The Wickerlight

by Mary Watson

  ‘You’re going to tell me their names.’

  ‘Their names?’

  ‘I need your words, David. Oisín needs them.’

  ‘No.’ I’m confused and can’t help the small laugh that escapes. ‘I’m not giving you my words.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to help Oisín.’

  ‘I do. I’ll do anything to help him.’

  ‘Then tell me their names.’

  ‘But you’re in charge now. Can’t you just let it go? Oisín is obviously not colluding with augurs. You know that.’

  ‘I can’t just break the rules for my son. He’s been charged. He has to defend himself or produce the Eye. You’ve made no progress on retrieving it. If you want to help him, then this is what you have to do.’

  He’s serious.

  Dad doesn’t stay anything, just watches me, his heavy brows at odds with his surprisingly gentle eyes.

  ‘I’ll make the law,’ I tell him.

  ‘Don’t be daft, David.’ He says it like this is what he expects, me being daft. I’ve done everything he’s asked of me. I’m the second strongest soldier in my class. I’ve no love for augurs. But it’s never good enough. I may not be guided by the rook, but I sure am controlled by it.

  ‘I’m stronger,’ he continues. ‘I’ll make a better law. There’s a lot riding on this. Now’s not the time for tantrums.’

  ‘I’m stronger than you think.’ But we’re slipping into the usual pattern. Old behaviours. Even though Dad doesn’t tower over me physically any more, it still feels like he does.

  ‘Do you want to help your brother or not?’ Dad’s impatient. ‘Do you realise he could be executed and there’s nothing I can do to stop it?’

  Defeated, I go to the table. When he takes my words from the box, I can’t look.

  ‘Are there any more?’

  ‘No,’ I lie.

  I touch each word as I name them, just loud enough for Dad to hear. Then I stand at the window, watching the fields. I’m shaking with suppressed anger. With disappointment in myself.

  But I am no victim. If I am trapped, it’s me who’s dug out the hole, who helped set the snare.

  The room is quiet as Dad arranges them. Puts my words into his law. I watch the rooks flying above the trees, setting off and coming home.

  ‘I will triumph over Cassa.’ He completes the sentencing. I feel the words become husks and it’s too much.

  ‘But you said you would use them for Oisín.’

  ‘I said my using them would help Oisín. This way, I am better placed to help him.’

  He lied. Fury runs through me as Dad throws the husks into the fireplace and stacks the wood. He won’t risk anyone undoing this law.

  Dad watches the fire take hold. For him, nothing is changed, nothing different. Just another ordinary day for Jarlath Creagh. But it feels like an ending. This is a breach too far.

  I stand in the doorway, waiting for my father to see my stricken face, my blotched skin and rigid stance. I want Dad to see me.

  But, intent on the burning husks, Dad doesn’t look my way.

  THIRTY-THREE

  So much I’m not telling you

  With the crow key, the Rookery is mine to explore.

  LAS

  Zara

  It’s early evening, and I sneak through the hollow into the field behind to meet David. I haven’t seen him since midsummer night. A weird mix of excitement and apprehension churns in my gut. I don’t know what to expect.

  Mom’s been making me cover for Aisling, who’s off work for the week. Out of trouble, she thinks. Under her watchful eye.

  I still haven’t heard from Callie. I’ve been back to Meadowsweet, and my note is no longer there. I’ve looked around, hoping to see her in one of the bright summer gardens in the village, or perhaps at the church. But I can’t find her anywhere. Rationally, I know she’s probably fine, maybe visiting grandchildren or down at the coast for the week. Irrationally, I worry that the tiny old lady, one I’ve become quite attached to, will sit down at Maeve’s table expecting cake and get her head wrecked instead. That she’ll end up on the village green.

  He’s there at the shoreline, looking out over the water. When David sees me, his face breaks into a huge smile.

  We sit on the grass and he tells me stupid light bulb jokes, boarding school stories, but also talks about his dad. He tells me things have become even more difficult between them. When he mentions Jarlath Creagh, I see the simmering rage in his eyes, his jaw. But when he speaks of Oisín, I know he’s worried and afraid.

