Ashes on the Waves

by Mary Lindsey

  And at that moment the incredible truth hit. The future was all that mattered. The books, the shed, none of ihedizet would mean a thing in the end. Only Anna.

  I pulled her to me and inhaled the scent of her, blocking out the acrid smell of smoke.

  “No way,” she said, looking at something over her shoulder. “Where did you put your Bealtaine stick after you put it out, Liam?”

  “I threw it over the cliff.”

  She pushed away from me and dug something out of a bush. She held up a long stick similar to the one I had discarded. The end was charred and still smoldered. “Looks like someone lit your hearth fire for you.”

  21

  Hear the loud alarum bells—

  Brazen bells!

  What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!

  In the startled ear of night

  How they scream out their affright!

  Too much horrified to speak,

  They can only shriek, shriek,

  Out of tune,

  In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,

  In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,

  Leaping higher, higher, higher.

  —Edgar Allan Poe,

  from “The Bells,” 1848

  Muireann could not see her Liam anywhere. She’d followed his progress from the harbor as he and his female climbed the cliff trail toward his dwelling but lost sight of him once he’d run toward the flames.

  This must be what the Na Fir Ghorm meant by a “trial by fire.”

  Please let him be okay, she chanted in her head.

  Something moved in the vegetation on the slope behind her Liam’s dwelling. She squinted to make out what it was, but it was too dark to see clearly. Ducking under, she swam closer to shore.

  A horrible clatter came from the harbor, startling her so much she breathed in seawater. The humans were ringing those awful bells again. She blew the water out of her nose in one hard puff, flinching at every strike of the bells. She could even hear them underwater.

  As she neared the slope, the form moved again. It was traveling toward the beach away from the fire, which was raging, sending a black column of smoke to the sky. Eyes and nose barely above the surface, she waited.

  The human burst from the bushes, looking over his shoulder at the fire on the top of the cliff. It was the human male she had seen the Na Fir Ghorm leader speaking with earlier in the day. It had struck her as odd the Na Fir Ghorm were talking to a human, but now it made sense. They were using him.

  It was the same human she had seen talking to Brigid Ronan—the one with the black square covering his eye.

  * * *

  “Who do you think torched your place?” Anna asked, sitting down next to me, holding the Bealtaine stick she’d discovered in the bushes.

  A choked laugh escaped my throat and then turned into a cough. “It would be far easier to list those I do not think did it.”

  The alarm bells sounded from the harbor. Someone must have seen the smoke. “They’ll be here any minute,” I said, pulling Anna against me.

  “Who?”

  “The villagers. They’ll come to protect their property by containing the flames if necessary.”

  “Yeah, well, I bet they won’t lift a finger to help your property,” she grumbled.

  “No. It’s too late for mine.”

  “I bet they wouldn’t help even if it weren’t too late.”

  I shrugged. “I’m certain you’re correct.”

  She jumped to her feet. “I have an idea. Let’s hide and listen to who says what. We might be able to figure out who did it.”

  I ran my fingers over the cover of the book on top of the stack. Les Misérables. How appropriate. “What would we do with that information? We have no law enforcement. No one would ever take my side anyway.”

  She picked up the stack of books. “We would know. Knowledge is power, right? I’m all about being powerful.”

  Shouting came from the direction of the trail. They were close. More out of the desire to avoid confrontation than to accrue information, I led Anna behind a vine-covered heap of abandoned lobster traps, where we could hear what was going on without being detected. The traps had belonged to Francine’s uncle, who passed away decades ago.

  The gaps in the vines gave us a clear view of the burning shed and the clearing at the top of the trail.

  Edmond was the first to the scene, followed Mac and Ron. “It’s MacGregor’s shed,” Edmond yelled back toward the trail.

  Mrs. McAlister and Polly were next to arrive, followed by a dozen or so others. No one said anything for a while. They just stood mesmerized by the flames consuming what was left of the shed.

  “Good thing there’s no wind,” Edmond remarked.

  “Liam!” I could hear Pa before I saw him. “Liam,” he yelled, shoving through the crowd. Clearly intoxicated, he stood swaying, staring at the burning remains of my shed, wearing a horrified expression. “Where is he?” It was almost a whimper.

  “If we’re lucky, he was in there,” Mrs. McAlister said.

  Pa turned and charged her but was stopped by Mac and Ron.

  “How dare you!” Pa slurred. “You’d really wish upon him the torture of being burned alive?”

  Emboldened by the fact Pa was restrained, Mrs. McAlister took a step toward him. “I don’t wish him burned alive, James. I just wish him dead. So do you. We all do.”

  To my amazement, Pa shook his head. His mouth formed the word “no,” but no sound came out.

  Mrs. McAlister took cover behind Edmond when Pa shook free, but he ignored her, shoving his way back through the crowd to the trail.

  The villagers watchillr tooked his retreat, the silence only broken by the clanging of the bells. Several shuffled their feet uncomfortably and exchanged glances.

  I needed to cough but fought down the urge. Anna rubbed her hand reassuringly down my arm.

