Worlds Without End by Caroline Spector

know how I hate the tombs.”
    “Life is suffering, Caimbeul. Didn’t you know that?”
    * * *
    Because of the fog, it took us four hours to reach The Burren. The land here was wilder than other areas of the Tír. Perhaps because the people who lived in this part of Ireland had never been far from their Celtic roots. Even before the Awakening, Gaelic was the primary language for large sections of Galway.
    As we passed, I saw fingers of gray rock clawing up through the thin soil. Dark green thorn trees twisted against the fierce ocean wind. Sheer cliffs dropped down to rocky seashores.
    The Burren was a flat plain of gray limestone rock. Deep fissures cut down into the slabs of stone, scarring the rock. The only things that grew there were wildflowers that sprang up between the cracks.
    I parked the car and we started up the Burren. Once there would have been tourists clambering over the outcroppings. Now there was a stillness that hung in the air and seeped slowly into my bones.
    “Come on.” I said softly.
    We made our way, for once not bickering about how fast or slow one or the other was going. I stopped every so often to pluck flowers that grew from the crevices. I wove them into necklaces as we walked. I kept one for myself and handed one to Caimbeul. He gave me a skeptical look, but slipped his into his pocket.
    The mist was getting thicker and thicker as we walked. I stumbled over the uneven rock and wished I’d thought to bring a walking stick. Then we were upon it. A large fissure in the rock. It was large enough for one of us to slip through at a time.
    “Well.” I said. “I’m going down. You can wait here for me if you want.”
    Caimbeul gave a disgusted snort.
    “You think they’ll listen to you without me?” he asked.
    I looked up at him then, deep into his forest-green eyes. We knew each other well, Caimbeul and I, and I knew this ploy for what it was.
    “Oh yes, dear Harlequin.” I replied. “I think they will listen to me very well. They know who I am.”
    * * *
    It was cool in the cave. We were crawling on our stomachs down a long passageway with only a small light to lead us. I’d cast the spell once we’d found ourselves in this narrowing corridor and I couldn’t hold my flashlight any longer.
    “Remind me to tell you how much I enjoy crawling through a cave in my very best shoes and coat.” Harlequin said.
    “Don’t complain.” I replied. “It could be worse.”
    “How so?”
    He ran into my heels and gave a little oomph.
    “It could be wet.”
    “Oh, what a lovely thought.”
    Just then I crawled around a corner and popped out into a large cavern. Stalactites and stalagmites grew down from the ceiling and up from the floor.
    In the center of the cavern was a lake. Its surface was mirror perfect and black as night.
    I turned around and helped Caimbeul as he too crawled out. There was dirt and dust covering his clothes. He slapped at it, but it didn’t help. When he looked up at me again, I could see the annoyance in his face. I put my finger to my mouth, then pointed at the lake.
    I walked away from him toward the edge of the water. The only sound was the crunch of stones under my boots. As I reached the edge of the lake, I leaned over and picked up a small stone. Straightening, I spoke,
    “Hear me, Fin Bheara, King of the Daoine Sidhe, King of the Dead. It is Aina. I would speak with you.”
    My voice rang out and echoed against the silent rocks. For a long moment there was nothing. No answering sound. Then, there was a grinding noise. The ground trembled and I stumbled a bit before regaining my balance.
    The water began to bubble and boil. Steam rose from the surface and soon blanketed the entire room. From the water rose a boat. It was made of wood and gold. A throne was affixed in the center of the deck. Sitting in it was the spirit who liked to be known as Finvarra.
    He was as I remembered, perhaps even larger than before. The power of the Awakening had seeped into his