Into the Fire by Jodi McIsaac

running pell-mell through the field of poppies, spinning in circles and falling on the soft grass. She squealed with laughter every time she fell, then jumped up and spun again.
    They entered the wood, a welcoming collection of oaks, beeches, alders, and birches. The light dimmed as they followed a gently curving path through the trees.
    “This reminds me of Narnia,” Eden said, catching up to them.
    Finn smiled. “Many humans believe that there must be worlds beyond their own and have tried to imagine what these otherworlds might look like. A few humans have even been to Tír na nÓg over the years.”
    “Maybe the man who wrote Narnia visited here, and he copied it!” Eden said.
    “I don’t think so. It has been a long, long time since a human stepped foot in Tír na nÓg. But sometimes the veil between the worlds grows thin, and humans are able to catch a glimpse of Tír na nÓg in a dream, or in a particularly magical place. Speaking of magical places…” Finn gave Cedar a tender look as they reached a clearing. There was a wide, smooth pond with lily pads floating on the surface and a large willow tree dipping its branches into the water’s edge. She could see the glittering shapes of fish swimming languidly through the water. Eden immediately ran to the pond and knelt down, admiring the fish and giving them all names.
    Next to the pond was the most beautiful bed that Cedar had ever seen. It was made of some gleaming white material she didn’t recognize. It was as polished as marble, but she knew at a glance that it would be soft to the touch, not hard and cold. The frame curved and twisted into intricate, never-ending knots. The linens were white too, and almost incandescent. They looked so delicate that she was sure they would tear at the lightest touch. She walked over to the bed and ran her hand along the covers. It was like touching a cloud. She felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought of the nights she and Finn would spend in this bed.
    “What do you think, Honey Lime?” Finn asked.
    “It’s perfect.
You’re
perfect.”
    “No one’s perfect,” he replied. “But maybe, just maybe… I’m perfect for you.”
    Cedar reached up and kissed him. “You are,” she whispered.
    At times she wondered how she could have managed so many long years without him. But she knew how. She had shut her heart away behind walls of bravado and stubborn independence. She’d gone through the motions, building her career, spending time with friends, and raising Eden as a single mother. But life had been all about the business of daily survival, a dull, mechanical forward march through time. Eden had been the only spot of color in her life, and she’d experienced no deep, lasting joy. In her quest to shield herself from pain, loneliness, and rejection, she’d also walled herself off from delight, gratitude, and meaning.
    Eden’s disappearance and Finn’s return had woken her from her self-induced emotional coma, and she was determined never to go back. She wanted to experience everything life had to offer, and she wanted to embrace love, even while knowing loss could be lurking around the next corner. She wasn’t going to run anymore, not from anyone or anything. And that included Nuala.
    “Let’s go find your mother,” Cedar said suddenly. “I want to know what she thinks about Nuala’s plan and how we can stop her.”

    When they returned to the willow-lined enclosure, they found Riona sitting on a bench near the fountain. Her eyes were closed, as if she were meditating. Cedar marveled again at how young she looked. She ran a hand through her own hair absentmindedly, as though she might feel any gray strands. Then she chided herself for worrying about such things. There was nothing she could do to stop herself from aging, and there were larger issues at stake thanher own mortality. When she heard them approaching, Riona opened her eyes and stood, and Eden ran over to her to tell her about the poppy fields