‘What? You can tell me.’ Faye smiled confidentially. Aisha had worked in the shop for a year now, but still Faye knew very little about her; only that she was studying at the university and that she was interested in magic and music. She had sought the shop out and asked Faye if she was looking for help one day the previous summer; said she’d heard of it as one of the best places in Scotland to get supplies. Impressed with her knowledge, Faye had taken her on. But Aisha had never spoken about her personal life, and Faye hadn’t pried further. Annie had, but with little success.
Aisha looked uncomfortable.
‘I… I haven’t ever been with anyone. In that way. You know?’ She inclined her head to the stage.
‘With a man? Or woman? I mean, you made your doll a man, so I’m guessing…?’ Faye asked gently. ‘You’re a virgin? Aisha. That’s nothing to be worried about.’ She smiled and took the younger girl’s hand. ‘I haven’t had many boyfriends. Or one-night stands, come to that. It’s okay. Just because Annie’s confident in that way doesn’t mean everyone is.’
Aisha blushed; clearly, it was hard for her to talk about this.
‘I wanted to go to university. I’m going to be a geneticist. But my parents would rather that I married one and concentrated on popping out babies like my sisters are. And that’s cool, y’know? That’s fine if that’s what you want to do. But I don’t.’ Her tone was quietly fierce. Faye imagined that it would be pretty difficult to get Aisha to do anything she didn’t want to do.
‘Of course! I so admire your brains, Aish. There’s no way I could do what you do,’ she replied. ‘God knows we need more women in science.’
‘Well, sure. Though there always have been women doing important work; it’s hard for you to get to the top, is all. You have to marry the job. Good news if you don’t want to marry an actual person, I guess.’ Aisha tore off the whole label from the bottle and rolled it up into a long cylinder.
‘But you still want someone. You’re human,’ Faye finished the thought for her. ‘Just because your work’s going to take most of what you’ve got, doesn’t mean you don’t get to have love, Aish.’
‘It feels that way sometimes.’ Aisha sighed. ‘Even now. Doctoral study is hard. And I haven’t met anyone I like at uni. Or I’m too shy to meet men when I go out. Like tonight.’
‘I know. I’m the same! I mean, when they look at me, I just want to hide away.’ Faye laughed. ‘Look at us. A pair of wallflowers. At least we’ve got each other.’
Aisha smiled.
‘But you’re beautiful. You don’t know how many guys look at you. You don’t even see it.’
It was Faye’s turn to blush.
‘I don’t think they do, much,’ she said, quietly. ‘And you are a beautiful, intelligent, interesting young woman, don’t forget. But anyway. Your time will come, Aish. Remember the spell.’ She reached over the table and squeezed Aisha’s hand. Yet as she did so, all she could think about was the door flying open and Aisha walking out of it as if she was in a trance; and the strange expression on her face when she returned.
‘D’you really think it’ll work?’ Aisha asked again, like she had before in the shop, just after they’d done it. Like she needed the reassurance; like she didn’t really believe, but she wanted to.
‘Is this your scientist brain making you doubt magic?’ Faye asked, with more of a smile in her voice than she felt. Doubt of the truth she had grown up with always made her sad; not being believed by the rest of the world was a burden her family had borne for generations, and it sat heavy on her shoulders.
‘No. The more you study Genetics, the more you realise how magical humans really are. Anyway, the wisest of us know that we still have so much to learn.’ Aisha stood up, chafing her hands together and looked back into the bar. ‘God knows what’s encoded into our DNA. No, it’s just… I dunno. Human frailty. Not daring to believe, I guess.’
‘You don’t lose anything by having faith.’ Faye smiled. The vision, whatever it had been, was still with her, but it was like waking up from a dream which receded quickly. It seemed real when you were in it but it soon became a memory.
‘I guess. D’you want to go back in?’
‘Sure,’ Faye stamped her feet on the ground; it was cold, sitting outside on an April night in Edinburgh. Aisha nodded.
‘And… thanks. Sometimes I feel really alone, y’know? It helps. Having you and Annie around.’ She leaned forward and gave Faye an awkward hug.
