Seeker

by Cate Tiernan

  I met his eyes squarely. “I’m like that still, Da,” I said. “Actually, I’ve made a career of it. I’m a Seeker for the council. I investigate people for a living.” I watched Da’s eyes, waiting for his reaction. Would he be proud of me? I had always imagined he would be, but then, so many of my imaginings had been proven hopelessly wrong in the last twenty-four hours. My father looked at me considering, and then his face broke into a sudden smile.

  “So you are,” he said softly. “Well, that’s quite an accomplishment, son. Right, then, bulldog, if you’ll have it out of me—Selene sent the dark wave after us, at Turloch-eigh.”

  I frowned, my brain kicking into gear.

  “Us who?” I asked.

  He cleared his throat. “Your mother and me. Both of us. Your mother felt it that night, felt it coming, knew who it was aimed at. Knew who it was from.” “Was Selene finally getting you back for leaving her? The dark wave that killed the entire village was about Selene’s jealousy?”

  He gave a short bark of a laugh. “Yes. She’d always said that I would need to look over my shoulder the rest of my life. And she was right. Well, until now.” He paused. “At leasttheywere able to come together again safely.”

  “How’s that?” I wasn’t sure if I had heard him correctly. “Who came together again?” Da was looking at me, frowning. “Gìomanach, what have you been thinking all these years? That we were gone, along with everyone else, and we never came back for you and you didn’t know why?” He shook his head. “Oh, Goddess, forgive me. And I ask your forgiveness, too, son.” He swallowed, then went on. “No. That night Fiona felt the dark wave coming. We knew it was for us, and us alone, but that Selene and Amyranth would be happy to destroy the whole village if it included us. So, taking a chance, the only chance we could, we fled, leaving you three there, spelled with protection circles. We thought if we left, we would draw the dark wave away from the village. That it would follow us, instead of concerning itself with Turloch-eigh. Later, when I scried and saw the village gone, I was devastated—our flight hadn’t saved anything. But years later Brian Entwhistle found me. You remember Brian, right?” I searched my memory and came up with a big, ruddy bear of a man. I nodded. “It wasn’t safe to contact you kids or Beck. Too risky. But once or twice we were contacted by older witches, powerful ones who could protect themselves. Brian was one. I was astonished when he found us—thought he’d been dead all those years.” I was sitting on the edge of my seat, my hands gripping the arms. Here it was, the whole story, after so long. It wasn’t what I’d thought it would be. “Brian told us that you kids were safe, that Beck had gotten you. He told me the village had actually been spared.”

  “But wait a minute,” I said, remembering something. “I went back there, not three years ago. The place is deserted and has been for years. No one lives there. I saw it.” “Yes, they all returned a short time after the dark wave left—trickled back in one family at a time. They tried to make another go at it there, but apparently the dark wave came too close. It left a destructive spell in its wake. After everyone had come home and settled down, things started happening. Accidents, unexplained illnesses. Crops failed, gardens died, spells went wrong. It took a year of that before the whole village up and moved closer to the coast. They made a new town there, thirty miles away, and Brian told me they had prospered.” I was dumbfounded. “So everyone left and no one bothered to look for us? They left me and Linden and Alwyn to die?”

  “They didn’t know you were there, lad. Susan Forest knocked on our door that night. Mum and I had already fled. You kids slept like the dead and were spelled besides. Fiona and I wanted you to sleep soundly, not to wake up in the middle of the night and find us missing and be afraid.” Da’s voice caught there, and he shook his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, when she got no answer, she figured we’d all taken off.” I shook my head, frowning in disbelief. “All this time I’ve been mourning not only my parents, but everyone I knew, everyone in our village. And now you’re telling me they’re hale and hearty, living thirty miles from home. I don’t believe this!” I said. “Why didn’t anyone contact us at

  Beck’s? Why hasn’t anyone told me this before?”

  Da shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess Beck probably knows. Maybe he thought that if you knew, you’d leave him and go back to the village.” “Why didn’t Brian Entwhistle bother to tell us that our parents were alive?” I was feeling a growing sense of indignation. All those years of tears, of pain . . . so much of it could have been avoided. It made me ill to think about it. Da met my eyes. “What would you have done if you’d known?” “Come to find you!” I said.

