by Mary Watson
‘This is my promise.’
‘Do your duty, soldier.’
‘As my Cleave commands.’
Touching a hand to my shoulder, Dad leaves.
‘Well, this is the most tedious murder I’ve ever had the misfortune of not watching,’ Sibéal says. ‘Better hurry, I might just drop dead from boredom.’
‘Shut up, Sibéal,’ Cill says. She’s getting to him, but that’s her plan. I can’t help but admire her spirit; this girl is wasted on the augurs.
‘Or I could provide the entertainment,’ Sibéal muses. ‘Since I’ve seen inside all of your tiny little minds. Who first? Maybe Cillian, with his petty jealousies and grim delusions of grandeur. At least David, tosser though he is, had the strength to shut me out.’ She thinks for a moment. ‘Apart from revealing that he has the raging hots for Zara.’
‘And you took advantage of that.’ I glower at her.
‘Just call me Cupid.’ Sheer bravado. I can hear the slight shake in her voice.
‘Just fucking kill her already,’ Cill grinds. He’s backed Zara against the wall, knife pricking her throat.
‘And Zara, who’s all boohoo about her sister,’ Sibéal continues. ‘You want to know what happened to Laila? My mother used her.’
‘How?’ Zara’s face is murderous.
‘Maybe I’ll take it to my grave?’ Sibéal raises her eyebrows. ‘But where’s the fun in that?’
‘How did Laila die?’ Zara hisses, oblivious to the knife at her throat.
‘Mam told Laila that she’d be gifted with magic and brought into our grove. That she would perform the binding oath between me and Laila, if Laila stole the Eye from the Rookery. But Mam tricked her. Instead of the binding ritual, she performed a sacrifice using the residual energy from Cassa’s ritual.’
‘The old ways are passed through blood,’ Cill says. ‘We can’t just give it to any random person who comes here.’
‘What does it matter?’ Sibéal says. ‘It didn’t happen.’
‘It matters.’ Zara’s face is twisted with grief and fury. ‘Laila matters.’
‘Oh, I’m grateful to Laila,’ Sibéal goes on. ‘Thanks to her I’ve been gifted with a powerful talent that died out centuries ago. I am a Delver, able to glimpse inside your pathetic minds and search through your insignificant thoughts.’
I’d known there was something dark about Sibéal’s skill. But resurrecting dead magic through human sacrifice is another thing altogether.
‘The plan was that I’d extract the offerings and summon Badb to help us destroy you miserable bastards. But Laila wouldn’t hand over the Eye until after the ritual. She told Mam she’d left it in the ruined cottage, and there wasn’t time to get it first. But it wasn’t in the cottage. Laila had tricked Mam too. She’d hidden it somewhere else.’
‘You killed Laila when you didn’t have it in hand.’ I shake my head. That’s cold. ‘And you still don’t have all the offerings.’
‘You pushed me out, and searching Mamó’s head is like eating stringy meat. And then she wouldn’t leave the Rookery. So we had to innovate. With Zara.’
With Cill distracted by Sibéal, Zara shoves at him, aiming a knee to his groin. He jerks back, taken by surprise, and the knife clatters to the ground. She grabs for the knife, but he twists her arm behind her. The grip is awkward, her body smashed against the wall, and she can’t hide the pain.
‘Do it, Davey.’ He’s getting mad. If I don’t do something soon, he will hurt her worse. He pulls a razor blade from his pocket.
‘Let her go, Cill.’ I step towards Sibéal.
‘Laila wrote a letter.’ Sibéal talks faster, as if that can hold me back. Her hands are behind her back and I see what she’s trying to hide: she’s been working the rope. The knot is looser, but not enough. ‘One that totally incriminates us. She told Mam. I think those may have been her last words.’
‘A letter?’ Zara says. ‘Where is it?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Don’t listen to her, Zara,’ I say. ‘They don’t have the letter. Simon told me.’
Sibéal glares at me. It’s time to end this.
There’s a buzz close to my ears, and looking up, I see three wasps circling.
Thank the sacred moons. I was beginning to worry.