‘That’s okay, Aish. Anytime.’
Faye took a deep breath and followed Aisha back into the bar.
The tune played around her again, and she could see it as a magic in itself, weaving its way in and out of the crowd. She watched the faces of the others around her; some were so entranced that their eyes were almost rolled all the way back; they swayed, totally unaware of where they were. She could sense that they were somewhere else, to all intents and purposes.
She wobbled, then reminded herself that she was a witch. She’d been caught off-guard the first time, but she had to remember that she could take control.
Standing at the bar, she took care to imagine herself cocooned in a black cloak with a hood; she imagined drawing it over herself, and closing the seven energy centres in her body, the rainbow-hued chakras that everyone had, head to groin. Starting with the white crown energy at the top of her head, she imagined the balls of light closing to a pinprick: to the indigo of her third eye, the blue of her throat, pink of the heart, yellow, orange and down to red at the base. Instantly she felt better, more grounded; for good measure she imagined tree roots growing out of her feet and down through the sticky wood floor of the bar and into the dark Edinburgh earth.
Grounded, she let herself look at him again: he was just as beautiful, otherworldly, even. His hair was a lighter blonde in the stage lights, and the horse tattoo on his side seemed to writhe with the music.
As she watched him, she had the impression that he was searching for her; his blue-green eyes scanned the crowd, not finding her. But why would he be looking for you? Her inner voice, the doubting voice she was so used to hearing, reasoned. He doesn’t know you’re here. And even if he did, you’re just some shop owner that he passed the time of day with. Why would he remember you?
And yet, something in her knew it was true. That, perhaps, as mad as it sounded, he knew the vision she’d had. Perhaps he knew all the places of reverie that the audience were in right now…
The searching feeling grew so strong that Faye raised her hands to her long auburn fringe. Though she was only wearing an imaginary robe, her hands grasped the edge of where the hood would be, and she brought her loose fists to her shoulders. Removing the disguise that she had imposed on herself, she unveiled herself to him.
The music pooled around her in sharp, quick drifts, like snow; Finn had brought the flute to his lips again and the female singer with the dark hair in so many plaits keened a gentle melody over it. Faye’s heart surged; the tune was haunting yet mournful, and she felt an overwhelming longing take her over, though she could not have explained exactly what she was yearning for. It was as if she was homesick; she felt it like a longing for a love she had never lost.
As her heart filled with the melody, Finn’s eyes found her at last. She didn’t disappear into the vision of the beach again, but it felt as though the room cleared, and it was just her and him there together. Finn took his flute away from his lips and started to sing with the black-haired woman and, this time, Faye understood every word.
He sang a lament for his lost love; for a part-human, part-faerie-woman. He sang for the woman he had searched for all his life, and never found. He sang to summon her from her remote castle in the sea, to join him in his bed.
A smile played on Faye’s lips as she listened; and, as he sang, Finn Beatha’s eyes never left hers.
Chapter Eight
Faye usually made a good effort not to run into the minister, but the day after the show she was still half in another world, ev
en after a night’s sleep. All night she’d had strange dreams of Finn: kissing him, dancing together in a strange place, dark and lit with lamps. Sometimes they were alone, and sometimes in a loud, whooping, spinning crowd. Just before she woke up, he had put that same rose-gold necklace that she had seen in her daydream around her neck and whispered something in her ear: she forgot it immediately on waking.
In her dreaminess, it was too late to avoid the white-haired man, who was coming out of one of her neighbour’s houses, holding a sheaf of papers, when their paths crossed on the pavement outside.
‘Oh, sorry. Hello.’ Faye stepped back instinctively to let him go past. She’d popped out of the shop in a quiet moment to get some milk and bread.
‘Good morning, Miss Morgan,’ he replied frostily, but didn’t move. Faye assumed he was waiting for her to go first, so she nodded quickly and strode out in front of the house, only to bump into the minister who had clearly thought the same thing. He cleared his throat.
‘No, after you.’ He waited for her to pass. Ordinarily she would have left it at that but today, for some reason, she felt wicked.
‘I wouldn’t hear of it. How are you, minister, on this fine day?’ She gave him a huge grin.