  David tells me he’s begun to feel constrained in his job, working the security for his aunt’s arts and heritage foundation. There’s some big promotion that his dad is pushing him towards, that he wanted for a long time, but now finds himself without enthusiasm.

  I tell him about the Horribles. About our safe, dirty ditch and the Inky Black.

  We sit close, his hand on my leg, or mine in his hair as he lies on the grass with his head on my lap.

  In our talking, there are gaps. Things we’re not saying. That we know the other is holding back. Like how neither of our parents would approve of this, the secrets I know he’s keeping. But being here this evening is my reprieve. Home is taut, stretched to that point where something has to snap.

  We’re there for hours. The day is still bright, with a light smell of rain in the air. But as the time ticks on, the things we don’t say seem to push closer to the surface.

  We’re lying on the grass, eyes to the moody sky. I feel a light tickle on my arm and look down to see a green-bodied beetle.

  ‘That’s a tiger beetle.’ David lifts it from my arm and looks at it. ‘I’ve not seen one around here before.’

  And I have never seen more insects than in the field down here by the lake. It’s like Horrible Zara’s insect farm, but for real. They seem to surround us, the bugs and butterflies and other little creatures burrowing in and out of the soil.

  David looks at the beetle before setting it down. The bulbous eye and feelers remind me of that day in the mirror.

  ‘Have you ever –’ I’m feeling adventurous – ‘seen something that isn’t there?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ The first drops of rain fall, one lands on my cheek.

  ‘On Saturday, when I came from Sibéal’s house.’ I flip on to my side, leaning on my elbow. ‘I looked into the mirror and saw myself as a bug. My eyes were bulging, I had antennae. And I could see differently, like I had insect eyes. It went away, but it was disturbing.’

  David is quiet. He’s looking up, and I can see from his face that he’s working through his thoughts.

  ‘Zara,’ he says eventually, ‘there’s so much I’m not telling you.’

  ‘Do you want to?’ I touch a raindrop that’s landed on his forehead.

  ‘I will if you ask me.’ Strange answer.

  ‘Then tell me just one thing.’ But there’s a shadow to my words. There’s something else that’s attached itself to them. ‘Tell me a secret. Something you should never tell anyone else.’ And it feels like the shadow is shaping my words, twisting them like vine growing over stone.

  I lean over him, my lips inches away from his. ‘Tell me something you treasure. An ancient truth.’ I kiss him, just once, a quick brush of the lips. A promise of more. ‘Tell me the offerings.’

  David is looking at me like I’ve broken his heart. He doesn’t answer for a few moments. Then he averts his eyes.

  ‘I saw a very old woman, standing on the shoreline. And then she disappeared.’

  ‘A ghost?’

  ‘More than a ghost.’ He hesitates. ‘A vision. It was horrible.’

  ‘I like Horrible.’

  ‘She told me the offerings. But I’m not supposed to tell anyone.’

  I drop down from my elbow to my back, feeling both relieved and cross. The need to know this message is overpowering. The rain is beginning to come more steadily.

  ‘That’s fine.’ But I can’t hide the bite in
my words.

  Now he’s on his elbow, looking down at me. ‘Why are you asking me, Zara? Why does it matter?’

  ‘All these secrets, David.’ I stand up. ‘I need to head back.’ I don’t want to push him to reveal the details he’s nervous to share. But there’s this strange twisting thing inside that’s making me resentful that he’s not talking.

  ‘Don’t go.’

  ‘It’s raining.’

  ‘Then let it rain.’

  ‘Mom will be looking for me. It’s OK. About your secrets.’ I mean it, but I don’t.

  And then he’s standing in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. It’s properly raining now, for the first time after two dry, hot weeks. In the distance, there’s a growl of thunder. It’s still warm despite the rain, and I can feel the heat of his body through his thin T-shirt.

  ‘I will tell you.’ He touches a light hand to my cheek. ‘If you tell anyone else, it could destroy everything I love.’

  Don’t tell me, I want to say.

  But I reach up and kiss him. I draw his face down to mine, holding my hand on the back of his head. It tastes like rain and grass and deceit.

