by E. E. Holmes
“No value?” the woman persisted with an incredulous splutter. “No value?! Would you have us sit and do nothing?
“Of course, not,” Celeste said, still betraying not a crack in her veneer of calm. “But we’ll never fully understand what’s happening if we continue to give in to fear and superstition. Now, Scribe MacEnney, can you tell us anything else?”
“The effects of this phenomenon, whatever it might be, seem so far to be concentrated on Ms. Todd exclusively, at least since we have made the decision not to interfere with it. Initially, one of the Caomhnóir who discovered Ms. Todd in the courtyard chose to grab hold of her and try to pull her away and has been in the hospital ward ever since. Mrs. Mistlemoore, do we have any update on his condition?”
Mrs. Mistlemoore, who had been sitting in the front row of seats, rose and turned to address the assembly. “He was thrown quite forcefully across the courtyard when he made contact with Ms. Todd. Although we have been able to detect no physical injury that would cause prolonged unconsciousness, he still has not awakened. Vitals are steady and all major systems are functioning normally.”
Seamus stepped forward from his post at the base of the platform. “High Priestess? If I may?”
“Yes, Seamus, thank you,” Celeste said.
“Our men report a number of physical symptoms that have manifested if left on duty too long in the courtyard. Headaches, dizziness, disorientation, even fainting. We have adapted our shift schedule to minimize the effects.”
“And have they observed any changes at all in the state of the situation during their watch?” Celeste asked.
“No, High Priestess. None at all. It is as though the courtyard has frozen in time.”
“And there were no warning signs at all that this was coming?” A woman who had been sitting next to Mrs. Mistlemoore rose to her feet as she asked the question, her hand raised politely in the air. She looked so like Mrs. Mistlemoore, that I felt sure she must be her sister, if not her twin.
Celeste cast a quick look over at Fiona, who had grown tense in her seat. “Fiona came to us with a sculpture she created shortly before Savannah was discovered locked into connection with the Geatgrima. The image is identical to what is happening out in the Courtyard now.”
“A prophetic sculpture?” someone cried out, and a wave of frightened voices rose behind it.
“We cannot be sure it was not spirit-induced,” Celeste said, clearly trying to deflect away.
“But if it was prophetic…”
“Another prophecy?”
I stood up, my hand shooting into the air like a teacher’s pet.
I felt stirrings within the connection, Milo and Hannah’s panicked questions, wondering what the hell I was doing, what I was going to say…
“Yes, Jessica Ballard of Clan Sassanaigh?” Celeste said, gesturing to me to speak but also fixing me with a warning look, which I knew to mean that I should watch my language.
“I don’t think it was prophetic at all,” I said. “I believe Savvy was visiting the Geatgrima for days before she entered into this trance.”
I patiently waited through the predictable flurry of response to this pronouncement. Celeste shushed the assembly and said, “What do you mean?”
“Savvy told me that she was waking up every morning sore and exhausted, like she hadn’t slept at all. At first, she thought it was just the rigorous nature of her Caomhnóir training, but her boots were muddy, too, like they’d been worn outside during the night. She had no memory of it—thought maybe she might be sleepwalking. I think she must have been visiting the Geatgrima at night, and it was already happening when Fiona made her sculpture.”
Celeste turned to Scribe MacEnney, who immediately began adding this information. Then she fixed me again with a piercing look. “Why didn’t you come forward with this information before?”
“I couldn’t, High Priestess,” I said, trying to sound surprised at the question, which of course, I knew was coming. “I was away on Tracker business at Skye Príosún when this all started, and when I got back, I was so sick that I couldn’t even leave my room. I went straight to Fiona this afternoon to tell her about it, and that’s when we got summoned to this meeting.”
Celeste narrowed her eyes at me, but if she thought any part of my answer was bullshit, she didn’t call me out on it. Instead, she sighed, gestured for Scribe MacEnney to take her seat again, and resumed her solitary place at the podium.
“As you can all see, we have made some progress in understanding what is happening in the courtyard, but there are still many unanswered questions. I am not yet confident we know enough to take this matter to the International High Council,” she said.
