Chapter 6:The Hollow Hills

The Thames' currents whispered secrets as Ethan stood on the shore, his skin tingling with newfound power. Since merging with the kelpie's essence, his body had changed—veins pulsed silver beneath his skin, and his eyes now glowed faintly in the dark. Rowan had warned him of the side effects, but nothing prepared him for the hunger—a relentless pull toward the river, as if it were a part of his own bloodstream.

"Stop staring at the water," Rowan snapped, shoving a flashlight into his hands. "We're here for answers, not a swim."

They stood at the mouth of a cave hidden beneath a crumbling cliff—a place Ethan had passed a thousand times but never noticed. Its entrance was marked by a trio of standing stones, their surfaces etched with the same triskele symbol as his ring.

Rowan hesitated. "Your grandmother used this cave for rituals. The Book of Binds mentioned a passage to the Hollow Hills—a realm where the fae and the dead coexist."

Ethan's grip tightened on the flashlight. The Hollow Hills were a myth in Grampa's stories—a labyrinth of tunnels beneath the Thames, said to house ancient treasures and vengeful spirits. "Why come here now?"

Rowan's gaze sharpened. "Because the kelpie's curse isn't the only threat. The dullahan's scythe…" She trailed off, kneeling to trace a symbol in the dirt—a spiral of thorns surrounding a human skull. "This is a death sigil. Someone's summoning the banshees."

Before Ethan could ask more, a scream echoed from the cave. The sound was raw, primal, like a soul being torn apart. Rowan drew her dagger, motioning him forward. "Stay close. The Hollow Hills twist reality—time moves differently here."

Inside, the air reeked of damp earth and rot. The walls shimmered with bioluminescent fungi, casting an eerie green glow. Ethan's flashlight beam caught a flash of white—a human femur embedded in the wall. "What is this place?"

Rowan kicked aside a pile of bones. "A graveyard for those who crossed the fae. Your grandmother used it to hide the bridle's true purpose."

They pressed deeper, the ground sloping downward. The screams grew louder, mingling with the sound of rushing water. Ethan froze as a figure materialized ahead—a woman in a tattered white dress, her hair tangled with weeds. Her eyes were hollow sockets, her mouth stretched into a silent wail.

"A banshee," Rowan hissed. "Don't look directly at her."

But Ethan couldn't tear his gaze away. The banshee floated closer, her hand outstretched. He felt a tug at his chest—the ring throbbed, repelling her. She screeched, dissolving into mist.

Rowan cursed. "She was drawn to your geis. The kelpie's power marks you as kin to the fae."

They continued, the cave walls closing in. The air grew thick with the stench of decay. Suddenly, the ground trembled. A massive shape emerged from the shadows—a pooka, its body shifting between a black horse and a goat with horns like daggers. Its eyes glowed crimson as it charged.

Ethan raised his hand, the ring flaring. A wave of energy erupted, knocking the pooka back. It reared, neighing, before dissolving into smoke. Rowan stared at him, her expression unreadable. "You're learning."

They reached a chamber at the heart of the cave. A stone altar stood in the center, its surface stained with dried blood. Above it hung a tapestry depicting a stormy sea—a ship sinking beneath the waves, its crew torn apart by serpents.

Rowan's breath hitched. "The Drowning of Lir—a myth from my homeland. Lir's children were turned into swans by their jealous stepmother. They spent 900 years trapped in the sea… until they were freed by a druid's song."

Ethan frowned. "What does this have to do with the bridle?"

Rowan traced the tapestry's edge. "Lir's daughter, Fand, was said to wield a weapon that could control the tides. Some believe it's the same bridle your grandmother bound to the kelpie."

Before Ethan could respond, the altar trembled. A fissure split the stone, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside lay a rusted iron box, its lid etched with the triskele.

Rowan's voice trembled. "This is it—the bridle's true form."

She pried open the box. Inside was a leather bridle, its reins woven with silver threads. At its center glowed a gemstone—Níðhöggr's Eye, the same stone from the kelpie's forehead.

Ethan reached for it, but Rowan slapped his hand away. "Don't touch it! The bridle's power is tied to the kelpie's soul. If you claim it, you'll become its prison… and its master."

Footsteps echoed behind them. Three figures emerged from the shadows—men in black combat gear, their faces hidden by gas masks. One carried a duffel bag, another a submachine gun.

Rowan cursed. "Artifact hunters. They've been tracking the bridle's energy."

The leader raised his gun. "Hand over the bridle, witch. We'll make your death quick."

Ethan stepped forward, the ring humming. "You don't want to do this."

The hunter laughed. "You're just a kid. We've taken down worse than—"

He froze as Ethan's eyes flared silver. The river's power surged through him, the cave walls trembling. Water poured from the cracks, forming a swirling vortex around his feet.

Rowan grabbed the bridle, shoving Ethan toward the altar. "Use the tapestry! It's a portal to the Otherworld."

Ethan didn't hesitate. He pressed the ring into the tapestry's center. Light erupted, blinding them. When it faded, the hunters were gone, and the cave had transformed into a mist-shrouded forest. The Thames flowed overhead, its waters suspended in mid-air like a frozen waterfall.

Rowan staggered, clutching the bridle. "We're in the Hollow Hills' heart. The bridle's power is strongest here."

A voice echoed through the trees—Lir's voice, deep and resonant. "My daughter… you've returned."

Rowan paled. A figure emerged from the mist—Lir, a giant with skin like water, eyes like storm clouds. He reached for her, but she stepped back, brandishing the bridle.

"Stay away," she snarled. "I'm not here to free you."

Lir laughed, the sound like thunder. "You lie. The bridle was meant to be my key to the mortal realm. With it, I'll drown the world in my sorrow… and you'll rule beside me."

Ethan's mind raced. Lir's story mirrored Rowan's—both trapped by ancient curses. But Rowan's hands shook as she tightened her grip on the bridle. "I'd rather die."

Lir's gaze fell on Ethan. "Ah… the kelpie's host. Your soul is bound to the river. Release me, and I'll grant you freedom."

Ethan hesitated. The river's voice grew louder in his head, urging him to obey. But Rowan's words echoed: "The bridle's true purpose is banishment."

He stepped between Rowan and Lir. "You're not leaving this realm. The bridle stays here… and so do you."

Lir roared, lunging. Ethan raised his hand, channeling the river's power. A wall of water surged from the ground, slamming into Lir. The god staggered, dissolving into mist.

Rowan grabbed Ethan's arm. "Hurry! The portal's closing."

They ran, the forest dissolving around them. They emerged back in the cave, the hunters gone. Rowan collapsed against the altar, the bridle clutched to her chest.

Ethan knelt beside her. "Why didn't you help him?"

Rowan laughed bitterly. "Because I've seen what happens when gods walk the earth. They drown everything in their wake… including the people they love."

She stood, brushing dirt from her coat. "We need to destroy the bridle. If Lir ever breaks free—"

Before she could finish, the cave trembled. A shadow passed over the entrance—a dullahan, its antlers scraping the ceiling. It raised its scythe, and the air filled with the sound of cracking ice.

Rowan shoved Ethan toward the exit. "Go! I'll hold it off."

Ethan hesitated. "But—"

"Now!"

He ran, the sound of Rowan's dagger clashing with the dullahan's scythe echoing behind him. He burst into the sunlight, gasping for breath. The river called to him, its current whispering a single word: "Níðhöggr."

He looked down at the ring on his finger. It throbbed, its power humming in his veins. The kelpie's essence surged within him, a reminder of the geis he'd accepted.

The seventh moon rises in three days.