by Lily Velez
Not that he had to. Because what happened next left me stunned.
The seed began to germinate. What should’ve taken weeks, months, years…it was all occurring right before my very eyes. It burst from the earth, fastly becoming a sprout with one leaf, then two, then half a dozen. It transformed into a seedling, its soft, green stem hardening to become bark. It grew taller and taller, its limbs stretching wider and wider, until it was waist high, and then neck high. And then it was a sapling, getting stronger, reaching taller. With every life stage, we took steps back, craning our necks as the cycle unfolded. Within minutes, a fully mature yew tree stood regally before us, wearing a crown of leaves in striking colors of apricot and gold.
“Thank you,” Jack said to the old man, bowing with hands clasped. Then he rushed to the yew tree with the duffel bag.
I moved to follow him, but Lucas grabbed my elbow. “Careful,” he said, motioning to patches of dead grass that dotted the clearing here and there. “Don’t step on those parts. They’re cursed.”
“What happens if someone steps on them?”
“They’ll develop a lifelong hunger that can never be sated.”
Hunger. The old man had looked as if he hadn’t eaten a bread crumb in ages. I glanced to the place where he’d been perched, but he’d disappeared. I swiveled around, trying to catch sight of him, but he was nowhere to be found.
“They tend to do that,” Lucas said. “Rascally things, aren’t they?”
“What was he?”
“That was the fear gorta. Man of Famine. He’s a spirit that travels the land. He’ll often materialize before someone who’s in great need of a miracle, taking on the appearance of a beggar to test them. Those who take pity on him and give generously are rewarded with the desires of their heart. Those who are selfish and give nothing are cursed until the end of their days with poverty and bad luck.”
“So what was Jack’s desire?”
“Jack wished to seek the counsel of The Wise Ones to find out how we could stop the sluagh. While having an audience with them is no longer possible, the fear gorta gave him the next best thing: a seed from one of The Wise Ones, from the yew tree in particular, the wood of which we’re fond of using in certain spellcraft.”
Jack was hammering a gold coin onto the yew tree’s trunk. When finished, he stepped back and waited. An offering, a request for permission. The tree must’ve granted it because he set to work cracking off one of its branches.
Then, with branch in hand, he took a long knife Connor extended, situated himself upon a small boulder, and set to work cutting up the branch into smaller pieces the likes of thick poker chips. After making a certain number of chips, he took them one by one and carved a symbol onto each of their faces. The symbols were made up of sharp, straight lines. There was a main artery like a stem and then strokes coming off it in branches that were sometimes horizontal and other times diagonal.
“Runes,” Lucas explained. “Ogham runes, to be more precise.”
“What are they used for?”
“For divination, of course. That’s why witches come to The Wise Ones. They provide the wood for divining spellcraft. You hold a question in your heart, cast the runes, and they provide the answer.”
“Why have people accused them of being silent for so long then?” I didn’t know anything about casting runes, but the practice sounded similar to drawing Tarot cards, which I’d seen plenty of times in TV shows or movies, and it always seemed like people just interpreted their results to their liking. I’d think once the runes fell, a witch could divine whatever answer they pleased.
“The Wise Ones make their response very clear.” He winked at me. “You’ll see what I mean soon enough.”
Jack finally stood, dusting off the wood shavings from his palms. He collected the runes he’d crafted, and he looked to his brothers with a nod. “All right. Let’s say the blessing.”
He went from Connor to Lucas to Rory, pouring the chips into each sibling’s cupped palms, each brother bringing the runes to their lips to whisper Irish over them, as if beckoning to the magical essence within each piece, as if summoning it to arise for this sacred purpose.
I was surprised when Jack stopped in front of me to give me a moment with the runes as well. I tried to keep my hands from shaking as I cupped them together to receive the runes. The wooden chips were warm against my skin. And they felt…alive. As if they were buzzing with some kind of energy.
I didn’t know Irish obviously, nor had I known what the brothers had asked of the runes. So I simply spoke my own prayer in my head. Please give us the answers we seek.
