Heart of the Rebellion

by E. E. Holmes

“My deepest thanks to you all for answering my Call,” she said in a soft, but wholly commanding voice. A shocking burst of cold swept through the tower, making everyone gasp, as every spirit pressed in closer to raptly follow her words. “I am grateful for your help,” Hannah continued. “All of our clans are grateful for your help. You are free to go, with our abiding gratitude.”

  With an audible whoosh, as though a great psychic blade were cutting the strings on thousands of balloons, the spirits found themselves suddenly untethered from my sister, and began to float and fly away, drifting further and further through the walls of the tower out into the night, free to roam the world again.

  Hannah turned and took me in from head to foot as though checking to see if I were injured, and then pulling me into the fiercest of hugs. Her entire body was shaking and cold, but the tears against my cheek were hot. Her hands dug painfully into my back.

  “Oh, thank God,” Hannah sobbed against my cheek. “Thank God you’re all right. You are all right, aren’t you?” She pulled back from me and stared into my face. “I am so mad at you!” she cried, her face crumpling into a fierce scowl. “Why didn’t you get out of there? What do you think I would do if I lost you?” She pushed me away from her with an angry little shove but then immediately caught at my shirt again and pulled me back toward her and crushed me against her again in a hug even fiercer than the last.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to her. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Thank you for doing that for me.”

  “You’re one of the only people I would do that for,” Hannah hissed. “I shouldn’t have. I almost lost control. It was reckless, it was—”

  “No, I was reckless,” I cut her off. “You were incredible. I could feel you. I could feel your control. You have better command of that gift than you would ever believe.”

  Hannah narrowed her eyes at me, and I could tell that she was trying to decide whether or not to believe me, but then seemed to decide that she didn’t care. She pulled me into one last hug, a hug that went from warm to bitingly cold as Milo threw himself on top of us, sobbing uncontrollably. He was mumbling something through his tears. I could make out the word “sweetness,” and the words “heart attack,” and then at least six or seven curse words, but that was all the sense that I could get out of it. But it was enough to know that I heartily agreed with the sentiment.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and pulled myself out of the embrace just enough to turn around and see Catriona looking at me. A hundred questions flashed across her face, but there was no time to answer any of them.

  “I need your help,” I whispered to her.

  “My office,” she muttered back. “Now.”

  12

  Game Plan

  THE DOOR HAD BARELY CLOSED behind us when Catriona whirled around and fixed the full intensity of her gaze upon me. It wasn’t a glare, necessarily, but she wasn’t exactly capable of a truly sympathetic look, not in her current state of agitation. Or maybe ever.

  “Okay,” she said bluntly. “What the hell happened down there?”

  I tried to marshall my racing thoughts. The moments following the destruction of the Léarscáil had passed in a frantic blur. Because she was the most senior member of the Council present, Catriona had been able to issue the orders that sent everyone flying off in different directions. She sent the other Council members to round up their sisters and gather in the Council room for a briefing. She sent the majority of the Caomhnóir back to the barracks to wait for orders. She sent Seamus to the top of the North Tower to report to Celeste and inform her of what had happened. And finally, she asked Hannah and Milo to go to the hospital wing and wait for me there. Only two Caomhnóir had remained behind to remove Moira’s broken and battered body from the tower and whisk it off to the hospital ward. What would become of it there, I did not know, and I did not ask. I couldn’t even bear to look back at her as Catriona pulled me by my uninjured arm out of the tower room and dragged me off to the Tracker office.

  “It’s this,” I told her, and I pulled Moira’s crumpled piece of parchment from the back pocket of my jeans and spread it on the desk in front of us. Catriona squinted down at it, then cursed, and pulled a pair of cat’s eye reading glasses from an inside pocket of her leather jacket. She thrust them onto her nose and examined the paper.

  “What is this?” she asked me sharply. “What am I looking at here? Am I supposed to be able to make sense of this?”

  “This is what Moira was working on when she was killed,” I said, barely able to say the last word without emotion swallowing up my voice entirely. “It’s the Léarscáil map, and the pencil marks are showing the path of the pendulum just now when it was crazy.”

