The Drochaid
The stars always shone a little brighter in Faerie. It was one of the realm’s only redeeming qualities as far as Beth was concerned. But then, Faerie itself wasn’t awful. That it took on the visage of its ruling monarch was its most prevalent flaw.
Unseelie territory was always cold and harsh, fraught with brambles and thickets and secrets. Most of Maeve’s subjects had no choice but to make their way in the mortal realm, for even if they somehow managed to escape the Dark Lady’s watchful eye, the land itself was nigh uninhabitable.
Beth was glad for the return of her sweater. The air was cold enough when they stepped through the portal for her to see her breath. She hugged the soft wool close to herself and followed closely behind Ronan and Sylvie. The portal let out where two paths met, one to the palace, the other to the stables. From there they would find the road to the Drochaid. Beth shivered, looking forward to the body heat she could borrow from Ronan when she was in front of him on a horse.
The ground was frosted over and crunched softly beneath their boots, but they made it undetected to the stable. Not that it would have mattered. Despite Beth feeling as though they were doing something wrong by passing by the castle without announcing their presence, they weren’t fugitives. Alone, Beth would have gotten in trouble, but Ronan could do as he liked. Evident by the salute given to him by the stable guard posted at the door.
“Evening, Sheriff.” The man was tall but well-constructed, muscle practically bursting through his seams.
“Niall,” Ronan said with a nod. “We’ll be needing two horses.”
“Sure thing.” He disappeared into the warm looking building.
Sylvie, Beth noted, had her hood pulled low so that it covered half of her face and left the rest in shadow. She definitely did not want anyone here alerted to her presence. Beth would have pried if she didn’t understand what it was like to be on the run from Maeve.
Beth shivered again and stepped closer to Ronan, managing to take a deep breath of his scent. It comforted her, she admitted to herself. Though that it did unsettled her somewhat and she took a step away, hugging herself tighter.
Niall returned with two gargantuan horses, all saddled and ready to go and nodded to Ronan respectfully before returning to his post.
Sylvie only came up to the horse’s shoulder but managed to swing herself up and over as if she’d done it a thousand times. Perhaps she had. Beth, of course, hadn’t. She stared hopelessly at the beast, who regarded her with a wary eye.
Ronan swung himself up and over with ease and then reached down for her hand. There was no way she was going to pull this off gracefully. Thankfully, Ronan did it for her. He lifted her into the saddle as though she were as light as a sack of flour. He settled her in front of him and reached for the reigns, his warm arms on either side of her, caging her in. She shivered again, but this time for a completely different reason.
The ride took forever and no time at all. Beth was more focused on the feel of Ronan against her. His warmth penetrated every ounce of her being and she allowed herself to revel in it. The night was beautiful, the stars and moon bright enough that she could have mistaken the time of day for twilight if the glow wasn’t silver on black.
By the time the forest loomed on the horizon Beth was so comfortable that she might have dozed off. They had passed no one on the road and when they got close enough for her to get a first real look at the Drochaid, she understood why.
The trees were monstrous, and a sense of foreboding emanated from them so intensely that it was palpable. Not a sliver of light showed between them, giving Beth the impression that they were about to ride into a pool of oil. That perhaps they would drown as the thick darkness invaded their mouths and noses and lungs, choking them until all they saw and felt and tasted was blackness and cold.
“You with me?” Ronan’s soft voice asked against the back of her neck.
Beth realized that she’d gotten lost in that void that wasn’t a void at all, but a darkness so tightly woven that it gave the effect of endless nothingness. Beth wasn’t a fan of the Drochaid, she decided.
She swallowed and managed a small sound of assent. “Courtiers hunt in there?” The idea seemed utterly ridiculous to her. But then again, the Unseelie had always been a masochistic lot.
“Yes.” Ronan’s tone was deep and serious. He’d lost his entire family to the forest, hadn’t he? “For sport. Not for survival.”
She’d assumed that. The idea of a courtier hunting for survival was laughable. “It’s so …” Words fled from her tongue when she tried to describe it.
“Yes,” Ronan agreed. “Beasts and secrets slither beneath that ebony blanket like snakes.”
“Is the Seelie side as bad?” She knew at some point within those portent depths the dark changed to light, Unseelie to Seelie, and that emerging on the other side would mean being in Etain’s domain.