I returned the runes to Jack, my palms suddenly cold in their absence. He stepped back, his brothers doing the same so that they formed a wide circle. I wondered if I should excuse myself, if this ritual shouldn’t include me, but Jack caught my eyes and nodded, assuring me it was all right for me to stay.
My stomach tightened and my heart started striking a fast-paced beat against my ribs. The stars were out now. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. Under their watch, and in the pearly light of the moon, whatever was about to happen felt so mystical, so otherworldly. Nevermind the fear gorta’s yew tree, a silent giant in our midst trapping us within its black shadow.
Jack’s eyes fell shut as he murmured something in Irish. He closed his palms over the runes, caging them. Within moments, soft, sapphire light seeped through the cracks between his fingers. The light grew brighter and brighter, until it was as if he were holding a swarm of blue lightning bugs.
Gradually, he parted his hands, and the runes began to float in the air between them. He widened his palms further and further, giving the runes more room to drift and slowly spin as that blue light emanated from each one, growing brighter still.
“An fhírinne a fhoilsiú,” he said to the runes. He repeated it over and over again, his voice getting louder, more emphatic. “An fhírinne a fhoilsiú, an fhírinne a fhoilsiú.”
A fierce gust of wind charged through the forest, rattling the leaves on nearby trees, whipping my hair in every which direction. Overhead, lightning speared the sky in a deafening crack that jolted my nerves. It was followed by another bolt, and then another right after.
“An fhírinne a fhoilsiú!” Jack called out, throwing out his hands. When he did, the runes flew through the air as if launched from a cannon, spreading out far and wide in the center of the circle we formed. Sizzling energy shot out from the runes, enclosing us in a globe of beautiful, blue light that snapped and crackled as if charged with electricity.
Bolts of lightning started taking aim at the ground near us, stabbing at the earth, sparks flying as small fires roared to life. Inside the blue globe, a whirlwind raged, making it nearly impossible for us to stay upright. And then came the deluge of rain, which the globe did nothing to shield us from. Within seconds, I was soaking wet, my hair plastered to the sides of my face and my clothes heavy with water.
“Jack!” Connor yelled, but you could barely hear him over the howling wind.
Jack was so engrossed in his casting he didn’t notice the power he was exuding, couldn’t see the endless flashes of lightning all around him nor hear the angry bellows of thunder from above. In that moment, he wasn’t just a boarding school student or a brother or even a witch. I saw him the way others like him had no doubt seen him.
The most powerful witch to ever be born into one of the seven clans of Ireland.
The earth began to tremble, and I lost my balance, crashing to my hands and knees.
“Jack!” Connor yelled again. “Control it!” He ducked his head, trying to push against the raging winds to make it to his brother, but the winds knocked him back, seeming to pin him in place. Lucas and Rory exchanged a look of alarm.
I watched breathlessly as Jack seemed to summon the very forces of heaven and hell in a frightening, spellbinding display of authority. The entire sky lit up in a show of flashing white, and then Jack reached one hand upward as if calling down the lightning. It
obeyed without question, and in one massive beacon of light, it surged down, racing straight for us.
I screamed.
The lightning smacked into the top of the blue globe in an ear-splitting crash, sending a violent tremor down its curved walls. But the globe withstood the impact, absorbing the energy and shooting it out toward the runes in glowing arcs like shooting stars. The runes, soaking up the magic, spun in place rapidly.
“An fhírinne a fhoilsiú!” Jack yelled one final time. There was one last monstrous snap of lightning, and then all at once, the rain ceased, the winds withdrew, the thunder retreated. Even the fires outside the globe ebbed away into nothingness.
And immediately, all but a few runes dropped lifelessly to the earth as if the magic had been sucked out of them.
But Jack didn’t pay any attention to those. His eyes stayed affixed on the remaining runes, still floating in the air. He approached the center of the circle to meet them as they lowered to his eye-level and started to arrange themselves into a straight line like a row of Scrabble play pieces.
