Emery wouldn't have thought the very air would be clearer, crisper, sweeter when she returned to her proper time and place, but it was. The moment the three of them passed through the portal and exited the dolmen gateway, she responded viscerally to the change in atmosphere. She hadn't realized how stifling the contemporary world was until being thrown back into and out of it again. This ancient place lacked the decay and weariness of the other time; it was younger, unsullied. And a thrill went through Emery, knowing that she was literally worlds closer to Cullen.
None of them had spoken during the trip from the house and into the woods, but when they'd reached the portal, much to Emery's disgust, she'd had to hold Charlie's hand to get through. Otherwise, the two of them would have had too much distance between one another, which would apparently be dangerous for her. The irony of traveling through the same portal for the second time with a man whose hand she did not want to touch was not lost on her, and she let go of Charlie the moment they were on the other side, afraid she might vomit if she had to touch him for too long, upset to think she'd once felt the same way toward Cullen (though for very different reasons).
Night was falling when they arrived, and the air was refreshing but cold. Emery was happy in particular for the boots she'd borrowed, but she quickly wished for a warm wool cloak. For a brief moment, she considered asking one of the magical people with her to conjure something warm, but she ended up holding back; she didn't want Charlie to have the satisfaction of gratifying her, and Lir . . . well, he seemed aloof in a way that made Emery hesitant. He's a God, now, she supposed. Gods surely have a lot of important things to do, and taking care of human friends probably isn't one of them.
In any case, Lir was far more comfortable operating here than he had been in the otherworld, and he quickly transported them in a manner rather different than the one Cathbad had used. When the druid had moved himself and Emery, it had involved wrapping his cloak around her, and then opening it to reveal they'd just poofed do a different location. But Lir placed a hand on each of their shoulders, and Emery felt herself lifted into the air while the land and sky whooshed past. It wasn't flying--they themselves didn't seem to move; it was more that the world around them moved, and the miraculous thing was seeing it all. Even in the twilight, the landscapes were mystical, and the exhilaration of seeing it all rush by was like nothing Emery had ever experienced. By the time they touched down on solid ground and the world ceased moving, the girl was thoroughly amazed.
But her amazement fast turned to confusion when she saw where they were. The sun was almost set, but enough of it was left to reveal itself glinting off waves far below the cliff upon which they stood. In the distance, off in the water, was an island.
Emery turned to Lir, whose white clothing was bright in the dusk. "Where are we? This isn't Dun-Dealgan!"
Lir raised an eyebrow. Salty wind blew in off the waves below, and his chains of sea glass rustled with little clinking noises. "I never said we were going to Dun-Dealgan."
"But, that's where everyone is! My sister—and you said the druid--"
"Ah, you thought I meant your druid?"
Emery was in shock. "What other druid would you mean?"
"To find you, Emery, no mere person would do. I sought the help of the most powerful druid alive, and I believe that if anyone can help you, it will be him. Your sister can wait." Lir looked away toward the island and held out a hand, began saying something that was clearly not aimed at Emery.
Feeling deceived--and a little hurt about it--Emery figured there was nothing she could do but go along with Lir's plan, even though she was desperate to get to Deirdre. Emery had to admit that seeing the most powerful druid alive was a good idea, even if the timing wasn't ideal--if he couldn't cure her infection, Cathbad certainly wouldn't be able to. But when she caught the expression on Charlie's face, she was unsettled. He was watching her, looking entirely unaffected; shouldn't he be a little more concerned that his efforts might have been in vain?
Emery turned away quickly, but Charlie had seen her glance at him and apparently took that as a message to slide over to her. "A little disappointing, isn't it?"
She didn't want to engage with him but rolled her eyes and said anyway, "What?"
"Gods are fairly useless when it comes to dealing with mortals. They haven't had much practice over the years."
"And you and your kind have?"
"Well, we're not typically trying to help you. It doesn't take understanding of a creature to know how to exploit it. Makes all the difference."
Emery didn't respond and instead kept her eyes on Lir, who'd moved forward on the cliff and seemed busy.
"Let's forget about this guy. You and me--we're in this together, now, like it or not." He had his hands in his coat pockets, stood as casually as if they were watching a football game. And the minute Emery thought it, she was taken back to that night when they'd actually gone to a game, when she'd thought she cared about him . . . a shiver went down her spine. How wrong she'd been about absolutely everything.
