SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

Over the thud of her mount’s hooves come the boom and crash of the surf.

Oh, no.

They were racing straight for the cliffs. Ahead, the stars were a veil reaching down past the horizon, disappearing into the dark Irish Sea.

“Stop! Please, stop.” She pulled back with all her strength.

Her mount did not slow. Below them, the sea glimmered and heaved.

Eileen tried to release the horse’s mane, but the strands were wrapped tightly around her fingers.

“Let me go!”

Heart pounding, she yanked. Her hands would not come free. She attempted to leap off, but her legs were bound fast to the horse’s sides. She screamed and thrashed in panic, banging her elbows against the horse’s shoulders.

They reached the cliff’s edge.

Eileen’s stomach churned as grass turned to empty air. Then they were falling, plummeting to their doom.

She found that, after all, she rather desperately wanted to live.

The water swirled restlessly beneath them. Eileen squeezed her eyes shut. She could not bear to watch the surface coming closer, closer. Or worse, the teeth of the hungry rocks, waiting to crush her body and spit it into the sea.

They hit the water with a crash. She gulped in a breath as the sea grabbed her legs, her arms, then closed relentlessly over her head.

She tightened her legs around the horse, the only warm thing in a world of shivering salt. Its withers bunched as it swam. They must be close to the surface. They must .

Lungs clenching with the need to breathe, she tipped her head back and opened her eyes, blinking past the sting and blur.

The wavering moon lapped the water, high overhead. The horse was not struggling toward the surface. Betraying its fey nature, it swam strongly downward, untroubled by the need for air. The surface glimmered, receding, and she could not free herself.

So, it was to be death by drowning after all.

Eileen released her breath in a silver stream of bubbles. They raced away from her lips, uncatchable. Crying, though she could not feel the tears, she laid her cheek against the water horse’s neck. In another moment, she must gulp in the harsh tang of salt water. It would fill her, smother her—but at least it would be a quick end.

“You are brave, for a human.” The words sounded in her head, the voice low and amused.

It was the uncanny creature she rode, speaking to her; or it was her own mind, conjuring up visions as she descended into her doom.

“Release me!” She aimed the thought at the black head bobbing through the water in front of her. “Or do you want a sodden corpse bound to your back for a blanket?”

She must breathe—her body demanded air. Against her will, Eileen’s mouth opened and she gasped in the cold seawater. Choking, she doubled over on the horse’s back as the water invaded the warmth of her throat and stopped her lungs.

Cold, and bitter, the weight of the sea lay heavy on her chest. She was dimly aware of silver spattering the surface above her head.

Then, with a thrust, the horse burst into the air, spray flying in a mighty gout. Eileen leaned over her mount’s neck and heaved up water. She coughed and vomited, the agony in her lungs like a thousand stabbing pins.

Finally, teeth chattering and fingers numb, she pulled in a breath of sweet, sweet air. The horse bore her strongly through the heavy wash of the sea, no longer seeming intent on drowning her.

“Thank you,” she whispered into its thick, black mane.

Her mount veered, swimming toward the rocky beach. Low, shadowed hills rose behind, and further down the coast the cliffs shone. Eileen coughed again and huddled against the horse’s burning heat as the waves shoved against her.

“Do not thank me yet, human girl,” came the reply. “The night is not ended.”

The voice she’d heard beneath the water had not been her imagination. It held the echo of terror, a darkness she did not want to heed too closely.

“What are you?” she asked. “A kelpie?”

Even as she spoke the word, she knew it to be untrue. A kelpie would have taken her directly to the bottom of the sea, delighting in the drowning.

“Nay.”

“Then you are a púca .”

Her aunt had raised her on tales of the fair folk. Indeed, she should have realized her peril far sooner, but fear had blinded her in one eye, and hope in the other.

“Not just any púca . I am Tromluí, shredder of sanity, waker in the night. The longer you remain astride me, the more of your mortal soul you will lose. You should have chosen drowning, girl.”

Eileen shuddered, cold to her marrow.

Better to be trapped on a kelpie’s back. But no, she was astride the NightMare. She might live to see the dawn, but only as a madwoman, chased by stones and suspicion from village to village, cackling in the grip of her lunatic visions.

The mare strode up from the sea, hooves clattering against the stones of the beach. Overhead, the half moon shone, a bowl of whitest milk. At first the air seemed warm, but in moments Eileen’s skin prickled with gooseflesh. Her hair hung in a soggy plait down her back and saltwater dripped into her face, stinging her eyes.

“Will you let me go?” she asked, despairing at the answer.

“Shall I?” The mare’s voice was ice and midnight. “I might climb into the stars and release you there, high above the earth. For a short time you would know what it is to fly.”

The copper taste of desperation flavored Eileen’s mouth. Indeed, she rode a dreadful creature. But she was not dead. Not yet.

Possibilities, sharp and painful, brought her upright, her mind racing. It was perilous to bargain with the fey folk—beyond perilous—but this night was full of wild chance. Already she had escaped death by fire, then by water.

“I will remain upon your back,” she said. “But I demand a boon.”

The NightMare turned her neck, regarding Eileen with an eye the color of moonbeams.

“It amuses me to hear your request. What is it you desire?”

Eileen swallowed and forced her voice to steadiness. “Help me save my beloved, Aidan.”

She had sent his soul spinning from his body, and she must return it. No matter how dire the consequences.

“This is no small thing you ask,” the mare said. “There will be a price, mortal.”

“I will pay,” Eileen said recklessly.

The horse gave a high whinny. Through the clear, still air Eileen heard the ring of chimes.

“Our bargain is sealed,” the mare said. “Now hold fast, for we have far to journey ‘ere the sun rises.”

The NightMare leaped forward, muscles bunching beneath Eileen’s legs. The rocky clatter of the beach fell behind as the mare galloped up the long rise of hills, leaping low stone walls and skirting tangles of briars. Eileen ceased shivering as the night wind dried her dress and the NightMare’s heat seeped into her body.

With every stride, something burned away in Eileen’s blood. She could feel her earliest memories shred and tatter, but she clung tightly to every thought of Aidan.

Near the top of the highest hill, the mare slowed, her hoof beats no longer the frantic race of a pulse but the slow stutter of a dying heart. A dark maw gaped in the side of the hill; the doorway to a barrow grave. Starlight picked out the gray stones outlining the opening, but within was sheer blackness.

As if aware of their presence, a dank wind moved from the depths of that hole. Eileen, her hands freed from the NightMare’s mane, covered her nose at the stench of old, dead things.

A large, flat stone scribed with spirals marked the threshold. The mare raised one hoof and brought it sharply down upon the stone. Bright sparks skittered, followed by a distant, booming echo. Twice more the mare knocked, and each time the sound grew closer, until it vibrated Eileen’s very bones.