Behind her, Siobhán and Kiera exchanged an exasperated look. Renewed muttering through the hall made it clear that this decision was not popular. Patricia Lightfoot, I noticed, was barely repressing a smirk, which struck me as odd. Karen seemed to have noticed it, too. She was glaring at Patricia with narrowed eyes.
“High Priestess, if you please, couldn’t the International High Council help with this matter?” A young Durupinen rose to her feet now, looking positively terrified to speak in front of such a large group of people. It was Frankie York, a Durupinen Apprentice and first-generation Gateway whom Savvy had helped mentor through the rocky transition to accepting her gifts. “Surely if our own resources have been exhausted in understanding what’s happening to Savvy, then the International High Council is the next step.”
Celeste’s voice as she spoke to Frankie was firm, but not unkind. “Thank you for that input, Miss York. I know that Savannah is very important to you, as your mentor and friend. I promise you, she is important to me, too. But the International High Council is a law unto itself. If we involve them in this private Northern Clan matter, all control of the situation will be removed from our Council. We will have no say, no autonomy to handle the situation as we choose. We relinquish all hope of making what we feel are the best decisions for Savannah.”
“But if we’re out of answers…”
“The International High Council will not give us answers. They will leave us in the dark. We have worked so hard over the centuries to remove ourselves from the reach of that body, and I will not see us back at its mercy simply because we let fear cloud reason.”
Milo leaned in. “Sounds like she’s the one letting fear cloud reason,” he murmured to me.
Milo was right. If the real goal was to understand what was happening, and to protect Savvy, then why weren’t we asking for help from everywhere, using every possible resource? Who cared if the International High Council took over? What did it matter who was in charge? Unless the actual first goal was to maintain power, at the expense of truth and safety? What if Celeste, new to her role as High Priestess, was more concerned with asserting her authority than with doing the right thing for Savvy? For all of us?
I didn’t want to believe it, but as I gazed at the stern, almost truculent look on Celeste’s face, I couldn’t help but think it might be true. Finvarra had made the same mistake in the run-up to the Prophecy, refusing to acknowledge the possibility that the Necromancers might be a threat. I wouldn’t have thought Celeste vulnerable to that same weakness—I guess I was wrong.
Many on the Council were nodding along, eager, it seemed, to keep this matter off the radar of the International High Council, but I could spot dissent as well. Fiona, for one, was shaking her head, her expression grim. Catriona was gnawing anxiously on one fingernail, looking generally disgusted with the proceedings. Kiera merely looked tired and bewildered, as though she really didn’t know what would be the best thing to do, and just wanted someone to reassure her that everything was going to be all right. Hannah caught my eye, and I read the same disappointment in her expression that I felt inside myself.
The one tiny glimmer of good news I could find in this mess was the fact that it might buy me some time. One of the three people I had to deliver Agnes’ words to was the International High Priestess he
rself. Celeste’s hesitation to involve them might mean that I had the chance to get there first, to head off the confusion, to control the narrative.
“I am not interested,” Celeste began again, raising her voice so that it echoed around the hall and silenced the chatter, “in discussing the matter further. It is my decision when and how to involve the International High Council. We shall do so when I deem it appropriate, and not before. Now, moving forward, I am asking everyone to continue acting with discretion. This must continue to remain a matter for the Northern Clans alone. Some of our Scribes, including Scribe MacEnney, will be leaving tomorrow morning for Skye Príosún. They will take full advantage of the resources at the Catacomb Archives to further research the situation in the courtyard, and I have the greatest faith that they will soon uncover the nature of the Geatgrima’s connection with Savannah, and therefore how to intervene appropriately. In the meantime, we must remain vigilant of—”
A loud and prolonged squeak interrupted Celeste’s words as one of the massive doors to the entrance hall opened inward. Every head turned in time to see a woman enter, flanked on either side by a Caomhnóir, and wearing a smart blue suit and an insufferably smug smile upon her face.
