Spark and Sorrow

by Rachel A. Marks

  Hunger stirs deep in my chest.

  I hear whispers over me—Sister Tamar and Sister Lydia talking about the Reverend Mother and Sister Agnus. I keep my eyes closed, listening.

  “I don't think this will go well for her,” Lydia says. “The Reverend Mother is very angry this time. Agnus went too far.”

  “Sister Agnus is determined. She wrote to Rome, claiming the abbess has allowed evil to permeate the abbey. That the girl is chaos in the order and that Mother Catherine allows her too much rope.”

  “The girl is troublesome, but I don't believe she’s evil. I just don't understand why she’s still with us. She's past seventeen years. A hunter or an envoy should have fetched her back to her own kin long before now.”

  “They leave her because she’s broken, likely. Even the gods of Erin don’t wish to have anything to do with her.”

  “No, that’s too cruel, Tamar.”

  “The old gods are cruel, sister.”

  The Reverend Mother comes into the room, shooing the sisters away, telling them to go ready themselves for sext none, the fourth service of the day.

  Once they've slipped out, I open my eyes.

  My torque is on the small wooden table beside my bed. Along with several bloody rags. My power is humming just under the surface of my skin in anticipation, as if it senses the possibility of freedom.

  “You’ve healed well over the last few hours, I see,” Mother Catherine says. “Sit up so I can look at you, child, I know you’re able.”

  I hold in my power and obey hesitantly, clutching the sheet to my chest as I roll over and slowly sit up. My bones still ache, but now it’s from the healing. I'm thankful that I was unaware for most of the process. It can be excruciating when things mend quickly.

  I glance over at my abandoned torque and touch my bare neck. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the warmth of my powers sliding over my skin, been so long since I’ve had full healing ability. I marvel at my mended fingers.

  Mother Catherine moves the sheet to examine my side. She presses at the bruised skin, apparently unconcerned with my current freedom.

  My hunger twists and rises at her touch, a hallow pang, deep and aching. I hold my breath, trying not to let it rise—I haven’t fed properly in so long—but I keep the need gripped tight. Though my power, my fire, tends to force its own will when I’m weakened, protecting me when I’m unable to protect myself, when and who I feed on is the one thing in my life I’ve always had control over.

  “I believe you had a broken rib, perhaps two,” she says. “It’s why I took off your torque. But you seem to be mending well enough now.” She offers me a plate of oat cakes. “You’ll need to eat quite a bit, though, if you’re wanting to regain your energy.”

  I take one, thankful, gobbling it down in two quick bites before I grab three more.

  “That evil beast should be gutted and pecked at by ravens,” I mutter as I chew, my focus returning to anger.

  Mother Catherine huffs out a breath and hands me a wooden cup. “Nonsense. You would blanch at such a sight.”

  I hold up a hand, letting a small spark of my power loose. “Well, then I wish her to burn.” A small flame rises from my fingers.

  “Hush.” She shakes her head, looking exasperated as she shoos at my fire. “You, young one, need to guard yourself better. You speak out of spite. Control yourself. Wherever you go, it's always going to end badly if you continue such patterns. Put away anger or you’ll lose yourself to it, child.”

  I pull my power back inside my skin, feeling chastised. “Sister Agnus is evil.”

  “And according to her, you are evil as well. Who is right, who is wrong? It's all a racket of hypocrisy to God. He would wish for you to live well. To let go of your hatred, your fear, and choose forgiveness and kindness.”

  I move away from her. “Your god doesn’t care about me.”

  She clucks her tongue. “He cares for all things. Even foolish girls like you.” She picks up the heavy metal torque from the table and cradles it in her lap. “Now, come closer so that we can protect you from yourself.”

  I watch her fingers play at the latch and I swallow hard. I could overpower her, I could run. With my powers free, there may be a way to get through the blocking spell on the walls. Returning that thing to my neck is the last thing I want. It traps me, it keeps me starved, it allows Sister Agnus to torment me. I nearly melted my hands off trying to escape it.

  And I’m finally free of it.

