Chapter 28

Within an hour, we found ourselves back on the ancient, hallowed land of Tintagel, awaiting midnight, and a journey down to Merlin's Cave at the base of the castle ruins.

If the Hag of the Mist had been able to manipulate the mist-shrouded magic barriers between Avalon and our world, the Bonecutter believed, there was no reason she couldn't also open a path to Lyonesse.

And just then, I was willing to borrow someone else's certainty, because it felt like I had very little of my own left. Including whether or not the Bonecutter would actually tend to Emrys.

My sigh streaked the air white as I gazed out over the desolate landscape.

Despite the lack of snow on the ground, I wasn't sure I'd ever known a colder night. The fire barely thawed the air. It brought me back to that strange vault, years and years ago, where we'd found Arthur's dagger. The walls of ice that displayed the mangled bodies of Hollowers like masterpieces.

The garlands of protective wards rattled as I tended to our small camp's fire. The rocky outcropping we were sheltering behind did very little to protect us from the wind when it seemed to be blowing from every direction.

To pass the time, and perhaps even to distract her, Neve had asked a surprised Caitriona to teach her a few basics on correctly wielding a sword. Caitriona, of course, had accepted with all the gravity of a woman taking a soul-binding sacred oath—though I was beginning to realize that was true of all the girl's promises.

Caitriona's gravelly voice filled the quiet night once more. "No, no—here—"

I propped my chin on my hand, watching with raised brows as Caitriona came to stand behind the sorceress to adjust her stance. I didn't miss the way Caitriona seemed to leave her hands wrapped around Neve's a moment longer than necessary, or the way Neve leaned back against the taller girl's chest.

"Like this?" Neve breathed out.

"Y-Yes." Caitriona coughed, trying to hide her stutter. "And remember, extend your arms first, then lunge. You'll work up to the movements being tied together."

Caitriona finally forced herself to take a step back. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if to trap the last of Neve's lingering warmth there.

"I mean, I get that the basic gist is just stab-stab-stab, " Neve said, practicing the lunge, "but is it really as simple as this?"

They were using her wand in place of a broadsword, and the sorceress couldn't help but add a little flourish to the thrust, swirling the wand's knife end through the air the way she might carve a looping sigil. Caitriona sighed every time she did it but knew better now than to attempt to stop it.

"It only looks simple," Caitriona told her. "But good form will help you strike true by adding power to your thrust. It'll allow you to pierce armor, or bone—"

Or a metal body, I thought, trying to breathe through the pain of what Cabell had done to Librarian. Every time Neve thrust forward, all I could see was that moment. The decision my brother had made. How easily the blade had sliced through Librarian's chest plate .

"Yes, yes! Exactly!" Caitriona crowed as Neve executed the move correctly. "But don't tense your arms until nearly the end of the movement."

Neve clarified, "Just before I stab them?"

"You seem unusually eager to do that," I noted.

Neve lowered her wand and looked at me. "Aren't you?"

After what had happened at Avalon, and Rivenoak, and the library … yes. I was.

"All right, I think I'm done for the night," Neve said.

Unzipping her neon fanny pack, which had been enchanted to store larger items with ease, Neve slid the wand inside.

"But we've only just begun," Caitriona protested. "I haven't even taught you a proper half step!"

"You have to save something for the next lesson," I reasoned. Then added, with a meaningful look, "Don't you want there to be another lesson?"

She chewed on her lower lip, and I watched in amusement as Caitriona finally relented. She moved to sit next to me, but I nodded toward the open space beside Neve, with yet another look.

She looked tormented by the mere prospect of giving in to what she clearly wanted to do. Eventually, after a moment more of hesitation, she made her way over and sat, leaving a respectful distance between her and the sorceresses.

I let out a soft sigh of my own. It was hard to believe I'd found someone more hopeless at this sort of thing than I was. It was like the baffled leading the bewildered.

Neve retrieved a blanket and wrapped one end of it around herself before tossing the other end over Caitriona's shoulders. The fabric slid away as Caitriona startled at its touch.

"I'm fine," she insisted. She shifted awkwardly, clearing her throat. The moonlight stroked her hair like a mother's adoring hand, making the long braid glow white.

"Well, I'm cold," Neve said, and she persisted, this time wrapping her arm, along with the blanket, around Caitriona's shoulders, tucking them both into a little tartan cocoon.

Caitriona drew in a soft breath, then went completely still. She kept her face forward, her eyes fixed solely on the fire, with the kind of discipline I could only dream of. I leaned closer to make sure she was still breathing.