  ‘Tell me.’ I don’t sound like myself.

  ‘Entrap. Sever. Truth.’ The words are whispered. I think I feel him shudder. Horrible Zara stirs. There’s something leaden and awful inside.

  ‘Those are all I know.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have made you tell me that.’ I step back, appalled at myself. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I’m staring at him, struggling to understand what I just did.

  ‘I should go,’ I say.

  ‘That’s probably best right now.’ His eyes are glittering, and I don’t know if he’s sad or angry.

  ‘Can we talk tomorrow?’ I hold up a hand. ‘I need to think.’

  ‘Zara,’ he calls after me. ‘Wait.’

  But I don’t stop. I head back through the field in the rain and as I run, I’m beginning to remember. Sibéal telling me that I had to do something for her. Something about David. But it’s all broken in pieces.

  When I get to the house, I’m so angry with myself. For being used. For doing something I didn’t want to. For manipulating David to tell me his secret. But mostly, I’m furious with Sibéal. Because, somehow, she made me do this. Part of me wants to run over there and have it out with her, but that would be foolish.

  To get my mind off my anger, I take the Wishmaker from its hiding place. I mentally unlock it, retrieving the key from the imaginary cabin and taking it out of the imaginary boxes.

  In Sibéal’s storyboard, each quadrant had a name. The first was Entrap, the second Sever. Canty warned me that some people want this disc very badly. He also warned me not to handle it.

  For the first time since finding it, I can feel a draw, a latent thrum. As if by learning its secret words, the disc is allowing me to feel its true power.

  And David told me a new word: Truth.

  I’m beginning to remember: Sibéal at the kitchen table. Aisling arguing with her that it wouldn’t work. Embedding an instruction in my head: kiss David and get the last two offerings.

  I’d been furious with Sibéal before but now I am incandescent with rage. She used me.

  I squeeze my fingers around the Wishmaker. Red the blade, I whisper to it, testing the words. They feel right, so I whisper them again. Red the blade. Red the blade.

  I’m thinking of Sibéal’s drawings of the figure in the cage, the lovers’ hands torn apart. And it’s crystal clear, as if someone has explained it to me: this disc wants those actions. Offerings. And if I make the offerings, I could discover its hidden power.

  I only know three of the four. That’s not enough.

  It’s a start. I could try.

  This hunger, having grown steadily, is intense. I am almost compelled to make the offerings. Like the thing in my hands wants me to act.

  I want to handle it. I want to own it, wield it, master it. I want to know all its secrets. This is no love trinket. I don’t know if Canty lied to protect me or for other reasons. But I know for certain that this thing in my hand is something of rare power. And I want in.

  Red the blade, I whisper again. And again, like I’m repeating a mantra.

  The disc grows warm in my hand. I drop it in surprise.

  A car pulls up in the drive. Must be Dad. It’s still bright out, but heading towards ten, it’s later than I thought.

  The doorbell rings. Not Dad then. Perhaps it’s David. I feel a sudden giddy burst of glee. I hope so. I want to apologise.

  I hastily pack everything away, locking the Wishmaker in my mind.

  Mom calls to me. Hurrying downstairs, I’m fully expecting David.

  And stop when I see Sibéal and Maeve outside.

  Mom’s stepped out, laughing at something Maeve’s said.

  I don’t like them here at our house. I don’t like them near Mom, who is too trusting.

  No one is what they seem. That nice Maeve Lawless with her flowery dresses and pretty daughters can’t be trusted. The big scowly man next door with his huge falling-down estate and family war cry definitely can’t be trusted. Who knows, maybe the ladies who sit out on their lawns are actually secret assassins. Who bloody knows. Canty was right, I have to be careful, not trust anyone. Because I suspect Laila did, and she’s dead.

  The blue Micra passes our house. The window is open, and Cillian glowers at me from the driver’s seat.

  ‘Thanks for the offer,’ Mom says. ‘You’ve no idea how much I appreciate it.’

  ‘What offer?’ I say to Mom as I join them. Sibéal beams at me, saying ‘Hey, Zara’ like she didn’t mess with my head and do some weird bullshit hypnosis.