“It’s just as treacherous, but not as dark.” His warm breath felt far too good against her nape, evident by the goosebumps that broke out across her body and the tightening of her nipples.
“And not as cold,” He added, like he’d somehow detected, and misinterpreted, her body’s reaction. There was no way he could have though. She was covered fully. Her sweater was thick and beneath that was a blouse and a bra.
They drew ever closer and the tree line turned into a towering wall of ink. The road they were on disappeared into thick shadow and the horses shied away, slowing to a trot.
Sylvie looked at Ronan. “Should we leave the horses?”
“How far is it by foot?” The horses had stopped now, pulling ever so slightly back the direction from which they had come.
“Not far. Twenty minutes’ walk.” Sylvie’s hood was down, and she stared warily into those despairing depths.
“Did you walk it last time?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m not sure the horses will go much further.” Ronan dismounted with no more warning than that, leaving Beth to sway dangerously in the sudden chill. She clutched what she could of the saddle.
Sylvie was next on the ground, her nimble feet stalking closer to the forest’s edge.
Ronan lifted his arms for Beth and she fell onto him, cursing her clumsiness. He didn’t seem to mind, simply set her on her feet and started forward. He took the reins and secured them to a post that must be meant for this purpose exactly. Sylvie followed suit, and they started in.
The forest smelled like mildew and neglect. Like a dead person’s attic, breached after years of not being touched. The darkness wasn’t as thick as Beth had suspected, but she wasn’t sure where the gray haze came from. Looking up revealed no signs of moonlight filtering through the oppressive leaves. Had Trina and her family passed through here on their journey to the Light? Beth couldn’t imagine those gentle nymphs getting along with these ancient behemoths.
The path was barely visible, and it seemed to branch off quite often. Sylvie seemed sure of her steps. She took the third left turn and walked on. Beth faltered quite frequently, managing to trip over every other branch or root, as if they moved on their own to sabotage her. Ronan walked behind her, keeping her upright for the most part.
Eventually they came to a clearing, illuminated by that same pale haze that seemed to have no source. It must be some sort of gas, Beth surmised. A bioluminescent fog. A small hut, just as Sylvie had described, sat squat at the back edge. It looked to Beth as though entering would provoke some evil witch to try and boil her alive in a cauldron. Was that a mortal or Fae tale? She couldn’t remember.
No lights were on in the hut, no smoke from the chimney bid them welcome. In fact, the structure filled Beth with a dread more potent than the rest of the horrible forest had been able to elicit. She stopped walking about twenty feet from it, her sense all colliding in a burst of unbearable learning.
Suddenly she understood. The hut housed soul-juice, or Cthonic, or whatever the detached souls were called. Not a lot of it, but more than Sylvie had been carrying initially, and more than Beth could ever say no to.
Before she was aware of what she was doing, Beth was running forward. Her mind was focused only on getting inside and gorging herself. Distantly she heard the curse of both of her companions as they startled and chased after her, but she was not deterred. She burst through the door so hard it cracked.
The hut was a single room with a lifeless fireplace taking up the back wall and a few tables and chairs spread about. In the fireplace, however, sat a cauldron. Much like the one Beth had imagined in the witch’s fairy tale. She flew toward it, yanking it from its mount and inhaling the lightning and gunpowder smell that she to associate with souls. Her mouth watered, her throat burned, her teeth gnashed as she prepared to devour every last drop of it. There was no thermos to dull the draw this time, no hard candy shell, just souls open to the air and it called to Beth on an utterly primal level.
Before she could take that first sip, however, it was ripped away.
Beth snarled at Sylvie and lunged for her, but strong hands encircled her arms and held her back.
Sylvie’s dark eyes looked fearfully from Beth to the container in her arms. The glow of the silver-blue substance reflected on her face and made her look ghostly. “What do we do?”
“We’ve got to get her away from it. Your dealer isn’t here.” Ronan’s deep voice irritated Beth, when only minutes ago she might have found it comforting.
“No. The place looks as though no one’s touched it in years.”
“A trick, obviously. I doubt the Cthonic would have been left undisturbed for very long.”
“Why would he leave it behind?”
“Perhaps he left in a hurry and didn’t have enough room to transport it to wherever he was going.”
“Or he knows Elizabeth’s secret and intended to leave it in order to trip us up,” the selkie suggested.
Ronan shook his head. “Doubtful.”
