by Emma Hamm
“Personal items, clothing, a promise that I’ll return! I cannot leave without letting them know where I am going!”
Ivor pulled at her arm.
“Stop it!” Sorcha screamed and raked at his hand with ragged fingernails. “Let go of me you brute! Have some pity! I don’t want my sisters to think I’m dead!”
Cormac lifted a hand. “Wait.”
The butler froze, and she heard the jarring cough of his breath.
“Say that again,” Concepta ordered.
“I don’t want my sisters to think I’m dead.” Tears burned in Sorcha’s eyes. “They’ll worry about me, and I cannot abide that.”
Cormac trailed his hand along his sister’s jaw, caressed his hands down her flushed skin, and followed the “v” of her silken dress. She smiled and closed her savage eyes. “We will allow you to say goodbye. We know the rarity of a blood bond and cherish the love that blooms between siblings.”
The pull on her arm returned, and Sorcha did not look back upon the twisted twins who had freed her. She had a chance to do something right and help those in need.
As she stumbled down the steps, Ivor shoved her into the carriage with Agatha who was pale as snow.
“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked.
“No,” Sorcha replied. “But I think I will be. We’re going home.”
She glanced out the window and watched the rolling green hills become a blur. The faerie carriage sped towards the city with unnatural speed.
Chapter Three
THE SHIP
Briana huffed as she followed Sorcha. “You can’t leave!”
“I have to, and I already told you why, so please stop trailing along behind me. I have to get my things.”
“You haven’t even told us where you’re going!”
“I don’t know where I’m going.”
The dullahan coachman had brought her straight to the brothel. He didn’t speak, and she wasn’t about to lift the hag stone to her eye again, but she understood his quick gestures. She didn’t have a lot of time to make her goodbyes.
It was easier that way. Her sisters were prone to hysterics, especially when they weren’t getting what they wanted. Sorcha had been their crutch for a long time.
Although they were all close, she was the one they went to in times of struggle. That meant she heard all their secrets, their stories, their gripes about each other and the life they lived. She kept them all safe, childless, and made certain every bruise or scrape healed. They weren’t likely to admit it, but Sorcha was an integral part of their lives.
She would miss them so much.
Briana snatched a nightshirt out of Sorcha’s hands. “Absolutely not! I’m not blind. You show up in some fancy carriage with a coachman, a coachman, and then you think I will believe you’re off to cure the beetles? Sorcha! If you wanted to go off with some well-to-do nobleman, you know we’d be happy for you! Why are you lying?”
“I’m not lying.”
“There you go again! Is it Geralt? Is that why you don’t want to tell us?”
Sorcha scooted past Briana and stuffed another skirt into an oversized pack she could carry over her shoulder. It was better than smacking her sister in the face. “I can’t believe you would even suggest I would accept Geralt’s proposal!”
“He’s rich! He’s got plenty of land, and he’s obviously in love with you, though I can’t understand why!”
“I’m not marrying Geralt!” Sorcha grabbed an armful of her journals and dumped them into the bag with her clothing.
“Why are you taking those?”
“I might need them.”
“You can come back for them! Surely whoever you are going to see will let you come home? We don’t mind letting you keep this room!”
She wanted to keep the room, too. There were so many memories within these walls. Sweet and cherished moments where her sisters had shared secrets and weathered nightmares.
Sorcha devoured all the details she could find. The marks on the door where she’d kept track of Rosaleen’s growth. The flowerpot on the windowsill, now empty, because Briana had insisted the plant would grow back. The carved trunk her father had worked so long on, even though it looked more like scratch marks than the whale he said it was.
Life had a strange way of pulling her away from here. Every moment of her life, she had spent rushing away to faerie glens and leaving offerings. Now there was a chance to see the Otherworld in person, and she was so frightened to leave.
“Briana, I love you. I don’t know if I’ve said it enough, but I do.”
Her sister’s face creased in worry. “What are you doing? What choice have you made, Sorcha? You can trust me.”
“I already told you,” Sorcha brushed her hand along Briana’s cheekbone, memorizing the shape of it. “The faeries offered me a deal to cure the beetle plague. I won’t see Papa die.”
She left her sister in the room and lumbered down the stairs. The pack was too heavy for her, but she refused to let any of it go. The books were important. Every herb, every poultice, every bit of her mother’s teachings was in those books. Where she went, they went.
Three flights of stairs felt like a full day’s hike. Heaving the pack to the floor, she quietly made her way to Papa’s room.
Knocking, she called out, “Are you awake?”
“For you, always.”
Sorcha smiled, blinking back the tears welling in her eyes. She slipped into her father’s room and closed the door behind her. Shadows hid the salt tracks on her cheeks.
“You’re leaving,” he said.
“You heard?”
“How could I not? Your sister was screeching like a banshee.”
She settled onto the edge of his bed. “You always said at least one of us was a changeling child.”
“Yes, but I always thought it was you.”
“I made a deal.” She blurted the words out and let them hang in the air between them. “There wasn’t another way. The Guild won’t listen to me, you’re getting worse, the beetles are spreading. Someone had to do something, Papa.”