Jack, rainwater still dripping from his hair, slowly read the symbols, piecing together whatever message they spelled out, whatever answer The Wise Ones were giving him. He blinked, then furrowed his brow and read again.
“What does it say?” I asked as I climbed to my feet, doing my best to appear unfazed by what I’d just witnessed. Failing miserably, I was sure.
“It’s a name,” he replied, his tone wonderstruck.
“Whose name?” Connor asked.
There was a long pause. Jack swallowed and met his brother’s eyes. “Our mother’s.”
19
“It doesn’t make sense that her name would come up,” Connor said for the umpteenth time.
We were in the parking lot of the first inn we could find, where we’d decided to stop for the night to gather our bearings.
“What about the past few days has made any sense whatsoever?” Lucas quipped.
Connor ignored him. “You should’ve cast again,” he told Jack. “Or better yet, you should’ve let one of us have a go.” Indeed, Connor had made the suggestion multiple times back in the forest, convinced there’d been some sort of mistake, that perhaps Jack had influenced the runes somehow to give us such an answer as they had.
“The Wise Ones are never wrong,” Jack said.
A street lamp flickered above us, illuminating half a dozen puddles, yellow orbs glowing on their inky black surfaces. I wrinkled my nose against the stench of car exhaust and asphalt and gripped the straps of my borrowed backpack. In the back of my mind, I longed for a steaming hot shower and dry clothes, but right now, I was too caught up in what The Wise Ones had revealed. The boys’ mother? What part did she play in all this?
“I couldn’t care less about their supposed track record,” Connor said. “They’re definitely wrong on this. Maybe there’s a reason no one’s sought their counsel in decades. For all we know, Maurice’s account of doing so could be nothing more than one of his stories.”
A muscle feathered in Jack’s jaw. “He never lied about The Wise Ones.”
“We should wait to see what information Seamus brings from The Council.”
“We don’t know how long that’s going to take. She’s the one The Wise Ones recommended we see, so that’s what we’re going to do.”
“What could she possibly know about all this?” Connor countered. “When’s the last time we even saw her?”
A pause, and then Jack said, “I visit her at least twice a month actually.”
His brothers stared at him, at a loss for words.
Connor seethed at this. “Since when? And why would you go by yourself?”
“Why do you think? Every time you’ve seen her in the past, you’ve been fuming. Do you really think she can’t feel the energy rolling off you in waves?”
“I hope she does.”
Lucas tutted his tongue. “Well he’s certainly not in the running for favorite son this year.”
“Are you starting?” Connor challenged, stepping toward him.
Jack dragged a hand down his face. “Can we not do this right now?”
“I think it’s the perfect time to do it actually. Of course, Lucas, as always, is all bark and no bite.”
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Come off it already, Connor. There’s no need to get all out of sorts just because Mam and Da didn’t give you enough hugs and kisses growing up.”
Something blazed in Connor’s eyes. In the next moment, he lunged for Lucas, shoving his brother up against the side of the SUV. Beside me, Rory boredly checked the time on his phone with a sigh. Lucas and Connor continued to scuffle, but it didn’t last long. Jack forced his way between them, fisting the front of each brother’s shirt to yank them apart.
“That’s enough!”
The street lamp above us exploded in a shower of sparks at the words…as did every single street lamp down the winding length of the road. The brothers stilled. Lucas watched the glistening shards of glass fall to the street, but Connor’s attention was on Jack, as if trying to gauge something.
Control it! It’s what he’d yelled at Jack back in the forest.
Jack, remembering himself, released his brothers and took a step back, glass crunching under his shoes. He took in the now darkened road and rubbed his forehead, his lips forming a straight line.
“Jack,” Connor said, his tone almost pacifying, “we’re in over our heads. We should go back to Crowmarsh. Paying her a visit won’t be good for anyone.”
“Why do you always act like this whenever she comes up in conversation, as if what happened is her fault?”