“You’re so sure that her secret is kept?” Sylvie put the cauldron back into the fireplace.
“Not entirely, but the list of those who know is small. And for someone to plan this out so carefully they would have to know that you would lead us here.”
“Pretend like that’s the case. This would be a trap.”
Beth still strained for the shimmering substance, but Ronan held her fast.
“Indeed. However, since there is no clear and present danger other than the forest itself, I feel as though perhaps --” Ronan was cut off by a loud growl outside.
He spun around, Beth still in his grasp. Through the cracked and gaping door they could see at least eight revenants lurching forward through the brush like they were extras in a zombie movie. As if that weren’t threatening enough, behind them paced a few giant beasts. Drochaid beasts with dripping fangs and iron claws. They were the most dangerous to the Fae. One cut from those claws would spread throughout the body, necrosing it until there was nothing left at all. There were treatments, but they had to be performed quickly and only worked some of the time.
Beth’s mind was more focused on the revenants, however. They wanted the juice, and it was hers. Defend the Cthonic, that was her goal. Her whole body hummed with approval of it.
“Knife,” she requested, having stopped struggling against Ronan’s hold at the sight of the danger.
“No way in hell,” replied Ronan.
“They want what is mine. Knife, husband, now.” Beth barely heard the words she was spitting out, the need having taken over so fully it was as if she were miles away, watching a bad quality YouTube video of her own actions.
Beside them, Sylvie chuckled. “You got told. Now give her a knife so she can kill the fuckers.”
“She cares only for the safety of the Cthonic,” he protested.
“So? Let’s use her to our advantage. She looks bloodthirsty. Let her go and arm her.”
“Sylviana, do you presume that I knowingly put my wife in danger?” Ronan was angry, but the revenants were getting closer.
“Yes. Because ultimately it will be less danger than if you continue to restrain her. I can’t fight these alone!” Sylvie was growing increasingly frantic.
Ronan relented after only another moment’s hesitation. As soon as Beth had a knife in her hand she bounded forward with a grace she didn’t remember having and shaved off two revenant heads like they were pez dispensers and she wanted the candy inside.
Only vaguely aware of her actions Beth moved on to the rest, taking out at least four more of the mindless revenants on her own. She’d never been this athletic before, but she wasn’t truly herself.
Ronan beat her to the last two, decapitating them with startling ease, and then picked her up before she reached the beasts. He carried her back inside and slammed the door remains shut as they started to follow, quickly gaining speed.
“You need not dance with them, wife. They don’t want your Cthonic, just your blood.”
“Speaking of blood,” Sylvie said, looking her over. “You look like you just got Carrie’d.”
If Beth had more presence of mind she would have laughed and marveled at Sylvie’s pop culture knowledge, instead she just snarled in her direction.
Ronan didn’t get the reference.
Outside, the beasts lunged at the door, cracking the wood even further. “They were going to let the mindless creatures take care of us and then feast on the remains,” Ronan said.
“Why didn’t they eat the revenants?” Sylvie pushed a table against the door to reinforce as another boom shook the hut.
“Good question. A lack of soul must make them unappetizing somehow.”
Beth struggled against Ronan again. The sizzling smell of Cthonic pervaded the small room. She longed for it with every cell of her body, could even feel her pores opening up to invite it inside.
“Here,” Sylvie said, pulling a pair of handcuffs from a satchel that must have been glamoured to not be visible. She slapped one on Beth and the other on Ronan.
Ronan nodded to her, finally letting loose his hold on Beth and readying his sword in the hand not linked to her. “Be ready for when they break through.”
“You think they’re going to break through? What are they even doing this close to the edge of the forest?” Sylvie sounded frightened.
“Probably following the revenants.”
“Think they’ll get bored and go away on their own?”
“We can hope. But they’re probably starving if they’ve come this far out. It’s more dangerous for them here. The light hurts them.”
Sylvie groaned. Beth inched toward the cauldron, only to be yanked back by Ronan. Another boom broke the door and the snarling, dripping mouth of a beast took up the entryway, blocked only momentarily by the table. Ronan slashed at it and darted back but Beth hindered his movements substantially. Constantly she pulled toward the hearth. The beasts didn’t want her juice, so they were no concern of hers.
