The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4)

by Rebecca Lochlann

  * * * *

  Diorbhail was unsurprised by the violence of Morrigan’s dreams. “They show you what you need to remember. A witch, the men called you. And it’s true. A witch you were.”

  Morrigan stiffened. “I wasn’t!”

  “To them, you were something to fear. There was something about you the dream didn’t show. It’s no’ important why they thought what they did. Don’t you see? No matter how strong or wise a man is, no matter how much power he wields over others, he loses it all, his strength and his pride, in his need for the woman. He hates the way he’s drawn to her. For some men, she becomes a witch. A devil.”

  “A temptress,” Eleanor said.

  Diorbhail nodded. “That’s why those kind of men rape. It’s why they kill. ’Tis their way to defeat what they fear. It’s how they tell themselves they have no longing, no weakness, and that it’s not their fault. There are more of those men than you might realize, mistress. Some slaughter every last speck of tenderness they were born with. They no longer feel guilt, no matter what they do. They crave the pain they cause. We’re leaping towards a world where that is common. Someday, if that world comes, women will be the same as cattle or sheep, and there will be no succor anywhere.”

  Eleanor nodded. “Aye,” she said. “The more we accept the cages fashioned for us now, the easier it will be for that to happen.”

  “They blame us for their own weakness,” Morrigan said, pondering it.

  “There are men who rise beyond what they are taught, but many cannot… so woman is bound at the bottom of the sea, always looking up, never able to rise. It’s easier, you ken, to think of her as a witch who uses her body to trick and deceive. When all, men, women, and children, accept that a woman is evil, a whore in the making, then confining her is necessary, ‘for her own good.’ Guilt is smoothed over, and their fear ebbs.”

  Eleanor said, “I have two brothers. One is a surgeon, the other a priest. They are vastly different, and both have taught me many valuable lessons. My brother the priest liked to make me sit on a stool for hours, memorizing texts proclaiming the evil of women, how we single-handedly introduced sin into the world. The early Catholic leaders taught that women are paths to the Devil, created only to kneel, serve, and submit. One called us accidents, misbegotten men, made through illness or ill wind. They blame the crucifixion itself on women. Their fear and hatred is clear for those who look, who are not afraid to believe. My brother took it to heart. He liked to whip me until I bled, and force me to ask his forgiveness for the sins of the female. My other brother finally took me away. He and your husband knew each other, and eventually, I came here.”

  “But… it isn’t fair. We’ve done nothing.” Morrigan inwardly derided herself for complaining about fair play. She’d known better than to believe the world was fair before she turned five.

  “It’s their fear,” Eleanor said. “Fear they cannot purge, though they would laugh and deny it to hell and back if confronted.”

  They were quiet for a while, watching the fire, then Eleanor said, “When a woman turns evil, it’s almost always because of what was done to her by her father or some other man. More often than not that’s true for men, as well. Generations upon generations, passing along hatred, bitterness, torture.” She paused again, her brows lowered in thought. “When my brother was teaching me his craft in Edinburgh, we treated many who had been misused as children. I saw that such women, as they get older, are loath to harm anyone or anything, but the opposite is true for men. I saw it again and again. Men who are mistreated when young will do the same to others, even to their own children, though they remember with hatred what was done to them.”

  Morrigan had longed to hear someone say the things she had privately thought and felt so guilty over. Yet it made her apprehensive, off-balance, like the air was being released from the world and the ground was slowly collapsing.

  Did it mean she was not those things Douglas had always called her? That she was not lazy, or useless? Not a hoor?

  “Men have so much, but it’s never enough,” Eleanor said. “They try to steal women’s magic, through force or trickery, ridicule, humiliation. As Diorbhail says, if they succeed, then I can only hope those I care about are dead. If that time comes, there will be no more pretense, no words wreathed in praise. I’ve long sensed it coming, and despaired.”

  “Does Curran know you feel this way?” Morrigan asked.

  Eleanor shrugged. “What business is it of his what I think? All he needs from me is to bring a healthy child into the world. I’ve known since I first watched my father kick my mother as he would a dog, that I would never trust a man. Now that you’ve told me about the argument you had with the master, and how you ended up here, I’m not so sure I have much use for him any longer.”

  “He was… provoked.”

  Eleanor smiled slightly. “I heard what provoked him.”

  Morrigan looked away, blushing.

