“Wait, what?”
“We’ll come for you when we get back and–”
“No, I want to come.” No way was I getting left out. “Please? I won’t get in the way or anything…”
“You should stay here, Becca.”
“But why? Cormac and Alex will be there, won’t they?”
“Cormac knows where to go, and we may need Alex to cover us.”
Was he really going to shut me out after one little mistake? “Is it because I told Steven stuff I shouldn’t have? Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”
He cut me off, his expression slightly uneasy. “It’s not that, Becca, it’s… This isn’t something…” He paused, glancing away, then finally said, “You don’t need to see this.”
I saw a shadow in his features as he looked out the window across the hall and suddenly I felt guilty. Here I was, getting offended and angry for being left out when he was only trying to keep me from a potentially disturbing situation. I wasn’t sure what specifically he was worried about, but whatever it was, he needed to know that I could handle it. Yeah it was weird, and yeah, I was more than a little creeped out by the idea, but if I wanted to be a part of the Order, then I needed to show him I could handle whatever situations arose, and didn’t need to be sheltered or protected when things got difficult.
I waited quietly for him to turn back to me before asking one last time. “Please,” I said again, gently this time and meeting his eyes. “I want to go. I’ll be fine, I promise.”
He took a long breath before finally nodding. “All right,” he said, though he still didn’t sound thrilled with the idea. “Go and get your coat and meet us in the lobby in twenty minutes. The car will be waiting.”
“How long will it take to get there?” I asked as we pulled out of the manor drive and onto the road.
“Shouldn’t be more than a half hour or so, I’d guess,” Cormac said. “I just hope we will have the place to ourselves, and not run into any other visitors.”
“That’s why we brought Alex,” Jocelyn said.
“Yes, but it would be easier to not have to worry about hiding. Though I’m actually quite looking forward to seeing the place,” he mused aloud as he skimmed over the list of directions in his hand. “I hear it’s quite lovely.”
“Lovely?” I echoed.
“Well, you know…” he glanced back at me from the passenger seat, “as cemeteries go. It was established by the Bhunaidh more than four centuries ago, and I’m told they have always made sure it was well cared for.”
“So only Bhunaidhs are buried there?” Alex asked from next to me in the back seat.
“Oh yes,” Cormac nodded.
Well sure, if they can’t bear to intermingle with regular people when they are alive, why would they want to in death…?
Keeping my more bitter thoughts to myself, I sat quietly trying to enjoy the drive, when I suddenly realized just how quiet it really was. Maybe it was the gentle hum of the car, or the wide open spaces rushing past us outside the window, but suddenly I felt an overwhelming sense of calm that seemed to grow by the minute. It was almost like my insides were taking a deep breath.
Then it hit me. It wasn’t the car that was quiet – it was my mind. For the first time since arriving at the manor, I wasn’t surrounded by hordes of Holders, each one with an ability fighting for recognition in my mind. I’d grown used to it after the first few hours, but I’d also forgotten what it felt like to be alone – or relatively alone, anyway.
Relishing in my newfound peace, I sighed almost involuntarily as I rested my head back on the seat of the car and gazed lazily up at the roof.
“You OK over there?” Alex asked, eyeing me with a grin.
“It’s so quiet,” I told him with a drowsy smile.
His eyebrows pulled together slightly, but eased into a smile as he realized what I meant. “Nice to be away from the masses?” he said, sliding his hand underneath mine and lacing our fingers together.
“Mmmhmm,” I hummed, giving his palm a squeeze.
I sat for a while letting my brain enjoy the solace, however the less cluttered my mind became, the more it was able to focus on the question I’d been wondering about ever since Jocelyn had told me what we were on our way to do.
“So…” I said hesitantly, hoping I wasn’t about to make things awkward. “Mind if I ask how this works, exactly?”
“How what works, dear?” Cormac asked
“The whole reading Ciaran thing. Doesn’t seem like it would even be possible given his… you know… condition.”
“It’s not exactly a reading,” Jocelyn answered. “A true reading is scanning thoughts and memories. When a person dies, obviously they are no longer able to think, so thoughts would be out of the question. However, just because a person’s mind ceases to function doesn’t mean their memories are lost.”
“It doesn’t? Kind of seems like it should,” I said.
“The mind and saol of a person are very closely knit,” Cormac explained. “Experiences become memories, memories can alter feelings, emotions grow from those feelings, which inspire new experiences, on and on throughout the span of our lives. All of those feelings, thoughts, emotions, and memories are each a different facet of your essential being – your saol. They coexist together within you, playing and building on one another and making you who you are. Now your saol is also, of course, your life energy, which is extinguished upon your death, but even when gone, its shadow remains on and in your body like a fingerprint, marking you. That fingerprint is made of everything your saol contained: your memories, your ability, your personality… all of it. The downfall is that this fingerprint is literally on the body itself, so over time when that begins to disappear, any information it may have stored is lost.”
This had to be the most interestingly macabre thing I’d ever heard. “So then, if I am understanding this, you could read a dead person too, right? Read him and see what his ability was?”
