13. Bé Chuille
Bé Chuille
The shadows closed in around Sorcha like drowning hands, pulling her downward through a void that seemed endless.
She twisted and kicked, her body reacting on instinct, but the grip on her limbs only tightened.
The skeletal fingers scraped against her skin, clawing at her as they dragged her toward the abyss below.
With a sudden, jarring force, she was flung forward, her body striking cold stone with enough impact to knock the breath from her.
The hands vanished, leaving her sprawled and gasping, blood bubbling from her mouth as she coughed.
Ahead, the air shimmered in front of an altar; the distortion rippling across her vision.
There was no figure standing there, yet Sorcha could sense them.
As she pushed herself to sit up, she watched the altar.
It loomed at the center of a clearing, carved from stone but also forged from the forest itself.
Roots and limbs crawled across its surface, as flowers bloomed in impossible golds.
They twisted and wrapped around a statue of what appeared to be a woman.
A shadow appeared and stood before the altar; it was tall, and its face a smoky haze — a man made of shadow.
A fae who preyed upon fear. She realized it was the Fear Dorcha.
Her gaze locked on his form, but the longer she looked, the more her thoughts rebelled, screaming for her to look away before she unraveled entirely.
He tilted his head slightly; the movement unsettling.
“The child of the sun stumbles into the darkness,” his voice dripped with anger and amusement in such a way it made her skin crawl. “How bold.”
Sorcha forced the words out as she spoke them. “Where am I? Let me go!”
The Fear Dorcha chuckled deep and sinisterly. “Oh, I think not. You’ve wandered into our forest, little flame. And now, you must prove yourself worthy of leaving it.”
Low growls reverberated through the darkness, and Sorcha froze, eyes widening as she turned toward the sound.
The shadows parted, peeling back in thin, trembling strands, and a creature emerged that felt like it had been dragged out of a nightmare.
The hound stood nearly as tall as she was, its body slick and black, its fur shifting like oil across its body as smoke curled off it.
Twin silver eyes locked onto her; canines the size of her hands dripped with a thick red liquid as it growled.
She had heard the stories. Everyone had. The hounds of the Fear Dorcha didn’t just stalk their prey; they consumed them whole, and seeing them now, she understood how. His facial features formed as he spoke, “Let’s play a game, shall we?” He mused, his eyes widening.
“Fuck you,” she spat as blood dripped from the corners of her lips. “Play with me and I’ll make you a deal.” His eyes filled with excitement as he continued. “You can’t fight it. You can’t kill it. You must tame it. If you do, you’re free to go.”
Sorcha looked to the creature and then back to him. “Tame that? that’s impossible! I’m going to die!”
But before she could protest further, the hound lunged.
Its teeth sank into her, the pain instant as it teeth sprouted through the bottom of her arm.
She screamed and tried twisting away, but the beast held on, dragging her backward across the stone floor.
Letting ago the hound struck her chest, knocking the wind from her lungs as she heard a crack under the weight.
Its breath scorched her throat, and the snarl that followed rattled through her bones.
Her magic flared in response, heat burning at her fingertips, but before she could summon it, the Fear Dorcha snapped his fingers. In an instant, the fire vanished, stolen from her before it could form.
“No, no, little flame,” he said with quiet amusement. “Not like that.”
She kicked and clawed, striking at its sides, but her efforts had no effect. Its strength dwarfed hers. Every movement took more from her than she could afford to give, and her body began to falter. She began to feel as if she were drowning as more blood poured from her lips.
And all the while, the Fear Dorcha said nothing as he watched, a smile wide across his twisted face.
The beast suddenly lapped at something in the air and appeared to look like it was eating, but what?
It opened its mouth, its massive maw larger than her head; she was ready for it to chomp on her when it inhaled deeply.
Her heart pounded as adrenaline mixed with pain, but even through the chaos, she began to understand.
It was feeding on her fear. Her breathing slowed as she forced stillness into her body.
Meeting the hound’s gaze, she steadied her voice.
“You will never bite me again.” The words gargled out, but they were fierce enough.
The growl deepened, and it lunged once more, its jaws open wide, but she didn’t flinch.
Teeth brushed against her throat but stopped just short of piercing her skin.
It then bit into her shoulder. Her vision blurred white, but she refused to react to it as it pulled her and threw her to the side.
She swallowed her fear, the pain and the fury.
Burying all of it beneath the surface. She reached out slowly and laid her fingers on its head when lunged again.
The hound went still, and as if frozen, its eyes went wide as it took in the sight of her.
It just stared at her, refusing to break eye contact, and then it bowed.
Though her body trembled and was bloodied and aching, she felt victory settle over her when a sudden explosion of power burst through her.
The Fear Dorcha’s laugh rolled through the forest, dark and amused. “Now that is something.”
She barely registered his voice. Her vision blurred at the edges, thoughts fraying as exhaustion pulled at her.
The pain hadn’t vanished, but the hound remained by her side.
It was watching over her when it whimpered, and terror flooded Sorcha.
Her eyes searched for the reason the hound seemed frightened as the air shifted once more, the rippling space before the altar thickened.
Out of its depths, a figure stepped through.
A woman. Her form both radiant and terrifying.
