Page 11 of What Sleeps Within the Cove

“We must stop here for the night. The creatures that roam the darkness of Tartarus are not for the likes of you,” Macha warned, the three of them pressing me into the wall. They didn’t force me into the alcove that was only big enough for me just yet. “We will begin with the first of your trials tomorrow. You must make it to the first river alive, without your magic to assist you. This place has a way of pushing you into danger, using your weaknesses against you. You should make sure you rest well tonight, Child of Fate. You’ll need to keep your wits about you to survive.”

“I’m not really positive I have my wits about me on a good day, let alone after sleeping in a cave with the threat of death looming over me,” I muttered, looking out past where the Morrigan watched me.

The Cwn Annwn were only visible because of the white of their fur, frolicking through the darkness in a way I hadn’t seen before. They were only ever so light with Caldris, when they tackled him after missing him for weeks.

Watching them play was somehow wholesome, even knowingthey were creatures of death and darkness, destined to hunt the Fae and humans who escaped punishment and deliver them to Tartarus after their trial.

Realization dawned on me so sharply it stole the breath from my lungs. “If Mab has the Wild Hunt hunting down human mates, who is delivering criminals to their punishment?” I asked, quirking a brow as Badb met my curious gaze.

“No one. We’ve not had a new prisoner sent to Tartarus in centuries, outside of those summoned here by the Primordials themselves,” she said, gazing out into the darkness. The last of the flames flickered nearby, the cyclones barely a hint of light.

“What happens to the souls who deserve to be brought to Tartarus and die before they can be delivered?” I asked, thinking of all those who had escaped punishment during Mab’s reign.

“They linger in the Void, becoming something twisted and monstrous. They cannot move on to the afterlife, not when they are not worthy of The Father or The Mother’s embrace. The ferryman keeps them trapped within the river, so that they cannot harm the souls who deserve peace.”

“The thing with spinning teeth,” I said, more to myself than to her, thinking of the creature that had tried to eat me during my dream—when the ferryman revealed himself to be the father I remembered.

But also not.

Nemain nodded as she stepped closer, trailing a hand over the light clothes covering me. It was the same gauzy, half-transparent dress Mab had chosen for me to wear. The golden paint lines on my body were partially smeared now from my altercation, the water of the cove having made them run and bleed.

She waved a hand over it, her hand blurring with the shadow of a raven wing, the black feathers brushed over my chest, the magic within them sliding over my skin. “This will do nothing to protect you in this place.”

The fabric molded, shifting higher up until it wrapped around the base of my throat. The black shimmering fabric hardened, forming individual scales like that of a snake. They shimmered with the faintest green glimmer, a raised golden snake on the breastplate that stood out from the scaled armor covering my chest and torso. It slithered down my arms, stopping only when it covered the backs of my hands with the shape of a V where it came to a point in the center of my hand.

The skirts disappeared, tightening around my legs into scaled, almost leatherlike pants. They were harder than that, firmer on the outside even though they stretched and moved with me. My dress slippers shifted to boots, curving up my calves and shins and covering me further. The soles hardened, giving me a firmer footing as Macha stepped up in front of me. Her sister, Nemain, backed away, the gift of my armor completed as Macha held out her palms.

Molding the darkness and nothingness itself, I watched in rapt fixation as two gleaming swords formed. They were shorter than the ones I’d been forced to train with out of necessity and lack of options in Mistfell, a sword designed for a man with a bigger body and different center of balance.

The form of a snake curved around the hilt, carved into the metal itself. Each sword had been marked with it, the blade itself shimmering like golden starlight. It wasn’t the same silver-toned metal I’d grown up seeing, but a speckled deep midnight blue blade.

I reached out with trembling hands, taking a hilt in each hand. They were lighter than I’d thought possible, fitting in my smaller grip as if they’d been molded to my hands.

“I thought you couldn’t offer me any aid in the trials,” I said, raising my eyes to Macha as I took the blades from her. I wouldn’t give them back, wouldn’t part with the things that I felt as keenly as I felt my magic, lingering in that lightened circle of my hand.

All a part of me. With my magic just out of reach, I’d take what I could get.

“You cannot enter the trials with anything that does not already belong to you,” Badb answered, gesturing toward the gifts they’d given me as the last of the fires winked out. “These were made for you long ago. We are merely delivering you your birthright,” she said.

Macha’s hand came down on my shoulder, pressing me into the tiny stone alcove. “In you go. Get some sleep. You’ll need it in the morning,” she said.

Her words were accentuated by the howl of the Cwn Annwn in the distance as the sound of them shifted from joy to hunger.

These were the hours of beasts and prey, and in this place?

I was the latter.

Sleep, a deep growl seemed to say in my head as I moved into the cave and lay down upon the stone. I tried to get settled and comfortable, the words in my head an odd comfort, surrounding me like thick fur on a cool night.

So I did.

EIGHT

CALDRIS

I worked tirelessly, contemplating ways I might lure the daemon away from the tunnel leading beneath Tar Mesa. If I could only get to the cove itself, I wouldn’t hesitate to throw myself into the waters and follow after Estrella. I couldn’t help the surging thoughts, the constant questioning if she was okay, even as I kept my body busy.

The Lliadhe helped me lay coins upon the eyes of the dead, letting their bodies rest upon the stone beneath the Court of Shadows. None of these creatures deserved to have their physical forms wait out eternity in the dungeons intended for human prisoners, but it was the only way for us to preserve their bodies long enough for me to take them to the entrance of the Void.

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