Marion Clark.
The place went into an immediate uproar. The Caomhnóir were shifting around looking for instructions as the leadership hastily ran around to find each other and confer. Members of the Council were standing and shouting, pointing accusatory fingers at her. Members of the assembly were all craning their heads and standing up to get a better look at her, some whispering to each other, others shouting words of welcome or derision.
Marion, being Marion, soaked it all in like a welcome breath of fresh air. The woman thrived on self-induced drama the way the rest of the population thrived on oxygen.
“Well, well, well,” she said when the room had fallen into a quiet muttering. “What a greeting. I really ought to get myself banished a little more often. It makes a girl feel so special.”
She strode down the aisle with all the confidence of royalty, pausing to shake several hands before stopping about halfway to the Council platform. “Please do excuse the interruption. I had rather farther to travel to answer the summons, and the traffic was just hideous.”
Celeste finally seemed to recover herself from the shock of seeing Marion within the castle walls. She drew herself up and replied in her most commanding of tones. “I’m afraid what you need to excuse is not your interruption, but your very presence. You have been banished from this castle for insubordination and treason. What are you doing here? Explain yourself please, so that we can fully understand the meaning of this visit before I have you promptly escorted back out.”
Marion clicked her tongue. “Tsk, tsk, Celeste. Your rise to the High Priestesshood has rendered you a bit touchy, it seems.” She took several more steps toward the benches, but a line of Caomhnóir fell into ranks before her, blocking the steps and causing her to pause where she stood.
“I am not in the habit of repeating myself,” Celeste said coolly. “Nevertheless, I will give you one more opportunity to explain yourself. What are you doing here?”
“My clan was summoned to give representation at this meeting,” Marion replied, her eyes widening innocently. “As were all of the oldest clans.”
“That invitation was sent to your daughter Peyton, not to you,” Celeste said, “or did you not bother to read it properly?”
“Yes, but my daughter is unable to attend,” Marion replied. “She is recovering, you see, having recently given birth to my first grandchild. A girl, in fact.”
I felt my jaw drop. I’d completely forgotten that Peyton had been expecting a baby, though I’d seen her at Róisín’s wedding several months before, round-bellied and supremely smug in a rose-colored bridesmaid dress. Not that I’d been expecting to be invited to a baby shower or anything, but the news still felt like a blow out of nowhere. As I absorbed the shock, all around me there arose an obligatory flurry of excitement at this news. The news of a child was always traditionally cause for celebration, particularly in a culture that was so focused on maintaining the continuation of bloodlines. But the birth of a girl was met with even more fanfare, given the potential to carry on the Gateway. Courtesy bound Celeste to respond accordingly.
“Please allow me to extend Fairhaven’s deepest congratulations to the rest of your clan on this happiest of events,” Celeste said, her lips barely parting to allow the words to escape. “And of course we understand why your daughter could not join us. However, your clan is not limited to you and your daughter. Alternate representation ought to have been agreed upon by your clan.”
“It was,” Marion said, spreading her arms in a presentational gesture. “Given the seriousness of events transpiring here, my clan did not feel comfortable sending anyone less experienced than a former Council member. And so here I am.”
“Your clan does not have the right or power to overlook your banishment from these grounds,” Celeste said, her voice rising now. “Your very presence here is an affront to the Council and our laws. Unless you choose to remove yourself this instant, I will see to it that you are escorted in the swiftest possible manner not just from the castle, but from the grounds as well.”
“Yes, I thought you might say that,” Marion said, still, inexplicably, smiling, “which is why I am lodging a formal request to have my banishment reviewed by the International High Council.”
Again, an uproar ensued. But, I noticed, not everyone looked surprised to hear Marion’s pronouncement. Up in the benches, Patricia Lightfoot was smiling down on the proceedings like she’d just found her favorite show on television, and she wasn’t the only one. I spied many of Marion’s former cronies smirking and smiling both in the benches and amongst the crowd. What the hell was going on here? Had this been planned?
