Page 29 of The Dark Will Fall (Twilight Lake #5)

Maeve Cruinn

Cormac collected the hag’s fingers and fashioned a macabre bag out of his shirt. I didn’t dare get close; every time I did, my stomach boiled, and my gullet burned with bile.

The disturbing intestinal decorations disappeared with the Hag, an illusion designed to inspire fear in her prey.

The Court of Teeth had earned its name, it seemed. I wondered how many beasties we would encounter before we stumbled upon Lugh the Craftsman.

As a child, I had never suspected my mother to be one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, despite the stories she told and the magic she possessed.

I had stood in front of the Siren Queen. I had bargained for hospitality and never sensed her to be anything more than a powerful Sídhe.

It seemed that when the Tuatha Dé Danann came to the Aos Sí, they took a vessel—a shield of flesh that hid their true nature.

Would I even know Lugh if I saw him?

The Tuatha Dé Danann had many gods, though some were undoubtedly more powerful than others. Kings and Queens amongst the Tuatha Dé Danann.

Nuada had been the first ruler of the Tuatha Dé Danann, with the Dagda as the second. Nuada had willingly given up the title.

The Morrigan was the Dagda’s ‘wife’, though I had not seen her in the Tuatha Dé Danann. A goddess as powerful as the Dagda, if not more so.

My mother, Belisama, sometimes known as the Boann, was well known to be the Dagda’s lover. At least that proved true.

Of all of the Tuatha Dé Danann, Lugh was perhaps the most famous.

His exploits were known throughout the Aos Sí. A god famed for walking amongst the Fae. For creating magical artifacts and then leaving them to cause mischief. A hero, a craftsman, and possibly the most worshipped god of the Tuatha Dé Danann.

It was hard to know if we had made any progress at all as we walked through the forest. The trees all looked the same to me, and the sun peeked between breaks in the canopy.

I became aware of our stalker quickly, though it was not a Fae nor a beast on our tail.

A small hut, tucked between the trees. Built from logs of the same peculiar color, with a chimney leaking smoke into the gap between the tree branches.

Cormac and I made a silent vow to not pursue the strange house. Small and unassuming as it was. After the Hag had attacked us, I could only imagine what sort of Wild Fae lived in the cabin.

I kept my gaze forward, studying my bare feet and making careful choices about where to step, when I felt my stomach roll as if I had dropped from a great height.

My ears popped with pressure, as if I were descending into the depths.

The world around us had shifted without much notice—the Aos Sí was sometimes a living creature.

The cabin remained fixed in the same spot between an alder and a yew tree.

Even after walking for an hour, we still hadn't escaped the cabin.

I had thought that the Dagda might have tricked us after all. The Aos Sí behaved strangely, the way it did around the Selkie, bending to a will not its own. The Mistéireach in the Tuatha Dé Danann had acted much the same. More of a dream than a physical reality.

I would have kept walking, but the Dagda’s staff began to vibrate. Painfully against my skin, like a swarm of insects.

Cormac heard the strange noise, eying the staff as he slowed to a stop.

Wordlessly, I raised the staff to the gap between the trees. Directly at the cabin, its windows glowed with welcome, and the smoke from the chimney promised warmth the forest lacked. The staff sighed in contentment.

“Am I to follow the whims of a stick?” I scowled.

“Makes sense for a quest.” Cormac shrugged, brushing his golden hair away from his face. Several twigs and a leaf had tangled in the strands.

As soon as we made the decision to venture towards the cabin, the floor moved too quickly without either of us taking a single step. Past the wooden fence and the quaint vegetable garden, and in front of a door with a wreath made of hawthorn—to ward away evil spirits.

I lifted my hand to knock, but the door opened before my fist made contact with the wood.

I always found myself at a loss when confronted with elder Fae, as most Sídhe were immortal or at least long-lived, and chose their own appearances. Even the ancient ones did not choose grey hair and wrinkles, unless they had a good reason to.

Her hair was the grey of shale, to her ankles, and her eyes were wide and endlessly dark. The elderly Fae was Sídhe, though I could not say which kind. She regarded us with an abstract amusement as she lifted a pipe to her pinched lips and sucked down a lungful of sweet smoke.

“Lost, are ye?” Her accent was thick enough to tell me just how far we were from the Night Court. “The Court of Teeth lives on, even if the Spring Court is determined to put them to bed. It seems you have run afoul of the Hag.”

