I didn’t see much of the journey between Greta’s cottage and the mysterious stop Lucian mentioned. We didn’t travel by foot, but traversed miles in the same manner by which we’d escaped the Light Court. It wasn’t as scary as the first time; in fact, safe in Lucian’s arms, I thought the inky black landscape with its streaking colors was, in its own way, arrestingly beautiful.
When I called it teleporting, Lucian laughed and said it was shadow-walking, a skill Fae began learning as children. Only possible within the borders of a Sidhe, it was used primarily to travel short distances, which was why the transfer from Court to Greta’s had been so difficult. For safety, the shadow-walker used a focus object from their destination, most often a rock or a bit of soil.
Deep, emotional bonds also worked, like that between mother and son. Without a focus object or emotion, however, there was always a danger of becoming lost in the Shadowland. He didn't mention whether I, as a changeling, could travel thusly, and I didn’t ask. As enchanting as it was, once I left Maghmael, I never wanted to see it again.
We arrived in one piece, in a small clearing in another forest, deep and uncut, its age evident in the height of the canopy and the thickness of the trunks around us. The species were varied, many unknown to me, but the density of great, gnarled oaks clued me in to the sanctity of the space.
Lucian tucked his focus object, a small worn stone, into a pocket, and led me forward unerringly, on a winding path I figured must be only visible to him. We trekked in the half-light of dawn, its influence muted by the greenery overhead. Tendrils of mist—natural, Lucian assured me—swirled around our legs, and outside our footsteps, there was utter silence. Instead of causing disquiet, the lack of animal presence struck me as choice made out of respect.
We walked long enough for my muscles to grow comfortably warm and loose, and the forest to brighten noticeably. Finally, Lucian slowed, then stopped. I followed his gaze, but saw nothing save an endless reach of trees.
He drew a swift breath. “Mighty Oracle, by the grace of the Red Mother and All-Father, we seek your counsel.” He touched fingers to his lips, then rested them over his heart. “I offer you the secrets of my soul, so that you may know we come in peace.”
Blinking widely, I looked around, waiting for something and seeing nothing.
Then a female voice, soft and precise, said, “Be welcome, Lucian Ó Cléirigh and Fiona Sullivan Ní Lir.”
The speaker stepped nimbly around the trunk of an oak directly before us, a pale hand passing over bark, leaving odd eddies of golden light in its wake. Thick, knotted gray hair hung unbound around her slight torso; bits of leaves and twigs littered the strands. Her face was old and not—unlined, yet so ancient the skin was translucent, stretched taught over a sharply pointed chin and jutting cheekbones. Her eyes were enormous, nut-brown and glistening. I met them only for a moment before lowering my gaze.
“Blessings of Light upon you both,” she said. There was a pause, then, “Lucian Ó Cléirigh, I cannot answer the question in your heart.”
I glanced at Lucian in time to catch a fleeting frown of disappointment. He bowed, fingers still resting over his heart. “Might you call upon your gift, revered one?”
Intrigued, I looked at the Oracle just as her eyes rolled upward, filmy white overtaking the sockets. I suppressed a shiver.
“First moon meets the last, one night of a thousand. Blood beckons.”
I stiffened, recognizing the words of prophecy I’d spoken in Denver. I waited for more, but the Oracle sighed and blinked, her eyes once more brown. With skeletal fingers, she beckoned me forward. I obeyed without thought, dropping to my knees before her muddy, torn skirts and bowing my head. Her touch was light on my crown. My scalp tingled.
“Ah,” she exhaled. “Three truths for you, my child. Spirit, mind, and blood. You are her, she is you. The wound you seek is in your mind. Blood alone will heal.” She sighed again, and her fingers lifted. I stayed completely still, her words filtering through me, nonsensical but oddly relieving. Warmth swirling through my chest, relaxing away my tension. Above me, the Oracle shifted. “You’re taking her to the Master of Storms, yes?”
Lucian said, “I am.”
“Good. He once carried a similar wound, long ago when our world was new. He will help her understand.”
“Thank you,” said Lucian, his relief tangible.
Fingers grazed my hair again. “There are times when forgetting is a gift, child. Be careful, lest you fight to reclaim that which should be forgotten.”
A zing of foreboding coursed down my spine. “I don’t understand,” I said tremulously. “Are you talking about the memories Morrighan took? Or something else?” You are her, she is you.
The Oracle hummed beneath her breath, a multi-tonal sound that made goose bumps rise on my arms and neck. “Threes and threes,” she murmured. “Lóstre, Sight, and . . .” She hummed for another few moments. “Blood, blood, blood. Golden bright. I See nothing else.”
