Chapter 41
W ith their minds occupied with questions whose answers either eluded or displeased them, the group was quiet as they resumed their ride.
Emer’s thoughts were a series of repeating facts with one overarching theme. Everything was about to change. She would plead for her father’s life, but the Guardian could still turn her away. The weight of a lifetime spent feeling insufficient was a daunting thing when her task was to climb a mountain and prove she was worthy. If the Guardian could be persuaded, with the revelation of Lachlan’s hand in her father’s condition, there was a chance that the magic could fail her. If the Well did work and her purpose was complete, could she return home knowing what she was leaving behind?
Things in her meadow had been so simple. Perhaps the problem was that she had come to discover she did not like simple things.
Mount Fiú loomed before them like a sentinel in the center of an otherwise desolate valley—they had made it to Lunochy.
It was almost cruel how badly Emer’s body wanted to crumble in relief when she still needed to make the climb. When she studied the map at the keep and the expanse that stood between her and her destination, it seemed insurmountable. She closed her eyes, visualizing the thick black lines, faded spaces, and symbols. Symbols that she now understood because she had seen the roads, drank from the creeks, climbed the mountains, and slept beneath the trees. They were no longer faded spaces. Now, they were filled with memories.
When they reached the base, they found the terrain was steep and rocky. Unable to safely traverse it on horseback, they dismounted and gathered only necessities in preparation to continue on foot. With more than half the day gone, they would need to push hard to make it to the top of the mountain before nightfall. Beholding the mountain felt like looking at the last page of a book. Emer held her breath, ready to turn the final page and silently praying that she would find the happy ending she so desperately hoped for. She let out a shaky exhale and began to make the ascent.
Keane grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a bruising hug. “You were always more than jinx and jollies, Emmy. We will face this together,” he vowed, his lips pressed into the top of her head.
With a perplexing sadness glittering in his gaze, he gave Emer a thin smile and then stepped back to stand next to Calder. Both straightened like men ready to follow her into battle. Despite the fact that only the one making the request would be allowed into the grove where the Well was found, they would make the climb together.
She had faced an ocean, an ambush, a Sea Raven, a Fae, a mercenary, and a monster.
She faced her fears, her failures, and herself.
She would and could face this mountain and whatever came after.
With each step, a piece of armor she had donned to survive the journey was removed—heavy things that no longer served her.
It was not long before her muscles began to burn, spreading until her whole body screamed. When the voices of worry and doubt shouted at her, the men at her back shouted louder.
“We rest tomorrow, Merrow. Keep going!”
Emer welcomed the cold wind that swept over the mountain as it licked the sweat that rolled from her brow. Her leg buckled, sending small rocks skittering down the mountain.
“Just a little longer, Emmy, love,” Keane called out.
Another step.
Exhausted and unable to look back for fear of falling, their voices felt more like phantoms in her own mind. Guardians of her imaginings who fueled her strength and hope. Despite their efforts, they sounded as spent as she did. When she thought she could not move any further, she once again pictured her family… her home… her father’s favorite chair. Even when thinking of home, though, she found it felt incomplete without a set of stormy eyes and the familiar chime of Keane’s coin.
She reached the last of the incline and grabbed the rocks above to pull herself up, ignoring how the rough surface bit into her palms.
“Calder!” Keane shouted.
Calder caged her body with his, allowing her to press her boots to his thighs and push herself the last of the way. Once at the top, she fell to her knees, and Calder followed shortly behind, collapsing at her side. His outstretched arm fell to her leg, and he squeezed her thigh once—a silent encouragement as he worked to catch his breath.
Keane was at her other side and despite the fact that the magic in his veins had made the climb far less arduous, even he seemed drained. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and Emer lifted her head, taking in the rows of lanterns that lit the path ahead.
She slid her legs out from under her and began to tug at the laces of her boots, humbling and grounding herself as she prepared to pay respect to the Well and the sacred ground on which it sat.
“I won’t be running off any time soon. ”
She smiled as she handed her boots to Calder. With his other hand, he searched his pocket for the iron butterfly hidden there. He ran his thumb over it for the last time before pulling it free and pressing it into Emer’s palm.
Pulling it to her chest as she searched for words she knew she would not find.
“Go and get your Well, Merrow.” Calder’s voice was a low rumble and filled with unspoken promises. As she began to walk away, he spoke again, “But please don’t be long.”
While the base of the valley had already been bathed in darkness, the mountaintop still basked in a fading gold. An ethereal state where it was not still day and not yet night under a sky of deep blues and vibrant hues of orange. Some might say it looked like a bruise, but Emer always thought it looked like the ocean dancing with a flame.
She followed the path of lanterns; the stones beneath her feet were still warm from the day. Pale trees lined the path, standing witness to the promenade of broken souls to have walked the same steps that she walked now. There was an expectant stillness to the air that stirred a nervousness in her chest. Her breath caught as the path of trees opened into a clearing. In the center of it, the Well.
A burn bloomed in her throat and rose to her eyes at the overwhelming sight of the surrounding willows. Each branch was adorned with cloths of varying sizes, colors, and states of wear. Each one a request, a desperate plea, a broken heart, a loved one.
Her finger fumbled with the flap of her pouch, retrieving the thin strip of white from her father’s tunic. She pressed it to her lips as she closed the final distance to the Well, muttering into the fabric.
