by Mary Watson
‘Sibéal, huh?’ he says. ‘You need better friends.’ He scrolls down, finding an old message from Ciara. He tosses the phone to one of the men. ‘The mother is out of town. Send a message to her father. She’ll be at Ciara’s for the next few days.’
Then he motions for two guards to step forward. They grab my arms.
‘Where are you taking me?’ I dig in my heels.
‘We’re going to the cage.’ He doesn’t bother to look at me.
Did he say cage?
‘I didn’t steal the Eye. I found it.’ I struggle against the guards but their hands are like steel bands clamped around my arms.
I may as well be talking to the wall. The guards lead me down a wide, bright hall. The house is large and elegant. It’s filled with flowers. Lilies. Funeral flowers. We received endless bunches of them after Laila died. I hear the distant sound of a woman weeping. This is a house of sorrow, it clings to the walls.
We go down a flight of stairs to a narrow underground passage. It smells of damp and patchouli oil.
Jarlath keys in the code and a heavy door slides open. The room is dark and tiny. There’s no bed or chair or anything at all, except the glint of white porcelain on the side.
‘Your shoes.’ The guard is stationed outside, beside the door.
‘I’m not taking off my shoes.’ And I’m not going in there.
‘Please, your shoes,’ the guard says again.
Jarlath grips my arms behind my back while the guard bends to untie my sandal. I twist and squirm and when I’m barefoot, Jarlath releases his hold.
It’s too chilly down here for my thin T-shirt and summer skirt and I rub my arms. I turn to give Jarlath a dirty look, but he nods to the room.
And only then I see what I’ve missed: in the small room, a bed of thin nails push up through the ground.
I look at the guard, my alarm evident on my face. But he can’t meet my eye.
‘Have a good night, grover lover.’ Jarlath pushes me and I’m falling through the door. I land on my knees and hands, the nails breaking skin. I let out a loud cry.
Jarlath shuts the door.
FORTY-SIX
Warning signs
David
I’ve just stepped outside to ring Canty when I hear my name from the trees down the drive.
‘Quick question,’ I say as Canty answers. ‘What does it mean if I see an image in the mirror before it actually happens?’
‘Hmmm. That’s new. My guess is it’s a warning. Why? What did you see?’
The person who called me is hiding between the trees. Frowning, I move a little closer.
‘David,’ Canty says on the phone, ‘Zara had better not be in trouble.’
‘Canty, I have to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’
‘David.’ Canty is not impressed.
‘David.’
My name again. I go into the trees, knife ready, when I see him. His face has been kissed, just one peck. He must have come too close to the house.
‘Adam?’ I say. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I can’t find Zara.’
‘What do you mean?’ But the distress on his face tells me what I need to know. ‘When did you last see her?’
‘She wanted to talk to you at the ruin. I think she had something for you. But she just disappeared. Left me and her backpack behind.’
‘That was hours ago.’ It’s nearly sunset now.
‘I’m worried.’ He looks terrified.
‘We’ll find her,’ I say. ‘You go on home, and if she turns up there, let me know.’ I give him my number.
I run down to check Meadowsweet. If Zara needed a safe haven, Laila’s shrine is where she would be.
At the derelict house, I climb in through the living-room window.
There’s no one in the end room. Not many places to hide either. I check beneath the red silk, just to be sure. Then I see a message laid out between the goddesses.
Zara
I know you are looking for me. I will come soon.
C
The note is handwritten, and I’ve no idea who C could be. Zara didn’t have friends around here, it was one of the things that she’d found so hard. And why do I find this message so creepy?
I put the note in my pocket to give to her later.
I’m going back down the passage when I see the figure waiting for me at the other end.
‘Cill.’ I’m irritated. ‘You keeping some kind of watch on me?’
‘Not on you.’ He’s fiddling with a half-cigarette. ‘On your girlfriend, maybe.’
It takes me a second to understand what he means. ‘Zara? You’ve been watching her? Where is she?’
He takes out his Zippo, flicks it on.
‘Where is she, Cill?’
He’s being deliberately exasperating. He’s goading me. And it works. I don’t hear her come up behind me. I don’t sense the danger because I’m yelling at Cill.
Something hard hits the back of my head and I’m stumbling. I touch my fingers and feel the wet there.
‘Sorry, David,’ I hear Breanna say before something hits me again.
My hands and legs are bound with rope and tied to the old radiator in the back room near Laila’s shrine. A quick job, but it’s tight.
I hear the whistling and footsteps approaching. A key turns in the lock. And then he enters, my jailer.
My best friend.
I must be the first War Scythe in history to be captured by his own.
‘You wouldn’t listen.’ He squats down beside me. ‘I told you, that girl was trouble.’
‘Cill,’ I try to interrupt him.
‘She had the Eye, Davey. She had the Eye. So many warning signs and still you wouldn’t listen.’
‘You’ve got it wrong, Cill.’
‘You chose an outsider over your own, Davey. What’s wrong with you?’
‘Stop, Cill.’
‘How could you betray us like that?’
‘I didn’t betray anyone. Zara found the Eye. She didn’t know what it was.’