‘I’ll do what Dad wants.’ I avoid looking at Zara. ‘I’ll make the kill.’
I’ve been watching the wasps’ nest hanging outside the window since daylight started around four this morning. Without silver magic, I can’t command them, but it never hurts to ask nicely.
‘Let’s have it then, David,’ Sibéal taunts me. ‘I want you to suffer with burning regret every minute of your miserable life, that you took the life of a completely defenceless sixteen-year-old girl. Go on then. I want to be a ghost. And I’m going to haunt you. My bloodstained corpse will be there first thing in the morning, and every time you fuck up, I’ll be there, laughing.’
‘You overestimate your value, Sibéal,’ I say, moving closer. ‘What makes you think I will feel regret at the loss of your life?’
‘Enough talk,’ Cill says. ‘Get it done.’
He’s still holding Zara at an awkward angle, but now he’s positioned a razor blade just above her eye. One slip, and she could lose it.
‘Do you know the damage caused by the attack at the ruined cottage?’ I prowl towards Sibéal.
I’m right in front of her now. There’ve always been two sides of me: the one who lashes out when I’m afraid, when I’m in pain. The monster. And the other one who suffers every consequence of the monster’s action. Now, I feel the monster rising. It wants me to lose myself to it.
‘We lost Cassa.’ That pain is still raw. ‘Why would I save you?’
Up close, Sibéal’s fear is clear. The disc is warming in my hand, the jagged edges of the carved detail dig into the flesh of my palm.
‘David.’ Zara’s words are tense. ‘Please. Don’t do this.’
The buzzing is louder. More wasps have come.
I hold the knife out, line it up with Sibéal’s chest. I press it against her skin, see her throat work as she swallows.
‘Do I get last words?’
‘This will destroy you,’ Zara says. ‘She’s not worth it.’
Barely moving, I shift my eyes to Zara: ‘But here is revenge. This will break Maeve. You could have a life for a life.’
‘No.’ Zara shuts her eyes. ‘Enough. There’s been too much. You are better than this.’
And with Zara’s words, I feel Lucia’s armour again. My internal shield, a different kind of strength I didn’t know I had.
With the wasps buzzing loudly, I leap across the room and fall on Cill, knocking Zara down too. She scrabbles back while Cill and I grapple; he’s slashing wildly with the blade. He gets my cheek, and my blood drips on to him. Zara creeps towards the fallen disc.
‘Stop, Cill, I don’t want to hurt you.’ Wasps swarm towards us, aiming for Cill’s face.
Zara shouts out in pain. I turn to see that Sibéal’s blindfold is off, her hands untied. She’s kicked Zara in the stomach, but Zara hits back and the two girls are fighting each other.
The wasps move to Sibéal, forcing her to break her hold. When she lunges for Zara, they descend on her, hanging back only when she does.
But the distraction costs me. Cill knocks my knife out of my hand and he’s now above me on the floor. He punches my face, once, twice, three times. Picking up my knife, he raises it high. I don’t flinch. If there has to be a death this afternoon, it must be mine.
I’d rather be dead than a shell.
I would rather die than destroy myself by being my dad’s obedient little soldier. The wasps will help Zara escape. She will be OK.
‘Run, Zara,’ I cry as my best friend brings down his hand to plunge the knife into my heart. But suddenly he slumps on top of me. Zara holds the iron cailleach statue in her hands.
Cill lies motionless. Blood seeps from his head.
Zara drops the statue.
‘I thought he was going to kill you.’ Her eyes are wide with shock.
‘He was going to kill me.’ Rolling Cill gently, I get to my feet.
‘We need to call an ambulance.’ She’s trembling.
I’m not sure an ambulance can help him now.
‘We’ve a medical unit at the military base.’ But neither of us have phones. I’m reaching for Cill’s in his jeans pocket, when the door begins to open slowly.
‘Oh no, my girl.’ An old lady stands in the doorway and scolds Sibéal. ‘Put that right down.’
The wasps have left. Sibéal is holding the Eye, and had been sneaking to the door. She smirks. But her expression quickly changes to pain and she drops the disc as if it burned her.
‘Leave,’ the woman says, and Sibéal, nettled, obeys.