  “Right.”

  Oh.

  “Your mum and I thought that if we sacrificed ourselves, we could save our children, save our coven. When I scried and saw the village gone, it was a hard blow. I thought it had been for nothing. I was relieved when I found out my vision had been wrong.” “But after you learned that the coven was safe, why didn’t you come back?” “The dark wave was still after us. I’m not sure if it was always Selene, but at the time we reckoned it was. No one’s ever hated me like that. Goddess willing, no one ever will. At the time, it seemed that if we kept Selene occupied with finding us, she’d have less time to go after other covens, other witches. It seemed worth it.” He shrugged, as if that were no longer so clear. “Why aren’t you in hiding now?” I asked. “Are you not in danger anymore?” My father let out a deep breath, and again I was struck by how old he seemed, how frail. He looked like my grandfather. “You know why. Selene’s dead. So’s Cal.” I nodded. So hedidknow. I figured the council must have told him when they’d found him with Sky’s lead. I drank my tea, trying to digest this story. It was light-years away from anything I had imagined.

  “So now you work magick, now that you’re not hiding from Amyranth?” Da shrugged, his thin shoulders rising like a coat hanger in his shirt. “Like I said, Fiona’s dead,” he said. “No point in hiding, in keeping safe. The one thing I wanted to protect is gone. What’s the point in fighting anymore? It was for her I kept moving, kept finding new sanctuaries. She wanted us to stick to this plan; I wanted to do what she wanted. But she’s gone now. There’s nothing left to protect.” He spoke like an automaton, his words expressionless, his eyes focused on the table in front of him.

  By the time he finished talking, my face was burning. On the one hand, I was glad that he and Mum had had some noble cause behind their disappearance, glad they had acted unselfishly, glad they had been trying to protect others. But it was also incredibly hurtful to listen to my own father basically negate my existence, my dead brother’s, my sister’s. Obviously staying alive now for our sakes hadn’t occurred to him. I was glad he had been loyal to my mother; I was angry that he had not been loyal to his children. Abruptly I got up and went into the living room. I undid the huge bundle of washing in the lounge, then made up Da’s bed with clean sheets and blankets. He was in the same position when I got back to the kitchen.

  “I’m so sorry, son,” he said in a thin voice. “We thought we were acting for the best. Maybe we helped some—I hope we did. It’s hard to see clearly now what would have been best.” “Yes. I see that. Well, it’s late,” I said, not looking at him. It was only eight-thirty. “Maybe we should turn in.”

  “Aye. I’m knackered,” Da said. He got up and shuffled with his old man’s walk toward the one bedroom. I sat down at the kitchen table, had another cup of tea, and listened to the deep silence

  of the house. Again I missed Morgan fiercely. If she were here, I would feel so much better, so

  much stronger. I imagined her arms coming around me, her long hair falling over my shoulder like a heavy, maple-colored curtain. I imagined us locked together, kissing, rolling around on my bed. I remembered her wanting to make love with me and my saying no. What an idiot I’d been. I resolved to call her the next day as soon as I could get into town. I washed up the few dishes and cleaned the kitchen. By ten o’clock I felt physically e
xhausted enough to try to sleep. I wrapped myself up in a scratchy wool blanket and the ugly afghan. After being washed, the afghan was only about half as big as it had been. Oops. From the couch I extinguished the lanterns and candles with my mind, and after they were snuffed, I lay in the darkness that is never really darkness, not for a witch. I thought about my unrecognizable da. When I was younger, he’d seemed like a bear of a man, huge, powerful, an inevitable force to be reckoned with. Once when I was about six, I had been playing near an icy river that ran by our house. Of course I fell in, got carried downstream, and only barely managed to grab a low-hanging branch. I clung to it with all my strength while I frantically sent Da a witch message. It was long minutes before he came leaping down the bank toward me and splashed into the strong current. With one hand he grabbed my arm and hauled me out, flinging me toward the bank like a dead cat. I was shaking with cold, blue and numb, and mainly he felt I’d gotten what I’d deserved for being so stupid as to play near the river. “Thanks, Da,” I gasped, my teeth chattering so hard, I almost bit my lip. He nodded at me abruptly, then gestured to my wet clothes. “Don’t let your mum see you like that.” I watched him stride up the bank and out of sight, like a giant, then I crawled to my knees and made my way home.

