Summer (18 page)

Water-Bearer moved, shuffling itself away from the wall and onto its feet, lifting Richard again into the cradle of its arms. In the shift and sway of wings Richard missed the slash of Aine’s knife, but when Water-Bearer settled between risers and turned back to the wright, the shallow bowl was half-filled with dark blood and William was pressing a wadded rag against the inside of his forearm.

Richard giggled when he meant to curse.

“You should have saved mine,” he said.

Aine looked horrified. Richard wondered if she thought he meant his arm. William only grunted.  Water-Bearer clicked its tongue. “Your blood was dirtied, apostate. And may still be more dangerous than useful. Best keep that in mind if you live. “ It awarded Aine its one-eyed stare. “Come,
siofra
. You’ll hold the bowl. William’s right. It’s time for me to remember courage. I am
aes si
, member of the Dread Host, both revered and feared in
Tir na Nog
. This mountain is nothing to me.”

Water-Bearer descended ten steps back into the darkness before gently setting Richard down on a stair cut wider than most of the others. Richard managed to sit up on his own, wriggling back against the wall. His stump screamed far away protest but he ignored it in favor of watching the
sluagh
prepare its magic.

Aine had left her lantern up the stair with William but the glow of the flame still managed to limn Water-Bearer in gold.  When the ghoul straightened to its full height, ebony wings tucked back against its spine, it was taller than Richard had realized, shoulders broad beneath the thin tunic it seemed to prefer. The few hanks of dark hair still remaining on the monster’s skull shone bright as feathers in the lamplight. It lifted its chin and inhaled loudly through its nose.

Sniffing the air, Richard thought. Tasting the tunnel.

“There,” the
sluagh
decided. It hopped down three more steps in one bound, forcing Aine to hurry after, then reached up and set one palm on the low ceiling. “The earth is willing, here. Malleable. Hungry. Use your fingers, mix William’s blood into the dirt. Here, and here.” It indicated the step beneath its feet. “Quickly now, before I change my mind.”

Aine did as she was told, dipping her fingers into the bowl and standing on her toes to paint red blood into the gray earth. As she worked the
sluagh
began to whisper and mutter. Water-Bearer spread its fingers wide in the air halfway between ceiling and step, beckoning, cajoling. Richard held his breath, trying to make sense of the
sluagh
’s
murmured incantation, but the syllable and sounds were alien, unfamiliar and not at all like the fractured Gaelic Winter used, which Richard had been trying to teach himself.

An older language
, Bobby whispered, startling Richard who had thought the voices in his head were temporarily muffled by the
draiochta
. 
An older ritual
.
Pay attention, Rick. Could be important.

But Richard was already fascinated and he didn’t need his subconscious telling him to look sharp because he was hanging on Water-Bearer’s every sound and gesture. The shine from the lantern was spreading, moving up and across the wall, around Aine’s rapidly painting fingers, and back down the other side of the stair and beneath Water-Bearer’s ruined feet. Richard glanced over his good shoulder back up the stair, but William and the flame hadn’t moved. It was Water-Bearer’s Cant warming the passage with stolen radiance. Water-Bearer’s Cant and the added synergy of the blood in Aine’s bowl.

Richard breathed out in stuttering surprise. “It’s beautiful.”

Water-Bearer hesitated, going briefly silent before rustling its folded wings and continuing on, weaving together sound and light and motion until the
sluagh
was little more than a golden glow and a string of blurred sound. Aine was a gray-cut silhouette in the painful incandescence. Richard’s eyes stung and wept just as they had in the acrid
sluagh
atmosphere, but he didn’t look away.

When the passage closed in on itself, it was less a collapse and more a stretching of floor and ceiling, a swelling of earth and a slotting together of puzzle pieces. Stalactites joined stalagmites, steaming as they fused. The stink of scorched blood made Richard look involuntarily at the stump of his arm, but the bandage was clean. It was William’s blood, he realized, burning as it bolstered Water-Bearer’s spell.

Then the floor and ceiling fused completely. Richard’s ears popped. The unnatural light began to dim and retreat back up thirteen stairs to the lantern at William’s side, thinning to nothing but the faint orange glow of a flickering flame as it went. Aine and the
sluagh
were no longer limned in gold. Aine’s bowl was empty, turned upside down in her hands, the last few dribbles of red liquid falling harmlessly onto the stair.