  “Well, that’s it, I guess,” Edmond said. “We won’t know anything until morning. If he shows up, there’s that. If not, we won’t know anything for sure until we can sift through the ashes.”

  “Let’s just hope the Leighton girl wasn’t in there with him. Her people will raze the whole island,” Mac said.

  As quickly as they’d arrived, they departed, leaving us with no clues as to who had set the fire. In fact, none of them had even spoken of how it had started, which was one of the first topics whenever anything burned down. Either they all knew or none of them wanted to know. Both scenarios were equally disturbing.

  Anna turned around and leaned back against the wall of traps. “What a lovely group of people. They weren’t worried that I was dead, they were worried my parents would be pissed off.”

  Finally, I could cough and relieve the unbearable tickling in my throat I’d endured for the eternity the villagers were near.

  “You okay?” Anna’s sweet voice was like music juxtaposed with the harsh clang of the harbor bells still ringing in the distance.

  I nodded. Now that the shock was wearing off, the ramifications of the fire had moved to the forefront of my mind. I had no place to live—nowhere to go except back with Pa. The haunted look on his face when he called my name had nearly ripped my heart out. It was the same tortured look he had when Ma died. I took a deep, shuddering breath. It was probably the alcohol altering his reactions. He’d made it more than clear many times that he wished me gone.

  They all wished me gone except Francine and Anna.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  She skimmed the backs of her fingers across my jaw. “Now you’re talking. Keep that up and I’ll take back my ‘you’re stupid’ statement and forgive you for almost dying

  on me.”

  “I was stupid,” I said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Shock. Fear. Losing what was left to you by your mother.” Anna said. She stood and picked up the stack of books. The golden hues from the fire floated across her exquisite face, creating an
effect so beautiful, it erased all my worries, replacing them with awe and gratitude.

  The harbor bells fell silent, leaving no sound but the crackling fire as it consumed my past.

  “We can figure all of this out tomorrow,” Anna said, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder. “Tonight, let’s just head to Taibhreamh and steer clear of fire-wielding villagers, okay?”

  For the first time, the thought of the mansion didn’t fill me with dread.

  22

  No footstep stirred: the hated world all slept,

  Save only thee and me. (Oh, Heaven!—oh, God!

  How my heart beats in coupling those two words!)

  Save only thee and me.

  thoight">—Edgar Allan Poe,

  from “To Helen,” 1848

  Taibhreamh was unattended when we arrived. Miss Ronan was probably still at the celebration, which no doubt found rejuvenation after the discovery I might have been destroyed along with the shed.

  But I hadn’t been destroyed. From those ashes, I’d been renewed. Without a past, I could focus on the future: Anna.

  I followed her up the stairs to her room, where she placed the books on the window seat. My portfolio was there, leaning against the ledge.

  She pulled her hair in front of her nose. “We stink like smoke,” she said with a shudder. “It reminds me of the funeral pyre the other day.” She slipped her handbag off her shoulder and pitched it on the bed. “We have to shower or I’ll have nightmares.”

  The Bean Sidhes took that moment to shriek.

  “Shut up!” Anna yelled. “Please. Give us just a little peace, okay?”

  They fell silent.

  I thought of all the nights I had lain awake tormented by their screams. Why had I never thought to talk to them? Probably because I knew they wouldn’t listen. No one listened . . . until now. My whole life had built to this moment—to this girl.

  “Follow me,” Anna said. At the opposite end of the balcony overlooking the entry hall, she disappeared through an ornately carved alcove. “My great-uncle’s rooms.”

  I hesitated in the doorway. Damask curtains the color of blood ran down either side of a tall, narrow window. Paneling almost as dark as the black marble on the first floor stretched up every vertical surface, broken only by occasional paintings in thick, carved gilt frames. Everything about the room was in equal parts opulent and oppressive, even the iron chandelier that looked to be ringed in sharp daggers with jeweled handles.

  Unsure whether my inability to efficiently fill my lungs resulted from the smoke I’d inhaled earlier or the effect of the room, I drew a deep, slow breath through my nose, willing my heart rate to slow.

  “The shower is through there.” She indicated a door in the corner. “I’ll find something for you to wear. And I’ll put your clothes in the washer if you’ll pass them out to me.”

  A washing machine. I’d seen pictures of them in the magazines.

  I entered the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I slipped out of my smoky clothes, painfully aware there was nothing but a few inches of wood between us. After wrapping a towel around my waist, I opened the door enough to peek out. She stood just outside with a bundle of clothes. In awkward silence, I passed her my dirty clothes in exchange for the clean ones. Her eyes traveled up and down my body and she smiled. “Enjoy your shower.”

  I groaned and leaned back against the closed door. Nothing in this world, or any other for that matter, could be as alluring and desirable as Anna Leighton. I shook my head to clear it.

  The faucet functioned like the one at Francine’s, only it was ornate and gold—probably real gold. I would never get used to such decadence and waste. Steaming hot water right from the tap, though, I could learn to accept without issue.

  Shampoos, soaps, and all manner of supplies waited on a shelf. In no time, I washed away the smoke smell that had clung to my body like a second skin.