  Catriona’s eyes widened. “Are you telling me she actually made sense of this?” she asked, waving a hand over the utter chaos of lines and numbers and markings that crowded the page.

  “Yes,” I told her. “I know it seems like the pendulum was just completely out of control, but Moira said that it was a shift in spirit energy that caused it, and this is the paper she used to figure out what that was. She said the source of the chaos was here.” And I tapped my finger on the big red X she had scrawled in the center of the page.

  “It’s… Scotland, isn’t it?” Catriona asked, leaning closer to the page so that she could make out the details of the map beneath all the scribbling. “You say that something in Scotland is causing all of this chaos?”

  “Not just anywhere in Scotland,” I said, my heart beginning to thunder in my chest. “She narrowed it down to one particular place in Scotland. The Isle of Skye.”

  Catriona’s face jerked up and she stared at me over the top of her glasses. “The Isle of Skye?” she repeated in a whisper.

  “Yes,” I whispered back. “And you and I both know there’s only one place in the Isle of Skye that could attract such a chaotic spiritual event.”

  “The príosún,” Catriona mouthed, no sound escaping her lips.

  I nodded. “The príosún.”

  If there was one other person in Fairhaven Hall that could truly comprehend the dangers and implications of trouble at a place like the Skye Príosún, it was the woman now standing next to me, her face awash in horror. Not only did she have to travel back-and-forth to the place for her work, but her own cousin Lucida had been imprisoned there since she had betrayed the Durupinen and helped the Necromancers bring about the Prophecy.

  “What about Fiona? She’s meant to be back already. Have you seen her yet? What did she say?” Catriona cried.

  “She isn’t back,” I said. “Seamus told me that communication from the príosún has gone dark, and that Fiona missed her escort back to the castle. He was explaining to me that they were looking into it, but that was the moment that all hell broke loose down at the Léarscáil, and we didn’t have a chance to talk about it any further.”

  What little color there was in Catriona’s face drained away, leaving her complexion milky, her features looking remarkably younger in the grip of fear. “This is it, then,” she said softly. “This is your prophecy, isn’t it? It’s begun.”

  I took a deep breath, and then nodded my head. “It has to be,” I said. “It’s too much of a coincidence. A spiritual shift at the príosún so big that it tears a centuries-old Léarscáil from its path and destroys it? This has to be what my drawings have been warning me about. There’s just no other explanation.”

  Catriona stared at me, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. We were out of time.

  Catriona blinked, pulling her gaze away from mine, and then ran her fingers frantically through her mane of golden hair. “Okay,” she muttered to herself. “Okay, okay, okay.” Her head snapped up suddenly, startling me as she locked eyes with me again fiercely. “Who else has seen this? This map, have you shown it to anyone else?”

  “Seamus has seen it. He knows that Moira had it in her hand right before the pendulum…” I swallowed the rest of the image along with a strong desire
to be ill.

  “But does he know what it means?” Catriona continued sharply. “Did you explain it to him?”

  “No,” I said. “He knows I grabbed the paper, and he knows that Moira was using it to figure out what was happening with the Léarscáil, but he doesn’t know what her work means, or that it has anything to do with the príosún.”

  Catriona expelled a relieved breath and began pacing like a caged animal. “Okay,” she said again. “Okay, well that’s something. We can’t let anyone know what it means. That’s crucial.”

  “But…” I cast desperately around for a different conclusion, but could find none. “This is it, isn’t it? I can’t conceal the prophecy anymore. I have to tell them. I have to tell them that I’m a Seer. There’s no other way.”

  “No,” Catriona said, shaking her head fiercely. “No, not yet. Not if we can avoid it.”

  “But how can we avoid it?” I went on. “Look, I have no desire to tell them that I’ve been hiding this prophecy from them, but what choice do we have? Something really dangerous is happening right now at the príosún, and if we don’t warn them, then we are as good as aiding and abetting the enemy, aren’t we?”

