He spun around as I reached for the covers to shield myself, snatched my clothes from the dresser and tossed them to me without looking. “Get dressed.”
I caught the pile before they hit me in the face. “What’s happening?”
Hurried footsteps echoed down the hall, accompanied by low, urgent voices. I donned the leggings and tunic then sat on the bed to pull on the socks and shoes.
“Leave your hair. We must go,” he, said impatiently as soon as the last shoe was on. He had my cloak in his hand and took my upper arm, directing me ahead out the door and into the hallway.
Priests, disciples, students, and servants hurried in both directions. Balen used his large body to weave a path through.
My satchel.
“Wait—” I yanked against him, looking back toward my room. “My books…” Fully alert, completely in warrior mode, Balen barely paid attention. “You don’t underst—”
“Leave it,” he tossed over his shoulder. “There isn’t time.”
“But—”
I couldn’t leave my father’s writings and Mother’s pendant. I dug in my heels, prepared to fight until Jensine’s body was carried by in a sling. One of her arms dangled freely. Lifeless. A small line of blood made a jagged path down the skin and then dripped from the tip of her finger.
My mouth dropped open.
“Damn it, Deira. Move.” Balen’s harsh command spurred me into action. Dazed, I moved, not knowing where I was going or what had happened.
We came into the hall where more of the wounded lay amid a flurry of activity.
No, I realized, not wounded. Dead.
My stomach clenched. The laments, the shouts, and the frantic searches for loved ones meshed into a dizzying chaos. As we passed a line of bodies and mourners, I was glad Balen moved quickly and without hesitation. I kept my eyes straight ahead.
Finally we pushed our way outside. I stumbled down the steps overwhelmed and disoriented, but Balen was there to right me, his confident voice quelling the sour taste of panic in my mouth.
“Arms over your head. Breathe.” He lifted my arms.
I did what he said, dragging deep quantities of air into my lungs. He released me and I leaned forward, resting both hands on my knees until my heart calmed and the panic didn’t seem so consuming.
And Balen, he just stood there, still as could be, exuding impatience, energy, alertness, showing no signs he was affected by the sights inside, by the dead, by the blood…
“What happened? Are we under attack?”
“No. They’ve come and gone.” He caught my hand, and we began hurrying down the path to the bridge.
I understood at once where we went—to the healer’s building to get Ferryn. I had no trouble keeping pace as we broke into a run across the bridge. We nearly ran right by him within the darkness of the center rotunda.
“Balen!”
Ferryn rushed to us, clasping Balen’s shoulder and then nodding to me. He was out of breath, his face pale, but his eyes bright.
“Assassins,” Ferryn said out of breath. “A number of them, struck and then gone.”
“Aye,” Balen confirmed.
Footsteps echoed on the bridge. We turned. Eburacon made his way swiftly toward us, his long face ashen and his expression grim. Several priests followed behind him, the concern and dismay on their faces evident. Some had tears streaming down their cheeks.
“You must go now,” he said never pausing as he glided toward the main altar.
As he passed, I sucked in a quiet gasp. Blood stained the back of his robe. His blood. He’d been stabbed in the back.
“Hurry,” he called over his shoulder, skirting the altar and going down the steps leading into the lake.
I hurried down the steps after him, darting in front of Balen. I touched Eburacon’s shoulder gently. “You’re wounded,” I said as he paused and canted his head toward me. “Let the healers care for you.”
A gentle smile tugged at his lips. Warmth came into his eyes. “You sound like your mother. You have inside you a great capacity for love, Deira. Never doubt your heart.” His words stunned me. “I live now only by the will of Dagda. Tending to my wounds will do little good. We must open the gate, for there is no tomorrow for me. Your path lies ahead in the waters of the goddess.” His expression softened. “I know it is not the path you want. It is not the path your warrior wants either. But the time has come for you to accept it.”
I stared at him, unable to speak, argue, or agree. Now that the time had come, panic washed through me. I thought I’d have time to prepare myself, to read Father’s books and come to terms with the foretelling. There was so much I still needed to learn. The rush, the urgency . . . I never got to choose.
“You have chosen,” Eburacon, reading me so easily. “You chose days ago. You just don’t like it.” He kissed my forehead and then smiled. “A reluctant savior, but one all the same.”
I squeezed my eyes closed.
“Come. The gate awaits in the water below.” Eburacon continued down the steps.
