by Mark Henwick
Tara disappeared and I felt her settle into my mind, neither happy nor unhappy, but satisfied with the way it had gone.
There were whispers behind me, spreading quickly out from the churchyard, jumping from house to house. Lights began to come on.
You lit a flame, Tara said. I wonder how it’ll burn.
It will burn, or their children will die, Ash said.
“You must go back, Ash,” I said to the night. “I have unbound you. You’re the soultree of the Threefold Spiral Coven again.”
I am, but I may also be with you.
“I can’t pay the price. For all my words, Ash, I’m not sure I could do it again. Three innocent young lives in exchange for using your power.”
Think on these three things, Amber Ó Fearghail. Think on their claim to innocence. No Ó Súileabháin child who put their bloodied hand on me and spoke the words was innocent.
The fog was gathering thickly again now, blown in off the Atlantic in great banks, like waves crashing against the headland.
Think on what would have happened if you hadn’t used my power.
I thought.
There was silence but for my steps.
“You said three things.”
Think on my belief that it was my sacrifice to use your power, and not yours to use mine.
“Huh?”
But Ash was gone.