Chapter 40

Ch. 40: Dane

With the children awake and charmed into a docile, somnambulistic state, we leave the cavern behind, retrace our steps through the macabre passageway, and regroup outside.

There, the fae quickly fashion a makeshift stretcher from fallen branches and the fronds of huge ferns on which to bear Halloran's body. As they work, Rhiannon slips back into the cave one last time, returning with something bundled in a small bit of cloth.

With Freya looking after Ingrid and Danni and Erickson taking care of his niece, I'm free to devote my attention to Julian: to my brave, wonderful mate who, for one terrible moment, I'd thought I would lose.

I'd seen it on his face, in the fierce light in his eyes, as he'd stood at the edge of the chasm; he'd have ended himself—and my world with him—if he'd had to. I owe it to Erickson, and to Rian Halloran, that he did not.

Now, as the fae put the finishing touches on the stretcher and one sacrifices her long cloak to act as a shroud, Julian sticks close to me and averts his eyes. His skin is pale and cool to the touch, and his limbs tremble slightly. He radiates exhaustion, and I wish I could offer him some comfort, but empty condolences are all I've got.

"I'm sorry," I say, looping my arm around his shoulders and pulling him against my side. "I wish there was more we could have done for him."

Julian sighs. "Me, too. He had a lot to make up for, and he'd made mistakes, but I think he was a good man."

"He was."

Rhiannon's soft, slightly rough voice surprises me. She'd approached from Julian's other side without my noticing. Her black brows pinched with concern, she feels the side of his face and brow, and asks him a question in the lilting, musical tongue of the fae. Unexpectedly, Julian answers in the same. I'd forgotten he'd picked it up—or 'remembered' it, as he says—during his time in the Fae realm. Too bad he hadn't picked up runes and sign language, too.

Whatever he says seems to reassure Rhiannon, and her expression eases.

"You were very brave, Julian," she says with a small, sad smile. "Your grandfather would be proud of you, as am I. And though I never had the fortune to know my son, if he was anything like you, then I am proud of him, as well."

Julian's eyes stray to the cloth-bound form on the stretcher and a shiver wracks his frame. "What now?"

Rhiannon follows his gaze, and sorrow revisits her face. "Home," she whispers. "I will keep my promise to him. For many years, I feared and hated him, and dreamed of vengeance; but I understand now that he was innocent—or as innocent as are any who followed Darragh's lead. The Wolves, too, were innocent. I am not."

"You were a victim, too," I say. "I can't speak for them, but I think if they could, the Wolves would forgive you."

Rhiannon turns and looks up at me, and the ghost of a smile touches her lips. "My father was called 'Warbringer,' long ago; Your mother's name is 'Peacemaker' in our tongue. That our lines should join gives me great hope, Dane Hunter."

She turns and surveys the sad little gathering, and sighs.

"I wish we had more time, but we have none to spare. We must return to the human realm, and thence to Faerie, before the moons set."

"Moons?" I look up, but I haven't glimpsed the sky since we arrived in this nightmare place. The upper reaches of the trees remain veiled in mist.

"When the moon in each realm aligns, it is easier to slip between worlds. When you have spent as much time here as I have, you can sense it." She shivers. "Come—leave this place where it belongs, in memory. It is time to go home."

***

The return journey is a sad, quiet one, and we make a strange procession as we pass among the shadows beneath the gloom-shrouded trees.

Rhiannon leads the way, silent as a wraith, while Ingrid, Freya, and Danni help herd the children along. Four fae carry the stretcher bearing Halloran's body like pallbearers at a funeral, and the last two flank us as guards. Julian and I bring up the rear with Erickson, who carries his niece.

We arrive at the pool more quickly than I expected, and I eye the black water with distaste. I'd barely made it through the first time and have no desire to repeat the experience. The muscles and tendons in my shoulder have already healed, but the joint remains stiff and sore, and I rub it absently. Erickson seems to share my misgivings, and shifts uneasily from side to side as he strokes the back of his niece's head, resting on his shoulder as she sleeps.

Rhiannon slips between us like a shadow.

"Fear not," she says quietly. "We have made it in time, and moons are in our favor. It will be an easy passage, I promise. Here."

Opening the bundle of cloth she had gone back into the cavern to retrieve, she hands us each a small length of the bioluminescent fungal strands.

"These will give you a light to follow through the dark.Tie them around your ankle, so the one who comes behind you will have something to follow."

I take the sticky, resinous strand and glance at Julian. He sits on the ground a few paces off, his back resting against a large stone, elbows on his knees and his head hanging forward on his neck.

Fatigue is catching up to him, and I'm worried.

"What about the kids?" I ask. "Some of them probably can't swim."

"Children are very obedient when charmed," she says, unconcerned. "They can hold their breath a surprisingly long time. They must have done so once already, given they are here to begin with. They will cling to you like little frogs, and all will be well. Do not fear. Alyth will guide you safely through."

This draws attention, including that of Alyth herself.