‘Oh. Well. Very well, yes, thank you, Miss Morgan.’ He frowned uncomfortably.
‘I’m so glad. I’m very well also, in case you were wondering,’ she replied brightly, standing in his way. She couldn’t say why, apart from that she was filled with the question: Why should she scuttle out of this man’s way? She had as much of a right to be in this village as he did. And he’s an ignorant little man, said a voice in the back of her mind. Cardigans, jumble sales and cheap biscuits do not a man of power make. It sounded like something Moddie would say, and she smiled to herself.
‘Good,’ he replied, looking past her at the street. ‘Anyway, I really must be on my way.’
‘Of course.’ She looked down at his hand; the knobbly knuckles held leaflets printed on a light green paper. ‘May I have one of those? What are they?’
He held them to his leg, instinctively, in a protective gesture.
‘Oh. Parish business,’ he said, not meeting her eye.
‘Well, I’m one of your parishioners. So I think I qualify, don’t I?’
He squinted at her suspiciously, but Faye smiled all the more sweetly and held out her hand.
‘Err… yes, I suppose so.’ He handed a leaflet to her unwillingly. She scanned it, expecting another afternoon tea or charity event.
‘Are you kidding me?’ She looked up at him, waiting for him to, totally uncharacteristically, laugh and jab her in the ribs or something like it was a joke. But the minister coughed and looked away.
‘The proposal has been put forward, yes. For a statue of James the Sixth of Scotland – James the First of Great Britain – to be erected in the village,’
‘James the Sixth. Author of Daemonologie? That King James?’
‘Yes. A great king. Bringer of peace and union to Britain.’
‘A great king who wrote a book that was responsible for the murder of thousands of innocent people. My ancestor, in particular,’ Faye spat back at him, furious. ‘That book provided a reason for the witch trials to take place. He made up all that nonsense, fuelled by his lurid, sadistic fantasies about torturing and killing women, and with it he gave other sadists free rein to accuse anyone they didn’t like the look of—’
‘That’s your view, Miss Morgan. Many would disagree,’ the minister pursed his lips, and Faye wanted to hit him.
‘It’s not my view. It’s historical fact!’ Faye recognised the familiar sensation of fury edged with a raw hopelessness when faced with this kind of entrenched forgetting. The minister probably still thought that most people who had died in the witch trials had deserved it in some way.
‘This is immoral. Who proposed it?’ Faye scanned the leaflet, but all it gave was the time and date for a village meeting to vote on the statue. Anger flashed through her like a knife.
‘The council has some money left in the local budget. We thought, in these difficult times, it would be good to have a symbol of unity in the village. Someone that represents a pivotal point in our proud history.’
Faye almost choked.
‘Our proud history – the Statutes of Iona? That man broke up the clans. He forbade Gaelic to be spoken here. He ruined our culture as well as advocating the torture of women. I’m not proud of that. Neither should you be.’
‘You can have your say along with everyone else, at the town hall.’ The old man sighed. ‘I simply serve the community.’
Faye glared at him.
‘Fine. I’ll be there. And, I might add, the Morgans were helping the community long before you got here. I still do.’
‘I know many parishioners that hold you in high regard, Miss Morgan. I can’t say I agree, but I’m wise enough to accept that old folk beliefs can be particularly intransigent in remote communities like these. Now, I really must be on my way.’ He turned away from Faye and started walking up the path, back straight, as if that would shield him somehow.
‘Perhaps that’s because folk beliefs work, and people do well to hold to the old ways. Perhaps that’s because people in communities like this know that I have power!’ she shouted at him, making two nearby women frown at her as they walked past.
‘I’m not here to take part in a conjuring contest with you, Miss Morgan. Unlike some, I have work to do, not sitting in my shop all day, reading tea leaves,’ he called over his shoulder.
Faye wondered briefly if it would be unforgivable to curse at a minister; not that she needed his forgiveness. She let the moment pass, taking a deep breath. He was an old man, and she should keep her dignity.
‘Fine,’ she muttered. She stood and watched him go, until she remembered what she had set out for, and went into the bakery.