Aine appeared calm. Water-Bearer was breathing hard, quivering from crown to claw. Its one eye gleamed green and wild and when it smiled it was with mad satisfaction.

“Too long,” the
sluagh
purred, “it’s been far too long since I attempted such a thing. No wonder we’re dying. Why should one wish to live, without this?”

It flung out one hand, scratching five sharp claws over the perfectly smooth seal on the stair. The new wall reminded Richard of the bowl of a spoon, concave and seamless; even the stalactites and stalagmites vanished in the joining.

“I heard you,” Water-Bearer told Richard. “Beautiful, you said. And, aye, so it is, but far more than that. This”—it tilted its pointed chin at the fade of magic released—”is what we were, what we were meant to be. We’ve gone so long without, I’d almost forgotten the taste of it, sweeter even than mortal gristle and bone.” It fluffed its wings, ran dangerous fingers through inky feathers, and looked up the Long Stair at William as it promised, “We will have it back. No matter the cost, I swear it. Aye,
we will have it back.

The smoke trickled into the morning from a squat chimney atop a crooked hut. The smoke smelled sweet, like overripe apples. The chimney looked as if it had been pieced together in blocks of mud and brick and the hut wasn’t much different, although Summer could see the curve of stacked logs behind the layer of dried mud. There were no visible windows. The front door had an actual handle and, Summer saw as they drew close, a real keyhole lock. The door was painted a cheerful red, bright against the mud walls.

They’d followed the water through blooming bromeliads and over the side of the cliff to the valley floor. Summer had been certain they’d have to ride the waterfall over the rocks, but just before Lolo threw himself eagerly into the rushing cataract, Brother Dan found a ladder of knotted rope secured to the cliff face by way of thick metal rings.

“It’s not as far to the valley floor as we thought,” the friar said. “Sixty feet, no more. The ladder looks solid. Someone’s kept it in repair. Still, I’ll go first.” Before Summer could protest he twisted feet first over the edge of the cliff, gripping the rope in both hands. He toed the cliff side until his toes caught the knotted rung below. Spray from the waterfall immediately drenched the parts of him that hadn’t already been dunked in the muddy stream. “Rope’s wet but not slippery. Don’t rush. One at a time, please.”

And with that Dan was on his way, scaling the ladder one deliberate handhold at a time. Summer was impressed. For a man the size of a grizzly, he climbed with a monkey’s confidence.

“Wow,” Lolo said. He peered over the edge of the cliff at Dan’s tonsured head. “Swimming the waterfall looks easier.”

“You’d be crushed to death on the rocks at the bottom,” Hannah argued. “However have you managed to survive so long? You’ve no sense at all.”

“Bitch,” Lolo retorted but without real heat. He scrambled over the side of the cliff before Hannah could respond and yelped when his feet dangled into thin air. But then, just like Dan, he found purchase with the toes of his shoes. His knuckles relaxed around the rope and he looked up, flashing Summer and Hannah a grin.

“Easy as pie,” he promised, with just a tad too much enthusiasm. “But maybe don’t look down.” He laddered away into the spray, moving with much less speed than the friar.

“He’s frightened,” Hannah pronounced. She made it sound like a dirty little secret.

“Aren’t you?” Summer asked. She really wanted to know if the other girl was as superior as she pretended. “You may be a fairy princess, but I don’t see any wings. You slip you smash.”

Hannah edged forward until they stood hip to hip on the edge of the cliff.

“I should push you over,” the changeling said, looking not at Summer but at the top of Lolo’s head already halfway down. “Stop you now.”

Summer felt something like snakes twisting in her belly. She set her hand on
Buairt’s
hilt but made herself stand without flinching. “You’re won’t.”

Hannah blew a puff of annoyance through her front teeth. “No.”

“Why?”

“You don’t matter.
You’re
nothing. I’d like to push you over, I’d enjoy it, watching you fall. But
he’d
just pick up the sword and take his vengeance, separate my head from my neck, I bet.”

“Brother Dan?”

“Well, I’m certainly not afraid of the runt. He’s as useless as you. The other—he stinks of God, just like Jeremiah. Jeremiah wanted me dead, too. But Jeremiah is a coward.” The changeling shook her head without taking her eyes from the ground below. “Your Daniel has a warrior’s stride and a prince’s strength. What did he call us? Demons, he said.” Hannah at last looked at Summer, dark eyes wide and worried. “He won’t be satisfied with my mother’s death, I think. Better watch yourself, maybe he’ll decide to cut off your head, too.”