‘Callie,’ Zara calls. ‘You came. I was worried.’
She throws herself into the old woman’s arms.
Her silvery hair is loose around her shoulders, and she wears a simple black summer dress. Her face is deeply lined with wrinkles, she must be even older than Mamó. As she comes closer, I realise I know this woman. I’ve seen her somewhere before. Her eyes are fierce but kind, the lines in her skin map a life lived.
And then I know.
‘David.’ The woman nods.
Zara, hunched and sad, is tucked into the arm of the fucking Crow-Mother. Like she’s being comforted by a long-lost friend.
‘You called me,’ Badb says to Zara. ‘Many times. And now, with four true offerings, you may ask me whatever you want.’
Zara uncovers her face. She opens her mouth and shuts it again.
‘Four offerings? To you?’ She processes a moment. ‘Wait, did I actually complete them?’
‘You did.’
‘My Truth was rubbish, my Entrapment failed.’
‘Your Truth was sincere. Your Sever untethered you. That cage, your Entrapment, rebirthed you.’
‘I didn’t use blood.’
‘You used heart.’
‘But the fourth.’ Zara looks at Cill, and she is so heartbroken. ‘I did that.’
‘You did what you had to.’ The Badb Catha, goddess of war and destruction, takes her hands. ‘Death was in this room today. There was no escaping it.’
Cill is on the ground, his blood on the floorboards. His still form breaks something inside me. My breath catches for the boy who ran beside me, who shared my dens, who played football better than I did. The boy who was never content, who always wanted more. We’ve shared so many comfortable silences, Cill and I. But this one, this final silence, is difficult, uncomfortable, guilty. His life for mine.
I won’t hide the tears that fall as I bend over his body.
‘But why me?’ Zara says. ‘What about Jarlath?’
‘You both sang to me. I came to the one whose song I liked more. Now, what will it be? I can punish the augurs who hurt you and your family. I can bring Maeve to justice.’
Zara shakes her head. ‘None of that. No death, no chaos, no destruction.’
Badb smiles. ‘You’ve been listening to my stories. An old woman gets weary of darkness, even when that darkness is stitched into her marrow. What will it be then?’
‘I want what Laila wanted. I want a life of magic,’ Zara says.
Nothing could have surprised me more. I would have thought this is the last thing Zara would want after witnessing how entirely dysfunctional we are.
‘Words will flow to you.’ Badb touches Zara’s mouth, then moves her hand to her heart. ‘You will be gifted with a strong affinity and totem, and your bond with your guide will be touched with silver.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Magic works through ritual,’ Badb says. She smiles at Zara and then looks at me. ‘Even with my gift, you must make the binding oath.’
‘How do I do that?’ Zara says.
‘Becoming draoithe happens through a bond with another person, whether it’s a parent or husband or a friend. A spirit connection that lasts until death.’
‘I don’t want to get married. Definitely not now.’ Her face is grim. I think of her parents. ‘Maybe not ever.’
‘If you’ll have me, I’ll do it,’ I say to her. ‘Without asking anything of you in return.’
‘You would?’
‘You saved my life, Zara.’
She glances at Laila’s shrine, at her goddesses.
‘The bond is for life,’ I warn her. ‘Even if in ten years, you’re with someone else and living halfway across the world, we’ll still be connected. You’ll get to know me like you’ve never known anyone else. Everything good, all the boring, down to the horrible.’
‘David.’ She holds out a hand and I close it in mine.
We stand before Laila’s shrine while Badb performs a binding ceremony to bring Zara into the Rose.
Before our blood touches, I whisper, ‘Last chance to change your mind.’
She presses her hand to mine. ‘This feels right.’
The ancient woman covers our joined hands with her dry, papery palms. She whispers the words in Old Irish. I’ve never seen a binding oath performed, and I don’t know if they all have this same intensity.
She guides us through the promises and when they’re made, I put my arms around Zara. I’m surprised to feel her body racked with sobs.
‘He’s dead,’ she whispers.
‘And if he wasn’t, I would be.’