‘Havin’ a disagreement with the minister, are ye, sweetheart?’ Muriel in the baker’s loved a gossip, but Faye wasn’t in the mood.
‘No. I don’t agree with this new statue being built, that’s all.’ Faye sighed. ‘Granary please, and a pint of milk,’
Muriel shook her head as she turned away to get the bread.
‘Ach, I know, lassie. We should ha’ a woman at the very least. The world’s full enough of stone men,’ she chuckled. ‘Still, at least that way, they don’t talk back.’
‘Hmmm.’ Faye looked out of the window, feeling dejected.
‘Like how there’s women on the banknotes now. We had the scientist woman, what’s her name? And the poet,’ Muriel handed the soft brown loaf to Faye over the counter and put the cold container of milk next to it. ‘It’s the small things, aye. Slow and steady wins the race. That’s two pounds for ye, sweetheart.’
Faye handed Muriel the money and took the bread. She was halfway out of the door when the idea came. If not a stone man, then a memorial of another kind.
‘Muriel, you’re an angel!’ she called back to the bemused baker and strode back into the street.
Chapter Nine
The bell jingled as the shop door opened and Faye looked up, hopefully; since she’d seen Dal Riada with Aisha last week there was a part of her that expected Finn Beatha to walk in at any moment. She caught herself in the hope and frowned – it was silly to expect to ever see him again, though she really wanted to go and see the band when they played at the festival in June.
Rav caught her confused expression and laughed.
‘Good day, Mistress of Magic.’ He tipped an imaginary cap to her and looked around at the shelves of incenses, tarot sets, books and a row of brightly polished brass cauldrons.
‘Oh, hi.’ Faye smiled and sat back down behind the counter; she realised that she’d sprung up when the door had opened and blushed, embarrassed at her keenness to see Finn again.
‘Expecting someone else?’
‘Ah, no… you surprised me, that’s all.’
‘You do know that this is a shop? Probably best if people
do come in, I’m guessing?’ He came up to the counter and picked up a novelty spell book next to the till. ‘How’s business?’
‘Not too bad.’ Faye felt herself relax into Rav’s easy company like that day at the beach. She watched the minister walk past the shop; Rav followed her gaze. ‘Not that some people wouldn’t like us to go under,’ she added, narrowing her eyes.
‘That guy? Tell me about it. He’s not keen on Abercolme Rocks happening, let me tell you. Turned up at the house yesterday complaining about it. Thinks it’s gonna bring undesirables into town.’ Rav shook his head.
‘Undesirables. I’d rather have a few music fans once a year than a bloody statue of King James.’ Faye shook her head. ‘Have you heard about that? It’s outrageous,’
‘Yeah. You not a fan of the monarchy, then?’
‘Not so you’d notice. But, more to the point, that particular king was a key figure in the witch trials that happened in Scotland. I’m fuming, to put it mildly.’
‘Was he? I didn’t know that.’
‘If anything, history views him as a reasonably good king because he avoided religious wars and unified the country. A bit of woman-torturing on the side’s all right, apparently. My direct ancestor was tried as a witch because of the book he wrote. A kind of witch-hunter’s how-to.’
Rav raised his eyebrows.
‘Wow. I didn’t know. Sorry.’ He looked confused ‘But… wasn’t she, though? I mean, I thought you…’
‘I am. She was. But being a herbalist or a midwife or someone that liked to talk to the faeries isn’t quite reason enough to burn them at the stake, is it?’ she snapped, annoyed at Rav’s thoughtlessness. ‘Anyway, I’ve decided to a make a counter-proposal. A memorial for my ancestor, Grainne Morgan, and the other women of Abercolme that were murdered at the North Berwick witch trials.’
‘Wow.’ Rav smiled. ‘That’s going to ruffle some feathers.’
‘I hope it does,’ Faye snapped. ‘I’m sick of the people here not acknowledging what happened to Grainne and the others. Like we’re all supposed to forget. I can’t forget and neither could my mother and my grandmother and all the women in between. We carry that grief with us.’
Daughter of Light and Shadows Page 6
