Rising Sidhe

Chapter One

Highness? Hector’s voice cut across the white meadow as he waited for me to continue our practice.

Sorry, Hector, I muttered, picking up the globe of blue light which had been sitting at my snow-covered feet for who knew how long. With my attention focused, I held my hands inches out from the orb, directing the object with my mind and the power in my palms. When it was at chest-level, I pulled one arm back and then thrust it forward with full-force, sending the blue ball of light hurtling across the field toward Hector. With one swift flick of his wrist, Hector stopped the ball inches from his face.

Much better, he commended. With a swirl of his black hair and clothes, he sent the blue orb volleying back toward me with speed.

But I was on my toes and adjusted with equal speed and grace. This time I leapt into the air and extended my right leg, stopping the globe within inches of my ankle.

Aha! Hector laughed with delight. Seems my throws are too easy for the old professional. Resorting to the weakest appendage, the power of the foot.

I can’t help it that you’re all hooves. I laughed as I prepared to hurl the ball back in his direction.

But Hector started walking toward me, holding up his hands in concession. You win, he said as he came closer.

I lowered the ball to the ground and took a moment to readjust my hair and cloak. Now what? I asked with anticipation. Hector and I had been spending the past few weeks practicing spells and defensive maneuvers in the snowy field. But now the days were much shorter, the wind biting more ferociously, and we could not stay out in winter’s chill as long as we would like.

It is enough for today, Your Highness, he said as he smoothed out his hair and jacket. I was still not quite used to seeing his solid red eyes; when we had lived in Lava Hot Springs, looking for a possible serial killer, he had worn sunglasses to cover them up. Now that we were in the protected boundary of Finias, Hector could roam as he pleased. Whatever the form.

Since returning from Lava, he had taken up temporary residence in Finias. Even though he was Kelpie and not Sidhe, he was still one from our realm, and Onora's influence with the High Sidhe ensured that he was welcome to stay as long as he needed.

Whenever I tried to ask Hector why he stayed, he always shrugged and said, Where else is a lone Kelpie to go? It seemed as though I was not the only one waiting for my next assignment to pop up to get me out of Finias.

It was not that I wanted to get away from my kind and my family, it was that I needed to find the truth, and there were too many suspicious eyes around Finias that kept watching me. Or so it seemed.

It was nearly impossible to be discreet in my searches for answers. Especially with Owen around. It seemed he was always nearby. My only escape from him was returning back to the mound and staying holed up in its walls. I felt much the same way I did when Aidan had captured my bird-form in a cage up at Winchester Lake last Beltane, one of the few times in the year when the gates of the Otherworld are partially opened. But that was last Spring and there were months and other experiences separating me from that time.

As I stood in the center of the open field outside the mound, I did not sense Owen close at hand, but still the thought of his prying eyes wove beneath my skin like a worm.

We quietly walked back to the mound, Hector slowing down to match my gait. Talked with Owen lately? he asked when we walked through the door.

I closed the door with more force than necessary. We were the only ones in the mound. No, I replied. Why would I talk to him?

Pardon if I offend, Your Majesty, but Mister Owen seems… infatuated with you?

I scoffed at his comment. Owen? Interested in me? Romantically? Never. This was the same boy who placed a Doloric curse on me in the Chapel the last time we had direct contact. He was not to be trusted. As far as I was concerned, he was following me to try and rat me out. That’s what he was, after all. A sneak, a liar, and a tattle-tale.

There is nothing between Owen and me, I replied, hanging my burgundy cloak on the wooden peg by the door.

Whatever you say, Highness. Hector sat on one of the wooden chairs around our dining table. He crossed one leg over the other, his appearance far from disheveled. In fact, looking at him, one would find it difficult to notice any trace of our work out in the field. He was always so put together. So crisp and clean.

Unlike me.

Winter’s cold had quickly enveloped Finias with tendrils of snow. Luckily, we were indoors, sitting around an enormous wooden table covered in food and drink which my sisters had arranged for my big day. My birthday. I was turning seventeen—one year in many hundreds more, but my sisters had insisted that it may be our only time to be together as a family for quite some time.

Onora sat at the opposite end of the table with Hector, her long-time friend, on one side and Quinn, a more recent addition to our fold, on the other. My sisters sat to my left and right, completing our party of six.

As I sat at the head of the table, watching as those I loved talked between mouthfuls of green beans, spice-baked ham, and butter-smothered hubbard squash, I felt a warmness inside that I had not felt for quite some time. Father's coin still rested lightly against my chest, under my cloak, and the emerald pin from Aidan was threaded into my dark hair. I didn't want to think about the new realization I had about my father—that he had another life hidden for years before he went missing. He had a secret family, and I was not sure if my mother knew about them or not. When I started to think back on it, I always went to the night my mother went missing and my parents' shouting match in the other room. Perhaps she had found out about this secret life raising two boys with another woman.

Yet I had more to think of than my father's actions of the past few years. The bottom-line was that he was still missing, and besides that, Connor’s descent to the Otherworld still clung to my memory like a cancer. And while I hoped that my dispatching him to the Otherworld gave him comfort, my mind could not rest and release the guilt of sending another soul.

