by Lily Velez
“Take all the time you need,” he said. “You’re from the States, aren’t you? I’ve heard that’s where some of the oldest trees in the world are located. Is it true?”
My smile lengthened. Impressive. “As a matter of fact, yes. They’re in the White Mountains of California. Thousands of years old. One of them was actually alive around the time Stonehenge was being built.”
“Is that right? How remarkable.”
“Are you a fellow nemophilist?”
“A what?”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “I guess not. It’s just a person who loves forests.”
“You could say I’ve been developing a fondness for them as of late. I have a friend who loves nature. Particularly ancient trees. Hence my earlier question. Though I have to say, we have some breathtaking forests and groves right here in Ireland. This isn’t your first time in the country, is it?”
“Actually, it is. My parents met at Trinity College in Dublin as students. My mom had been studying abroad for a year as an undergrad. When she found out she was pregnant with me, moving to Ireland wasn’t really an option for her, and since my dad was in the middle of his graduate studies, she didn’t want to pressure him into relocating to the United States. So they amicably went their separate ways, and my mom raised me on her own in Colorado.”
I didn’t normally bare my life story to people like this, but something about Liam made me feel comfortable, like I was speaking with a friend I’d known for years and not just for a few minutes.
“Speaking of which, I’m very sorry for your loss,” Liam said. “About two weeks ago, they gathered us all for a special assembly to explain the situation since we typically don’t get new students transferring in mid-term. Were you and your mother close?”
An invisible fist squeezed my heart. “Very,” I said softly. “Between you and me, I was surprised to learn she wanted me to live with my dad once she was gone. It’s not that he was ever entirely out of the picture, but my best friend’s family would’ve been more than happy to take me in for my last two years of high school. With my dad’s blessing, I stayed with them for close to four months after my mom’s passing while arrangements were being made. For the funeral, for the sale of the house, for my move abroad. I don’t have any other close family, so they’ve always been like relatives to me. As for my dad, our relationship is pretty much non-existent.”
“Maybe your mother hoped to change that.”
“Maybe.”
The last of our group filed onto the bus, among them the priest I had spotted yesterday with Jack, whose name I learned to be Father Nolan. I was disappointed to discover Jack himself wouldn’t be joining us, but the boy he’d been conversing with under the oak tree currently made his way down the aisle.
His eyes were a striking electric blue, bright and lively and filled with mischief. His hair fell slightly over them, and he casually jerked his head to the side to get the fringe out of his lashes. He had impossibly flawless looks the likes of a teen heartthrob, but there was something roguish about him too that I couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth, hinting at a rascally nature.
He winked at me in passing as if we were in on a secret. I couldn’t help my cheeks from pooling red, still embarrassed he and Jack had caught me staring earlier.
“Lukifer!” some boys cheered at his arrival. He slapped hands with them and sat a few rows behind me.
“His name’s Lukifer?” I asked Liam.
Liam smiled. “No, that’s only a friendly moniker. His actual name is Lucas, though most call him Luke.”
The last person to board was none other than Rory from my pre-calculus class. His auburn hair was as disheveled as it’d been yesterday, and judging by how quickly his chest rose and fell, my guess was he’d woken up mere minutes ago and had raced across campus to catch the bus. He ambled down the corridor, eyes flitting from one classmate to the next as if looking for someone in particular.
When he neared where Liam and I were sitting, he paused for the slightest moment. His gaze switched from Liam to me. His face was perfectly blank, totally unreadable, but as he continued past us, I caught the slightest ember of something in those sapphire eyes as a muscle feathered in his jaw.
He was bothered by the sight of me. It was like a stab to the heart. No one wanted to be disliked. What had I done to offend him? Maybe he was still peeved I’d sat next to him in class yesterday. Or maybe he was still weirded out by my drawings for whatever reason.
I’d still intended on asking him about that, not to mention the vine, but now I was getting the vibe I should simply drop the matter and leave him be. It’d probably be best if I sat somewhere else in class tomorrow too.
And here I’d thought today would be an improvement from yesterday. Clearly I’d been very, very wrong.
6
The drive to our destination didn’t take more than half an hour. I hadn’t yet seen much of Rosalyn Bay, but I wasn’t surprised to discover just how remote the town’s outer bands really were. We cruised by pastures framed by sagging, wooden fences where sheep silently grazed. We passed crumbling, stone houses topped with thatch roofs and abandoned lots overflowing with rusting car and ship parts. Miles unfolded between one cottage and the next so that I wasn’t even sure the term ‘neighbor’ was appropriate. It was definitely a far cry from suburbia.
There were almost no traffic lights and very few road signs, and of the signs that stood, none of them were in English.
“Irish Gaelic,” Liam explained. “Rosalyn Bay is part of the Gaeltacht, regions in Ireland where Irish Gaelic’s still spoken as a first language. Although here inside the country, it’s simply called Irish.”
Once we reached our destination, Professor Byrne and Father Nolan led us on a trek across the sloping greens of a cemetery. The mist-covered grounds were expansive, seeming to unroll for eternity toward the horizon. I crossed my arms to incubate warmth against the whistling winds, though the chill more so came from our surroundings: above-ground tombs, mausoleums covered in lichen and moss, and Celtic crosses and towering stone angels standing guard over their dead. It wasn’t really my scene. Especially given how eerily silent the place was, the only sound the crunch of dry autumn leaves under our footsteps.