"Just shut up."
"Aren't you reckless, now that your God's here to protect you? But he won't be able to, Em. Only I can, in the end. I'll have you to myself again, soon enough." He reached out a hand and with his forefinger, brushed her bandaged wrist. She flinched and pulled away.
"Sguaba Tuinne approaches," said Lir, suddenly turning to face them. "Come." He motioned them toward the edge of the cliff. Emery wasn't particularly afraid of heights, but she didn't like the way the wind blew about. Before she could complain or move anywhere, though, her attention was grabbed by a small, dark object coming toward them over the sea through the gloaming, apparently floating in the air. As the thing neared, she thought it resembled a disk, though it had a sunken bottom, and when it was practically on top of them (which happened a little surprisingly, as depth perception was difficult in the dimness), Emery realized that it was a small boat.
"Oh, Lir and his toys," Charlie muttered condescendingly.
Nobody paid attention to Charlie. Instead, as the boat reached the cliff, it stopped and hovered in mid-air, and Lir offered his hand to Emery. She took it--albeit anxiously--and allowed him to help her into the coracle. Then Lir himself got in and grudgingly made a little room for Charlie, who (also grudgingly) climbed aboard. With a word from Lir, the thing was off, speeding over the water far below, heading toward the island in the distance.
Emery had to sit down; standing was too precarious. Her hands felt about the sides and bottom of the circular vessel, and she thought the thing must be made of branches rather than flat planks or boards. Around the edge of it and, likely, under the bowl was stretched animal hide of some sort, probably cow or deer. It moved fast--so fast that the wind was like ice whipping through her hair as she peeked over the rim. The ride might have been as thrilling as their journey from the portal to the cliff. Lir's methods of magic were certainly different from Cathbad's. They were refined, in a way, clean and smooth. Everything Cathbad did involved bones and earth and herbs and other odd bits and pieces, or it was in general slapdash. Lir needed no concoctions; he possessed a simple authority, and he was confident in his command.
Mere moments brought them close enough to their destination that Emery made out one solitary orange light glowing from it. The entire island was swathed in night, but the coracle zipped them right toward the one place that indicated life. Closer they drew, until they were practically right on top of the flames of a gigantic roaring bonfire, and then the boat lowered itself to the ground to allow the three riders to step out before it sped away into the darkness.
They stood in front of the inferno. The heat was intense; the fire itself must've been at least fifty feet in diameter, roaring from a shallow pit that had been dug for that purpose. Pitch black was all around, and the flames were so huge and bright that what lay on the other side of that bonfire was impossible to see. Emery turned to look at Lir, but he was only staring ahead; his eyes full of fiery flecks. He seemed calm enough, so Emery tried not to worry, but she couldn't keep back a creeping sense of foreboding. Her hand went to the dagger at her waist--maybe she'd finally have a chance to use it! She rallied at the thought, but her attention was taken from the dagger as she saw a massive black figure moving through the flames, cutting a path right toward them, the conflagration parting to let it through and then closing after.
Emery couldn't help but be reminded of Dark, Death, and Evil, the night she'd first met them in the forest, the glow of the grave illuminating them from behind. This was just such an imposing, shrouded figure, humanoid in form, moving as if in slow motion toward them until it was near enough that she began to recognize its color and shape.
"Back so soon?" the flamewalker boomed. His face was obscured by a huge mask, zebra-striped and brown feathers circling dark eyeholes, a pointed black beak protruding from beneath them. In his hands was an enormous tool resembling a mallet, and the rest of him was draped in animal hides and fur.
Because he appeared to be addressing Lir, Emery hung back and watched, waited to see what would happen.
But Lir didn't say anything, and instead, the bird-man looked around him toward Emery and Charlie. "Ah, yes," he said far quieter than before, as the smoke distorted the air around him. "She's the one. I could smell her on the cliffs."
Offended yet uncertain what to say, Emery gave him an expression to match her feelings. The birdman only let out a jocular laugh, which irritated her even further.
"Mug Ruith," Lir spoke, "time is uncertain. Even now, her veins run with the poison. We need to know if you can reverse its course."