  “You’ve given an oath to obey me, Lily,” Mother Catherine says, her voice lowering in warning. “You best do so.”

  I vividly recall the blood oath the envoy tricked me into the day I arrived here. It was real. It was deadly. But I was just a girl, ignorant of what it would mean. I didn't realize I’d be left here for so long. Far away from Lailoken. Trapped. Alone.

  “I see what goes on in that head,” Mother Catherine says, cutting through my thoughts. “No rebellion, now. I am not your enemy. This is for your safety, child.”

  “I'm not a child any longer.”

  “Oh, you may have the form of a woman, Lily, but you’re still very much a child. You grew up, hidden in the northern woods with that fool monk, Lailoken, until your mother had you in mystery for a time. And then you were brought into our humble world. Your whole life you’ve been protected from the truth of humanity. You’re ignorant of the stark evil of gods and men.”

  I think of Sister Agnus’s black eyes and vicious strength. I know evil. “I don't want to put that thing back on, Mother Catherine, please don't make me.” The warmth of my power stirs in my chest, my skin glowing in a slow pulse with my fear.

  “You could harm someone, and you know that.” She motions to the proof of her words; the steam escaping my skin.

  “I’d only ever feed off Sister Agnus,” I say only half teasing. “I’m sure she wouldn’t be missed.”

  Her voice rises in surprise. “Lily, that isn’t like you.”

  I give her a pleading look. “She plots against you, you know. You can’t trust her.”

  “Death is nothing to play at,” she says quietly. “You’ve a light in your spirit. But that would be snuffed out if you chose destruction.”

  Her words are so genuine—an echo of my thoughts when I stared down at the blood, at the shivering body of the bird.

  The heat in my chest fades to a dull ache. “I only wish to be free,” I say weakly.

  She nods, her eyes growing sad. “I understand. I am sorry, Lily. I’m unsure why an envoy hasn’t come to fetch you yet. But I know your mother’s House means to teach you to control your powers, your spirit, and you must wait until that is fully in hand.”

  “They’ve abandoned me,” I say, my voice cracking with emerging tears.

  Is the goddess testing me? Tormenting me? I was told I’d been with her in the Otherworld for nearly three years before coming here, but I have very little memory of it. The last thing I clearly remember is telling Lailoken I was going to fetch some berries.

  They said it was the crossing over from one world to the next that took much of it from me. But I don’t even recall my mother’s face, her touch. I don’t recall if she said goodbye before leaving me on the moors to be discovered by a fearful shepherd at sunrise.

  I do have a vague recollection of her, but only pieces—the sweet smell of her energy, her lips tipping as she listened to the birds sing, the light hitting her scarlet hair, the heat on my skin as flames came to life in her hands. But a part of me feels as if I made it all up. An impossible dream.

  The one thing I have no doubt in is the sound of her voice in the flames.

  A new longing fills me, thinking of it. It’s been so long since I’ve heard her speak to me. I'm not allowed to tend the fires anymore. I’m not even allowed that.

  Mother Catherine dares to place her hand on my lap, trying to comfort. But her body turns stiff, her touch unsure now as she presents me with my torque.

  “Choose hope, child,” she says
, moving my hair out of the way so she can place my chains on me. “The old gods won't leave you among us for much longer.” She lifts the iron ring and rests it on my nape, then bends the two ends back into place, bringing them together.

  I swallow the tears that rise into my throat and tip my head, my insides warring, turning cold as I follow my oath and obey, allowing her to lock it tight.

  The latch grinds into place, the numbness returning. And I lay back on the bed, closing my eyes, helpless once more.

  *

  When I awaken again, I rise and wander through the back of the abbey, out into the sun. I walk towards the oak, to the spot where the bird fell. But the body’s gone, only blood left behind in the grass.

  I slide my fingers over the wide trunk of the tree, letting the edges of the bark scrape my skin.

  “I can’t stay here any longer,” I say to the great oak, as if it can hear me. But I’m no child of the god Cernunnos to speak to growing things—I am no one’s child anymore. I’m simply needing to say the words aloud. I’m done with these human walls, with the stone statues and muttered prayers. I don’t know how to be gone from here, but my days of being silent are over.