After a while, I picked up on a trend. Every resting place had a metal cup beside it, into which was set a white flower with six points like a star. I recognized it immediately.
“What’s with all the asphodels?” I wondered aloud.
Since Liam and I were near the front of the group, Father Nolan overheard me and answered with a gentle, grandfatherly smile. “The locals believe it helps guide the spirits of the deceased into the afterlife.”
“You’ll also notice the occasional wreath made of blackberry, ivy, and rowan hung on some headstones,” added Professor Byrne.
“What do they do?”
“They’re believed to drive away demons.”
The red eyes from my nightmares came to mind, and my heart leapt. I pushed the image away immediately.
We crossed the vastness of the cemetery and surmounted one last hill, and then the sight waiting for us on the other side took my breath away. There were rows upon rows of towering, free-standing stones waiting for us like giant soldiers frozen mid-invasion.
“As we’re currently studying the Neolithic period in class,” Professor Byrne said, guiding us to the stretch of land below, “it’s only proper we pay homage to perhaps the most well-known artifacts from that time in history: menhirs. The word comes from the Welsh for ‘long stone.’”
The stones reached more than four times my height. For some reason, I found them unnerving, a chill sliding down my back. It didn’t help that the way the stones were arranged created long alleys, allowing the biting, cold winds to better course through. My hair whipped all about my face until I eventually pulled it back into a ponytail.
“Menhirs are located all across Europe and Britain,” Professor Byrne w
ent on. “They can be found standing solitarily, as part of stone circles, or in clusters such as these here. Though the purpose they served remains unknown, there’s an abundance of theories: memorial monuments, territorial markers, sacrificial altars.”
Sacrificial altars? Gooseflesh covered my arms, and I nearly shivered.
“Of course, these particular menhirs are unfortunately tainted with a dark history. As monotheistic religion spread, many Celts retreated to Ireland and Britain to avoid persecution. Rosalyn Bay was one of their last strongholds, a sanctuary where they could practice their nature-based way of life in peace.
“But the conquerors eventually caught up with them and slew an entire village of Celts on this very land. They were particularly brutal toward the druids, who held a high place in Celtic society as priests. Then, as recently as a few centuries ago, tragedy struck again when witches believed to be the very descendants of those druids were burned at stakes erected in front of the largest stones. As such, these menhirs have borne witness to some truly heinous acts.”
My stomach churned. So much death, so much bloodshed. And to what end? We’d studied the Salem Witch Trials back at my old school, and it was an accepted fact that persecutions like that had been fueled by nothing more than irrational fear and mass hysteria, with the accused typically being people who were outliers of society. Besides, everyone knew magic-wielding witches only existed in fairytales.
“Mr. Gallagher, is there a problem?”
Mr. Gallagher was none other than Mr. Movie Star from yesterday. He was standing close to one of the stones, snickering with two friends. “We were just wondering about the whole burning-at-the-stake matter.”
“Oh? Do share.”
“It had to have taken a while to burn to death, right? So how long exactly did they barbecue their witches for? Did they cook them until they were well-done and crispy?” His friends snorted with laughter.
Ugh. I rolled my eyes. Seriously?
The winds surging up and down the lanes between the stones picked up. The boys’ ties took flight like kite tails, and lecture notes Professor Byrne had been holding shot up and away in a whirlwind of white paper and leaves. A particularly powerful gust stormed through, and Gallagher somehow lost his balance, tripped on the leaves and twigs at his feet, and fell forward against the menhir, his face smacking right into the stone.
He cursed loudly, blood streaming from his nose. Several of his classmates guffawed at the impeccable timing, perhaps deeming it just deserts for the boy’s tasteless remarks. Among them was Lucas, who looked the most amused out of everyone. His eyes were dancing with delight as he wore a devilish smirk. When he caught my gaze, he raised his hands with a shrug as if to say, “What’s one to do?”
Professor Byrne allowed the group some time to disperse among the menhirs, and I drifted to one of the largest stones in the cluster. While examining it, I noticed something that made my pulse pick up in a rapid staccato. I stepped closer, not believing my own eyes.
Carved into the menhir was the triple spiral I’d drawn my whole life, the very design that had seemed to spook Rory yesterday morning. I had seen variations of it growing up, of course, but they were never quite like my own triple spiral. This one, however, was a dead ringer. The same amount of loops within each spiral and everything. I could’ve etched it into the stone myself.
“What’s this symbol?” I asked as Father Nolan was passing by.
The priest adjusted his glasses, leaning forward. “Ah, yes. You’ll find many of the stones decorated with it. It’s called a triskele. It’s an ancient Celtic symbol representative of many things, not the least of which is Brigid, The Triple Goddess of inspiration, healing, and smithcraft. Three was a sacred number to the druids, you see. The witches who once made their home here also incorporated the triskele into their rituals and art.”
“You mean the people accused of witchcraft, right? They weren’t actually witches.”