Her cheeks had been burned red by the cold, but now the rest of her face went pink; a glimmer of feeling seemed to move behind her eyes, there and then quickly stamped out—the only signs she hadn't become an ice sculpture.

I stretched my legs out, knocking Dyrnwyn into the dirt. I stared at it, at the pitiful wrappings serving as the legendary sword's scabbard, but was too cold to move to retrieve it.

Neve sorted through the rattling items in her pack before pulling out a small glass vial.

"What do you suppose is in this?" Neve gave the offering the Bonecutter had provided another shake, bringing it close to her ear to listen to the faint rattling. I tried not to think about the dark liquid sloshing around inside and chose to believe that the round objects nestled at the bottom of it were small pieces of moonstone and not, in fact, human teeth.

"I'd pull out the cork and give you a guess, if I weren't so worried it might bring on the hallucinations," I said. "But I am tempted …"

"Don't you dare," Caitriona told me.

"We could have figured this out on our own, you know," Neve said. I could tell exactly how tired and frustrated she was by the unusual sourness bleeding into her tone. "This is how we got to Avalon. We would have made the connection."

"I know," I told her. I'd been beating myself up over it since the Bonecutter handed us the offering. "It saved us some time, though." Time we need to save you, I didn't add.

"So, while we hopefully do not freeze to death," Neve began, " what can we expect from Lyonesse? Has either of you read anything about it?"

Unfortunately, she was asking two of the least romantic storytellers in all the many worlds.

"It once rivaled Camelot for agricultural output," Caitriona said. "They had very nice groves and a steady supply of fish. And their craftsmen made excellent wagons."

Neve drew in a breath, closing her eyes as she regathered her patience. "Anything that might be immediately useful while we look for Excalibur? I know the Bonecutter thinks it may be hidden in the castle with some other valuables, but what else?"

"We'd better hope it's in the castle, otherwise I have no idea where to start looking," I said. "All right … let me see if I can tell it the way Nash used to—leaving out the parts that I'm pretty sure he just completely made up …"

Neve's eager face was lit by the fire as she waited for me to continue. She'd be disappointed. I wasn't born to tell stories, not the way Nash was.

"Lyonesse was once a great kingdom—like Camelot's younger, less handsome sister, but still a marvel in its own right," I began.

Or, as Nash had put it: a land of kings, of star-crossed lovers, and servant to the sea that surrounded it.

"Shortly after the death of Arthur, a darkness fell upon it—a monster, still known only as the Beast of Land's End, plagued the city," I continued, remembering the fear Nash's words had brought when he'd told us this story one summer night. I hadn't liked it then, and I didn't like it now.

Tamsin's never liked a scary story. Tell me one of those.

I pushed Cabell's voice out of my mind and continued.

"It was said to devour anyone who tried to pass through the city's walls. It killed so many people, in fact, legend had it that blood flowed through the streets like waves. Very few escaped. "

"Oh, wicked, " Neve breathed out.

"It's going to be significantly less cool if that monster eats us, too," I told her.

"Do you really believe it's still alive?" Caitriona asked. "It's been centuries."

"If you believe the worst of the rumors, the thing has had a steady diet in that time," I said. "I've read that sorceresses have a way in, and they're fond of dumping the monsters they can't kill there."

Caitriona let out a huff and stood, slipping out from under both the blanket and Neve's arm. She began pacing, doing laps around our small camp. "Go on."

"With King Arthur and his best knights dead, the so-called age of heroes was at an end," I said. "And no one was brave—or foolish—enough to hunt the beast again."

"The priestesses of Avalon were the ones who splintered Lyonesse from the mortal world, using high magic," Caitriona said. "It was one of their final acts before the druid uprising."

"Exactly," I said. "Then, later, the sorceresses encouraged the tales of the city succumbing to a wave sent by some wrathful deity, repeating again and again that the kingdom had been dragged beneath the icy sea, until the story became legend."

With the story at its end, we settled back into tense silence.

Neve craned her neck, searching the sky. "It has to be midnight by now."

The stars seemed sharper tonight, glittering with cold fire as the moon climbed the vault of the sky. Based on the moon's position, I guessed there was still an hour before midnight, that liminal hour between one day and the next.

"Nearly there," I told them.

"Nearly where?" a warbling voice asked.

My stomach bottomed out.

Caitriona spun around, lunging for her spear. Slowly, with every curse in every language I knew streaming through my head, I looked back over my shoulder.

Rosydd, the Hag of the Moors, was floating lazily at the boundary of the protective wards, her head propped up on one hand. She was still wearing that disconcerting blend of all our faces.

Neve rose to her feet, shivering. "Hello, Rosydd, you're looking lovely this evening."

