The Wren Hunt

by Mary Watson

  ‘I’m doing my best, honey. It’s been harder than I thought.’

  ‘Maybe I should do it?’ I said, thinking of Sorcha in her yellow raincoat.

  ‘I’m better at this kind of reading. And I’m getting close.’

  I went upstairs to my room. Cassa’s clothes had suddenly become uncomfortable. Wrong-fitting. I had to get them off. Scrabbling at the buttons, I stopped in my doorway. The plant doll was lying on my bed, as if she’d done the rounds. This bed is just right.

  Wakens the doll.

  I was skeeved out. Light-headed, sick, I went through all the traits I ticked: almost an orphan, Kilshamble grown, from the line of judges. And now the doll.

  It’s impossible, I told myself. Magic doesn’t work like that. The moving doll is a game. Sibéal is trying to wreck my head.

  On the bed, that blank face looked at everything and nothing. Red floral skirt stretched out neatly. As I stepped closer, my eyes were drawn to the face with a macabre fascination. Was that the faintest impression of a smile? I picked up the doll and threw it in the wastepaper basket. It must have been a smidgen of dirt.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  So close to the finish

  Wickerlight draws close. We are going to the woods tonight.

  AdC

  I felt the weight on my bed before I woke up. A light touch passing over my arm. I opened my eyes, panic shooting through me.

  But it was only Maeve, sitting on my bed. The early morning light streamed in through the window, catching her wayward curls.

  I sat up. ‘You gave me an awful fright.’

  She held up her hands. ‘Just me.’

  Drawing the covers up over my bare arms, I said, ‘What is it, Maeve?’ She looked troubled. She reached to my bedside table and picked something up.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you. Alone.’ Her voice was low, just above a whisper.

  ‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Is Smith OK?’

  ‘He’s fine.’

  I leaned back on the headboard. My eye caught the not-brídeog on the desk. She was sitting exactly where I’d left her. On her best behaviour. As if she hadn’t been rasping a little song in my ear all night long:

  Beneath the great oak my love does lie

  A sword through his heart and arrow in his eye

  Blood in his mouth, blood on my hands

  I tie the great knot

  He will not die. He will not die.

  ‘Wren?’ Maeve frowned, then turned to look at the not-brídeog. I could still hear the echoes of the song that had repeated through my dreams.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Did you find out if Sibéal will get a talent?’

  ‘No.’ I shut my eyes. ‘I forgot.’

  ‘You forgot?’ She sounded so disappointed. ‘It’s her birthday in two weeks.’

  ‘Well, we’ll just have to find out then.’ I sounded snappier than I meant. Maeve looked like I’d kicked her kitten.

  ‘Sorry.’ I sank down to the pillows, feeling guilty. Sibéal and her birthday had completely slipped my mind. What kind of a friend forgot that?

  ‘I can’t get a reading on the last stone,’ Maeve said. ‘Cassa’s blocked it somehow. Like they do with the nemeta so we can’t scry for them. I’ve tried, and some of the others in the grove have tried. It’s impossible.’

  I pushed back the covers and got out of bed. At my wardrobe, I stared blindly at the clothes and said, ‘So, what now?’

  Maeve looked down at something in her hand. I pulled out a skirt, black tights.

  ‘I saw something else. Yesterday, while watching the clouds and asking for the stone, I had a clear image.’

  Seeing an image in the clouds, rather than reading through light, formation and position, was Maeve’s talent at its strongest. But only if the image was distinct and without ambiguity.

  ‘I saw the symbol for the Bláithín.’ The word sounded strange coming from her lips. Wrong. ‘Large and clear. And as I watched, it shifted into the Daragishka Knot.’

  ‘What do you think it means?’ I said, queasy. I knew what she was going to say. The guilt I felt about Sibéal twisted into something that made me want to shout, ‘All right, all right! I’ll do it.’ Just so I could stop feeling like this.

  But I didn’t want to do it.

  ‘It’s obvious,’ she said. ‘We’ll find the last stone if you do what Cassa wants.’ Maeve was looking around my room: the pile of clothes on the armchair, the books on the desk, the things I’d collected from outside on my bedside table.