“In theory, yes,” Cormac said, “though I am nowhere near powerful enough to do it myself, few are. In fact other than Jocelyn, I’ve never heard of anyone able to successfully read people who have passed.”
“Yes,” Jocelyn sighed, “but I have never attempted it on anyone who was more than a few months gone, and even then there was precious little to work with. After three years I don’t hold out much hope.”
“Well, the most recent memories should be the strongest,” Cormac said, patting his arm supportively. “Let’s just hope that whatever we wish to learn happened within the final few months of his life.”
After that, no one said anymore, which was fine by me as I’d hit my freaky limit for one afternoon. We rode quietly for a while until Cormac’s light snoring broke the silence, and I decided to follow his lead. I laid down against Alex’s chest – who also looked as though he was about to nod off – and felt his arm come up around me before sliding off into a peaceful sleep.
Sadly the peace didn’t last long, as a short time later I woke up to the subtle but undeniable feel of abilities gently nudging at my own. As I felt the car turn into a parking spot and shut off, I realized that we’d arrived, while the nearby abilities told me that Cormac had been right: we were going to have company.
Alex stretched underneath me and sat up taking me with him, giving the top of my head a kiss as he went. “Looks like we’re here,” he said, turning to face forward as he stretched out his back again.
I popped the door open and climbed out, taking my first look at the towering wrought iron entry way of the cemetery and being immediately impressed. And OK… a little scared. I mean, the thing was straight out of a gothic novel, and cool as it was, I also wasn’t ashamed to admit that I was happy we’d come during the day.
I gazed out over the rows of intricately carved headstones, and while I didn’t see anyone else in the cemetery itself – which I’d expected as the abilities I sensed were too muted to be coming from so close – I also didn’t see anything or anyone even remotely nearby.
“Is there anything else around here?” I asked Cormac as he stepped out of the car.
“No dear, not for miles.”
“That’s weird,” I mumbled to myself, looking out over the open fields, doing my own perimeter check. I could feel abilities other than Jocelyn, Cormac, and Alex, but if the only other Holders were miles away, I shouldn’t have been able to feel them at all, at least not without the Iris. The abilities I was sensing were muted to be sure, but they were still strong enough for me to feel, so where were they coming from? There was no one else around as far as the eye could see. At least no one… alive…
Oh God…
My head snapped back toward the headstones as my mind replayed our conversation from the car.
Saols left fingerprints on the dead.
Prints that faded over time.
Prints made of memories… and personalities…
…and abilities. Oh God…
CHAPTER 14
It was them – the dead people. I was sensing the abilities of the dead.
“Oh God,” I breathed, stumbling backwards until I hit the car. “Oh God, oh God…”
“What’s wrong?” Alex asked, rushing over as I pressed my palms to my forehead.
“Oh my,” Cormac said, putting a hand on my back. “You can feel them, can’t you, dear?”
I nodded without looking up, worried what might come out of my mouth if I opened it. I wanted to keep it together, but the feel of decaying abilities swirled around me, clinging like spider webs as I tried to swat them away. Their eerie echoes wafted through my mind like ghosts, turning my blood to ice water in my veins.
With my eyes squeezed shut I did my best to maintain control, until I felt a pair of hands gently but firmly take hold of my shoulders. “Becca,” I heard Jocelyn call over the chill in my head. “Becca, look at me.” I lowered my hands and looked up, hoping he didn’t notice how much they were shaking. “Listen to me,” he said softly, “I want you to forget about everything else you feel, and focus on the three of us. Concentrate on our abilities and let the rest fall into the background.”
I did what he said, directing all my attention to his, Cormac’s, and Alex’s presences in my mind. They were clear, bright, and strong, but more than anything they were familiar. Next to their vivid glow, the rest of the brushes on my mind were muted and dull, like flashlights glowing under a blanket. Keeping my concentration on the living, I opened my eyes slowly, letting my focus calm me and ease the anxiety crawling across my skin.
“I know it’s difficult,” he continued, the empathy thick in his voice, “but what you are sensing from the others… you can’t think of them as abilities. Their true abilities died with them, just as their thoughts and memories did. You are only feeling the shadows that those things left behind for us to find. Think of them as diaries these people might have kept or letters they may have written – they were made by them and left behind; they are not a part of them.”
I let his words resonate, allowing them to relax my heart rate as they sank in. Somehow he’d known exactly what to say, and as I finally regained control of myself and pushed the echoes safely to the background of my thoughts, I don’t think I’d ever been more grateful. But then I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. The empathy in his eyes as he spoke had told me that he knew the fear and panic I was feeling all too well, and I couldn’t help but wonder why. He’d been alive over two hundred years, God only knows the things he’d been through in all that time. He’d said that he fought in the First World War; had he struggled to ignore the thoughts of the dying on the battlefield? How many cries for help had he been forced to hear without being able to answer? Had there been someone there to help him when it all got to be too much? Again I realized just how little I knew about him, but for the first time I found myself truly wanting to learn more.
But now was obviously not the time, so instead I met his eyes with the barest of smiles. “Thank you,” I breathed, happy to have my feet solidly back under me.
He nodded before releasing me and stepping back, but still looked wary. “Stay with her,” he said, glancing at Alex who was back at my side a moment later.