“He won’t.” Summer’s fingers gripped
Buairt
so tightly they throbbed in protest. “Even if he wanted to, I’d kill him first.”

Hannah smiled, bright and dangerous. “That’s the way, friend. Now you’re thinking. This is our world, our realm. Those two below don’t belong. They are nothing, and worse than nothing. Mortal man and boy, I know they’d rather see us murdered than bend the knee. Keep that in mind,
Samhradh
, when we come before my mother.”

She dropped to the edge of the cliff, then twisted over the edge, grabbing the rope without hesitation. Hannah found the first foothold without looking. All the while, she kept grinning up at Summer.

“I’ll go. So you don’t have to worry I’ll kick you off halfway down.”

Summer stood alone on the edge of the cliff and tried not to hyperventilate. Hannah was only being a bully. Summer knew bullies, she’d met more than her share in the fancy private schools Papa had insisted she attend. At first Winter had been around to knock out a tooth or bloody a nose, but after he’d been sent away Summer learned to manage on her own. She’d bloodied a few noses herself before she’d mastered enough of a Glamour to make herself appear ordinary and unassuming.

But ordinary and unassuming wasn’t going to cut it in fairyland. And she wasn’t going to let Hannah bully her into second-guessing her friends, at least not Lolo. Maybe she’d have to keep one eye on Brother Dan. He’d spent time in prison, after all, and he’d both managed to outsmart Katherine Grey and outbluster Siobahn.

“Shoot,” Summer sighed as Lolo shouted and waved from down below, motioning for her to hurry up. Brother Dan had turned away to study the forest. Hannah was almost at the bottom. “Shit.” Because real swear words made her feel twenty times more brave. She wished she’d taken the time to learn Winter’s collection of favorites in the Gaelic. As she made sure
Buairt
was secure and then scrambled over the side of the cliff onto the wobbly ladder, she just knew she was going to need them all.

“Hey, Summer,” Lolo hissed as Summer studied the red door. “Skeps!”

Summer looked where he was pointing and saw three large woven baskets turned upside down on a log behind the mud hut. The log was wide and raised off the grass by way of a pile of stones at each end. The baskets were pointy at the top and wider on the bottom, like straw bells or funny grass hats.

“What’s a skep?”

“Bee hives.” Lolo explained eagerly. At Brother Dan’s look, he shrugged. “I saw it on television,” he explained. “Beekeeping the old fashioned way. You cut the skeps open to get the honey. Summer, do you think they’re big bees like you said? Can we go see?”

“No,” said Dan. “There’s a dog guarding the back garden, there. Look at his face, he won’t let us near the yard.” Dan was right. There was a dog, a leggy black animal that reminded Summer of a German Shepherd. It was watching them with sharp brown eyes. Its tail was up and on alert, its head lowered in polite but firm warning.

“We’ll hello the house,” Dan decided. “There must be someone home, I smell breakfast.” He lifted two fingers to his lips and split the morning with a shrill whistle. The dog’s ears swiveled front and back, but the animal didn’t protest.

At first Summer thought they’d have to give up and walk on along the rutted road and into the forest. It had been all fields in the short walk between the cliff and the hut, the river rushing alongside, bromeliads left behind. But then the river sidestepped around the mud house, and the bees, and the garden and haystack behind, and slipped away into the trees.

From where they stood it seemed the forest stretched across the rest of the valley, from cliff to mountain range and back again. The trees on the edge were tight-packed and silver-trunked, heavy with wide waxy leaves. Summer could hear the pipe and rustle of birds in latticed branches. Ferns, some large and very green and others small and yellow, spread beneath the trees.

The red door banged open, startling everyone but Hannah. Lolo squeaked and even Brother Dan twitched. Summer’s heart thumped in surprise but she managed to keep from jumping.

The
sidhe
woman in the doorway scowled. “
Dul amach!”
she said. Thanks to Papa’s erratic language drills, Summer’s brain managed to translate: “Go away!” She made to step back and slam the door, but Brother Dan was quicker.

“Mistress,” he said hastily. “Pardon, mistress.” He held his large hands up, palms out, the universal sign of surrender. “We’re only lost and in need of some direction.”