  ‘The clouds don’t tell you the future, Maeve.’ But her roaming eye was making me uncomfortable.

  It felt like she was sniffing for patterns in my room. Trying to sense what was anomalous. I was being paranoid. While there were exceptionally gifted augurs who could intuit the patterns that made a person, Maeve wasn’t one of them.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said, standing up and reaching a finger to the not-brídeog. ‘But this isn’t the future. It’s very much the present. It’s telling us we already have the answer. Cassa’s offer.’

  Her hand halted, like she was reluctant to actually touch the doll.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I said.

  I went into the bathroom, glad to get away from her.

  ‘Think about it,’ her voice called after me. ‘If you do this, Cassa will give you anything. You’ll get the stone no problem.’

  Downstairs, Smith stood in the square arch between the kitchen and the living room.

  ‘Wren,’ he said as I passed him. ‘We’re so close to the finish line.’

  I ignored him as I filled the kettle, took out a cup. I stood there, arms folded while I waited for it to boil.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ I said.

  ‘The Bláithín isn’t real. Cassa is obsessed with an illusion,’ Smith said. ‘Going through with it won’t change you, if that’s your concern.’

  ‘But what if you’re wrong?’

  And there it was, the thing that hurt so. That Smith would put me at risk of some unknown magic. Sure, he didn’t believe. But what if there was the smallest chance that Cassa was right?

  He shook his head. ‘There is no danger. I promise.’

  ‘The Bláithín is meant to bring on the third ré órga,’ I said.

  ‘And do you think we’d be keen to hurry that on? The golden age of judge magic?’ Slight smile as he put his hands on my arms. ‘I’ve studied the myth. Cassa’s wrong. The third ré órga happens at the decline of the augurs. They eat our magic and it makes them stronger. And that’s what we’re trying to prevent.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I once knew someone, long ago, who had access to judge papers.’

  ‘The circle always knows more than you might think.’ Maeve’s words sounded like a warning.

  I turned. ‘There has to be another way. I can’t be there with them. I hate lying. I just want to be home again.’ I fixed on the thick dust layering the skirting, unable to look at them.

  ‘I can’t understand why you’d just give up when it’s nearly over. Unless,’ Maeve said, ‘you’re feeling a little confused about him? That Gallagher boy?’

  My head snapped up. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Seems like you’re getting on well with him.’

  ‘I’m supposed to get on with them. That’s the plan.’

  I turned to Smith, feeling Maeve’s gaze on me. But he looked away.

  ‘You’re spending an awful lot of time with him.’ Maeve held out her hand. On her open palm was Tarc’s lucky acorn. She’d taken it from my bedside table. ‘It can get confusing. Is there something you need to tell us, Wren?’

  ‘I’m not confused.’ I wanted my lucky acorn back.

  ‘Sibéal says he’s smitten,’ Maeve said, slipping it into her pocket.

  I remembered Aisling saying how she loved that word. Smite. I very much doubted that I’d smote Tarc.

  ‘Did you send Sibéal to spy on me?’ I felt heat rush to my face. And something
clicked.

  ‘Wren,’ Smith said. ‘We’re worried about you.’

  ‘You mean you’re worried that I’m not doing exactly as you say.’

  ‘Do you feel anything for him?’ Maeve was beside me, taking up the boiled kettle.

  An impotent anger coursed through me. It was none of her business how I felt about Tarc. And yet, it was. If my feelings interfered with the plan, I should tell her.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about Tarc.’

  ‘I think I do,’ Maeve said, her voice rising. ‘Look how you’ve just forgotten about Sibéal, about her birthday. I asked one thing from you, Wren, one thing. And you couldn’t do it.’

  ‘One thing?’ I exploded. ‘What do you mean one thing? You and Smith, you’ve asked everything of me.’

  All the pent-up anxiety and agitation that had been swelling inside me over the last months wanted out. Hurt, because she didn’t seem to see how it was costing me. How it felt like I was coming undone.