Surprised, I stared at the water but saw only blackness. Moonlight glinted off the lake’s surface. The wet air dampened my skin like a cold sweat. Water lapped gently against the steps as the priests began to chant, the same chant I’d heard before. Their words, a steady cadence of praise to the goddess, seemed to strengthen Eburacon. Energy swarmed around him.
Balen leaned close, his voice dry. “Looks like we’re about to get wet.”
“And cold,” I added.
Eburacon raised his arms. His head tipped back and a low hum began in his throat. That same energy, that same sense of peace and acceptance filled me, though this time it was not so overwhelming.
A smoky green glow appeared within the depths of the lake, and the water receded from the first few steps as though giant hands held it at bay.
“Go now,” Eburacon whispered, his eyes closed, his face still raised in prayer.
Down. Into the depths. Into that gaping hole surrounded by water.
I swallowed as Balen slipped his large, warm hand in mine. He gave me a confidant nod, a warrior’s nod, that ready acceptance of whatever was to come.
As we stepped around Eburacon, he broke concentration to say, “When I see your mother in the Place of Souls, I shall tell her of the courage of her daughter.”
Forbidding myself to cry, and unable to speak, I nodded.
“Blessings of the goddess go with you. Your sacrifice,” he said to Balen, “will not be forgotten.”
We continued one step and then two, the water receding as we went. I glanced back at Eburacon and then at Ferryn who raised his hand in salute.
And then down we went.
The strange glow illuminated our way. I held Balen’s hand so tightly, my knuckles hurt. Shadows moved within the wall of water around us, darting like fish, but those shadowed swimmers were nothing as simple as fish. Farther and farther we went until we came to the rocky lake bed and a round shimmering pool of liquid green.
Balen glanced back, and I foolishly followed his gaze. The water was gradually closing us in, forcing us forward. The only place to go was into the pool.
We looked at each other, rousing our nerve. “This is it,” I said, trying to rally my courage. “We must go.”
“Aye, this is it.” His voice was strong and steady. “Deep breath.”
I glanced one more time at the water coming closer, and then drew in an enormous breath. We jumped hand in hand into the shimmering pool of green.
I tensed, ready for the shock of cold liquid, but the shock never came.
With my eyes closed and my breath held, my senses heightened. Coolness passed over my body. It was thicker than water, a liquid that did not get us wet. The substance suspended our descent but only for a short span, the barrier only as deep as Balen was tall.
Then silence. No wind. No sound or movement. Just a weightless, empty space.
The absence of life, of time and energy, was distinct and terrifying.
In the blink of an eye, we were out, but within that blink there was a sense of eternal nothingness. I never wanted to experience that feeling again, of being so lost and cut off from life. Thank Dagda for Balen’s strength for he never let go of my hand, and when our feet hit the ground as though we’d simply taken small jump, he grabbed my elbow in case I faltered.
I didn’t falter, but it took some time to reorient myself.
Before long, I detected the unmistakable scent of rich, damp soil, and heard the drip, drip, drip of water against rock.
Ahead of me, everywhere I looked, was darkness. Then a flame flickered from Balen’s open palm—so small, but it burned brightly in the darkness. It cast his face in shadows, making him look larger and far more intimidating than usual.
I faced the direction in which we came, my eyes adjusting to the light. There was no luminous green pool behind us or above us. I stepped forward, searching, but Balen snatched me back, and as he did I felt the wind sucking me, pulling me towards the Void.
“No, not that way,” he said, his voice echoing in the vast cavern.
I froze as the ends of my hair lifted toward the nothingness. My cloak billowed in the same direction. I stumbled away, away from the blackness.
“How will we get back? How will they know to part the water?”
His face remained grim. “Perhaps the water parts on its own,” he said so flatly it was clear he had no idea what would happen if we tried to go back.
But then Balen didn’t need to know how to get back. He wasn’t going home.
“This way.” He took my hand once again and began the trek upward along the uneven floor of the cavern.
Unless we learned the water parted or we found another route back to Innis Fail, we were stuck in Éire. It was a thought I decided not to dwell on. Instead, I focused on picking my way over the rubble of loose rocks and jagged ground. There were carvings on the walls, more and more of them as we progressed—spirals, symbols of the sun and moon, strange figures that looked like man and beast. The shuffle, slide, and step of our footsteps, and our breathing, echoed in the cave.