  “We are not handing your Seer abilities over to that Council!” Catriona practically shouted. She closed her eyes to gather herself, and continued in a hushed but intense tone. “For all our expertise in the spirit world, for all we take our calling extremely seriously, we have never learned to deal with the powerful outliers in our sisterhood. Over and over again, we have punished our own for daring to be born with powerful gifts. Just look at what they did to you, to your sister. Look at what they’ve done to Fiona’s mother, and to Lucida. Now, I’m not saying that Lucida isn’t partly to blame for what’s become of her. She gave in to temptation, and she made poor choices, and she has to live with the consequences of those choices. I accept that, and I think she does now, too. But the fact remains that if the Northern Clans had not treated Lucida like a science experiment rather than one of their own beloved sisters, she never would’ve been tempted in the first place, and those choices would never have presented themselves to her. Why, even your own ancestor, Agnes Isherwood, who made the most terrible prophecy of our very long history, was tortured by the responsibility of her power. She was forced to step down from her High Priestesshood because of the pressure that the rest of the Durupinen thrust upon her to see more clearly, to provide more details, to save them from a fate that was hundreds and hundreds of years away. Just look at the way they still treat your sister! Even though the prophecy has passed, even though the threat of a Caller died when the Prophecy was thwarted, they are still half-terrified of your sister and what she can do. Hell, I’m still half-terrified of her, and I grew up with a Caller for the other half of my Gateway! The fact is, that if we tell them you are a Seer, you will never know another moment’s peace. No. There’s got to be another way to warn them.”

  There was a soft knock on the door, and Catriona and I both whirled around, hearts hammering. With a flick of her wrist, Catriona flipped Moira’s parchment upside down, hiding the markings upon it, and slid a book on top of it to obscure it.

  “Who is it?” she barked.

  “It’s Hannah,” came my sister’s frightened voice. “Can I come in?”

  “Are you alone?” Catriona asked.

  “I have Milo with me,” Hannah said. “But no one else.”

  “Come in, then, and be quick about it,” Catriona said.

  Hannah slipped quickly through the door, Milo right on her heels, and closed it behind her. Her complexion was pale and clammy, and there were deep circles under her eyes. The Calling had left her weak and exhausted.

  “Are you okay?” Hannah and I asked each other at exactly the same time. Hannah’s mouth curved into a little smile. “I’m fine,” she assured me. “Just a little tired.”

  “Mrs. Mistlemoore just checked her out,” Milo told me. “Hannah thought I was overreacting, but I insisted. I can be pretty persuasive when I need to be.”

  “Persuasive and annoying are not the same thing,” Hannah muttered to him, rolling her eyes. “I told you I was fine.”

  Milo shrugged unconcernedly. “Whine at me all you want, sweetness, but it’s my job to make sure that you’re taken care of. I did my job. End of discussion.”

  “Anyway,” Hannah said quellingly, “once Mrs. Mistlemoore had finished with me, she started patching up the other Caomhnóir who were down in the tower. But Celeste is going to want to see everyone in the Grand Council Room as soon as she’s finished, so that doesn’t leave us much time to figure out what to tell them.”

  Hannah gave me a knowing look, and I waved her off. “It’s okay,” I told her. “Catriona knows about the prophetic drawings. I’ve already told her.”

  Hannah’s mouth fell open. “You… you told her? But… now the whole Council will know!”

  “I can keep a secret, thank you very much,” Catriona said dryly. “The Council won’t be hearing a bloody thing from me.”

  “Our bigger problem is this,” I said, taking Moira’s paper from the desk and showing it to Hannah and Milo. “Moira tracked the source of the spiritual disturbance. It’s at the Skye Príosún, and it’s happening right now.”

  “But then…” Hannah looked back and forth between Catriona and me, still trying to process this new development. “What do we do?”

  A second knock sounded against the door, this one much more authoritative.

  “Who is it?” Catriona asked again.

  “It’s Seamus,” came a deep bark of a voice.

  Catriona gestured for me to hide the paper again, which I quickly did. “Come in, Seamus.”