“And that someone had to be you?”
“Are you so surprised?”
He pushed himself up onto his elbows, gray streaked hair plastered to his skin with sweat. This was the reason why she would risk her life. This man, who had given up so much to give her a chance.
Papa slicked his hair back, huffing out a tired breath. “I woke up this morning, and the beetles were worse than ever. I coughed up blood for the first time, and I know what that means. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. Then, this afternoon, they stopped moving. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But they stopped and my first thought was that you had something to do with it.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “Papa—”
He lifted a hand. “I’m not finished. I didn’t raise you for the beginning bit of your life, but I saw a good girl when I met you. I never met your mother, but she obviously raised you right. The others are spoiled, vain, cruel to each other. You have never been like them.
“I knew from the moment you set your heart on curing me, you would find some way to stop this. I’m glad it’s you. I’m sad you must leave me to do it, and I hope you didn’t trade your soul for my old life. But I will stand by you if this is what you want.”
“Oh Papa,” she choked as she threw herself into his arms.
She hadn’t done this since she was a little girl. It was far more difficult to fit in his lap now that she was full grown, but she tried her best. He rubbed her back as she fought back tears.
“It’s not a shameful thing to want to save your family, Sorcha.”
“They think I’m running away to be with a man. As if I would leave you? Them? I love you all too much to leave without good reason.”
“And they love you. It’s why they’re so upset.”
“What am I going to do without you?”
He chuckled. “I imagine you’ll do just fine. Do you know where you�
�re going?”
“You believe me?” She lifted her head from his shoulder. “You don’t think I’m crazy or lying?”
“You’ve always seen faeries, Sorcha. I thought you were crazy when you were little, but then I started noticing things myself. Tiny hands used to tug your hair all the time. You stayed the night with Rosaleen, but your dresses were all perfectly pressed and folded on your bed. Strange things happen around you, child.”
“Most would say I’m a witch.” She wiped at her eyes, catching the salty tears upon her fingertips.
Papa shook his head, the deep grooves in his forehead standing out in stark relief. “You’re no witch any more than your mother was. Faeries are picky who they choose to help, so I’d say you’re lucky. Not cursed.”
She didn’t want to let him go. She wanted to stay curled up against his chest forever, or until he stood up as a strong man again.
Her chest heaved with silent sobs. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Papa. Is this the right thing to do?”
“Does it feel like it?” He tapped her chest. “In here?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s the right thing to do, and family be damned. You’ll return to us someday, I’m certain of it.”
She wasn’t. Sorcha had a sick feeling deep within her belly that this was the last time she’d see him. Her hands shook as she cupped his cheeks.
“Goodbye.”
He pressed his palm against the back of her hand, holding it against his heart. “Goodbye, sweet girl.”
If she stayed for a moment longer, she would never leave. She threw herself from the bed in a whirlwind of movement and rushed out the door.
“Sorcha?” Rosaleen called. “Sorcha, are you really leaving?”
“Tell the others I love them!” she shouted and scooped up her bag.
The front door slammed behind her so hard the shutters shook. The dullahan started, a bland expression on his face.
She tossed the bag into the carriage and lunged in behind it. Her fist slammed against the roof.
“Go!”
The whip cracked, an unnatural sound of creaking bone. Tears fell freely down her face as the carriage raced away from the brothel. Her sisters poured out of the house, their shouts echoing in her ears for miles down the road.
What had she done? Saying goodbye made her want to shatter into a thousand pieces. But a deal was a deal.
Sorcha had never been away from home. She’d only been alone once in her life, for three full days after her mother’s corpse had stopped smoking. Those were dark memories. Thoughts her mind had hidden so she wouldn’t dwell upon the past.
Now, she’d be alone for an undetermined amount of time. Would she handle it well? Her heart felt like it was going to jump out of her chest. Short breaths expanded her lungs and swirls of darkness blinked in front of her eyes.
She focused on the landscape flying past. They headed towards the sea, and she hadn’t been to the ports since she was a girl. Her father had specifically avoided setting up a brothel near sailors. He said they were too frequent customers who never paid their debts. It was easier in a city where rich men might find their way down a dark alley.
Rolling green hills calmed her mind. Stone walls bisected the fields, built to remind everyone where their land was. Each stone glistened with moss, worn with age, touched by hundreds of passersby. White dots of sheep speckled the land.
Every now and then, they would pass over a stone bridge. Streams ran underneath them, housing trolls and goblins for the night. Sorcha could almost feel them, hidden in their hovels under the ground.
These emerald lands had always called out to her. This wasn’t just a field, it wasn’t just grass and sheep, this was home.
She pressed her head against the side of the carriage. The jolting movement thumped her skull against the wood every now and then, but even that didn’t dull her torment. The land rooted her in the now, in the moment, in everything that wasn’t the loss of her family.
She would see them again, Sorcha told herself. Even if it took years to get back.
