The Sun Sídhe

6 - A Child's Gift

Like hell was not nearly enough to describe how badly my leg hurt. Every step sent blazing agony through my thigh, which somehow also speared its way into my hip and side. The muddied ground sucked at my boots, forcing me to wrench my feet with extra, painful force as I walked. I gritted my teeth, leaning heavily against the branch Aeden had fetched for me. It was all I could do to avoid cussing—I had questions to ask before uncaging my tongue.

"This friend of yours," I began, quickening my pace to stay beside Aeden. Ronan lingered somewhere behind us, no doubt overanalyzing my every movement. If I faltered, I had no doubt he'd offer to carry me himself or something equally silly. "Morrigan. If she lives by her lonesome in the mountains, how could she possibly know anything useful?"

"Ah, that." Aeden's voice came garbled: he had busied himself eating the food Mam had given him with alarming speed, as if he'd been starved. Perhaps, if he'd been running about avoiding Niamh and that husband of hers, he had. I felt a pang of guilt for protesting Mam's decision to give away the food. It faded within the instant as he continued to speak with his mouth full. "Morri is old."

I stared at him. "That doesn't help us."

"It means she's sensitive." He'd already finished downing all of the dried meat he'd been given. He picked up a piece of bread, regarding it with a grin.

The picture of an elderly woman sobbing on the floor flashed through my mind. "That doesn't help us, either."

"That's where you're wrong," he said. "You see, she's very good at reading currents of energy. Power, emotion, all that. I've no clue how it works, but she can figure out the strangest things just by closing her eyes."

"I have heard that the highborn's abilities and senses grow stronger with time," Ronan added. He lingered behind us, easily keeping pace. Damn his long legs. "How old is she, exactly?"

That gave Aeden pause. His eyes drifted upwards as he took another bite of bread—he'd almost finished it already. He counted the fingers on his free hand before starting over. "Mm... she should've passed her first century by now. Not all that ancient, really, but most older sídhe I've met aren't the type to entertain visitors. Or offer help."

"Why not?" That eager look had taken over Ronan's expression—the one he wore when trying to learn something new. "Do they live in Natír? Have you been there? How many of the aes sídhe are there?"

I groaned. It was rare for another of my kind to visit Tirlagh, especially any who were open to conversation. The merrows on the coast were more interested in stealing men, while the squat man who came to ruin festivals—I still had no idea what exactly he was—was too drunk or busy speaking in riddles to talk. Even if he did, I doubted he'd have said anything true. And I'd been in Tirlagh my entire life: it wasn't as if I knew much, either. Of course Ronan would have questions.

Aeden shifted the cloth Mam had wrapped the food in, fishing out a carrot. "My, that's a lot to answer. I've been to the otherworld, but not often. I'm not powerful enough yet to open a gate on my own. And I don't know how many live there. It's difficult to navigate, even for me.

"As for the first question... how to put this... we're not mortal, because we don't age. But we're not immortal. We can still be killed." He held up two fingers. "That usually happens one of two ways. First, one sídhe kills another. Second, a sídhe is hunted by humans. I've seen the latter happen a few times, though I doubt it often succeeds. Do you know what that means?"

"You're a wanted man across half of Ríenne, probably," I muttered.

"The fair folk that live the longest are the ones who isolate themselves," Ronan said.