  I make my way farther along the path in the grasses, all the way to the wall, to the spot I aimed for earlier. My arrow is still protruding from the thick rose stock. There’s no satisfaction at the sight. I pass the shaft and walk along the stone wall, the roses and ivy climbing the surface brushing against my arm.

  The leaves rustle up ahead. My steps pause.

  A whisper threads into the air. What’s it saying. Was that my name?

  Lily . . .

  I step closer to the voice, listening, trying to see who’s speaking.

  The whisper comes again. From the wall. Followed by the flapping of tiny wings.

  My fingers shake as I move one of the larger climbing vines, peeking inside the ivy.

  A bird nestles just beyond. Tucked in the thorns, framed by a hole in the stone wall.

  The bird is slate grey with a black beak.

  My pulse stutters.

  I can’t tell what I’m seeing. It can’t be right. No. This can’t be the same bird. That creature is—

  It turns its head, as if showing me the small spot on its neck where its feathers are missing. Where my arrow grazed the throat.

  The ghost bird titters out a song at the sky. And the meaning rises in me, Why do you wander in shadow?

  Confusion coils in my gut. I’m finally going mad.

  My Queen, why do you remain here? Why do you allow the humans power?

  The words linger in the air for a moment, My Queen…

  Yes, as a daughter born of the great goddess Brighid, I’m a queen. But… only to my own kind. To the fae. “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Your power must grow, you must break the chains that bind you.

  “I can’t,” I say, miserable.

  Yes, yes, you must. Come, follow. Follow us.

  It doesn’t seem to understand. “I’m powerless here. Trapped. I can’t leave.”

  The hunt begins, it continues, ignoring my protest. You must break your chains and join us on the hunt.

  I decide to take a different tack since the bird seems to not be listening. “What do you hunt?”

  A human prince! It squawks. A most handsome prince!

  That seems an odd thing to chase. Lailoken always used to lecture me about wandering in the wood, saying that fae hunted lost souls and unfortunate travelers that strayed from the path. He never mentioned them seeking out human royalty. “Why a prince?”

  A wicked prince. A shiny, wicked prince whose kin now owe our teeth satisfaction. Our master cursed their bones. They broke our trust, they did. So, we capture their meat, something to eat.

  “Oh.”

  And you must come—you’ll lead the way!

  I sigh.

  He is a boy most fair, the bird reminds me, as if trying to tempt me. Soon he’ll have sparks of gold in his hair. You’ll cook him ripe as a goose, let us nibble here and there. Won’t you?

  “That’s horrible.” I shiver.

  Yes, it says, satisfied at the thought. Come along and you will see.

  “I told you, I cannot follow. I’m trapped here. This torque holds my powers tight in my skin—I can’t even climb this wall. There’s a spell in the stone to keep me inside.”

  Foolish notion. This cage is but a human dream. The key to unlock it is inside you, My Queen.

  I stare at the bird, my whole body going still.

  “Key?” The key is inside of me? Could that be true? Or perhaps the bird is a trickster.

  This creature, a creature that dies and then returns isn’t from the world of humans. It could only be from the gods and the ancient Order, trickster or otherwise. “What are you?” I ask, my voice weak. This bird’s presence may not be a simple fae trick. The power of the Otherworld may have finally come to fetch me.

  Who and what, come and see. It pecks at one of the thorns, then continues, Prick your finger and be free.

  My gaze moves to the thorny vines, and I realize with stark clarity: “The key is my blood.”

  Blood red and spirit gold, breaks the spell that holds you. It hops from its perch to a closer vine and pecks at another thorn as its song grows more excited. Follow, follow, come and see.

  My hands tingle, a buzz beginning to warm my chest as my power responds, trying, and failing, to escape the prison of my skin.

  I could be free. I could at last leave this wretched place.

  Before I can question the choice or think twice, I reach out, pressing my fingertip to one of the sharp nettles. The pain is nothing as the blood pearls up and a red drop slides down the curve of the thorn. Then it drips onto the stone of the wall.