‘And you believe her?’
I exhale. It’s futile.
‘Why?’ I raise my bound hands.
‘Jarlath wants you out of the way while he asks her a few questions.’
‘What do you mean, a few questions?’ Dad did this?
‘He just wants to talk to her. See what she knows.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Jarlath took her to HH.’
‘HH? Why all the way out there?’
‘Because that’s where the cage is.’
‘What the fuck, Cill?’ I rage at him. ‘Zara’s not an augur, she’s not one of us. She can’t spend a night in the cage.’
‘Just one night, Davey,’ Cill says. ‘It’s not so bad. You should know.’
FORTY-SEVEN
Follow or you’ll be left behind
I watch the ritual on the green with rising dread.
LAS
Zara
They’re not exactly nails. More like really sharp spikes. The pain is constant, to the point where hurt becomes my normal and I’m almost numb. And then I shift or doze, only to have the spikes pierce my skin in new, excruciating places.
I remember the scars on David, and while they’re too long and too deep to be from these spikes, I wonder what other horrors hide inside this elegant house.
My fingers trace the shape of a beetle that’s been carved into the skirting and I find it strangely comforting.
I’ve been there all night. Light has been entering through the tiny window for a while, so it must be around nine or ten in the morning when Jarlath returns.
‘What did you do to my sister?’ I say. I don’t get up.
‘How long have you been working for Maeve?’ Jarlath stands at the door.
‘Did you bring Laila here?’ I fold my arms. ‘To this cage?’
‘What information have you passed on to them?’
‘How did you kill my sister?’
> ‘Did you really think you could turn my son against me? David is loyal to his family. His first priority is his duty as a soldier. As War Scythe. He’ll pick that every time.’
Hands in pockets, Jarlath lets out a little sigh. It’s like I’m one of many annoying details he needs to take care of in his busy, busy life.
I’m going to waste his time. I’m going annoy him as much as I can.
But then he’s yanking me up, pulling me across the spikes. He looks at the blood on my legs, on the spikes.
Back at the door, Jarlath presses a button. Cold water streams through jets in the ceiling.
He’s telling me that he can make things much worse.
‘You can’t just keep me here,’ I say, trying not to shiver. But maybe he can. Girls go missing. Girls end up in rivers. I push that out of my head. I’m not without friends here. David will help me.
‘We’re leaving now.’
He watches me cross the nails, the icy water trailing down my face, my arms and legs. The water on the floor sluicing down the drain.
The feel of solid ground beneath my feet is a relief.
Jarlath studies me, then says: ‘How important is it for you to know what happened to your sister?’
‘It means everything.’
He’s examining my face. And I study him in return. Set deep in his craggy face are unexpectedly gentle eyes. But the lines around his mouth, on his forehead, make him look hard and mean.
‘Give me your hand.’
I hesitate, then stretch it to him. He holds it, palm up, in his.
‘I didn’t kill your sister.’ The intensity in his gaze makes it feel like this is a solemn promise. ‘I am in no way responsible for her death.’
I’m still looking at his eyes, and so when the knife slashes the tip of my finger it’s shocking.
‘I offer Truth.’
Then he drops my bleeding finger and walks away. I recognise the offering.
‘Follow or you’ll be left behind,’ he says.
I scurry after Jarlath, my blood dripping on the marble floor upstairs. We go out a garden door to the black van.
‘You’ve made the offerings? Do you have to use blood?’ I say.
‘All strong magic needs blood.’
‘Have you made them all?’
‘I have severed, I have entrapped. I’ll make the last today.’
‘What is the last offering?’ I ask.
He opens the back of the van and nods for me to get in.
‘Kill.’
FORTY-EIGHT
Invisible battles
David
No one comes until morning. And then it’s Dad who opens the door.
‘Is this necessary?’ I say to him. I want to ask about Zara, but I can’t let him see how much I care. I’m really hoping she’s just given him the Eye and gone home.
‘We’re making the fourth offering today.’
‘You have the Eye?’ My pace quickens.
‘David.’ Dad sounds disappointed. ‘You’ve been entertaining a spy. You’ve broken my trust.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I exhale. ‘I’ll do better.’
‘I know you think I’m ruthless sometimes.’
Sometimes?
‘But that’s the only way to survive our world. I’m hard on you because I care about you so much. There’s always, always a battle on. Some of them are just less visible than others. And the invisible battles are the most deadly.’
I’m not sure that’s true.
‘You think a quick death during a fight is the worst there is?’ Dad lets out a bitter laugh. ‘You’re young. You’ll learn. The most unbearable wounds are those you can’t see. When you get these wounds, the invisible wounds that corrode your skin, eat at your heart and leech your vitality, death is your reprieve.’
He’s moody. Dad doesn’t like going off schedule.
But I’m curious about what he means. I wonder what invisible wounds have begun to form on me.
‘What is the fourth offering?’
‘Kill.’
I turn from Dad so he doesn’t see the distress, the fear on my face.
‘You’re going to kill someone?’
‘I’m not. You are,’ Dad says. ‘You promised.’