But beside me, Karen had figured it out. She leaned in toward me and whispered in my ear, “Do you see what she’s done?”
“You mean besides thrown a stick of dynamite into this meeting and completely derailed it?” I whispered back.
“Well, yes, but it’s more than that. This is a power play,” Karen said.
“Everything Marion does is a power play,” Milo pointed out.
“Yes, but she’s taken a huge gamble this time, and I think it might just pay off,” Karen said. “By appealing directly to Havre de Gardiennes, she’s—”
“Hold on, what’s Havre de Gardiennes?” I asked.
“It’s the home of the High Priestess of the International High Council, the oldest seat of Durupinen power,” Karen explained. “And by involving the leadership there, Marion’s got Celeste completely cornered.”
“How—?” I asked, but Celeste was speaking again, and I broke off to listen.
“You do, of course, have every right to appeal,” Celeste said, in a valiant show of keeping a grip on one’s patience, “as indeed you were informed when your banishment was instated. That appeal does not entitle you to re-enter the castle in the meantime. My order that you vacate the grounds stands, and I highly recommend you heed it.”
“And I highly recommend you reconsider,” Marion replied, the steel glinting in her tone now, all trace of friendly banter gone, “before you find yourself in rather an awkward predicament.”
Celeste bristled. “Explain yourself at once, and do not dare trifle with me, Marion.”
Marion’s shrugged. “I’ve simply come as a courtesy to you, High Priestess. I’ve brought a copy of the appeal request with me, for your records. It is identical to the one that one of my Caomhnóir is on his way to hand-deliver to the International High Priestess herself.”
Celeste’s face suddenly looked to be carved of stone. Her hand closed over the edge of the lectern, her knuckles tense and white.
“Of course, I felt it prudent to explain exactly why this was a critical moment for my clan to be duly represented at Fairhaven, and so I included a detailed description of the current situation as it stands,
” Marion said. She stood silent for a few moments, relishing the effect of these words on Celeste and the rest of the Council.
“All those who have been privy to the situation at Fairhaven have been instructed not to breathe a word of it outside the walls of this castle,” Celeste replied, and though her voice was quiet, it was fierce with anger.
Marion’s eyebrows rose in a look of mock innocence. “Is that so? It seems someone’s been rather naughty, then.”
“From whom did you learn of the goings-on at Fairhaven?” Celeste asked.
My eyes shot straight to Patricia Lightfoot, whose face was the picture of passive disinterest, before returning to Marion.
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,” Marion replied, shaking her head regretfully. “But I must say I’m rather surprised at you, Celeste, keeping the truth of what’s been going on at the castle from the general clan membership and the international leadership as well. I can’t imagine they’d have much faith in your continued reign if they knew.”
There it was. Check and mate. Celeste knew it as well. I could see the internal conversation happening inside her head as though she were speaking the words aloud. If she sent Marion away from the castle, Marion would be sure that the International High Council was told all about Savvy and the Geatgrima, and Celeste would surely be raked over the coals for having kept it a secret. On the other hand, if she caved to Marion’s blackmail and allowed her to stay, even temporarily, she would be publicly humiliated and subject both herself and the rest of us to whatever machinations Marion could orchestrate while within the castle walls. And there was no doubt that, if Marion was allowed to stay, she would waste not a single moment to regain what power and influence she could muster. She was not going to get another opportunity like this, and she knew it. And so now Celeste had to decide; would she rather face the wrath of the International High Council, or take her chances with Marion back in the castle.
I watched the decision form on her face, watched her arrange her features carefully before she spoke. “Very well, Marion. I do not deny that all clans should have the chance to weigh in on what is happening here, as it will surely affect us all. I do not approve of the manner in which you have chosen to make your case for appeal, but you are entitled to make it. If you agree to delay your correspondence to the International High Council until such time as I am prepared to brief them on the happenings here at Fairhaven, I will allow you to represent your clan at these meetings on a temporary basis. The matter of permanently lifting your banishment can be decided when we’ve weathered the storm of whatever is brewing in the courtyard. Does this arrangement suit you?”