What else is a Ban Sidhe to do?

I ran my finger over the burgundy cloak which had been awarded to me when I had returned. Its rich color was more than just beautiful; it placed me in a high position among the Ban Sidhe of Finias. I was now one of the High Sidhe, privileged to information which was kept from others. But membership to the High Sidhe was not all that I had attained—I was now a member of the Inner Ring, the governing body of the Sidhe. It was my duty to attend special meetings, make life-changing decisions, and mentor younger Sidhe in the art of my specialty, transfiguring.

On top of that, I was one step closer to taking my final position as High Queen of the Ban Sidhe. My sisters were usually off on their own important missions, helping monitor keening throughout our region.

I was grateful that I had a respite from keening more souls to the Otherworld. With the additional tasks that were assigned to me, I did not know if I could handle helping to end more lives. Not now. Not when death still clung to me like a weight.

While the others around the table were distracted with their idle talk, I thought back to the slip of paper I kept hidden in my cloak. Since the day I found it folded in my cloak pocket, I had not shared its contents or existence with anyone. Not Onora, my adoptive-grandmother. Nor my only blood family, my sisters, Bridget and Branna. Even Hector, the kelpie who I always entrusted with my life, knew nothing of its existence.

I had read it so many times that I did not have to see its lines to know what it said.

Be careful whom you trust or else the Chain may ensnare you as well.

Ask Muirna what really happened to your father.

-Breaker of Chains

I patted the note's hiding place beneath my burgundy cloak—a senseless habit I had begun since receiving the cryptic message. The words continued to run through my mind for the hundredth time in the past few weeks. The Chain. The Chain of Constance. Definitely.

I remembered the mark my mother had left on the bedpost in the desert catacombs—the three-spiraled mark. The same one from the talisman in my dreams. Father had said that I needed that to find her. But I had no idea where to begin my search or how to find out who was associated with the ancient Sidhe group that most Ban Sidhe thought had disappeared.

The Breaker of Chains from my messages was obviously one who was against the Chain of Constance or at least wanted their existence to cease. Or maybe just wanted some type of truth to be revealed. Truth about my father.

Of course I had already suspected Muirna. She had never liked me or approved of my status. That much had been apparent throughout all of our interactions. While she always followed protocol, she could not keep her true feelings far from reality's surface.

Still, the note nagged at me. Who would warn me of this?

I stabbed the last piece of meat on my plate and chewed it with precision.

I had to find answers, and as soon as the distraction of my birthday was over, I would seek them out.

As I passed the mercantile and the produce market in Finias, I knew he was trailing me, watching me from the shadows of each mounded building. Luckily Owen had not struck me with another cursed stroke since I had returned from Lava. I felt safe enough as I walked the gravel roads of Finias. After all, he wouldn't attack me where there could be witnesses.

Still, I knew he was watching every move I made, and I did not want him to know what I was up to yet. I stopped at the last bag of fruit sitting outside of the produce market, picking up one of the red apples which sat at the top of the open sack. I held it gingerly within my palm as though inspecting it for worm holes and bruising. Instead, I whispered a simple spell at its surface—one of many daily-use spells I had mastered over the past few months. It was a spell which would allow me to see over my shoulder, above me, or wherever I asked the spell to look. Presently the red surface shifted, and I could see Owen sneaking around the back of the produce mound from my right side and soon he would be at the left. Sure enough, he stood waiting in the shadows just around the corner. The spell told me that much.

So he means to confront me, I thought as I watched his cold face in the image. Two can play at that.

I whispered one last word, releasing the spell, and set the apple back in its place. The question was what I could do to get the better of Owen and surprise him to the point where he would give me answers for his behavior.

Then the thought struck me. If I were careful, I could pull it off. I knew it was possible. After all, he had used his talent on me before I left for Lava Hot Springs—payback was only fair. The only thing to worry about was being caught. Even as the next High Queen of the Sidhe, I couldn't break the rules unless completely necessary. I pulled my cloak up over my head so that no one would see my face. No one to witness my prohibited transformation.

I imagined her boney face, her tall thin figure, her stern lips, and in seconds I walked around the corner, by all appearances as Muirna.

Owen jumped forward, hands at the ready to do what I could only speculate. But he stopped and stared up at me, his face pale, eyes wide. He took three steps back, further into the shadows, and I took the moment of his surprise to advance on him.

What is it you are doing with Morgan? I asked.

Owen, still shocked, stumbled for the words to say. I—she was—I was doing what you asked, Mistress Muirna.

What she asked? Of course, Muirna would ask him to creep about and follow me.

To what end? I coldly replied.

I was about to confront her, honest! I finally figured it would be best to just come out and ask her about the tunnels beneath Pend Oreille.

I remembered the dark passageway Aidan showed me beneath the lake's surface, and how neither of us had a clue as to the purpose of their existence. Perhaps Owen and Muirna knew.