The hag preened. "Thank you. You're looking delectable yourself."

I glanced between them, holding my breath as the hag floated closer to the wards. They repelled her with a hard snap of light and pressure.

" Ouch! That was mean!" She scowled at us, rubbing her sore arm. "Take those down immediately!"

"How many days do you have left of not eating people?" Neve asked.

Rosydd smiled, baring all of her many pointed teeth. "None."

"Thirteen," I corrected. "At least."

"You couldn't have asked for longer than two weeks, huh?" Neve muttered to me.

The hag drifted over to her, inspecting her as closely as the wards would allow. Neve drew back a step, recoiling as the hag shifted her features again, mimicking the sorceress's wide, luminous eyes.

"Stop it," Neve ordered.

"Stop what?" the hag asked innocently, shifting out of her white velvet gown and into a replica of Neve's plum-colored coat. She seemed to prefer my boots and copied them down to the way I'd tied the laces. And, weirdly, I was flattered.

"Why can't you just look like yourself?" Neve asked her. "What's so wrong with who you are?"

"What's so wrong with wanting to look the way I want to look?" the hag asked.

"It's one thing to change your appearance," Neve said, "and something else to try to become another person. Do you even remember what you originally looked like?"

The hag stared at her, her lips—Olwen's lips—parting. "You're mean."

"It's okay to change yourself to your liking, but it's also okay to be yourself as you are," Neve said. "You don't have to look or be a certain way for others to like you."

The hag glowered at her. "You don't like me?"

"That's not—" Neve threw up her hands. "Never mind."

"What are we doing here, anyway, meaty-pie?" Rosydd asked me.

My mind couldn't decide what to process first, that we, or meaty-pie.

"We're here to see the Hag of the Mist," I said. "Any relation?"

Rosydd drew herself upright, allowing her bare feet to settle onto the crust of hoarfrost covering the ground. If I'd thought she was capable of it, I would have said she looked hurt—as if we'd committed some grave, mortal offense.

"But why … her ?" she whined. "You like me best, don't you? And to think, we had such fun."

"If by fun, you mean we witnessed unyielding horrors and you tried to turn us over to the Wild Hunt, then sure," I said. "Listen, Ros—can I call you Ros?"

"Can I call you Supper?"

I paused. "Touché."

She nudged at the wards again, just hard enough to spark a little jolt. Caitriona drew closer, her expression enough to send Rosydd gliding back a step. "What do you want with that batty old creature, anyway? I thought we were friends."

"Do friends eat their friends?" I asked her.

"When hungry, yes," Rosydd said. "Well, all right, no. But they do eat disappointing acquaintances."

"Important distinction," Neve said.

"We need the Hag of the Mist to open a path between this world and Lyonesse," I told her. "She was able to get us into Avalon before. "

The hag's nose wrinkled. "Is that it? All of my sisters and I can do that."

"Really?" I asked. "I thought she was the only one who could manipulate the mists that border the Otherlands."

Rosydd put her hands on her hips. " Of course she'd want you to believe that. So conceited. She's not any more powerful than the rest of us just because some soggy corner of the earth coughed her up first."

"So …," I began. "You'd be willing to open a path for us?"

"It depends …," the hag said. One of her curved fangs poked out as she bit her lip. "What did my sister ask for?"

"An offering, and a few strands of my hair," I said.

"Your hair?" Rosydd looked just as puzzled as Neve and Caitriona did.

"What's wrong with my hair?" I asked, tucking a strand behind my ear.

"She's always been the odd one in the family," Rosydd told us. "Never met a cave she didn't want to skulk around in, likes to be as slimy as a frog. She's probably sniffing those strands as we speak."

A small part of me died at that thought. "What do you want, then?"

"A good question …," Rosydd said, sounding eminently reasonable. "What about your toenails? Surely they're easy enough to pluck out."

"What if," Neve cut in, before I could say something I regretted, "she gives you three eyelashes? They're what mortals use to make wishes on."

Rosydd looked intrigued. "Go on."

I'd never been more grateful for Neve's love of whimsy.

"Three eyelashes, for three wishes a god may answer," Neve said. She held out the bottle, letting the contents slosh around. "And this wonderful offering."

"Is that what smells like ruptured warts?" Rosydd asked, wrinkling her nose. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Whatever hags do with weird bottled mixtures," I told her. "You're the one with centuries of mystic knowledge. "

"Well … all right," she said. "Maybe I'll throw it at an unsuspecting mortal and have a laugh."

Neve gave a pained smile as she passed the bottle over the wards. "Try not to aim for their heads, please."

