Lugh
The next morning when we rise and prepare to leave, Keiran surprises me by asking, “What were you watching out the window last night?”
“There’s a shade waiting to speak to me,” I tell him.
He gives a slow, thoughtful nod. “Do you want me to stay in here while you do it?”
“Honestly, I’d rather let you see,” I admit. “I don’t want to hide anything from you again.”
He follows me outside. I hold up a hand in warning for him to wait and move closer to the tideline, where the shade continues to drift as it looks out over the sea. It turns at my approach, its eyes dark, its skin pallid and sodden, and lifts a hand to me.
Rather than feeling nervous with Keiran witnessing this moment, I’m steadied by the same calm I felt last night. I lift a hand back to the shade and ask quietly, “What do you need?”
Its wrinkled fingers trail over my skin, leaving a phantom wetness in their wake. Its memories are short and surprisingly normal. I pull myself out of them without much struggle, grateful its death isn’t at all tied to Goodfellow.
“Lugh?” Keiran hasn’t moved closer to me, but the worry in his voice warns he wants to.
“He’ll help us with the crossing.” I point down the beach toward a distant, weather-beaten structure. “He’ll even help us navigate the boat.”
“Are we going now?” Keiran asks.
“It says a storm’s coming.” I glance back to Keiran and shrug. “I can’t explain how I know, but he knows.”
Whatever misgivings he has, Keiran doesn’t voice them. He just looks out across the water, then to the sky, and finally says, “Then we’d best go.”
We find the boat where the shade said it would be, recovered from the beach and put away by the same people who buried his body after it washed up on shore. It’s small, but serviceable, and with Keiran’s help and the shade’s directions, we’re soon on the water.
Keiran waits until we’re almost halfway through the crossing to ask, “Are all the shades you’re holding victims of Goodfellow?”
“No.” I let our current phantom guide take control of me long enough to adjust the sail before continuing, “A lot of them are, and I’m hoping they’ll pass through the veil once they’re avenged against Goodfellow.?
??
“And the others?”
The sea spray rises up and hits my face. I lick my lips, briefly lost to the memory of the familiar taste, of how many times I’ve tasted it over the years crossing between small villages with supplies to trade.
“Why are the others with you?” Keiran asks. His voice snaps me from the shade’s memory, and I’m grateful he doesn’t say anything about my becoming lost for a moment. He doesn’t act like I’m not still here. He acts like I do when he’s transformed and his effort wipes away the last of my doubts about his trust in me.
“They’re Mother’s,” I say. I don’t want to call their attention, so I only add, “I was too young to know how to keep them out. There’s no way of giving them peace, not while Mother’s alive, so I’ve learned to live with them.”
Keiran doesn’t ask for more than that. Instead, he changes the subject and asks me to share what I’ve pieced together about Goodfellow. He listens with the same grave expression he uses when villagers tell us the details of a new quest, and he doesn’t seem bothered when my explanations are interrupted by the shade adjusting our course. I’ve exhausted all the memories I’ve been carrying by the time we finally make landfall in the Northern Realms. Keiran deals with the boat while I deal with our ghostly helper. The shade melts back into the sea after I promise to tell his sister of his death in a storm. When I turn away from the waves, I find Keiran behind me, watching me thoughtfully. I expect him to continue our talk about Goodfellow, but all he asks is, “Any other shades waiting for you?”
“No,” I tell him. “There’s no one here but us.”
He takes my chin in hand and kisses me, smiling as he licks the salt from my lips. “Guess we should hurry before they find us again.”
We clamber over slick rocks and work our way off the jagged beach to find a layer of wet snow blanketing the land. The harsh coastline has melted into uneven fields, dotted here and there with trees. Our boots leave obvious tracks, which worries me until Keiran points at the stormy sky. It’s early, and since we made the crossing mostly in the dark, trusting our shade captain to warn us of hidden dangers, I’ve no idea where exactly we’ve landed or if the shade’s pointed finger indicated a friendly village. Keiran and I have pushed hard to reach the North quickly, but I’ve no idea whether others—allies or Goodfellow and his forces—have made the crossing ahead of us.
The discovery of rustic stone walls is a boon. We follow the line and soon enough we catch the whiff of wood smoke and cooking fires. Keiran and I make our way up a gentle hill, following the scents. The village has to be on the other side.
Turns out, the village is there. But any hope we had for a peaceful arrival vanishes at the scene unfolding. Keiran grabs me by the shoulder and drags me down behind the wall. We give it a moment, then, together, crane our heads up over the edge of the wall to spy. We’re too far away to hear anything, but we don’t need to.
The horsemen having a standoff against a crowd of armed villagers are too distracted to notice us. They point at the village and move to enter through the gate. A tall woman brandishes a sword; she’s backed by a large group of villagers, all armed with weapons and farming tools. They mimic her when she steps forward to the riders and lifts her sword. Faced with a bristling wall, the horsemen give up. They wave their arms and shout, but don’t retaliate. Instead, they ride away.
The villagers linger, checking the road as if they expect the riders to come back. Keiran and I duck back behind the wall and exchange wary looks.
“Should we?” I ask.