"Not that one," returned the large man, pointing his mallet at Charlie. "He waits here."
"But I need him near me," chimed Emery, surprised at what she was saying. Why was she speaking up for Charlie, of all people?
Mug Ruith shook himself, and the feathers on his mask vibrated. "We're goin only into the flames."
"We're what?"
But Lir had already claimed Mug Ruith's attention. "Fear Doirich will wait. As I'm sure you understand, they can't be at great distance from one another."
"As you say." Mug Ruith slowly faced the flames again and, with a wave of a hand, parted them once more. Then he began to walk the ashen path left in their absence, and Lir nodded at Emery to follow him.
The hulking figure of Mug Ruith a few yards in front of her was all that kept Emery from freaking out. With walls of fire on either side, crackling and shifting in incandescence, thoughts of what would happen if the magic ended, if it all came rushing in, weren't far from her mind. The druid led them a good distance into the bonfire, where they came to a circular clearing. Mug Ruith paused, then, about in the center, and pointed his mallet downward, spun its head into the ash, creating an indented ring. The earth began to shake; Emery startled, her eyes darting around the wall of flame, sure the fire would close in and roast her to charcoal. But the vibrations were coming from below, and suddenly, in a circle in front of the flames but beyond the people within them, stone slabs began to surface from the powdery black and gray cinders. Upward the stones pushed, taller and taller, irregular in shape and yet each at least four or five feet wide and--by the time they'd stopped moving--ten feet tall. Where Mug Ruith stood, he was at the epicenter of the stones and flames, and he gestured for Emery and Lir to step closer toward him.
The roaring fire quieted. It didn't stop moving, but as Emery approached the center, the noise of it dulled so that it sounded more like a cozy fireplace than an inferno. Above, the black, star-studded night sky had become an aurora of swirling colors: blues, greens, and golds. They could hear one another, if any of them spoke, and as she was wondering whether she should be the first to do so, Mug Ruith lifted a gnarled fist, held it out over the spot he'd marked with his mallet, and uncurled his fingers to reveal a small brown bird. The creature was alive, and it hopped about in the druid's open palm, surely happy to have a little freedom. Emery was curious to know how long it had been in the man's hand, but before she could ask, Mug Ruith clenched his fingers shut again, crushing the bird between them.
Emery cried out in horror, but neither Mug Ruith nor Lir took any notice of her. Instead, the druid looked at the corpse of the little animal and, dropping his mallet, used his free hand to pick it apart a bit, presumably to see its insides. He spent several moments looking the thing over while Emery stood there, disgusted, trying to divert her eyes but unable to do so, and when Mug Ruith paused and dug a little as if seeing something, she couldn't help holding her breath along with Lir in anticipation of some sort of news.
But when the druid rubbed a forefinger in the entrails and then reached toward Emery, she balked.
"Maybe this is not the best way--" Lir began to say, taking hold of Emery's arm.
And Lir's words, his touch did something to her, almost immediately. Emery shook free of the God. "Go ahead. Do it," she told Mug Ruith, who then marked an arcane symbol on her forehead. The moment he finished, Emery felt something stir within her, a small knot of heat, somewhere near her heart, and as it intensified, the sensation moved through her arms, her legs, her stomach, up her neck and behind her eyes, as if that heat were moving through her veins, as if it were her blood, itself. The stones around her glowed with strange markings, and the flames paled to a whitish green, and just when Emery wasn't sure she could bear the burning, it was gone. The fire was orange; the stones were stones; her body felt its normal temperature again.
The God and the druid stood staring at Emery, waiting for her to say something, but she didn't know what had just happened.
"Well?" Lir looked to Mug Ruith.
The druid dumped the bird carcass into the ash, picked up his mallet, and then lifted a hand to remove his mask. Once the feathers were gone, Emery saw the face of a bearish old man with thick gray hair knotted into balls across his head, an awkwardly-growing beard that appeared only in patches across his chin and cheeks, and skin like leather. But the most noticeable feature was his eyes--or, really, his lack of them; both were scarred over, wizened mounds of flesh, no actual eyeballs in sight.
Holding his mask against his chest, Mug Ruith answered Lir as easily as if he were asking about the weather: "There is no cure for this. We are damned, all of us."