Lucian hissed a word under his breath that I didn’t catch.
“Stand, child,” said the Oracle, and I did, drawing back onto my heels, then rising to my feet. My body tingled again, crown to feet, and the drugging effect of her presence faded. Sound permeated the forest, chirps and darting animal feet, the dry rustling of leaves.
I fumbled for words and settled on a simple, “Thank you.”
Her lustrous brown eyes creased at the corners as she smiled. “My name is Airmed. Though you do not recall, you’ve spent time in my grove.”
I exhaled sharply. “You were teaching me to track auras,” I guessed.
She nodded serenely. “You have a question. Ask.”
“What would prevent me from finding a woman whose aura I was familiar with? Besides death, of course. I could sense her, but couldn’t lock onto her location.”
“One Oracle can obscure the Sight of another.” I nodded; my mother had done that last year. “Or the woman could have been outside your world, or lost in the Shadowland.” She eyed me knowingly, an impish glint in her dark eyes. “But you already know which answer applies, don’t you?”
I nodded. “I think she’s in a Sidhe. Probably this one, though I have no way of testing the theory now.”
She grunted, tapping my forehead with her index finger hard enough to push me back a step. “Heal the mind. Accept the blood bond.”
Blood bond? She couldn’t be talking about the compagno bond, could she? My nerves started ringing. “What bond?” I asked. “Whose blood?”
Lucian stirred, “Forgive us, Oracle, but we must go.”
The Oracle cocked her head. “Ah, yes. I hear them.”
My head whipped toward Lucian. “Hear what?”
“Journey well, children,” whispered Airmed.
When I turned back, she had vanished. A howl, high and hair-raising, shattered the forest’s serenity. Not close, but not very far, either. I jolted into motion, running to Lucian and skidding into his arms.
The darkness of the Shadowland swallowed us. I didn’t watch the streaking colors this time, but kept my eyes closed and my face pressed against Lucian’s chest. The journey was brief, but when I opened my eyes, I saw that our luck had run out.
Four Fae guardsmen stood between us and a gigantic oak, rising like a solitary sentinel from a grassy knoll. All around us were fields of wild grass, miles upon miles of them, undulating gently toward forests in the south and east. To the distant west, silver spires teased my sight, fading and reappearing like mirages. All I could see of the north was the tree, which must contain the portal to Eamhna.
The guards didn’t seem surprised to see us, but were clearly nervous, their slender swords trembling and winking in the sunlight. Lucian pushed me behind him and I let him; I had no weapons, magical or otherwise. Maybe Connor was right, and I had a habit of acting rashly, but I wasn’t stupid.
“Surrender on order of the queen,” said one of the Fae, his wide eyes slanting to me and away.
“Stand down and you won’t perish,” Lucian snapped.
The guards rushed us.
The air crackled, heating so fast I staggered back. Lucian lifted his hands and lightning flashed; I didn’t close my eyes in time and went momentarily blind. Thunder rocked the ground and sent me sprawling. I scrambled back to my feet as a flock of birds lifted noisily from the highest branches of the tree. The Fae guards were on the ground, unmoving. Steam rose from two of the bodies.
“Why didn’t they defend themselves with magic?” I asked weakly.
“No ward can shield against plasma,” he said, a brief flicker of sadness crossing his face.
A howl shattered the silence, long and high and hungry. Lucian grabbed my hand with fingers that were searing hot. Despite my cry of pain, he yanked me forward, up the knoll toward the base of the tree. I risked a glance behind us and wished I hadn’t bothered. My eyes and brain couldn’t compute the something that was moving toward us with unnatural speed from the southern forest line, gaining hundreds of feet a second. It was huge, and lithe, corporeal one moment and invisible the next. There were too many legs, then none at all. Mottled dark fur became hairless red skin. And the eyes alternately smoldered like embers and shone mirror bright.
A primal scream clawed up my throat. My legs burned, my fear-numbed mind trying to turn them to stone while adrenaline kept them pumping forward. I couldn’t take my eyes off the beast—two hundred yards, one hundred yards . . .
Lucian yelled a clipped phrase in the language of the Fae, and there was a deep, rending sound from the tree. I tore my gaze from the hound with effort. In the base of the oak was now a doorway, a dense, flat darkness that thrummed with power. I had a moment’s thought that the portal didn’t look like I’d imagined—along the lines of a glowing passage with golden steps—before Lucian tumbled us into the darkness.