The Solstice Cup (2 page)

“They do so believe in faeries,” Mackenzie said. “Why do you think there are horseshoes over the doors and iron bars over the windows? To keep the wee folk out.”

“Whatever.”

“I'm not making this up,” Mackenzie said defensively. “Aunt Joan told me all about it. And those thorn bushes in the middle of all the fields we passed on our way here? Those are faery thorns. No one who lives in the glens would ever dare cut down a faery thorn.”

Breanne's voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Would someone
please
invite these people into the twenty-first century? I can't believe Mom ditched us here!”

“What was she supposed to do?” said Mackenzie. “Grandpa's dying in the hospital in Belfast. She couldn't leave us in Vancouver while she spent time at his bedside.”

“I know, it's very sad. But it's not like we were close to him. We'd only met him a few times. She didn't have to drag
us
halfway around the world,” Breanne said. “We could have stayed with friends.”

“For two weeks? With Dad long gone and Mom in another country?”

“You are such an old lady, Mackenzie,” her sister said angrily. “Why do you always have to take Mom's side? She could have let us stay in Belfast with her. At least then we would have been in a city.”

“We're too young to be hanging around Belfast by ourselves,” said Mackenzie.

“We're not babies,” said Breanne. “We're almost thirteen.”

Mackenzie turned out the lamp beside her bed. The cot creaked as she rolled over and tried to find a more comfortable position. “You could try to enjoy yourself, you know. It wouldn't kill you. Uncle Eamon said he'd drive us into the village tomorrow after lunch if we wanted.”

“Oh wow!” Breanne's voice rose in mock excitement. “The amazing seaside metropolis of Cushendun! Population, like, seventeen! I can't wait!”

“Fine, stay here then. I'm going to finish my Christmas shopping.”

“Cushendun isn't big enough to have any decent stores,” said Breanne. “You'll be lucky to find a tourist shop. Hope everyone on your list likes leprechauns and shamrocks.”

Breanne was sitting on the hood of Uncle Eamon's Land Rover when Mackenzie came out of the farmhouse after lunch the next day. “If I stay, I have to help Aunt Joan make sandwiches for some stupid church tea,” Breanne said with a sullen shrug.

Uncle Eamon came out a moment later, adjusting his tweed cap. “Och, there you are. Doors are unlocked— go ahead, hop in.”

The car reeked of wet wool and sheep dung. Out of the corner of her eye, Mackenzie saw her sister wrinkle her nose in disgust as she tried without success to make the seat belt work.

“Don't worry about those,” Uncle Eamon said with a wave of his hand. “They don't work.”

Fifteen minutes later, he pulled over in the center of Cushendun. “I'm just going up the road a bit to see a friend and have a look at his wee heifer. I'll be back to pick you up by half-four at the latest.”

“That's four thirty,” Mackenzie translated as the Land Rover pulled away.

“I know what ‘half-four' means, thank you,” Breanne said. “It means we're stuck here for the next two and a half hours.”

Mackenzie looked up and down the narrow road. There wasn't much to see: a gray expanse of water on one side, and a curving line of black and white houses and a few small shops on the other. It looked pretty dreary in the December rain.

“Gee,” said her sister. “It's all so overwhelming I don't know where to begin.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Breanne,” Mackenzie said. She started across the street toward a shop with a display of silk scarves and pottery knickknacks in its window. Her sister followed behind.

“Well, aren't we going in?” Breanne asked impatiently when Mackenzie stopped in the shop doorway. “At least we'll be out of the rain.”

Mackenzie stepped aside so her sister could read the handwritten sign taped to the door. The store was only open on Fridays and Saturdays during the winter season. It was Thursday.

“Great,” said Breanne. “Now what?”

“There's got to be something else,” said Mackenzie. But aside from a few pubs, a small grocery store, a postal outlet and a veterinary office, there wasn't.

“Well, that's it. I'm out of here,” Breanne said when they had completed their two-minute survey of the town.

“What are you talking about?” said Mackenzie. “We can't just take off.”

“Watch me,” Breanne said over her shoulder. She walked away, her left foot dragging a little with each step. “I'm buying a couple of chocolate bars, and then I'm hiking back to the farm.”

“And what am I supposed to do, wait here for Uncle Eamon all by myself?” Mackenzie called.

Breanne shrugged. “Stay here, come with me, I don't care. But I'm not hanging around this ghost town all afternoon.”

Mackenzie caught up with her sister as she entered the tiny food market at the end of the short main street. “But we have no way of reaching Uncle Eamon. How will he know where we've gone?”

“How long is it going to take him to figure out we're not in Cushendun—maybe five minutes?” said Breanne. “When he can't find us, he'll call Aunt Joan. She'll tell him we're back already, and he'll drive home. Simple.” She stopped in front of the candy display next to the till and selected a few chocolate bars. A cashier with a pierced nose accepted her payment without comment.