  The royal blue silk pajamas and matching robe felt foreign against my skin. Too light, too smooth, too . . . rich. But any reservations I had about them disappeared when Anna told me I looked “yummy.”

  “I have something for you,” she said. “I had the pilot bring it when he picked up Suz, Mallory, and Nicky.” She pulled open a drawer of the table next to her bed and withdrew a rectangular item with a glass front. “It’s an iPad, which is cool, but what’s coolest is what’s on it.” She patted the bed next to her.

  It turns out, she meant the “coolest thing” was what was in it, because it contained movies behind that shiny piece of glass. I’d never seen a movie or any video media before, but I had read all about them. It was fascinating to see the concept translated into reality. It exceeded all expectations. Sherlock Holmes was the first we viewed and then James Bond.

  She had called me Bond at the lighthouse. I smiled as I recalled that day—the overwhelming sensation of her touch and the smoothness of her lips. The smell of freshly cut lilies on her skin. Bond in the movie was kissing a scantily clad woman not half as beautiful as Anna. I looked over to find her staring at me, the look in her eyes as heated as my thoughts.

  Just as our lips met, the Bean Sidhes wailed again.

  “This is ridiculous,” Anna said to the air above our heads. “You guys are the most effective mood killers ever.” She paused the movie and slipped off the bed. “Talk about forced abstinence. Really.”

  She paced from the bed to the window and back again, running her hands through her still-wet hair. “Are you hungry? I am.”

  I nodded.

  Watching her move about the kitchen was like witnessing a beautiful, complex dance. She was so graceful and confident—and skilled. The omelet she prepared with mushrooms, Swiss cheese, asparagus, and eggs was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted.

  “I feel better now,” she said, taking her last bite.

  “Because you were hungry?”

  “No. Because I needed to do something.” She put her fork down. “I feel so helpless here.” She stared out the window at the sunrise.

  Silence stretched between us. Her brow furrowed as she searched for something in her mind: a thought, a memory, the proper words perhaps.

  “It’s like everything is out of control on this island. Things happen to you and there is no power over it. At home, I know what’s going on and what’s going to happen for the most part. I control my life. Here, I’m clueless.”

  “Dòchas is a unique place,” I said.

  She made her peculiar snorting sound. “That’s an understatement. And when I start to figure something out, craziness happens: somebody dies, stuff burns, freaks go on a witch hunt.”

  “Demon hunt,” I corrected. “I’m not a witch.”

  “You’re not a demon either.” She took her dish to the sink. “And we’re going to prove it. We’re going to find out as much as we can about your birth. We’re also going to figure out what happened to my uncle.”

  I placed my dish on top of hers in the enormous sink and followed her to a room off the kitchen that held a washer, a dryer, and a large table.

  She moved clothes from one macs fsinkhine to the other and started it. A rhythmic rumbling filled the room, and behind the porthole of glass on the door, the clothes danced and leapt in a clockwise circle. She leaned against the machine. “What do you want, Liam?”

  “You.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I mean what do you want from life?”

  “My answer stands.”

  “Other than that.”

  There was nothing else. Anna was all I wanted. All I’d ever dreamed of—never expecting fate to be so kind as to allow me time with her. I had everything I could desire.

  She threw her hands up. “You’re not getting it. You’ve sold paintings to the guys on the delivery boats, right? What if we could get your work into a gallery back at home?”

  It was too far-fetched. I shook my head.

  “Why not? You’re crazy talented. I know my dad could find a broker for your work.” She took my hand.
“You could get out of here. Live in the real world instead of this backward anachronistic hellhole.”

  I dared not consider so fine a dream for fear the Washerwoman would strike me down on the spot. I knew in my soul that I’d never leave this island. Functioning in any other world was impossible. “Let me draw you,” I said. “Please, Anna.”

  Her smile was brilliant. “Don’t you have enough drawings of me already?”

  “Those are yours now. Happy birthday.”

  Her hand flew to her throat and she gasped. “Mine? Really?”

  I nodded.

  “All of them?”

  “Yes.”

  She turned her back to me and clutched the top of the dryer. I had hurt her somehow.

  “Anna.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “This is all really new to me.”

  Afraid of saying the wrong thing, I remained silent and waited.

  She turned to face me. “Everyone always buys things for me. No one has ever given me something they’ve made themselves.” She wrapped her arms around me and leaned her head against my shoulder. Her tears soaked through the fine fabric. “It means a lot. Thanks.”

  She pressed against me, every curve of her body painfully defined through the loose silk pajamas.

  “Will you draw me now?”

  “Yes.” My voice sounded as if it came from someone else—deep and far away. “I have art supplies in the outer pocket of the portfolio.”

  “I saw them there. I’ll be right back.” She pulled away and left me empty.

  I leaned back against the table and watched the clothes tumble in the dryer as if under a hypnotic spell. I was under a spell of sorts: Anna had completely bewitched me.

  “Dear gods of the ocean!” Brigid Ronan’s thick voice startled me to the point of paralysis. I held my breath, unable to move. “You’ve returned,” she whispered to my back. I shuddered as her cool fingers touched my shoulder. I turned to face her, and she screamed.