"But it never shatters right when it strikes their flanks."

"In a moment, we will give you the eyelashes and the bottle," I said, careful to lay out the full deal, "and you vow you will open a portal to Lyonesse there for us right now, and keep it open to allow us to return when we are ready."

The hag pouted, and I knew then my instinct had been right. She would have turned my own trick back on me if I hadn't worded it as a vow.

"I'm going to take the wards down now," I told her. "And you're going to keep your vow moving forward, right?"

Caitriona took that as her cue to smother the fire, and Neve to gather our things. Rosydd held out her hand eagerly.

"I swear it," the hag said.

At the vow, I unwound the garland of wards from around the camp. Then, with some effort, I managed to pluck three eyelashes from my right eye. "Don't spend them all on one wish."

Her hand was shockingly cold as I wiped the pale lashes into her palm. The hag closed her fist around them, bringing them close to her mouth to whisper her wishes.

"Now blow on them, or let the wind carry them away," Neve said, handing me Dyrnwyn. I draped the strap of the hilt we'd made for it over one shoulder, and my loaded workbag over the other.

The hag did as she was told, releasing the lashes with childish pleasure. In that unguarded moment, her false face slipped, just for a second, revealing her true one. The blue-gray tint of her skin, the rugged planes of her face so like the nearby cliffs, the golden glow of her bulging eyes—and there was nothing frightening about her. Except, maybe, the razored teeth .

"The passage?" I reminded her.

Her mask slipped back into place as she turned to me. "Oh, all right, yes. You'll bring me back something tasty, won't you?"

"We'll certainly try," Neve said. "Do you have any preferences?"

I tried not to groan as the hag took her time deliberating.

"Something that isn't too hairy, or dead longer than a day," Rosydd said, finally. "Too much fur gets stuck in the teeth, and too-dead meat is tough to chew."

"Well, that's a mental image I'll never get rid of," Neve said.

"I can't leave the portal open willy-nilly," Rosydd said. "One of the big meanies might get out, and as much as it disappoints me, my jaws simply aren't big enough for some of them."

"Oh … dear," Neve managed.

"When you're ready for me, call out, Dark the night, dark the moor, part the mist, open the door, " Rosydd said, beginning to spin her hands in front of her, as if winding string.

"Why that?" I asked.

"Because it's amusing, " the hag snapped.

I held up my hands. " Dark the night, got it. Can you really hear us across worlds?"

"I can if you say my name first," Rosydd said. "Give it a nice big shout. Make it sound lovely and scrumptious, won't you?"

The hag raised her hands, then lowered them again, then raised them once more—only to stop and stroke the point of her chin.

"Is there a problem?" Caitriona asked.

"Grant me a moment, will you?" Rosydd said, cracking her neck. "It's been a while. I don't want to send you to the wrong place—believe me, you wouldn't like any of the forgotten worlds. Though I suppose you might like the one if you've ever wanted to bathe in the mouth of a god."

"Lyonesse will be just fine," I said quickly. "The castle, please."

"Really, take your time," Neve added .

Rosydd returned to her work with a satisfied snort. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, and her body rose, hovering above the ground.

I hadn't been able to bring myself to watch her sister, the Hag of the Mist, open the pathway to Avalon. Now, I couldn't tear my eyes away.

Black threads appeared in the night air, braiding together, then slithering around and around like an ouroboros, the snake eating its own tail. Mist spiraled out of the darkness gathering at its center. As the portal opened, the smell of fir trees bled into the air like a promise.

"There," Rosydd said, sounding satisfied with herself. "Off you go, then. And don't forget—" She pointed at her mouth, chattering her teeth to mime eating.

"Believe me," Neve said, "we couldn't if we tried."

Caitriona gripped her pale spear as she made her way toward the door between the worlds. A breeze pushed the loose strands of silver hair away from her face. Dark tendrils of magic drifted out, wrapping around her, drawing her in. She didn't look back—she simply surrendered to it, and was drawn into its depths.

Neve followed, reaching into her fanny pack for her wand, pointing the knife end out in front of her as she stepped through. Remembering the first unpleasant trip, I hung back, trying to settle my nerves.

Go, Tamsin, I told myself. Go.

Squaring my shoulders, I stepped forward, waiting for the darkness to take me. One by one, its fingers stretched out, sliding around my throat, my wrists, my hips. I felt my hair lift from the back of my neck, and loud sniffing filled my ears.

The doorway tugged me forward, but Rosydd let out a shrill noise of panic, trying to grip the fistful of my hair again.

"No," she said, "wait—!"

But the passage had me, and I was already gone.