“We did it.”
“We did it. ”
“I did it.”
With shaky legs, sore feet, and a weary soul, she began to make the three rotations around the Well, mirroring the path of the sun. Once complete, she approached the Well’s edge and began coaxing the bucket from the darkness below. The rough and cold stone pressed into her forearms as she reached across the Well’s cavernous mouth and retrieved the rope from where it fell from the arch. Chilled air rushed up from its depths, carrying the scent of fresh rain and damp earth. Although she could not see her progress as she hoisted the bucket’s weight, she could hear the sound of water trickling from it as it ascended. Soon, her desperate eyes, glassy with tears, reflected in the sacred water. With trembling hands, she pulled the bucket to the edge, every part of her being fearful that the precious liquid would somehow slip through her hands before she could fulfill her task.
Her chest ached from the violent way her heart beat against it. She submerged the cloth, only faintly aware of the way her raw hands stung as the water washed over them. Pulling the cloth free, Emer stumbled to a nearby willow and reverently tied it to one of the branches as so many had done before her. In her heart, she knew she could return in a hundred years and still know which one belonged to her father.
Her lips moved silently as she recited the prayer while stepping back.Once back at the Well, she clutched the iron butterfly that she had removed from her neck—her token to the Guardian.
Each moment that passed that the Well remained silent, she felt herself growing colder. Her eyes pinched closed, sealing off her tears as she felt the familiar sense of falling begin to overcome her.
A comforting hand fell to her shoulder, and the wind swept the scent of smoke over her. Keane’s eyes took in her devastation, and for a moment, she thought his heart might have broken too.
“Why won’t the Guardian come?” she whispered, certain the pity in his eyes was confirmation of her failure.
He sucked in a deep breath as he knelt down to her .
“Why am I not worthy?” The words came out in broken sobs, and Keane threw his arms around her and began to stroke her hair.
“You are worthy, Emer. You are worthy, and you are too good for the monsters of this realm.”
The fabric of his jacket grew damp against her cheek, and after a moment, she pulled back. She had been wrong. It was not pity she saw in his eyes. It was regret.
“Why did the Guardian not come, Keane?” she asked again.
This time, her voice was more insistent.
This time, she was questioning him about much more than before.
“Because… I came to you.”
Despite how softly he spoke his confession, the impact had Emer leaning away—the ever-present wonder she held for him drowned by the weight of his deceit. A sight Keane averted his gaze from.
When no verbal or physical blows were thrown, he chanced another glance toward Emer and found her shaking her head, unwilling to let the truth she now knew settle and take root in her mind.
Jinx and jollies.
Emer’s stomach turned violently, and she swallowed the acidic burn of the bile creeping up her throat as she recalled what he had said at the base of the mountain—he promised that she had been more. She blinked slowly, calming her racing heart and mind.
“Tell me the story then.”
She could not hide the pain in her voice, and Keane’s wings fell slightly.
“If someone on the soil of Isle Basalt speaks of the Well, the Guardian is summoned to weigh their merit before they know they are being watched. That is where the legends get it wrong. It never happens once they reach the Well,” he explained, fidgeting under her attention .
“I tried to leave you. After I first found you. And I did… I left, but I didn’t stay away for long.”
Keane pulled his coin from his pocket, affectionately running his thumb over it despite the bargain it represented.
“I have looked at this trinket for 400 years, and when I saw your eyes at the Alder Barrel during the brawl, I lost control of my magic. You were never supposed to see me.” He paused, holding up the coin and then looking past it to Emer. “It matched your eyes so perfectly, so impossibly, that I knew you were important. The more time I spent with you, the more important you became to me.”
Shock and confusion coursed through her as she stared at the object in his hand. She could sense his conviction, feel his urgency, but she did not understand how it was possible.
“The magic forbade me from telling you I was the Guardian,” he said, rubbing his hands down his face and dropping to his knees at her side. “But… I didn’t want you to be alone.”
Loneliness had been the prize for his fateful bargain. The inability to die while having nothing to live for. It was pain. It was hopelessness. It was his curse. It was also the one thing he could protect her from.
She considered the fight at the Alder Barrel… how he had stepped into the path of the chair instead of pulling her out of its way. She considered the inn… how he had not attempted to intervene until the man bumped into him. He had waited for Ubel to strike him before he reacted. He had made Calder repeat her request for the chalice when she asked for it because he could not have given it to her at her own request. It was a constant dance to find a way to help through indirect means.
“You are worthy. It is I who am not,” he sighed, holding out his now empty palm for her. She hesitantly handed him the pendant. The iron pendant. Emer’s eyes snapped to Keane.
He gave a sheepish half-grin. “That is another thing the legends get wrong. Iron does not hurt all Fae folk. I didn’t have the heart to tell you, and it seemed to pacify the Raven,” he said, not meeting her eyes as he held out his hand and helped her stand.
Keane brought his hand over the mouth of the Well, pausing to look at her. “I am so proud of you, Emmy,” he praised.
Still holding her gaze, he opened his hand and released the pendant.
Every tear she had fought… every fear she had shaken off came flooding into her, and her soul ached with relief. Emer choked as she heard the sweet sound of the token hitting the water below. It echoed through her, and her tired body fell against Keane.
It was done.