  ‘All of us do what we have to for the grove,’ Maeve shouted back at me.

  ‘I’ve been there with them nearly every day. Worried, afraid. Lying. While you get to go on as normal. So yes, sorry if I’ve been preoccupied.’

  I pushed away from the counter, my hand catching a cup. Falling. Broken shards on the floor.

  ‘Don’t push me, Maeve.’ I headed for the arch.

  ‘And you stay away from that boy,’ she shouted as I walked away.

  TWENTY-SIX

  I like peanut butter

  Something terrible has happened.

  AdC

  The white peonies on my desk were furled shut. They’d begun to rot on the inside, a slow brown seeping from the core.

  Laney and Ledger Man were talking in hushed voices. I couldn’t hear much, but Laney said something about irreparable damage. Hacked with an axe. Another day, I might have inched closer, but that morning I couldn’t make myself care. Not after the argument with Maeve.

  The security boys came into the office, hair damp and smelling like soap. They grabbed drinks, as they always did after their training session, except it was after lunch, not ten in the morning. Looking up, I saw the scowls. Ryan bumped against David while he downed a shake.

  ‘Watch it,’ David said, menace clear in his voice.

  Cillian murmured something, and then David had a fist to his face. Dissention in the ranks.

  Taking a sip of his drink, Tarc called his boys to heel. David released Cillian, well exceeding Smith’s bad language quota. When Cillian stepped back, I saw that David had been in a scrap, his face roughed up.

  The boys had polluted the room with their dark mood. Grabbing my coat, I went out for fresh air.

  I was near the end of the hallway when David caught up with me. He stood closer than was comfortable. I could read the accusation in his face, like whatever had been hacked with an axe was all my fault. He loomed over me, bruised and angry. Reminding me of the promise he’d made when he took my hair.

  Tarc appeared down the other side of the long hall.

  ‘David.’

  ‘Gallagher.’ David turned to him. Tarc didn’t say anything, just walked closer. David stayed where he was, watching Tarc advance. It was the first time I’d ever sensed defiance from him towards Tarc.

  ‘Go.’ Tarc glowered.

  David scowled at him, then scarpered off.

  ‘Something get in the water today?’ I said. Whatever had come over the security boys that morning still held Tarc in its grip.

  ‘Things are a little tense.’ He was restless, like he couldn’t be sure if he wanted to stay or go.

  ‘You’re fobbing me off with “a little tense”? I’ll take nothing less than tempestuous, thanks.’

  Tarc hesitated. Then: ‘It’s not your concern, Wren.’

  I gave him the dagger eyes and walked away. Five steps, then he caught up with me.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  And, looking at him, I could see the anger, the sadness. But more than that, I sensed he was afraid.

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ I said, ‘but if people are getting hurt, maybe you should report it to the guards. You’re awful young to carry such a weight.’

  I walked down the hallway to the garden door. Out to the courtyard, beyond the bench and into the garden. I passed Cassa’s blackened sanctuary to a cement bench adorned with stone roses.

  I stayed out in the weak sunlight, watching the dark clouds moving in.

  And without warning, he was right behind me. He took my wrist, pulling me to my feet. Wordlessly, half yanking, half pleading, Tarc led me into the cluster of wet trees.

  Hidden by the trees, I couldn’t see the house. Still, Tarc spoke in a low voice as if we might be heard.

  ‘Please don’t do what Cassa asked. Please don’t go along with it.’ He held on to my wrist.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Because doing the ritual changes things.’

  ‘You don’t really believe that I would transform into the girl of leaf and petal, do you?’ I said, pulling away.

  Tarc took a deep breath. ‘No. I don’t know. I don’t know what I think. Cassa’s obsessed over this for years. None of us really believe. But I don’t want you to take the risk.’

  ‘I haven’t decided.’ Meaning, I was doing my best to resist being pressured into doing it.

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether it was real or not,’ he said. ‘It damaged Arabella. I don’t want it to damage you.’

  ‘Maybe she was drawn to the ritual because she was already damaged.’

