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CHAPTER XXXVII

LIR

Doorways were dangerous magic. Slipping through a pond, a lake, a fountain, a pool was only possible by the will of a powerful forge-born creature. Beings such as the Lady, Danu, a Sidhe sovereign, or the gods themselves. One day, if Aisling survived the war, she, too, would command the gateways that transcended time, space, and realm.

Lir, Fionn, Niamh, Galad, Gilrel, Peitho, and Filverel stood before the first and largest half of the gateway to the Other. A colossal dream tree towered over them at the center of an emerald meadow. Larger than Danu herself, the tree was a beast, groaning while its highest branches danced beneath Niamh’s storms. It gulped the showers insatiably, humming strangely to itself. The dream tree didn’t speak to Lir as the forest and its guardians usually did. It was possessed by old magic—the draiocht of beings who, at the beginning of all things, spoke no tongue.

The other half grew in the mortal realm: Leshy.

“There must be another way.” Peitho spoke first, sunset tresses whipping across her face as she stared up at the tree. Gilrel cleared her throat beside the Sidhe princess, unsheathing her blade.

“Let it be me who travels through,” the pine marten volunteered, masking her fear well.

“It’s my mistake to rectify.” Fionn stepped forward, clenching his fists at his sides.

Lir traced the tip of his fangs with his tongue. He said not a word, but he’d finish what he’d begun at Castle Yillen if Fionn took another step toward the dream tree.

Niamh shook her head, pulling a blade from the sapphire scabbard at her hip. Sarwen, the original mortal reaper—an enchanted sword of legendary proportions and the twin to Aisling’s blade.

“Only one of you can travel through the gateway,” Niamh said, her voice blending with the thunderstorm. “Aisling’s whereabouts are still unknown to us and so, I bear no anchor to guide the passage. Whosoever voyages past these doors, risks error, death, or an eternity stuck between worlds.”

Niamh raised Sarwen above her head and lightning struck its tip.

Peitho reached for Gilrel, pulling her back and away from Niamh’s power. In that moment, it felt as if the whole universe spun around Niamh. She, the core of the Forge.

“ Esanti tenaska less track nu ,” Niamh chanted in Rún, thunder mixing with the feminine lilt of her voice.

The dream tree shook. Its roots writhed beneath the earth, stirring the energy of the grass, the soil, the flowers, and the natural world it fed. Before their eyes, the body of the tree morphed. Like a bundle of snakes it moved, parting at the center until they could see through to the other side. A giant threshold made from the heart of the tree at Niamh’s command.

The gateway was open.

Lir could feel the draiocht breathing through the ancient lungs of the tree. Its breath rattled with age, heaving to keep the doors open at its center.

“It is done,” Niamh said, dropping Sarwen before her. She swayed, knees almost buckling before Galad stepped forward and held the Seelie queen upright. A trickle of blood spilling from her nostrils.

“Does it always require this much strength?” Filverel asked. “To open the gateway?”

Niamh winced, gathering herself.

“I am the gate, and it is me,” she said. “But it is also itself.”

Filverel, Gilrel, Galad, and Peitho exchanged glances, not understanding.

“When it wishes, the gateway opens with little effort. L? Brear and Samhain are examples of this. But when it would rather remain closed—when it does not wish to pry open its mouth —then yes, it requires this much strength,” Niamh explained.

A muscle flashed across Lir’s jaw.

“Then why does the gate protest now?” Filverel continued, considering the roots still slithering back into place.

“I don’t know,” Niamh confessed, finding her footing once more and straightening. “Yet, I sense it’s afraid.”

The entire party glanced at one another now. A chill ran through each of them, sending shivers down their spines. There was a spirit present that hadn’t been there before. When Niamh had opened the gateway, so, too, did she wake something else. They each felt its consciousness and tasted its fear.

Something was coming, and the gateway understood.

“Lir,” Niamh called.

Lir flicked his eyes to the Seelie queen.

“Unfortunately, you’re the most likely to survive,” Niamh said. “Your caera bonds you to Aisling, and so, let that be your guide as you pass.”

Lir worked his jaw. He felt that intangible cord pulling at his chest, straining painfully. Thoughts of her haunted him, tightening the cord. A violet phantom finding him in every breath the day sighed before its end. And so, he found himself eagerly awaiting the agony loving her inspired.

The rest remained quiet, bracing themselves against Niamh’s cloudburst. Fionn, however, scalded Lir’s periphery with his icy glare. But when Lir half expected his brother to protest, he did not. Perhaps it was the shame of having failed to protect Aisling, or perhaps Fionn knew the alternative wasn’t possible. Either way, Lir rejoiced in the silence.

Lir dropped his arms from where they’d been crossed at his chest. He reached back with both arms, unsheathing his axes. He spun the hafts between his fingers, familiarizing himself with their balance.

“Glad we agree,” Lir said. “I was prepared to resort to the blade had we not.”

Lir stepped forward and toward the dream tree. The beast swayed, shuddering in the presence of the Sidhe king. Intangibly, it whispered to itself.

Lir waited, looking into the gateway.

To those who were blind to magic, the gateway appeared like an old, gnarled tree with a giant split at its center. An opening that widened at the bottom and thinned into a sharp archway, curving at its middle. Beyond, was nothing more than the field in which they stood.

But Lir felt its magic already familiarizing itself with him. Vibrations that thrummed through the earth. The draiocht was monstrous here, rolling over like bears in deep sleep.

“Return swiftly,” Galad said.

“Both of you,” Peitho chimed.

They all looked up at him, expressions solemn. For a moment, Lir half wondered why, and then it dawned on him: the risk he was undergoing was of mortal consequence. He’d hardly cared, not only willing but eager to give his life for Aisling. And so, Lir realized, he’d forgotten the vows he’d sworn to Annwyn: his kingdom and the heart of the Sidhe. His life didn’t belong only to Aisling, even if his heart did. All which made a liar of Lir. For it dawned on the Sidhe king that, if forced to choose, he’d always choose Aisling. As he did now.

Lir winced, resisting the urge to grab his chest.

The Sidhe king met Galad’s eyes. His first knight nodded his head, and Lir tipped his chin in response.

Nothing more was said as Lir turned and stepped through the gateway.