  But he could be so patient, teaching us spells. He’d begun on me when I was four, simple little spells to keep me from burning my mouth on my tea, to help me relax and concentrate, to track our dogs, Judy and Floss. It’s true I caught on quickly; I was a good student. But it’s also true that Da was an incredibly good teacher, organized in his thoughts, able to impart information, able to give pertinent examples. He was kind when I messed up, and while he made it clear he expected a lot from me, still, he also made me feel that I was special, smart, quick, and satisfying to teach. I used to swell like a sponge when he praised me, almost bursting in the glow of his approval.

  I turned on my side, trying to find a position that coordinated the old couch’s lumps with my rib cage. I heard Da sleeping restlessly in the other room, as if he didn’t even know how to do a soothing spell. Like yourself, idiot, said my critical inner voice. I rubbed the bridge of my nose with two fingers, trying to dispel a tension headache, then quickly sketched a few runes and sigils in the air, muttering words I’d know since childhood.Where I am is safe and calm, I am hidden from the storm, I can close my eyes and breathe, now myworries will all leave.What

  second-year student doesn’t know that? I said it, and instantly my eyes felt heavier, my breathing slowed, and I felt less stressed.

  Just before I fell asleep, I remembered one last scene with my father. I had been seven and full of myself, leagues ahead of the other third-year students in our coven. To show off, I had crafted a spell to put on our cat, Mrs. Wilkie. It was to make her think a canary was dipping about her head so she would rear up on her hind paws and swat at it over and over again. Of course, nothing was there, and we kids were hysterical with laughter, watching her pointlessly swipe at the air.

  Da hadn’t found it so funny. He came down on us like the wrath of heaven, and of course my companions instantly gave me up, their fingers pointing at me silently. He hauled me up by my

  collar, undid the spell on poor Mrs. Wilkie, and then marched me to the woodshed (a real

  woodshed) and tanned my bum. I ate standing up for three days. Americans seem to be much more skittish about spanking, but I know that after that, I never again put a spell on an animal for fun. His approval was like the sun, his disapproval like a storm. I got love and affection from Mum, but it was being in Da’s good stead that mattered. Today his approval or disapproval would mean little to me. With that last sad thought, I fell asleep.

  Le Sorcier

  When I got up the next morning, Da was gone, just like he had been the day before. I wondered

  if the extra food he’d been getting had given him more energy, because he’d said he was going to “work.” Work? What work? I tried to engage him in a conversation about it but got nowhere. I could only assume that this had something to do with the notes thanking him for his skill as asorcier;perhaps he was out on medicine-man business. I wished he would tell me more about it, because he scarcely seemed strong enough to go to the grocery store, never mind tending to the magickal needs of villagers. The previous afternoon when he had come home, his face had been the color of a cloudy sky. I wondered if his heart was okay. When was the last time he had seen a healer? I wished I could get him to one. As far as I knew, though, he was the only witch around. But he was gone again, already gone when I woke up. I meditated, fixed myself breakfast, then drove to town to call Morgan. Naturally, I discovered that if you phone your seventeen-year-old girlfriend at ten o’clock on a Tuesday, she’ll be in school. After that disappointing episode, I hung around the house. I was starting to feel like a professional maid. I scrubbed the lounge floor (it was wood—who’d’ve known?), whapped all the dust out of the furniture, and did a complete overhaul of the kitchen cabinets. I didn’t know how long I’d be there or what Da would do after I was gone, but I’d laid in a good store of supplies.

  Back in New York, I had pictured quite a different family reunion. I’d pictured my parents—changed, to be sure, but still themselves—overjoyed to see me, my mum crying tears of joy, Da clapping me on the back (I’ve grown so tall!). I’d pictured us sitting round a table, the three of us, sharing good stories and bad, sharing meals, catching each other up on our lives of the last eleven years.