The only way I can carry the burden of being garraíodóir is to hold tight to the Warrior Oath, the vows made on becoming a soldier: that I will only take a life when mine, or someone I protect, is under direct threat.
Killing to trigger magic is something else entirely.
‘I never agreed to this.’
‘Yes, you did. The night of the ritual of the seed.’ I vaguely recall Dad’s drunken, pathetic request. I’ve a job for you, he’d said, voice thick from drink. In a few weeks. And I’d stupidly promised to do it.
‘You’re doing this now?’ My lips are dry. I could really do with some water. ‘Here?’
Dad slices his knife through the ropes.
‘Get up.’
I stand, but my legs are unsteady after being trussed up for the night. I push the window open a little, breathing in the fresh air.
Dad’s watching. Probably wishing I wouldn’t show weakness.
The door opens and Breanna walks in. She’s not alone. When I see the blindfolded girl with long dark hair, I’m nearly sick.
But it’s not Zara.
It’s Sibéal.
I still feel sick.
She’s our enemy. She hates us. I’m pretty sure she’d knife me without hesitation if she were in my place.
But I can’t. Not like this, not in cold blood.
She’s quiet, like she’s trying to get her bearings. Suss out the situation. Find out who’s in the room.
‘I’m not doing this.’ I shake my head.
‘The War Scythe makes the strongest kill. Now show me how you are loyal to your family and to your people. Kill the grover girl.’
FORTY-NINE
The back room
Grrrrr. I still can’t master this infuriating magicky disc thing.
LAS
Zara
I’m pounding at the van door. Screaming for someone to let me out.
And then suddenly the door opens, the sunlight is blinding and I squint at the figure there. He smiles, and I notice for the first time he has dimples.
‘Hello, little spy,’ Cillian says. He takes my arm and drags me through the wild grass at Meadowsweet, to the open door.
‘Let go.’ I jerk out of his hold.
‘My mistake,’ he says pleasantly. ‘I thought you’d want to see David.’
‘He’s here?’
‘In the back room.’
‘Call him.’
‘I think you’re going to want to see this. See what he’s capable of. Who he really is.’
‘You don’t intimidate me, Cillian.’
Cillian is reaching for me. I know he’s going to grab me again and I’m fed up of being manhandled. Feeling the floor with the tip of my sandal, I find a long, sharp shard of glass from a broken window. I crouch to the ground as he comes closer, towering over me.
‘But I should intimidate you, Zara.’
I jab the shard deep into his leg.
Cillian shouts at me as he bends over his leg. So much blood.
Now’s my chance. I could run away, go home. Be safe.
But David is inside. What if he’s in trouble?
I can’t leave until I know.
I sneak down the passage, as quietly as I can. There’s a key in the door, which I’ve not seen before. I turn the key, push the door over the warped floor.
Inside the room, near the window, is David. He’s sitting on the floor, a knife in front of him.
Sibéal, tied and blindfolded, stands on the other side of the room.
FIFTY
Son of the rook
David
‘What’s going on?’ Zara tries to sound calm, but I can hear the fear in her voice.
I look up at her. Her clothes are wet and crumpled, and there’s
blood on her skirt.
‘Zara,’ I say. But I don’t know if Dad is listening from the passage, or the next room. He was here just minutes ago, and I can’t trust that this isn’t some kind of test. If I do the wrong thing, I will put her in more danger. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.’
‘Zara, you have to go.’
Behind her, Dad appears in the doorway. He’s watching her, his face devoid of expression.
‘Come with me, David,’ she pleads.
‘Go,’ I urge her. ‘You have to leave. Now.’
She looks at me a long while, and I hate the suspicion I see in her eyes. The fear. She’s wondering if I’m lost. Maybe I am.
‘David,’ Dad speaks up. ‘I’m giving you thirty minutes. If you don’t act, whatever happens after, the blood will still be on your hands.’
‘I thought the War Scythe kill counts more.’ The bigger the gesture, the more Dad can ask from Badb.
‘It does, but I reckon a completely innocent girl makes for a stronger offering than an unstable augur.’
It’s a warning. If he doesn’t get his War Scythe kill, Sibéal won’t be the victim, Zara will.
Cill comes into the room behind Dad. His leg is bleeding and he’s pale. He gives Zara a look of pure loathing.
‘It’s time, David.’ Dad’s voice is quiet but firm.
‘David, don’t do this.’ Zara’s looking at the blindfolded girl with distress.
‘Zara here will be your motivation.’ Cill points a knife at Zara’s throat. ‘Better make a move, Davey. Your clock is ticking.’
Then Dad steps forward and reaches out a hand to me. I don’t look at Zara as I take it. He pulls me up to standing, holding out Badb’s Eye. I sense her disappointment.
‘Red the blade.’ Dad places the Eye on my open palm. It feels alive, warm, beating.
‘You are a son of the rook.’ It’s like it’s just the two of us in the room.
‘I am a son of the rook.’
‘You will strike your enemy without mercy.’
‘I will strike my enemy without mercy.’
‘This is your promise.’
