Maeve to the end of time, Illfinn?” The god squinted. “Would you join her to ask for a gift from the Making?”

“A gift?” I frowned.

“I’ll never leave her.” Cormac met his eyes in challenge.

“Dagda, what are you doing?” My mother stepped away from the Quorum, approaching with her hand outstretched.

The Dagda didn’t answer her. Instead, his eyes fixed on mine. He held up his staff. “The tools are just tools, but you should take this. I have a feeling you’ll be able to use it in the Court of Teeth.” He told me. “You don’t need my eye.”

My teeth ground together. “Your eye almost killed me.”

“My kind of magic doesn’t accept just anyone,” Dadga warned. “But you must accept it first. If you fight it, it will fight you.”

I took his staff, though the wood felt inert and cold in my hands.

“Balor loves her beasts.” The Dagda shook his head, laughing. “Find Lugh. The bastard owes me after he killed all those hounds.”

He lifted his hand and gave it a flick.

My mother’s scream of protest echoed in my ear as the world melted underneath our feet.