Page 24 of First Light

“Dru already told you. The Shadowlands. Scotland of the Shadowlands to be precise. They call it Alba.”

“Alba.” That was an old name. “And Lachlan was born here?”

Duncan frowned. “In a way. This is where he grew up.”

“So this is an alternate dimension of some kind?” She felt like a fool just asking it, but was there another explanation?

“I asked you if you believed in fairy tales, Carys.Thisis the fairy tale. Or this is where they come from.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “All over the world, people used to believe in magic, in monsters, and in gods. You think they were stupid? They were as intelligent as you or I. Maybe more.”

“So you’re saying that this world used to be our world? That they… split somehow?”

“I don’t know. Maybe things were more fluid once. There are gates between the Shadowlands and the Brightlands. The forest behind my house only has one of them. Things get through sometimes. Not often, but sometimes. That’s why there are still fairy sightings in Scone. That’s why there are still Bigfoot sightings in your home.”

“Bigfoot isn’t real,” she murmured.

“Isn’t he?”

A creeping fear slid along her skin. “If fairy tales are real. I meanreallyreal?—”

“You know they are.” He stared into her eyes. “You’re here. You saw the forest. That fae woman passed us on the road. Did you imagine that?”

“No, but?—”

“But what?” He sat back and put his feet near the fire. “You’ve probably passed these gates before, but you won’t want to go near them. Something about them would make you uneasy. Make you want to move away. And your modern, technology-trained mind probably dismissed strange lights in the forest or a shadow that seemed to move when it shouldn’t.” Duncan leaned forward. “A feeling in the pit of your stomach that doesn’t make sense.”

Carys looked into the fire. “That… flicker in the corner of your eye.”

“Exactly.”

Or the forest behind her house where her mother spoke to the trees.

Carys looked back at Duncan. “So you’re saying that this place… the Shadowlands… have always been here?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’m no expert on these things. You probably know more than I do based on what you teach. Whatever it is, wherever it came from, we’re here now. This is the magic place, the otherworld—notthe underworld—that’s something else entirely according to Lachlan.”

“Theotherworld?” The annwn of Welsh mythology was the first thing that popped into her mind. Valhalla was another one. Worlds beside worlds, otherworlds where the gods dwelled and the brave survived even after death. She frowned. “Can people die here?”

“Oh yes.” Duncan nodded. “People die. Fae can die too. I told you this isn’t the underworld.”

Carys’s mind spun with the possibilities. A magic world living nextto the real, grounded world. A world where magical creatures and magic existed. A world where Lachlan had grown up.

Duncan closed his eyes and sighed. “I’ve thought about this for years, and I still don’t understand all of it. I suspect that over time, as our world became more and more steeped in science and technology, the gates became narrower, maybe some disappeared.” He sat up and leaned toward the fire, holding his callused hands out to warm them. “The magic withdrew, but it didn’t disappear. This place remained, populated by the wildness we’d left behind.”

“So the humans here are…? Is Lachlan magic?”

“He’s human.” Duncan stood and started to pace a little bit. “But Shadowkin can learn to use magic. And some of them are a bit… They call it fae-touched here. Some humans have some natural magic. Lachlan is a bit fae-touched when it comes to music.”

“So he was born here. If he has magic?—”

“Nothing is born here but by magic,” Duncan said softly. “Every person you meet here is the twin of another person in our world. A Shadowkin. Our wild twins. A mirror self we’ve lost in the mundane world.” Duncan’s voice grew quiet. “They’re born when we are, souls taken by magic and brought here.”

Carys blinked. “By who?”

“By the old gods? The fae, spirits, goblins.” He shrugged. “Any of them? All of them?” Duncan turned his back to the fire but didn’t sit down. “I don’t know, but you’ve seen Lachlan. He’s my mirror image, and according to my mother, she only had one baby on my birthday. I’ve seen others too, people here wearing the faces of men and women I know in my world, people I grew up with. Neighbors I pass in the street. The same faces but not the same people.”

“Lachlan and youareidentical,” Carys mused. “Except in personality.”

“Aye, that’s the truth. He’s the uninhibited me. The charming one. The artist and the dreamer.” A brief smile twisted Duncan’s mouth as he sat across from her again. “Not practical, pragmatic DuncanMurray, the laird of Murrayshall.” There was a sadness behind Duncan’s eyes. “Everyone here is like that.”

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