  ‘Well, I was on the phone to Aisling just now and she mentioned that your mom was a little worried. So I said to Sibéal here, we can help out.’

  ‘Help out with what?’

  ‘You know I’m leaving for Cape Town tomorrow,’ Mom says. ‘But there’s an overlap of one night when Dad’s flying back from his conference. Maeve’s offered to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘We’re fine, Mom.’ I’m annoyed. ‘Adam and I will be fine.’

  ‘I know,’ she says. ‘But after Laila, I’d rather someone was watching out. She’s just going to check in. See that you haven’t burned down the house.’

  ‘I won’t burn down the house.’

  ‘Zara,’ she warns.

  ‘Fine.’ I shrug like I don’t care.

  Mom continues to chat with Maeve and I walk down our drive. Sibéal follows. I knew she would.

  I’m right where the brick paving meets the road when I finally turn to her.

  ‘Look, I know what you tried to do. That you got inside my head somehow.’

  ‘Never tried to hide it.’

  ‘How? Was it some kind of hypnosis?’

  She puts a hand on my shoulder. Leans in. Breathes into my ear: ‘Maybe.’

  She smiles. Then turns away, getting inside the car.

  When she’s sitting in the passenger seat, I lean in through the open window. ‘You told me to get the last two offerings from David.’

  I’ve surprised her.

  ‘You remember that?’

  ‘I didn’t at first.’

  ‘And did you? Have you learned anything?’

  ‘I’m not your puppet, Sibéal.’ The words tumble out in my fury. ‘I won’t tell you a single word of it.’

  ‘I don’t need permission, c’mon, you know that.’

  ‘But you need to look at me. You can’t get into my head if you’re not looking me in the eye.’ I lean into her. ‘You can’t make me open my eyes.’

  I’ve touched a nerve, it’s clear on her face.

  I leave the car, going back towards the house.

  ‘You’ve nothing to worry about,’ Maeve is saying to Mom, and pulls me into a hug. ‘I’ll watch Zara.’

  Why does she make it sound like a warning?

  As Maeve reverses from the drive, Sibéal leans out the wi
ndow, her hair whipping in the wind. She beams at me like we’re best friends, and wriggles her fingers.

  ‘See you Sunday, Zara.’ She laughs at me as they drive off.

  It’s only once the car is gone that I see him.

  Across the road, David watches. He’s standing near the entrance to the Rookery, partially obscured by the trees. His face gives nothing away. But there is a strain to his body that makes me certain he doesn’t like what he’s seen.

  I raise a tentative hand. But still he stares, not returning the greeting.

  The gate swings open on a slow arc. We lock gazes with each other. Sure, he doesn’t like Sibéal, but he looks angry with me. And then I’m cross too, because how am I supposed to know what’s going on when there is so much hidden from me?

  An old boxy Range Rover barrels through the gate. David steps into the road, gets in and they drive away.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Use them wisely

  David

  Zara’s gone and I’m not sure what just happened.

  One minute we were together here at the lake, and everything was just right. Next thing, she’s asking me for the offerings, and locked in by my agreement with Canty, I had to tell her.

  She has to be working with someone, I think as I return to the house. There’s no way she’d know to ask for that otherwise. It has to be Canty. This has all been a ruse to get close to me, so she could find out the offerings. He tricked me into telling her. How could I have been so stupid to agree to his deal?

  I’m furious. Sore. Oisín is in trouble. Cassa locked up. Dad has pushed me too far. And now Zara.

  Outside the house, I take out Canty’s mirror from my pocket. Whenever I’ve checked it, I’ve seen nothing. But now, for the first time, the silver begins to cloud over. I’m seeing the vague outline of someone beginning to take shape. It’s slow to form, but the person looks female. The background is a vivid green.

  But why would Canty use Zara when I’d agreed to be honest with him? I don’t get it.

  A car skids to a halt on the chip and tar.

  It’s barely stopped when Cill’s out of it. I look at the mirror again, the green has formed into leaves. The girl is still fuzzy, but I can see that she’s wearing white and looking down.