  A crack breaks the silence, like glass crunching to dust. And the trapping spell unravels before my eyes, a gold mist lifting into the air.

  My legs shake as I watch the small hole in the wall begin to grow. The stones grind together, twisting and rolling away, creating a doorway, revealing a path into the dense woods beyond, the opening gaping like a widening mouth.

  I marvel at the simplicity of it, elation and fear swirling in my gut.

  Before I step through, into the unknown.

  THREE

  Lost

  I make my way down a thin path through the underbrush, my feet sinking into the thick bracken and mud. The forest floor dampens my skirts and chills my ankles. But I feel only relief. Joy. This is the loveliest cold there ever was.

  Heavenly. Free.

  Now all I need to do is to escape this torque and find my way home. North, to Caledonia, to my guardian Lailoken.

  Mother Catherine would say I’m being reckless, traipsing out into unknown human territory, but I don’t care—even so, I can almost hear her on the wind, scolding me, Foolish girl, what do you think you’re doing? You have no understanding of the outside world.

  And why is that, Mother Catherine? Perhaps because I’ve been bound behind one church wall or another half my remembered life? Since I was taken from Lailoken I’ve been a constant prisoner. Always trapped. Always controlled. But I won’t be kept hidden any longer.

  My determination to move forward—to find my pines again, my field of purple cornflowers, of bluebells and daffodils—it rises with each step, making me walk faster, as if I might escape Mother Catherine’s pretend scolding.

  The ghost bird still flutters ahead in the shadowy branches. I won’t know if it’s heading in a northerly direction until I’m no longer beneath these trees. I need to get a better look at the sun. I’m fairly certain I’m in the south, but I’m not sure how far south. Could I be as far as Wessex? Gods, what a horrible thought. I should look for a clearing.

  “Where are you going?” I ask the spirit bird.

  Follow, follow, on we go. To the hunt, with root and stem we’ll find him. The human prince has been condemned.

  We’re back to that again. I don’t care about a prince, human
or otherwise. But it appears whatever entity this spirit is tied to, it’s up to something horrible. I certainly don’t want to get mixed up with it. “I’m so very grateful you set me free,” I say, cautiously. There’s no need to upset the creature. “And, while I appreciate the invitation for the . . . uh, hunt, I confess I have no time. I truly must go home.”

  The bird screeches loudly, obviously frustrated. And then it sings in scratchy notes, Home, home, you have no home. Forever you will be alone.

  I stop walking, my gut churning. “Hush. Be nice.”

  But its song only grows louder, filtering up into the bowers above, over and over. Forever you will be alone. Until it zips up a rise, disappearing through a cluster of ash trees, out of sight.

  Tears sting my eyes, but I ignore them. “Good riddance,” I mutter.

  While the bird may have helped break the spell, it was clearly a trickster. But I won’t regret listening to it. I’m outside those horrible walls, aren’t I?

  The trees grow thin up ahead, and a small clearing comes into view. It’s scattered with moss-coated rocks and heavy roots that cling to the edges of the hollow, creating a twisted circle. A larger, flat stone lies in the middle, between me and a thick line of ash and thorn just ahead.

  I move to the center of the clearing, near the larger rock, and look up, trying to see the position of the sun.

  I search the sky, stepping backwards—

  My foot catches on a root, the ground rising to meet me.

  Pain shoots through my skull, my temple striking the large stone with a thwack. A curse escapes my throat.

  I reach up to cradle my head, trying to gather my wits. Slick warm blood coats my palm instantly as it spreads into my hairline and slides down to my chin, quickly beginning an insistent drip into the moss.

  What foolishness. I should have—

  The ground trembles. A hum traveling up my spine, my arms.

  I go still, focusing.

  It pulses again, more insistent.

  And the scent of rotting flesh fills the air around me.

  Fear lights in my chest. I try to rise, the pain in my head forgotten. My heart pounds harder, joining the thrum in the mossy earth, merging with the beat coursing through my surroundings, harder and harder, crashing against my insides, thundering in my bones within moments. As if the forest floor were a drum being played by the gods.