“No,” I protested, as Jocelyn turned to leave without him. “You need him with you. What if someone comes?”
“I can hide them from here,” Alex said.
“Not as easily. I’m fine now, really. We can all go together,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “I mean it, I’ll be fine.”
They all looked hesitant, but I kept my head high and hoped they would buy my confidence, only a portion of which was hyperbole. I’d been the one who insisted on coming out here with them in the first place so I could prove that I was capable and didn’t need to be handled with kiddie gloves when things got rough, and that was still what I intended to do. Admittedly it hadn’t gone well thus far, but in my defense the whole “sensing the dead” thing was a twist I hadn’t seen coming. But minor freak-out aside, the outing wasn’t over yet, which meant there was still time for me to buck up and save face.
After a long moment, Jocelyn finally agreed. “All right,” he said, looking me over once more then shooting Alex a blatant “keep an eye on her” glance. “Let’s go.”
We walked through the gates and into the perfectly manicured yard, following Cormac toward the section of plots that Ciaran was supposedly in. As we passed by headstone after headstone, I noticed that they were all very similar to one another, while at the same time very different from anything I’d ever seen before. They were very tall – most looked to be over five feet – with large, amazingly detailed Celtic crosses making up the top portion of the stone. Each cross was ornately carved with knot work and other Celtic and religious symbols, all fashioned in the same ancient style, so that they coordinated perfectly with one another while each one still remaining entirely unique.
However, beyond the intricate gothic stonework, there was something else that stood out about the gravestones, which was the lettering on their faces. The first line of text was the person’s name, as would be expected. But beneath that, where you would normally find the years of birth and death and maybe a denotation from surviving loved ones, like “Beloved Husband” or “Honored Father,” there was only one single word on each of the stones, written in Gaelic.
“What are those?” I asked Alex as we fell slightly behind Jocelyn and Cormac. “The words under each of their names on the markers?”
“Their abilities.”
“Ah.” Guess I should have figured. If ability was the most important thing to these people in life, why not in death?
“Reader… Caster… Healer…” Alex began reading, nodding at each of the stones as we passed. “Reader… Kinetic… Discerner… Alchemist… Porter… Another Reader… Mentalist…”
“Wait,” I asked, recognizing the word. “What is that? Someone called me that last night.”
“Well sure, that is what they all think you are. A Mentalist is someone who can practice Mentalism. You know, like Jocelyn: mindreading, thought control, that sort of thing.”
“Really? I’ve never heard him called that. I didn’t even realize it had a name.”
“Sure it does. Though,” he admitted, “you probably wouldn’t have heard Jocelyn called that, or at least not often. Most Mentalists are only able to manipulate one facet of the mind, but since Jocelyn has control over all the mental aspects, it kind of puts him in a league of his own. But Ryland is considered a Mentalist.”
“And why aren’t the years on the stones?” I asked as we continued up the path.
“To hide their ages. Holders are the only ones buried here, but that doesn’t mean that they are the only ones who visit.”
“Right,” I nodded, having not considered that a cemetery filled with stones all claiming to belong to people hundreds of years old when they died might raise a few eyebrows. “I guess that’s smart.”
“It should be…” Cormac said, pausing up ahead and scanning the nearby heads
tones. “Ah, there,” he pointed to a large stone at the end of the path.
It was one of the largest I’d seen in the whole cemetery, with a towering stone cross sitting atop the elaborately carved base stone, framed by two life-sized angel statues on either side like beautifully intimidating guardians. Their weatherworn faces held an unsettling expression that hovered between serene and menacing, while their wings were poised just shy of open as though they could spring to life and fly off at any moment. Even the path itself seemed to service only this one monument, turning abruptly at its foot then looping all the way around the plot before meeting back up with itself like a lasso. I leaned in as we approached the island of grass and read the script inlayed on the face of the headstone.
Ciaran Oengus Shea
Fáidh
“Wow,” I whispered, admiring the grandeur of the scene. “He must have had a lot of money.”
“Unlikely,” Cormac said. “Bhunaidh like Ciaran who have no family at the time of death have their departing arrangements handled by the head family. When this sort of thing,” he motioned to the monument, “is done, it usually denotes someone with either a high standing in Bhunaidh society, or, as I would wager is the case here, an extremely rare or exalted ability.”
We all stood quietly at the edge of the path for a moment before Jocelyn sighed quietly and stepped up onto the grass. He took a knee a few feet from the headstone and bowed his head, staring unseeing at the grass in front of him, while Alex, Cormac, and I hung back on the path and waited.
And waited…
…and waited.
I had never actually seen a mind reading done, but as the minutes began to tick by, I started to wonder just how long something like this normally took. Did it always take a while, or was this one harder because the person he was reading was dead? Was he having trouble? Alex and Cormac didn’t seem worried, so should I just relax and wait it out? Probably. Was it OK to lean against one of the nearby headstones when my legs started getting tired? Probably not.
Round about the ten minute mark, and just before I had a chance to really get antsy, the stiff tension in Jocelyn’s form broke and his shoulders dropped.
The Seers Page 14