  ‘I want to help you understand. What do you need to know?’ Tarc said. ‘About Cassa, me. Any of this,’ he spoke quietly and urgently, ‘I will tell you anything you want to know.’

  ‘You don’t trust me.’ I nearly added: you shouldn’t.

  He frowned at me like I was a riddle carved in stone. I tried to think of all the things that had vexed me these last months. My mind had been brimming with questions, but they all fell away. There were things I needed to know. Things I had to do. But that was the beauty of this: he wasn’t another of the things I had to do.

  This was the wrong time, wrong place, and it gave me a thrill.

  ‘Beneath the trees, remember?’ He gestured to the canopy above and smiled. ‘Go on, ask me something.’

  So many questions but, foolish girl that I was, I could think of none of them. Instead, deliciously irresponsible, I wanted to know about him: what did he like to do? Did he sit on a comfortable chair in the sun, reading a book? Did he lose himself while jogging in a green wood?

  I pushed those thoughts away, trying to remember what I should ask. The things that didn’t add up. What was he doing at night when he did Cassa’s security work? Why had he been so angry with Moleskin? Who had beaten up David? What was happening with the nemeta? The words were on the tip of my tongue. Then he stepped forward, closing off the space between us. I stepped back, and again, until I felt a tree against my back. My questions dissolved.

  ‘Ash tree, good choice.’ He smiled, and seemed so light and carefree. He pressed his legs against mine, his chest brushing mine. ‘I’m waiting.’

  So was I. Would he get on with it already? But I was enjoying the anticipation. The uncertain certainty of what would happen next.

  ‘For what?’ I leaned into the ivy that draped itself around the split trunk. I felt embraced by the tangly branches of the just budding tree. A heavy cloud moved over us.

  ‘Your question.’

  ‘I’m thinking,’ I said.

  And I was thinking that this was the wrong story. I was thinking that this was not meant to happen. Everything in me was braced to step away. To move one inch closer was a betrayal of Smith, Aisling and all the others I loved. To confirm the accusations that Maeve had thrown at me just that morning.

  But then his hands were in my hair and his lips were fierce against mine. All those things we hadn’t said to each other suddenly didn’t matter. He was telling me so much
more, with his hands, his legs, his lips. The way his body curved over mine. And in those minutes, for the first time in months, I felt right.

  This was the promise that I’d seen in my topaz vision down in the quarry: Tarc and me, beneath the trees. That feeling of right. I hadn’t dared hope that it was anything but skewed. Then, before I was ready, he pulled away.

  ‘You’re vibrating,’ he said. And I realised it was my phone. Smith. No way could I speak to my grandfather just then.

  ‘I should get back.’ But as I turned to go Tarc held my arm, his fingers closing over the puckered skin beneath my cardigan.

  ‘Skive off with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you my woolly hat collection. We can compare letter openers. Play Monopoly.’ He glanced at the dark cloud above us. It would break any second.

  ‘You really know how to sweet-talk a girl.’

  ‘You know you like it.’ He tugged gently.

  And he was right. I did. I was never going to be wooed with love songs and roses. Not chocolates, nor cards with red hearts and sugary verse.

  I followed him through the trees until we reached his cottage.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’

  My phone started again. Maeve. It was like they somehow knew to keep interrupting. I hesitated; if I answered there was no way I’d go inside. This exquisite madness would draw to a close. Stay away from that boy, Maeve had said.

  But I was done doing what they told me.

  ‘Yes.’

  Lacing his fingers between mine, he led me inside. I stalled at the entrance, trailing my other hand over the threshold. Hiding the draoi blessing in a casual gesture before pulling the door shut behind me.

  ‘These used to be the old stables,’ Tarc said. ‘Now it’s the security quarters. There’s room for the others, for when they need to stay over, but I’m the only one who’s here all the time.’

  I peered down the hall, half expecting to see David.

  ‘They’re not here now.’ He moved towards me, tentative. Suddenly, uncharacteristically shy. ‘I can make you tea?’

  ‘No tea.’

  Outside, the rain. It streamed against the large windows, the wet trees beyond. Just the sound of rain against glass, and Tarc.