"Forgive me, milady," she says, "but you have far more experience than I with these passages. Would you not best lead the way yourself?"

Rhiannon shakes her head. "Perhaps, but I shall not be joining you."

"What?" Roused from his stupor, Julian is on his feet, his face ashen with exhaustion and shock. "What do you mean you're not joining us?"

Smiling, Rhiannon takes his hands in hers. "Son of my son, the sight of you fills my heart with joy, and heals wounds even time could not mend. For a moment, I dreamed I might return with you to a life of light, and happiness, and love; but it cannot be."

"Why not?"

"Because this nightmare must end, once and for all," she says. "I shall fill this pool with stones, one for every tear that I have shed, and you must seal the other side as well, better than your ancestor did."

"But there are other portals," Julian argues. "What difference will it make to block this one?"

"There are others, yes; they come and go, and always will. This portal is different. I suspect it is at least partly artificial; probably created long ago, in a lost age, by some unholy magic. Likely by dark Fae."

"Dark Fae?"

"What the skinchangers once were," she says. "We fae are already long-lived, but for some, even this share of life was not enough. Through forbidden magic and knowledge, they became powerful sorcerers and necromancers. In time, probably through some cataclysm of their own making, they grew decadent and degenerate, and forgot the magic and knowledge that gave them power. The skinchangers are all that remains of them now; a monstrous echo of former glory."

Julian shakes his head. "There must be another way. I'm not leaving you here. You don't deserve—"

"But I do," she interrupts quietly, her smile still soft, though her eyes shine with tears. "I was banished here as punishment for a terrible sin. That I was manipulated into committing it does not make it less terrible. As my James would have said, two wrongs do not make a right."

"What about your promises?" Julian argues, unwilling to yield. "You gave Rian your word you'd take him back to Faerie, and promised to speak on behalf of these others." He gestures at Darragh's former followers. "Will you break your oath?"

"No. But I have carried my word as far as I am able, and now I pass it on to you. You must see that my brother's body is brought home, and you will speak on my behalf, as well as for these others. Perhaps I shall be pardoned; perhaps, in time, I shall return to Faerie, myself. Meanwhile, this place is not all darkness; there is light above, and the ruins of ancient cities touch the clouds. It is a fitting place for an exile to make a home. I shall spend my days in quiet solitude, and I shall be well, for my heart is at peace. You need not grieve for me."

Seeing he cannot persuade her, weary resignation marks Julian's face.

"It isn't fair," he says.

She smiles. "My James often said the same of life. Here." Reaching into another pocket of her strange garments, she withdraws the book of runes and places it in his hands. "I wish I had the time to tell you everything myself, but alas; these old, twisted words will have to do. Guard them well. Now, you must waste no more time, or you will miss the window. Go, and live joyously—the both of you."

Taking my hand as well, she joins it with Julian's.

***

One by one, we enter the pool, each with a strand of fungi bound about an ankle. Two fae guide Halloran's tightly wrapped body into the water, while the other four carry children clinging to their chests. Erickson has his niece, while Freya, Ingrid, and I carry the remaining three, leaving Julian and Danni unburdened.

Julian takes one last look at Rhiannon, who stands on the shore with her hand raised in farewell, before ducking beneath the dark water and swimming after the lead fae. With a final glance at the Shadowlands, a silent prayer to the gods of good fortune, and a deep breath, I follow him.

Rhiannon did not lie, though, and the return trip is an easy one. The passage seems both shorter and—thankfully—far less narrow than last time, and even the two fae guiding the body encounter little difficulty. The glowing fungi provide just enough light to follow, and one by one we emerge into a larger space and break the surface, finding ourselves once more in the cavern beneath the row of shops. Freya and I help the others from the water and then in a wet, shivering, straggling line, we make our way back up and through the tunnels to Stephanie Wong's shop.

Erickson collapses, shaking with fatigue and relief, and even the fae look about done-in. While Freya and Ingrid search the thrift shop for dry clothes that will fit the children (somehow I doubt Stephanie would mind), I test the landline phone near the register and check the time. There's a dial tone, and it's a little past 2 AM.

"What are you doing?" Julian asks, coming to stand at my side. I see he's wrapped his grandmother's journal in a dishcloth, probably hoping to soak up the excess moisture and help it dry.

I sigh and look down at the keypad.

"We got two things to do before we can call this night over," I say. "Erickson's sister is still babysitting a skinchanger, and we'll need help getting this lot to the stones before dawn."

"Who did you have in mind?"

"The only person I know who will answer her phone in the middle of the night."

Frowning, I dial a number. Sure enough, the other end picks up.

"Chief," I say, when she answers in a grouchy, sleep-addled voice. "It's Dane Hunter."

"Hunter? What the hell..."

I hear what sounds like sheets rustling, and imagine her rolling out of bed and turning on a light. My eyes stray to Halloran's shrouded form, and I almost hesitate. Then I take a breath and harden my resolve. I trust Coleridge with the truth, and she deserves to know it.

"Yeah, Chief. I'm afraid I've got some bad news."