And why is that? I carefully asked, pursing my lips for added effect. I did not know how cryptic to keep my questions. I did not know for sure whose idea it was to track me or the purpose behind it—maybe it started and ended with Muirna, but my instincts told me that there were probably others involved.

She has not gone back to the lake to see that half-Sidhe since her return, he carefully said, shuffling his feet in the dirt.

And? I asked, crossing my arms, trying to appear as stern as possible.

And she has not searched any more catacombs since her visit to the desert caves with Onora.

So he knew about it? How would that be possible? Only Onora and I had been in my secret tunnel—the one father had shown to me when I was little.

He stretched upwards to look over my shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he looked in the distance. I had no idea of what he was looking at, but I knew it was not good the moment that his face went red, his fists clenching.

You! he snarled.

In the same moment I shifted to crow and took flight before he could strike me with his Doloric spell. As I mounted to the sky, I looked down to see Owen scowling up at me. A thin figure walked across the street to join him in the dark alley.

Muirna.

Chapter Two

A free-standing mirror, slightly tilted in the center of the room, reflected the gold and purple tapestry which hung on the opposite wall. Other than the wall-hanging and the mirror, the room was bare, its corners musty and crawling with insects which scurried away as the red-cloaked woman scuttled into the room with a bright orb held hovering above her open palm. In her other hand, she held a black pot by its metal handle. She was careful not to spill its contents which slowly sloshed inside with each move she made.

The globe's light reflected on the silver-framed mirror, and then she left the ball of light floating above the floor, beneath the tapestry. She turned to the mirror, inspecting its position from each side, adjusting it slightly as she circled. Finally she stood before the reflective glass, nodding in approval as she looked into the depths of the frame which failed to show her face in its surface. But that was to be expected. Lismore's Looking Glass never showed a living being until the time was right and the proper steps were taken.

The elderly woman stepped up to the mirror, pot of hot black liquid still in hand. She used a long, bristled brush to coat the surface with the dark concoction she’d prepared moments before entering the locked chamber. Furiously she worked, heavily puffing bursts of air and enchanted words as her breathing tried to keep up with her swift movements. Finally the words were spoken, the mirror only a black oval before her, held suspended between two silver arms reaching from the floor. Soon those arms would give back.

It was her last chance.

She placed her hand on the top of the mirror and took a deep breath. As she pulled the frame toward her in one swift movement, she jumped out of the way as the mirror spun three times and abruptly stopped in its vertical position. It stood perfectly straight, its black film now no longer evident on the shining surface.

Between the curtains of her scraggly grey hair, she peered at the oval framed in silver, hoping to find that for which she hoped. In the mirror she now saw herself and the familiar burgundy cloak she wore at all times as her badge of honor. As she moved her right arm, she saw the figure’s left arm move in the reflection. A wicked smile crossed her lips as she looked in the mirror to the spot before her feet. Shown only in the mirror was a bundle of white cloths.

As she continued to stare at the treasure lying at the feet of her reflection, she knew to keep her eyes trained on the image in the looking glass. Look away and it may be lost. She could not risk that. Not now.

Slowly she bent, still keeping her eyes focused as her withered hands reached down. Only her seeming actions in the mirror could guide her now. She was only moments away from having the bundle in her grasp.

Her long fingernails finally touched the white cloth, feeling its softness as she hurried to clasp the wound rags in her hands before she lost control of her focus. Delicately, her image lifted the long, wrapped form in her hands up to her torso. She desperately wanted to look down, to spy the form which was so close.

Merril they know me as, but you shall call me Mother, she spoke to the mirror. A part of me, a part of us, a part of all Ban Sidhe. A tear broke free from her eyes as she finally looked down at the mass of cloth in her arms.

Her newborn face looked up at Merril, blue eyes wide and knowing. The High Sidhe slowly touched the baby’s cheeks with the back of her hand, relishing its softness against her worn skin.

You shall be called Constance, she whispered as she checked the wrappings around the newborn. She had not held one in so long and had actually lost hope that she would be able to bring one forth. More constant than the promises of man. More true than the words of many.

Constance was silent as Merril held her close, enclosing her in the cloak. Before she left the room with her orb of light, cauldron, and the newborn Sidhe, Merril looked into the mirror one last time. But she saw nothing except the tapestry and the wall reflected therein.

She rushed out the door, closing it behind her before anyone knew she had been there. Before anyone could cast Constance aside. Before anyone could destroy Lismore’s Looking Glass.

When she reached the edge of town, Merril softly laid the baby on the ground, looking about nervously to make sure she had not been seen or followed.

Very well, she muttered to the night sky. She smoothed out her cloak and closed her eyes, whispering the spell she had mastered hundreds of years before. Every Ban Sidhe learned a simple transformation spell before their Incantation which took place around her sixteenth year. Merril had learned it at the young age of twelve—everyone knew since then that she would be a prodigy.

As the last word was muttered, Merril's form flashed into a swirl of burgundy and black, but in the next moment, she was a golden eagle. She preened her feathers carefully before she approached the bundle, making sure every feather was in its proper