“It is her fault. She was the most powerful Seer of her generation, and she couldn’t see her own husband’s death? Do you really swallow that pill so easily?”
“Connor, we can’t blame her for Da’s decision.”
“Maybe you can’t,” Connor said. “But I can. And I will.”
An hour later, freshly showered and outfitted in a cozy cardigan and flannel pajama pants, I ventured out of my room with a few weathered euros to hunt down a vending machine. I hadn’t taken half a dozen steps before I stopped suddenly, espying Jack up ahead.
Our rooms were on the second level, and Jack leaned his forearms against the outdoor railing, staring absently at the mist of rain descending. His cell was in his hands, playing voicemails on speakerphone. Every time the automated message prompted Jack to either save or delete the message, he always selected the former option.
The voicemails were from an elderly-sounding man. Maurice no doubt. They were simple, every-day messages. In one, Maurice congratulated Jack on being named rugby captain. In another, he asked Jack if he’d be up for lunch at a local ‘chipper’ after school.
Though Crowmarsh had been Maurice’s permanent residence, I’d learned from Lucas he’d spent significant amounts of time in Rosalyn Bay to be closer to his grandsons, Jack especially. I supposed it had to do with him helping Jack find a way to break the demon’s curse. Indeed, a few of the voicemails hinted at that, with Maurice mentioning a grimoire he’d found or a relevant anecdote from a long-forgotten myth.
Guilt pestered me the longer I stood there eavesdropping, so before Jack could move on to the next voicemail in his queue, I cleared my throat to announce my presence.
“Scarlet.” He promptly ended the call and pocketed the phone.
I offered a tight smile. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“I can’t remember the last time I could.”
I joined him at the railing. Was it my imagination, or were those dark circles under his eyes blacker than usual? “Does your grandfather say anything to you in the nightmares you have?”
“He might call out my name, but it’s always a chaotic scene, as if the world’s bleeding away all around him. I’m running out of time. I can practically feel the essence of his spirit fading.”
My chest constricted, and I swallowed thickly. I knew my dad hadn’t been a prisoner of the sluagh for as
long as Maurice had, but the fate that awaited him was still hard to shake. I couldn’t imagine how Jack managed to keep his wits about him, especially given how close he and his grandfather had clearly been. My heart swelled with sympathy.
“I’m sorry you had to hear all that before.”
At first I thought he meant the voicemails, and my pulse spiked. Then I realized he was referring to the disagreement with Connor. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“Connor’s almost certain The Wise Ones made a mistake. He thinks we should return to the forest first thing in the morning to cast the runes again.”
“What do you think?”
“In the forest, you heard me speak in Irish. ‘An fhírinne a fhoilsiú,’ I said. It means ‘reveal the truth.’ Unfortunately, the truth isn’t always something we want to hear. In my heart, I’d asked The Wise Ones how we could defeat our enemies and save the souls of our people. For whatever reason, seeing our mother was the answer they gave.”
I bracketed my hands onto the railing. It was like touching ice. “What did Connor mean about your mom not being able to see your dad’s death?” If I hadn’t been standing so close to him, I wouldn’t have noticed the way his muscles slightly tensed. I instantly regretted asking the question. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer that.”
“No,” he said. “You’re a part of this now.” He massaged the palm of one hand as a commotion of thoughts darted by behind those somber eyes. “My mother—Alison is her name—was a particularly strong witch, as firstborns tend to be in her bloodline. Throughout childhood and adolescence, she’d had premonitions of the future. At first, small things: what she might score on a school exam to the exact number. Later on, bigger things: when someone would die. That kind of knowledge made people fear her, as if she were a plague.
“The day she met my father, she began to have visions of her own future. In them, she was warned that falling in love with my father would only end in tragedy, though she wasn’t shown exactly how. The visions haunted her regularly. But she was young, and he didn’t view her the way other witches did. He was kind to her. Much as she tried to resist it, she couldn’t help but give her heart to him. She chose to believe in a person’s ability to change their own destiny, so she ignored the visions and eloped.”
