Chapter 44
T he moment the ether dissipated and Keane felt the ground beneath his boots solidify, excruciating pain still racking his body, he collapsed. This was his bargain. His curse. His gift from the Elders themselves. His mistake.
If he ever tried to leave Isle Basalt, every drop of power that he had coveted would turn against him, and for better or worse, Keane had a lot of power. They’d allowed him to obtain more and more, only to weave it into the very noose that tied him to the Isle— to the Well.
No one defied the Elders.
He lay in the clearing where he had left Emer and Calder, wiping the blood from his lips as his body began to repair itself. Even as he felt his curse dissipating, there was an ache in his chest, an ache that he had felt when on the Isle of Rest that was unlike any pain he had known—like his very soul had been carved out with a dull blade.
He parted his lips to shout but found he was breathing shallow, rapid breaths and could not muster the sound. Everything was quiet. Everything was wrong. The air was thick and had an acrid scent. One of dark magic mixed with something else—something metallic. The lanterns that had been lit were now extinguished. Keane’s magic stirred with panic and fury, lighting the lanterns with a fierce flame and illuminating the space with a harsh glow. But the light didn’t chase away the darkness, it only cast shadows. A dark red stain streaked down the side of the Well, the source of the scent that Keane had wanted to deny.
Blood.
The realm became deafening and utterly still all at once. He stretched his hand toward the dark stain, but for the first time in his long life, his fingers trembled. If he could not cross the Array, he hoped the void forming in his chest would swallow him whole. Reduce him to nothingness. Stop the pain. If he could just cease to exist, then he would not have to endure what would come next.
His legs buckled without his permission, and he fell into the edge of the Well. Once he knew there would be no unknowing, it would be real. She would be gone, and he would be alone. Again.
He would endure it for her. He would know, he would remember, and he would utterly brutalize whoever did this. His fingers dipped into the blood, now cold and thick, and he knew.
He knew how she was betrayed.
He knew how she fought.
He knew how she called for help.
He knew how she died.
He knew how he failed.
Even though he hadn't understood it at the time, he had felt her go.
“Give. Her. Back,” he spat.
The wind whipped through the clearing as his magic stirred and pressed against that of the Well. The willows shook as his rage filled the space.
“I will not leave her down there. So, you can give her back or I will take her back myself!” he roared, becoming every bit the monster he never wanted her to see.
He curled his fingers around the edge, the stone fissuring beneath his grip. The image of Emer’s sad expression as he told her the story of Mian Loch flashed in his mind. She had asked him if the beauty of the Well was lost as a result of one male’s fragile pride. Shame washed over him, causing the wind to die. He pressed his forehead against the stone.
“Please,” he whispered. “Let me take her home.”
The wind whispered through the clearing, and a much softer magic drifted through the space. He waited with his eyes closed and breath held until he heard the faint trickle of water as the Well began to weep. It overflowed, washing away the gore that had painted its edges. The stream increased and the water rushed out to meet the wall of willows.
Soon, Keane was on his knees in a shallow pool. He could not be bothered by the water soaking through his clothes, not when a form began to emerge. Keane let out a ragged breath when he saw Calder and thought perhaps his vision had been a cruel trick, but then he saw what was in Calder’s arms—who was in Calder’s arms.
Emer looked asleep, cradled like that, her head pressed tightly to his chest, while one of his hands stroked her hair. There was a slight tremor in his movements that one might have suspected was from the cold, but the distant look in Calder’s eyes spoke of something else.
As they began to drift over the edge, Keane lurched forward and braced their descent. The three of them collapsed on the ground and Keane reached for Emer, his hands hovering over her as if touching her would confirm what his eyes already knew to be true. Incoherent questions poured from him as he took her in. Rather than trying to pry her from Calder, he cupped her face in his hands.
She was so cold.
“Your father… he’s okay, lovie. Everything will be okay. You just need to wake up, and we will all be okay.”
There was no answer, and Calder shook more violently as he dropped his head. It was as if he had held hope that Keane could have brought her back, and now he knew that she was truly gone.
Keane’s eyes drifted down to the space just next to Calder’s head, the jagged wound from where the sword tore through her. When he looked back at her face, his own tears streamed down her cheeks.
They stayed like that for a long while, clinging to her in silence. She had been alive that morning. Keane had sat with her in a field of flowers beneath the morning sun. Calder had kissed her under the afternoon sky. Now, they held her lifeless body between them beneath the midnight stars, and they could not imagine the sun ever rising again.
A soft murmuring broke the silence as Calder whispered apologies and promises to Emer, who would never hear them. Keane’s fists clenched, furious he ever trusted him with her.
“Just so we are clear… if she didn’t love you, I would have already killed you for failing to protect her,” Keane said coldly.
Calder sat back.
“I’ll give you my sword to do it. Just let me kill them first.”
Calder’s voice was rough from screaming, Keane realized, but his eyes were vacant of whatever emotion had torn through him.
“You may love her differently, but you do not love her more. If I have to live with the knowledge that I failed her, then so do you,” Keane hissed.
He did not care if it was wrong to say. He did not care if he was cruel. If he was forced to place her on a pyre. He would burn it all down with her.
They did not stop on their journey back to Murdoch aside from giving breaks to the horses. They did not sleep. They did not eat. They did not speak .
This time, when he entered the town, Lina was already waiting for him in the village square with Banner at her side. The rest of the village made themselves scarce. Given the body in Calder’s arms and the madness in his eyes, he was certain they had chosen to observe his return through cracks in doors and between shutters.
Lina looked like she hadn’t slept in days, whether because she felt Emer die or simply heard her brother’s screams as he watched her soul be cut from her body.
Banner, too, looked grieved as his gaze fell to the form Calder cradled—the girl who wound up on an Isle of monsters, only to have stolen the hearts they didn’t know they had.
Calder released Emer to dismount Danu, and even then, it was only for a moment and only to Keane.
They remained silent, forgoing the nonsensical apologies that some tended to offer in response to someone’s loss.
“We have a ship prepared to take her home,” Lina explained, holding her arms out as if she meant to take Emer.
“No.”
Calder’s answer was clipped, his voice hoarse like he’d swallowed shards of broken glass as he pulled Emer tighter against his chest. He refused to let her go in every sense of the word and Lina’s expression fell at the despair in his eyes.
“She’s gone, Cal. We need to get her home,” she sighed.
“She isn’t!” he snapped.
Lina’s gaze grew wide.
“I’m not mad, Lina,” Calder said, shaking his head.
“I am. So… keep that in mind if you try to take her again,” Keane chimed in sharply. His eyes met Banner’s, and when he did not look away, Keane’s lips pulled into a snarl. Banner lifted his chin in challenge.
“Calder,” Lina said softly.
“I rode with her in my arms for days, Lina! She is not wasting away,” he roared at a volume that he’d never taken with his sister. A commanding and terrifying tone, steeped in anguish. “She is not stiff or rotted… she is soft and whole and…” He trailed off. “I am not a stranger to death, Lina, but I can feel her. She is still here.”