“Do you really suppose she speaks English?” Hannah asked, sour. Then:
“
Sean mháthair, cabhrú linn le do thoil?”

The woman had hair so gray as to be nearly white, worn in two long plaits down her back. Her skin was brown and weathered from too much time spent in the sun without proper SPF. There were distinct crinkles around her blue eyes and at the corners of her wide mouth; they flattened out when she frowned at Hannah.

“I am neither old nor thy mother,” she said in flat, American English, a softer version of Dan’s own accent. “Neither am I a babe, yet unskilled and unable to converse with Adam’s children.” She regarded Lolo and Brother Dan with raised white brows then looked directly at Summer. “You, though—you’re very young to have brought two over across the Way, and through that particular Gate. Has no one taught you not to let them speak out of turn?
Síofraí
who can’t hold their tongues don’t last long at Court. Better to school your catch now than feed their bones to the Progress later.”

Brother Dan shifted before Lolo could protest, clapping his hand firmly across the boy’s mouth. Lolo squirmed but settled. Hannah smirked. The
sidhe
nodded. Summer thought she saw the woman’s mouth flex in quickly suppressed regret.

“Better,” she declared. “Mayhap you’ll do. But not in those clothes.” She shook her head. “Come inside and I’ll see what I can find.
Fanacht!
” she said to the dog. “Stay, Collum.” Then she turned and held open the red door in grudging welcome.

The one-room hut was clean and sparsely furnished. There were no windows, but a smear of Gathered starlight floating between the rafters and the peaked roof kept gloom at bay. Summer had never seen starlight spread outside the traditional globe. The sparkling cloud was beautiful, a miniature galaxy rotating overhead. She tried not to gape and resolved to learn how to conjure her own small star system as soon as possible.

“Sit,” the
sidhe
bowed to Summer, hands folded at her waist. There was a single chair in the room, sturdy and made of log and twig, the seat cushioned by a bright patchwork pillow.

Because it seemed polite Summer sat, awkwardly twisting her belt so
Buairt
lay on her knees. Hannah crossed her arms over her chest, fists clenched. Summer could feel the changeling’s sulk coming on. She hoped Hannah didn’t do something stupid and get them all fed to the dog, who had followed them into the hut and arranged himself in front of the cold fireplace. Close up he was very big and not as friendly looking.

Brother Dan stood against the wall near the red door, his hand now wrapped around Lolo’s shoulder. The friar was too large to make himself fade into the background, but Summer thought he was trying his best to appear harmless. For once Lolo didn’t kick up a fuss. He stood quietly at Dan’s side, studying the tips of his shoes like they were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

Besides the chair the room held a small trestle table, a low cot, a trunk painted to match the door, and a collection of patchwork pillows spread on the floor near the fireplace and across the cot. The black dog laid his head on one of the cushions as he looked between his mistress and her visitors.

“I’ll have proper
brats
, of course. That’ll do, I think, so long as you keep them well covered.” The
sidhe
padded across the room and bent over the trunk, springing the lock with one hand. For the first time Summer noticed the woman was barefoot. Her slender toes were dirty, her heels cracked and calloused. “There are plenty in the forest eager to carry word of anything remarkable to Court.”

“Yes, my mother’s Court,” Hannah said. Summer felt her heart sink and wanted to kick the other girl for her stupidity. “Where is it? Can you tell us how to find it?”

The
sidhe
didn’t pause in pulling swathes of dull brown cloth from the bottom of her trunk. “Don’t worry yourself, lass. It’s not a difficult thing to find,
Chúirt Banríon ar
, the Fay Queen’s Court.” She gathered armfuls of the fabric against her front and carried it back across the room to Lolo and Brother Daniel. “Supposing it wants to be found.”

“It will want to find
me,”
Hannah said. Summer did kick her then, twisting in the chair to strike the other girl’s ankle with the heel of her shoe, a warning. Hannah hissed and bristled and her ponytail quivered in indignation. “I’m important. Do you know who I am? My mother—”

“Quiet!” the
sidhe
ordered. She dropped the folds of cloth and straightened, seeming to grow tall as the rafters, narrow and sharp, all pointed teeth and sunken cheekbones and fingers curved into claws.  The starlight beneath the eaves flickered. “Hold your tongue! I’ve not let you across my threshold only to have you draw her attention
now
.”