“That seems to be the general consensus, yes.” He smiled and continued drifting around to answer others’ questions.
I remained before the menhir, feeling unmoored. How strange that I should draw something like this, something that had been such a staple in an age-old culture unknown to me. I pressed my fingertips to the engraving, a sensation like static meeting my skin.
And then suddenly, a swift reel of images flashed through my mind, inexplicable sensations overcoming me.
The metallic clash of weapons as men astride horses rushed into battle. Smoke that gagged me and drew tears from my eyes. Huts burning like pyres, and women and children wailing as they fled into the pitch-black night, trying to hide behind massive stones. And then a woman striding through all the chaos and carnage. War paint on her face, a necklace of canines clattering against her breastplate, feathers tied to the ends of her hair. The hilt of a sword peeked out from behind her shoulder. An orb of white light glowed in her cupped palm. Screaming, she flung it forward, cancelling everything out in a deafening burst of brightness like an exploding star.
I yanked my hand away, gasping. My heart cartwheeled, and I stumbled back, feeling as if the ground were tilting.
How had that just happened? Better yet, what had just happened? I tried to steady my breaths to control my racing heart. I felt like I was going to be sick. I moved further away from the menhir, deciding distance was for the best, and quickly wiped the tears from my cheeks. As I did, I had the sense of someone watching me and swiveled around.
It was Rory, and judging by the wariness in his eyes, he’d witnessed the whole thing. I got the sense he somehow knew exactly what I’d seen in my mind too.
“Scarlet, are you all right?” Liam gently touched my elbow. “You look faint. Do you want to return to the bus? Professor Byrne has already started going around to let people know it’s time to head back.”
“Yeah, let’s go,” I said, trying to hide the tremor in my voice. I wanted to get as far away from this place as possible.
7
When we returned to school, lunch was already in session. Liam invited me to join him and his friends in the refectory, but I politely declined, telling him I was still feeling ill and would instead spend the period in my dad’s classroom.
“Is it a pressure headache, do you think?”
“Maybe.” Indeed, the air was thick with the promise of rain, an endless gunmetal sky above us. But I knew it had nothing to do with the weather.
Inside St. Andrew’s, I headed to one of the restrooms set aside for female students. I splashed cold water onto my face and stared at my reflection. Was I losing my mind? Maybe my mom’s passing was finally sinking deep into my bones, causing my sanity to fracture little by little. I needed to get a grip before I had a nervous breakdown.
Minutes later, I made my way to my dad’s classroom. I rounded one last corner and then stopped short. Up ahead, Lucas was leaning against the wall beside the classroom door. He had a deck of playing cards and was springing them from one hand to another in a smooth, clicking flourish.
“Ah, there she is,” he said upon noticing me, eyes glimmering as he straightened. “Pick a card, any card.” He fanned them out for me.
I didn’t really feel like being social right now, but I didn’t want to be rude either. I’d humor him for a few minutes and then excuse myself.
I looked over the cards, which had forest green backs. White plaits trailed along their borders and each center bore an elaborate, interlaced knot similar to ones I’d seen on the Celtic crosses at the cemetery. I pulled one, and at Lucas’s direction, I glimpsed its face. The queen of spades, represented by a stout, raven-haired woman with a spear in hand and what looked to be a bull at her side. Once prompted, I tucked the card back into the deck.
Then Lucas shuffled the deck in a number of fancy ways I supposed were meant to impress me. Admittedly, I was impressed, though I tried to keep my face neutral.
“And now for the reveal.” He whipped a card from the deck and showed it to me. “Is this your
card?”
It was the three of hearts. “No.”
“What?” He looked at the card’s face. “Are you positive?”
“Pretty positive, yeah.”
“What about this one?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“This one?”
“No again. Sorry.”
Lucas scoffed at the deck as if it were the one to blame. “Ah, bollocks. I suppose we’ll have to continue workshopping that one, won’t we?” He winked at me as he tucked the cards into an inside pocket of his St. Andrew’s blazer. “But enough chit-chat. I’m here on official business. Jack Connelly has requested the honor of your presence.” He bowed like a footman who was about to present me to the lord of the manor.
I hated that I couldn’t keep my heart from fluttering at the sound of Jack’s name, but maybe it was more so the fact that he’d asked for me. When he’d spotted me this morning, he and Lucas must’ve talked about me. What had he said?
“Did he happen to mention why?” Surely it had to do with what had happened behind the bleachers yesterday, and explanations were exactly what I needed right now.
“It’s anyone’s guess,” said Lucas, eyes glowing merrily. “But wouldn’t you like to find out?”
As Lucas led me through the hallways of St. Andrew’s, he greeted friends with high fives, tossed jokes back and forth, whistled to himself during the quieter parts of the journey, and then eventually pulled out his deck of cards and started doing flourishes with them again.
Finally, we came to a section of the building that was more or less abandoned. Half the overhead lights were either altogether out or were flickering, casting the corridor in constantly shifting shadows. The majority of the doors were marked as custodial or storage closets.
Lucas opened one door and slipped through. My feet remained riveted to the ground. The door had a red plaque on it that clearly read, ‘Staff Only.’