Sylvie brought her knife down and stabbed the beast through the top of its head. It let out a loud yelp and then went silent as it slumped across the threshold. Behind it, the other beast let out a mighty howl, one that made even Beth stop in her struggle and turn in fear. Not only did they have one more bloodthirsty Drochaid beast left to deal with, they had pissed it off.
It lurched over its brethren and the table, cornering the three Fae in the small space. It went for Sylvie’s leg, but sometime between her killing its friend and it playing leap frog over his corpse, she had produced a gun.
She shot at it, hitting its terrifyingly large shoulder. It yelped too and changed course, heading now for Beth. She gripped her knife tightly, ready to give the beast a taste of the revenant blood that coated her blade, but Ronan stepped in front of her. Perhaps he assumed that she wouldn’t think to defend herself when the Cthonic was so close, or perhaps he simply didn’t want to risk her sucking at it, but either way it was a move he shouldn’t have made.
His sword bit into the limping monster’s throat but not deep enough to stop it from slashing at his leg with those deadly iron claws. Ronan cried out and lurched forward, driving deep enough into the beast to sever its head before he fell to his knees, bringing Beth alongside him.
Beth’s mind cleared enough to know that Ronan was in pain and subsequently in danger. A slice from a Drochaid beast could be fatal. For a moment she and Sylvie met eyes, both panting and covered in blood.
“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” the selkie said before dropping down beside Ronan and putting a delicate hand on his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” he ground out before they could ask, but Beth could tell his teeth were clenched. There was nothing so bad as the pain of iron. It was everywhere in the mortal realm. Which was a true testament to the dreadfulness of the Unseelie realm because its subjects still chose the mortal realm over the Fae.
“I’m calling bullshit,” Sylvie said. She looked at Beth. “You over your little episode, wild child? ‘Cause we need to get him to the castle healers asap.”
Beth cleared her throat, it was thick with worry. “Yeah, yes. I’m back. Sorry.”
Sylvie looked impressed. “You must really care about him if he can pull you out of a trance like that.”
Beth almost stood but thought better of it. “Keys to the handcuffs, please.”
The selkie chuckled and reached over, releasing them of their bondage. “We’ll help him to the forest’s edge, then he’ll ride back with me.”
Beth swallowed. The thought of riding a giant horse all by herself was daunting, but there didn’t seem to be any other options. Other than her being left behind anyway, and there was no way in hell she was letting that happen.
Beth helped Ronan to stand. With one arm over Beth’s shoulders and the other over Sylvie’s, they were off. They moved too fast for Beth to look back at the precious Cthonic.
Ronan could barely walk, tripping over the gore from the attack and the various roots. He mostly hopped on the leg that hadn’t been lacerated. At some point, thankfully just before they broke through the tree line, he lost consciousness.
How they made it back to the horses was beyond Beth, but she was glad that they did. Every twig snap put her heart into overdrive and all the while her back ached with Ronan’s weight and her feet slipped around in her boots, wet as she was all over still with cooling blood. Worry for Ronan plagued her deeply. She’d been so stupid, letting him take her here. He wouldn’t have gotten hurt if he hadn’t been cuffed to her, or even just defending her at all. Guilt stabbed at her.
Sylvie climbed up onto her mount and Beth struggled under her husband’s weight as the selkie reached down for him. Between the two girls he was somehow thrown over the saddle.
Beth attempted to mount the other horse and finally got it on her fourth try. Her feet didn’t reach the stirrups, so she clutched tightly to the reigns.
“Tell him to follow,” Sylvie shouted before taking off at a gallop that left them in a cloud of dust and frost.
“Er … follow them?” Beth squeaked, patting the horse gently on the back of the head. She was nearly thrown off when he obeyed, and they started after Sylvie and Ronan at a comparable pace.
The ride was exhilarating, or would have been if Beth wasn’t too worried to even fully breathe. She watched Ronan’s still figure on Sylvie’s horse as best she could, going over all that she knew about iron poisoning.
The further away they got the clearer her head became and the more persistent her guilt and anguish grew. How could she have let this happen to him? He was going to die, and it was going to be all her fault.
Beth’s thoughts only proceeded to get darker and more self-deprecating over the hour or so it took to get them back. They were going as fast as the horses could, it seemed. They couldn’t have been in there for longer than a few hours it felt like, but the sun was already beginning to rise when they reached the stables. Beth had never thought the sight of the Pale Palace would be a relief to her, but today it as.