  Seamus entered, moving gingerly to accommodate the fresh dressing of bandages wound around his middle.

  “I’ve come to let you know that the High Priestess wants to see you all in the Grand Council Room so that we can discuss what happened down in the Léarscáil,” he said.

  Catriona inclined her head. “Thank you. We’ll be right down. Are you all right?” she added, pointing to the dressings.

  “I’ll live,” Seamus said shortly. “But I’m going to need some stitching up. Would you be so kind as to pass this along to the High Priestess for me.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and held it out to her.

  “What is it?” Catriona asked, taking the envelope curiously.

  “It’s a message from Fiona,” Seamus said. “She has sent word that she will not be returning as previously discussed. She wished to see her mother safely settled at home, and to spend some time with her there. She expects to be back at Fairhaven in a week or so.”

  Catriona’s eyes darted quickly to me, and then back again. “Jessica told me that communication was down with Skye Príosún. Isn’t that where she was?”

  “Yes, but communication is back up now. Eamon has been in touch to say that they had some inclement weather, which knocked the power out, but they are up and running once again,” Seamus explained. “He was able to confirm that they arranged transportation for Fiona to her family home instead of back to Fairhaven, so all seems to be in order.”

  “Thank you, Seamus,” Catriona said, pressing her lips into a smile. “Go see to your injuries. And thank you for your bravery down in the Léarscáil.”

  Seamus gave a cursory bow and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  I rounded on Catriona at once. “That’s bullshit!” I cried.

  Catriona shushed me angrily. “Keep your voice down!”

  “There’s no way that Fiona went home! She would never leave me hanging when I’m expecting her back, especially for something as important as this! And I dreamed that she was calling for me. I heard her voice. I don’t know if it was a premonition or if she’s reaching out somehow, or what, but something’s up!”

  “It’s too much of a coincidence,” Hannah agreed. “An event at the príosún causes the Léarscáil to self-destruct, communication goes down, and suddenly Fiona is
making excuses and disappearing off to Scotland?”

  “Agreed,” Milo chimed in. “It sounds like the Caomhnóir at the príosún are covering something up—something they don’t want the Council to know about.”

  Catriona had begun pacing again. “We need to consider,” she said very carefully, “that the Caomhnóir at the príosún aren’t the only ones covering it up.”

  A stunned silence greeted these words. I was the first to break it.

  “You think some of the Fairhaven Caomhnóir are in on it,” I said quietly.

  Catriona gave a grim nod. “We cannot rule out that possibility. It may be too dangerous to let anyone here at the castle know what we suspect about the príosún.”

  “But… that’s just… Seamus? No way,” Milo stammered.

  “Not just Seamus. But yes, I think we must consider him under suspicion,” Catriona said.

  “Is… is that a likely possibility?” Hannah asked, her voice rising to a squeak.

  “Your former Caomhnóir obviously thought it was a possibility,” Catriona pointed out. She turned to me. “That’s why he sought you out, to warn you, isn’t it? Instead of simply confiding in another of his brothers from Fairhaven?”

  I swallowed, barely able to meet her eyes. “Partly,” I admitted. “I don’t think he ever considered that Seamus himself might be compromised, but he did tell me he wasn’t sure who he could trust.”

  “And that’s a remarkable statement for a Caomhnóir,” Catriona said. “Trust amongst the Caomhnóir Brotherhood is traditionally absolute.”

  “Well, I think we can agree that tradition is out the fucking window at this point,” Milo said, a hysterical edge to his voice. “We’re in uncharted territory here. The normal rules do not apply.”

  “Yes, there I agree with you,” Catriona said. “The normal rules do not apply. Normally, for example, I’d have no choice but to bring Jess’ prophetic drawings to the Council. But we’re not going to do that. We’re not going to say a word about them, because if the word gets out that you know so many details of the potential coup at Skye Príosún, the panic will be absolute, and word will almost certainly reach the Caomhnóir at the príosún. And if that happens, we have no chance of foiling their plans.”