  I hadn’t pictured a gray ghost of a father, my mother being dead, and me being Suzy Homekeeper while my da went off to his secretive work that the whole bloody village knew about but I didn’t. I’d wondered if my folks would be impressed or unhappy about my Seeker

  assignment from the council. I’d wondered if they’d test my magickal strength, if they would be

  happy with my progress, my power. I’d wanted to tell them about Morgan and even talk to them about what had happened with Linden, and with Selene and Cal. But Da had showed no interest in my life, asked no questions. Two of his four children were dead, and he hadn’t asked any more about it. He hadn’t asked about Beck or Shelagh or Sky or anyone else. Goddess, why had I even come? And why was I staying? I sighed and looked around the cabin. It gave me a sad satisfaction: everything was tidy and scrubbed, clean and purified, the way a witch’s house should be. I had sprinkled salt, burned sage, and performed purifying rites. The cabin no longer jangled my nerves when I walked into it. I had dragged it into the light. It was too bad the ground outside was still frozen—I was itching to start digging up earth for a summer garden plot, every witch’s mainstay. Sky and I had planned ours back in January. I hoped she would come back soon to help me with it. Then my senses picked up on someone approaching the cabin—Da returning? No. I turned off the gas burner on the stove and cast my senses more strongly. When I answered the knock, I found a short First Nation woman standing on the porch. I didn’t think I’d seen her in town.

  Her dark eyes squinted at me, and she didn’t smile.“Où est le sorcier?” I still found it hard to believe that my father was identified as such so openly. In danger or not, it’s never considered a good thing to be so obvious, so well known. Witches had been persecuted for hundreds of years, and it always made sense to be prudent. I searched my mind for the little French I’d learned to impress an ex-girlfriend.“Il n’est pas ici,”I said haltingly.

  The woman looked at me, then reached out her hand and touched my arm. I felt her warmth through my sweater. She gave a brisk nod, as if a suspicion had been confirmed.“Vous être aussi un sorcier,”she said matter-of-factly.“Suivez-moi.”

  My jaw dropped open. Where was I? What was this crazy place where witches lived openly and villagers could tell them from nonwitches? At my hesitation she said again, more firmly,“Suivez-moi,”and gestured toward a dark blue pickup truck that looked as though it had fallen down a rocky ravine, only to be hauled out and pressed into service again.

  “Oh, no, ah . . . ” I began. I had
no intention of getting into a truck with a strange woman, not in the backwoods of Canada, not when my da wasn’t around. “Oui, oui,”she said with quiet insistence.“Vous suivez-moi. Maintenant.”

  “Uh,pourquoi?” I asked awkwardly, and her jaw set. “Nous besoin de vous,”she said shortly. We need you.“Maintenant.” Now.

  Oh, blimey, I muttered to myself.“D’accord, d’accord,”I said, turning inside. I banked the fire in the hearth, grabbed my coat, and, wondering what the hell I was getting myself into, followed the woman out into the rapidly falling darkness. The inside of the truck felt as rough as the outside looked. Nor did this driver believe in seat belts. I clutched the door handle, feeling my kidneys being pummeled by every stone and hole in the road, and there were too many to count. After what felt like a whole evening but was really only about twenty minutes, we slowed and the truck’s headlights illuminated a cabin much like my father’s, and in the same state of decrepitude. As soon as I unfolded myself painfully from the truck, I picked up on waves of searing pain and distress. My eyes widened, and I looked at the woman. What the hell was this about? Did she need a witch or a doctor? My driver came and took my arm in a deceptively strong grip and

  almost hauled me up the steps. I braced myself and started summoning strength, spells of power

  and protection, ward-evil spells.

  Inside the cabin my ears were immediately assaulted by a long, howling wail of pain, as if an animal were trapped somehow. There were three other First Nation people in the lounge, and I saw another, older woman bent over the stove in the kitchen, which looked marginally better equipped than Da’s. Four sets of black eyes fastened on me as I stood there, dumbfounded, and then I cringed as the unearthly wail came again. The woman tugged off my coat and pulled me toward a bedroom. Inside the bedroom I was confronted by something I never could have predicted: a woman in childbirth, writhing on a bed, while an elderly woman tended to her. In a flash I realized I had been brought here as a healer, to help this woman give birth.