The sound of flapping wings grows until it fills the room. Breaking apart, I turn and see a hundred hooded crows swirling around Cill. They form a thick, moving veil for a few seconds, then fly out of the window, screaming into the blue afternoon sky.
Zara and I are alone in the room. Badb has left, and Cill’s body is no longer there. No blood marks the spot, only the cailleach statue lies on the floor.
‘That can’t be used for another hundred years,’ I say to Zara as she picks up the Eye.
‘Your dad is going to be furious.’
‘He will.’
‘You made a promise to him.’
‘Sometimes we have to break things to find release.’ I’ll never forget Cassa’s last words to me.
‘He’ll be livid.’
‘He won’t forgive me.’ I try to keep my voice neutral, but she hears the despair. He may be difficult, but he’s my dad. And I have ended our relationship.
‘Oh, David.’ She squeezes my hand.
‘Why didn’t you get away when you could?’ I say.
‘I wanted to save you.’
‘You did.’
‘Why didn’t you run?’ She puts the same question to me.
I look at the rope and blindfold Sibéal dropped on the floor. Running wouldn’t have stopped Dad from hurting Sibéal or Zara. Running wouldn’t have stopped Dad from hurting me.
‘Because in a different way, I needed to save myself.’
As we leave Meadowsweet, I think of what is salvaged: Oisín is no longer under suspicion. Zara is no longer exposed and vulnerable, she has the unconditional support of the War Scythe in facing both augurs and judges. Dad can’t touch her now.
Zara and I walk towards Dad’s Rover, which has just pulled up.
Dad can’t call on Badb, and without the red button, he won’t pursue his war. When we don’t retaliate for the ruin attack, the augurs will hold back. That thirst for blood will eventually dissipate. People will live. For now.
We will be OK.
I look my father in the eye.
FIFTY-ONE
Where Laila was
If my parents would just accept the inevitable, we could be happy here.
LAS
Zara
A few days have passed and Mom’s home. She’s different. Calmer, more at peace. Dad’s moved out and the house feels less tense, like it’s been cleared out. A deep scouring that’s removed layers of dirt.
‘I don’t want to live somewhere else,’ I tell her as she brings my hot lemon and sits beside me o
n the velvet sofa. I’m staring out of the window, thinking about that night spent on a bed of nails. That same magpie is out there.
‘I don’t either.’
I look at her, startled. ‘But you went to Cape Town to check things out.’
‘Being there made me realise, going back was an excuse rather than a real answer. I wanted to reclaim something that was long gone.’
‘You’ve been miserable here.’
‘I’ve been so miserable here with your dad. I couldn’t do the one obvious thing I needed to do.’
I take a small sip of lemon water.
‘So what now?’
‘Well, what would you like?’
‘We want to be here.’ I don’t hesitate. ‘Where Laila was. And where we’ve settled these last months even though it’s been horrible.’
And Horrible. Which has been necessary. Which has been my awakening.
I’m still struggling with my anger towards Maeve. At how much I need her to account for what she did to Laila. But I don’t want the kind of justice David’s dad would mete out. Or Badb, for that matter.
I still can’t get over that I’ve been having casual morning chats with the goddess of battle over the last weeks. While I knew she was steely and strong, she was also gentle. Wearied. I guess we bring out our darkness when it’s necessary. It doesn’t mean it should define us.
‘Dr Kelly will retire completely by the end of the year,’ Mom says. ‘He wants me to take over the practice.’
‘Will you?’
‘If we’re all agreed,’ she says. ‘I like working there. I like this funny little village. If you and Adam are happy to stay here, then I am too.’
For the first time in ages, I want to fling my arms around my mother. I feel such relief, no longer worrying if the rug will be yanked out from beneath us.
Mom brings her cup up to her lips. Both hands are wrapped around it and I notice she isn’t wearing her rings.
‘What will you do today?’ I don’t want her sitting around and missing Dad.
‘Adam wants to go for a hike,’ she says. ‘He’s been low since Patrick went off grid.’
We haven’t seen Patrick since before the fight. Just a short message about how he’s gone to stay with cousins in the west, and nothing more. Mom’s making a project of Adam’s broken heart. I think they will help each other.