“We
can't,
Breanne,” Mackenzie argued after they'd left the store. “We promised Mom we wouldn't be any trouble for Uncle Eamon and Aunt Joan.”

“So what did Eamon expect we were going to do here for two hours?” said Breanne. “Skip stones in the bay?”

“All right, what about the solstice then?” Mackenzie asked, holding her breath.

“What about it?”

“It could be dangerous to go walking through the glens today.”

Breanne groaned. “When are you going to grow up, Mackenzie?”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Mackenzie said. They'd been walking for forty minutes, and they were still crossing the same boggy field. Mackenzie's not-so-waterproof boots had long since surrendered to the oozing mud. She was soaking wet and covered with slime up to her knees.

“It's not like anyone kidnapped you,” Breanne snapped.

“I couldn't just let you take off by yourself,” said Mackenzie. “I promised Mom I'd look out for you.”

Breanne stopped. “Look out for me? What the heck is that supposed to mean! Did she ask you to?”

“No, but you need someone to watch out for you,” said Mackenzie. “You're always taking off, always going on these stupid adventures—like you have to prove yourself or something. Like walking across this bog. It's too much for you!”

“Too much for
me
?” Breanne's hands were on her hips. “You're the one who's been whining about how tired you are for the last half hour!”

“It's
you
I'm worried about,” said Mackenzie. “Look at the way your leg is dragging!”

Breanne started marching again. “Don't talk to me about my defective leg, and I won't talk to you about your defective brain,” she called back angrily.

“All right, let's change the subject then,” Mackenzie said as she picked her way through the mud after her sister. “I know—here's a good question. Do you really know where you're going? Because in case you haven't noticed, there's some fog rolling in, and it's starting to get dark.”

“I told you, this is a shortcut. I walked around this area yesterday. The road to the farm should be just over that hill up ahead of us.”

Mackenzie stopped again. “The road ‘should be' or ‘is' over the hill, Breanne?”

“Oh for Pete's sake! It's not like I memorized a map.”

“Okay, this is officially completely insane,” said Mackenzie. “Time to turn around.”

“If it's not over this hill, it's over the next one,” Breanne insisted, still walking. “As long as we keep going in a straight line, we'll be fine.”

“Or else we'll be completely lost,” said Mackenzie. “Come on, Breanne. Breanne!”

“Go back if you want,” Breanne called over her shoulder. “Oh, wait, I forgot—you're
afraid
to be out here all by yourself.”

A gust of wind caught Mackenzie's ponytail and flicked her in the face. She looked back the way they'd come, and then she turned to stare after her sister. The landscape was gray and empty in both directions.

“I hate you sometimes, you know that?” Mackenzie said as she started walking again.

It was unnerving how quickly the mist swallowed them up. Within minutes Mackenzie could barely make out anything past her own boots and the silhouette of her sister climbing the hill, as if in slow motion, beside her. It wasn't just the lack of visibility slowing them down. It was hard moving through the cold, heavy air. Mackenzie's clothes were damp right through to the skin. With the added moisture, she felt as if she'd gained ten pounds.

“Aren't you worried yet?” Mackenzie asked Breanne. “How are we supposed to find our way back if we can't see anything?”

“Calm down,” Breanne said, although her voice sounded tense. “As long as we're walking uphill, we know we're going in a straight line. The fog will clear soon.”

“What was that?” Mackenzie asked.

“What?”

“I heard something, some kind of music.”

“Like sheep bells?” said Breanne. “Duh! There are sheep all over the place around here.”

“Not sheep bells,” said Mackenzie. “There it is again! Listen—it
is
music. Don't you hear it?”

“I hear running water,” Breanne said after a few seconds. “There must be a stream up ahead of us. Watch where you step.”

“There's something more, some kind of weird melody above the sound of the water,” Mackenzie insisted. “Now it's gone.”

“I didn't hear it,” said Breanne. “You've got Uncle Eamon's faery stories on your brain.”

They continued moving forward cautiously until they reached the edge of a steep streambed. The mist was thinner where the ground dropped away. A few yards below, Mackenzie saw dark water flowing swiftly downhill before it disappeared into a natural tunnel.

Breanne crouched suddenly. “There's something sparkling down there.”

“How can you see anything from up here? Wait, where are you going?” Mackenzie asked as her sister scrambled down the steep bank.

Breanne reached down for something at the edge of the dark water. When she stood up again, she was holding something shiny in her fingers. “Look—it's a ring! It's just like the one I found five years ago!”

“I thought you couldn't remember things clearly that far back,” Mackenzie said as she shifted her feet nervously.

“I remember it now,” said Breanne. “It was just like this, with a purple stone and all this cool engraving around it. It looks ancient. I bet it's worth a fortune!”