Lush fields gave way to small homes with cultivated gardens. Then cobblestone paths snaked through the towns which grew larger and larger as they reached the ocean. She could smell salt and brine upon the air.
The carriage slowed as it passed through throngs of people in ragged clothes. Women with scarves over their heads avoided meeting her gaze, and men in moth eaten wool leered at the carriage. Sailors who had seen better days wandered the docks, and farmers with dirt streaked cheeks peddled their wares. Children snuck their hands into pockets for even the smallest of coins.
The wheels clattered as they passed by another brothel. Sorcha didn’t recognize any of the women hanging out of the windows, but there was something in their haunted eyes that chilled her to the bone. These were not prostitutes looked after by a kind man. Run down, exhausted, and used, their bodies told the sad story of their lives.
Some part of her, equally chilled, wondered if that could be her future. Eventually her skills wouldn’t be necessary for the brothel, or they would find someone who would do the same things without the burden of room and board. Where would she go? There were no jobs for women, no husbands for a woman favored by the Fae.
She leaned back against the soft cushions of the carriage and refused to look back outside.
The ocean breeze snuck through her window, tangling in the loose strands of her hair. She could smell the fish, the seaweed, the salt of the ocean and the sweat of men. She could hear the crashing waves as if she had put a seashell to her ear, but this was the real thing. These waves were just outside. All she had to do was lean forward one more time. Haunted eyes stared back at her, even though her eyes were closed.
“I will not become them,” she whispered.
The carriage wheels squealed as they lurched to a halt. The dullahan pounded the roof of the carriage, silently demanding she leave.
Sorcha let out a long, steadying breath. “You can do this, Sorcha. You’ve done harder work before. All you have to do is step outside this carriage.”
She curled her hand around her pack. Her fist clenched hard until the leather straps dug into her palms. Courage was never an easy thing to find even when necessary for survival.
The door banged open, and the dullahan stared at her with dull eyes.
“Yes, I know,” she said. “Give me a moment, please.”
“It’s time for you to go.” His lips moved, but his voice came from his hands.
Sorcha shivered. The last thing she needed was a reminder that the man standing before her was actually headless, and that he was holding said head to speak with her.
“Where am I to go?”
“Find the ship with the yellow belly. It’s Fae marked, and will take you to Hy-brasil.”
“And when exactly is the isle visible?”
The dullahan narrowed his fake eyes. “You have six days.”
“Is that doable on a ship?”
“I’m no sailor, girl. Ask the captain.”
He held out his hand for her to take. Sorcha couldn’t force herself to touch him. The sparkle of malevolence in his gaze made her nervous, and she wondered if he would make her touch his head.
She leapt from the carriage on her own, shouldering the heavy weight of her pack with a sigh. “Thank you for the safe journey.”
“You thank me for following my masters’ orders?”
“Well, yes.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You may have been following orders, but you didn’t pause overly long and it wasn’t too bumpy of a ride. I didn’t even get sick along the way. For that, I have you to thank. Not your masters.”
His face twisted in confusion. “You are a strange human.”
“You're not the first to say that. Oh,” she shook her head. “I almost forgot.”
Sorcha reached into her pocket and pulled out a small jar of honey she had neglected to leave at the shrine. In the rush to leave her home, she hadn’t
put it back in the kitchen where it belonged.
Now, the golden liquid felt wrong to keep. She held it out to the dullahan with a soft smile. “Thank you.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?” He held the jar close to his waist for his real eyes to look at.
“I don’t know. It’s a gift. Do you like honey?”
“I’m not the kind of Fae that likes honey.”
“Then gift it to another, or enjoy it on your morning bread.” Sorcha shrugged. “It matters little to me.”
She walked past him, but noted the strange expression on his face. If she didn’t know any better, Sorcha would have thought he was wistfully inspecting her gift. The dullahan weren’t known for their kindness. They announced death to all those who crossed their paths and cracked whips made of human spines.
Perhaps he’d never received a gift, she thought as she glanced over her shoulder.
Sorcha lifted the hag stone to her eye as he turned the carriage around. The candles still flickered inside, skulls grinning in decoration, the beautiful wood fading to stretched skin. Creaking wheels revealed human thigh bones spinning round. And the dullahan himself, head seated in his lap with lips stretching from ear to ear, was staring back at her.
She lifted her hand in farewell just to have the satisfaction of seeing his confusion one last time.
The crowd swelled around her. People from all walks of life wandered the docks this afternoon. They drifted through the waves of people as a boat surfed upon the waves.
Colors and sound assaulted her senses. Vibrantly colored women called out to her, men shouted in the distance to raise the sails and hoist the anchors. A fish flopped on the ground where a woman hammered its head until it stopped moving. She moved onto the next while another sliced open its belly.
Her stomach lurched. Turning away from that side of the street, Sorcha struggled to make it to the docks. That was where she would find the captain. It had to be.
“Excuse me, sir?” she touched a man’s shoulder. “Where might I find a ship with a yellow belly?”
“Why are you asking me?” he looked her up and down. “I don’t give out charity to the likes of you.”