The night itself seemed to shape her, and her hair flowed as if the endless night sky had been stained with blood.
Her eyes, the color of obsidian and bottomless.
A path opened up behind her, an enormous staircase of stone illuminated by glowing orbs lined along the walls, flowers and vines encasing the entrance.
The sounds of birdsong and water drifted from the chambers.
Sorcha watched as she approached; even the Fear Dorcha took a step back.
Sorcha knew this was no ordinary fae. Bé Chuille tilted her head, and her gaze cut through the space between them.
“You walk my forest, yet do not know my name,” she said, her voice devoid of amusement. “You stand before Be Chuille.”
She knew her name, and according to legend, she was supposed to be dead. Sorcha tried to rise, but shadows curled around her wrists, pulling her back down.
Be Chuille’s lips curved slightly, though it was not so much a smile as it was a moment of personal satisfaction. “Let’s see what hides behind that fire.”
Sorcha’s skull ignited with pain, splintering through her mind as her thoughts were ripped apart.
Something monstrous clawed through her memories, shredding her consciousness.
She was paralyzed; her body was no longer her own.
Though she could no longer hear her screams, she knew she was screaming; her throat burned.
All she could do was endure the violation of her very being.
The Fear Dorcha arrived by her side, replacing the hound and held her down as her body convulsed, her mouth filling with blood, her nose dripping crimson.
“Show me who you really are,” she whispered, her voice no longer spoken aloud but heard within her mind.
Bé Chuille pierced through layers Sorcha didn’t know she had, peeling them away one by one in a search that felt so predatory.
Suddenly she stopped, pulling away from her, her eyes wide. “You really have no idea, do you?”
Sorcha coughed up blood, struggling to speak past the pain. “What?” Was all she could manage.
Bé Chuille regarded her with interest, as though deciding just how much to reveal. “Your fate,” she said simply, letting the words settle. “I see beyond this moment, little ember. I see you, and what you will become.”
Her voice took on a tone of sadness, but also softening, like a mother comforting their infant.
“I’m sorry, child, but you will suffer. You will endure a pain so deep it will carve through your very soul.
It will break you again and again, and when you believe there is nothing left, the world will take more. ”
Sorcha held her ground, but confusion still knitted her brows. She tried not to let those words sink into her skin, but Bé Chuille saw the reaction anyway, and her face softened.
“You are a fire waiting to be extinguished, Sorcha. The realms want to watch you burn out,” she said, her tone turning even darker, waves of sadness breaking her voice. “But do you know the most beautiful thing about fire?”
She leaned in close, her breath cold against Sorcha’s cheek, and her eyes gleamed.
“It doesn’t go out quietly; I’ll make sure of it.”
Without another word, she turned and addressed the Fear Dorcha. “Let her go. And the hound as well.”
Bé Chuille watched her with that false smile; her eyes held a sadness that turned Sorcha’s skin cold.
She waved her hands and Sorcha felt her bones break again, but she could breathe now.
She turned onto her side and vomited blood.
As she turned, she felt pieces of her mend together as took a full breath.
“Go on, then,” she hissed. “Run to her.”
Her gaze shifted, not to Sorcha, but to the shadows behind her. From the darkness, the black hound stepped forward.
“The hound will go with you,” Bé Chuille said. “A loyal little shadow.”
The hound padded to Sorcha’s side.
“I don’t want it.” Sorcha rasped between gasps.
“Oh?” she tilted her head. “You can choose to have her by your side, or I’ll simply kill her.
Sorcha watched the hound; it was docile beside her. Her colossal head nestled against her side, its eyes met hers, pleading.
“I’ll take her with me,” Sorcha spat fiercely.
Bé Chuille smiled. “I have one last message for you, child. As much as you might long to escape this, you’re far too important and your survival is crucial to the balance of both realms.”
The hound pressed its head against Sorcha’s.
Bé Chuille looked over her shoulder one last time. “We will meet again, though perhaps not in this life.” A slow smile formed across her lips as she stepped back into the shadows. “Perhaps I will greet you in the dark.”
With a flick of her fingers, the altar shuddered and the shadows retreated.
The ground gave way beneath Sorcha’s feet, and she plummeted back into the woods.
As Bé Chuille and the Fear Dorcha’s presence faded, Sorcha’s breaths came in ragged gasps, her body still trembling from the sheer effort of survival.
The massive black hound stood before her, its eyes locked onto hers.
Whatever it had perceived her as before, she was no longer it’s prey.
Her shoulder throbbed where its teeth had ripped through skin, the wound still burning and aching, but before she could steel herself for more pain, the hound moved.
A low rumble vibrated in its chest as it lowered its head and, with slow, deliberate intent, dragged its tongue across the bite.
A chilling cold surged through her coursing beneath her skin like ice through her veins.
Her muscles seized for a few seconds before the pain vanished entirely.
In its place, a peculiar sensation settled.
When she looked down, surprise washed over her.
Delicate dark markings curled around her shoulder, faint lines that traced down her arm and brushed along her neck.
Whatever had just happened, it had left its mark, literally.
The hound lifted its head, its gaze patient, as if waiting for her to comprehend.
Sorcha swallowed, realizing she had forged a connection with the hound.
Slowly, she reached out, and when her fingers brushed its fur, it remained motionless.