“We have her fingers,” I told her, though I didn’t know why.

She nodded, as if she had expected the answer. Waving away smoke, she gestured to her doorway. “Come in, come in, “ She urged. “You’ll let the warmth out.”

Cormac and I exchanged glances, but followed her inside.

Every surface of the cottage was covered in a pile of books or papers, and on top of that, a discarded plate or bowl filled with rotting food. A cauldron sat in the hearth, empty.

The elderly Fae noted my interest in the fat black pot. “He can’t have it back.” She warned. “I’m using it.”

“The pot?” Cormac arched a brow.

“Just so.” She nodded. “The Dadga said Balor wouldn’t look for it here, thinks he won’t dare show his face here. Too afraid of his dear old wife.”

My muscles locked.

She caught my apprehension. “The Tuatha Dé Danann family trees will trip you up.” She told me. “Roots too thick, broken ground. Blood for sap.”

Cormac exhaled a frustrated puff of air from his nose and looked for somewhere to sit. “You don’t plan on eating us, do you?”

“You take me for a hag?” She shot him a crooked smirk.

Cormac made a non-committed noise of assent, but the old woman seemed pleased.

“You may call me Cethlenn.” She bowed, extending an arm in a flurry. “The Dagda sent you, or rather, his staff brought you here. Carrying such magic is brave and stupid, for many cannot use it.”

Cormac sucked his lips between his teeth and turned to me, hiding his expression from the old woman. His eyes were wide. “ Balor’s wife .” He mouthed.

Cethlenn shifted and sniffed indignantly. “I just told you that, didn’t I?”

“Are you going to kill us?” I asked the question, though I felt no threat from the woman. Not that that couldn’t change in a single moment.

“HA!” She threw her head back and barked a laugh, as if I had said the funniest thing ever.

Cormac and I exchanged weary glances.

“You’ll need more than those fingers if you wish to defeat Balor.” She jerked a chin to the bag made of Cormac’s shirt. “Iron is good on its own, but only if the vessel has been in the Aos Sí for a long time.”

“We are going to Lugh.” I met her gaze in challenge. “To ask for a weapon.”

“Only Balor’s blood can defeat the giant.” She looked down her nose at me, studying my face. I could not tell if she found me worthy or not. “Do you plan to ask Lugh to defeat his grandfather, again?”

“We’re going to ask for a weapon from Lugh the Craftsman,” Cormac repeated my declaration.

Silence filled the cottage, save for the crack of the fire.

Cethlenn lifted her pipe to her lips.

“When the five creeds meet over the divide of war, only then will the lake know peace, ” She said gravely, nodding to herself.

Cormac opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him. We both knew my mother’s prophecy, but I had the feeling that Cethlenn was not done with whatever wisdom she spoke. Her eyes glazed as she seemed to pull the words from the ether, faraway.

“ Each creed will sacrifice their greatest treasure, for the heart of the lake .” She continued, her words slow and thick. “ For the heart must trust the compass, and the compass guides the heart.” Cethlenn blinked and came back to herself.

Cormac eyed her warily. “You’re a soothsayer? You’ve got that eerie stare they all possess.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Met many soothsayers then, Illfinn?”

He rolled his eyes but did not answer.

Cethlenn slapped her cheek to wake herself, and sucked her pipe thoughtfully. “Lugh won’t agree to make a weapon.”

“You saw that?” Cormac’s eyes narrowed.

Cethlenn lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “The bastard has gone mad, and I say that with as much affection as a grandmother can possess. Lugh leads the Wild Hunt. Cursed, by some Weaver wench, not unlike you, Cormac Illfinn of the Mer.”

“My tail is not a curse!” He snapped.

I held my arm out in front of Cormac’s chest, fully believing that he would jump on the old woman and punch her in the throat. Cormac’s nostrils flared, but he calmed himself quickly, cracking his neck from side to side.

“Lugh is cursed?” I asked.

Cethlenn shrugged again. “It all grows so tedious.” She waved her hand dismissively.

“Poor bastard doesn’t know one day from the next.

He travels the realms, collecting Fae souls for the Tuatha Dé Danann.

The Aos Sí, the Domhain, the Human Realities.

When you walk in three worlds, your mind is split three ways. ”