  “One of the reasons my father beat my mother was because of the things she taught me, things like what we’ve been saying. My da vowed he would kick good Christian obedience into her. He killed her finally then abandoned us, for which I was thankful. Fortunately for me, my brother the surgeon didn’t turn out like him. He was my savior.”

  As Eleanor poured more tea, Diorbhail mused. “When a woman loves a man, she shows him everything he can be, and everything he’s not.”

  “Everything and nothing,” said Eleanor, stooping to slide a few sticks onto the fire. “The heaving abyss from which he came, and to which he travels all the days of his life.”

  “She is the terrible face of the Goddess,” Diorbhail said, watching Eleanor intently, “of the judgment awaiting him. She is the sun, and she is shadow.”

  “Shadow?” Morrigan rocked faster. “D’you mind, Diorbhail, when you said shadows hold lessons for us?” The rocker creaked dangerously as she grew more excited. “You told me my shadow was long, that it would devour me if I wasn’t careful.”

  Diorbhail took the mug from Eleanor. “Of course I mind it,” she said, grimacing at the tea’s bitterness. “She it was who put the words in my mouth.”

  “Diorbhail called me an avatar,” Morrigan told Eleanor.

  Eleanor shrugged. “What is that?”

  “A friend of Nicky’s told me it’s a god who comes to earth and lives like a human.” Morrigan turned to Diorbhail. “Shouldn’t this goddess of yours have made me a queen, or someone with power? How does she expect me to do all these great things? I’m nothing, nobody, penniless, and a woman. Without Curran, I couldn’t even feed myself.”

  Eleanor glanced at Diorbhail then lowered her gaze to the cup as Diorbhail passed it to her. “I don’t mean to insult you, but how did you know what it meant?”

  “I was told what to say. I didn’t know the meaning of the word. I barely remember speaking to her. I had taken the mushroom. It’s a rare, special mushroom that gives visions, knowledge. My mam taught me how to use it. That’s how I saw you, Eleanor Graeme.”

  “Witch’s cap, you mean?”

  “Some call it that. I brought what I had with me, and gave it to Mistress Ramsay night before last. I’ve searched the fields, but I can’t find any more.”

  “I have some.”

  Both Morrigan and Diorbhail stared at Eleanor, who nodded. “I collect witch’s cap every year. I’ve told no one hereabouts what it can do, but I’ve used it myself more than once, and I’ve seen things. Strange things.”

  “We should take it together,” Diorbhail said eagerly. “It will strengthen us threefold. Oh, aye! Taking it together will show us things we could never see on our own.”

  “I don’t know what you mean by that,” Eleanor said. “And I’m not so certain it’d be good for Mistress Ramsay.”

  “Don’t you see?” Diorbhail rose, rubbing her arms as she paced. “Mistress sees bits of things. She hears half-spoken sentences, morsels only. What you call ‘witch’s cap’ can help return what’s been lost. We’ll see cle
arly if we do this together. I’m sure of it. You know as well as I that her dreams are memories. She’ll never have complete understanding unless she sees truly.”

  “Wait,” Morrigan said. “My dreams are memories?”

  Diorbhail poked at the fire with a sooty stick. “I think when you sleep, the lives you’ve lived before come back. The dreams try to help you remember, so that you don’t repeat the same mistakes.”

  “Are you saying I was murdered? Actually murdered?”

  Diorbhail shrugged. “Maybe. Probably.”

  Morrigan thought about that for a moment while her insides lurched. “Father Drummond visited me after I hurt my ankle. He said some believe that expectant women’s dreams are the baby’s memories of its past lives.”

  “No!” Diorbhail spoke fiercely. “Never listen to priests.”

  Eleanor agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to go down and retrieve her stockpile of witch’s cap as soon as there was light enough to see her way.

  “Did you know I would be in the forest?” Morrigan asked Diorbhail. “Everything you’ve said… did it all come from this mushroom? Did you ever go to school? I did, but I never learned these things.”

  “Many questions.” Diorbhail grinned, displaying the hole where a tooth had gone missing or been knocked out. “They’ll give you no rest now. They’ll pull you to your fate.” Her grin faded. “Schools are run by men. D’you think men are going to teach you about your power? No, a ghràidh, they’ll teach you the opposite, how you cannot survive without them, how you must obey them for your own good, how they have to guide your life for you, how you are silly and weak, and must follow their version of right and wrong. How their god gave them control over you, and you must submit if you want to go to their heaven, where, no doubt, you’ll be serving and submitting for eternity.” Going off to one corner of the bothy, she retrieved a small container and shook out a handful of brittle green leaves. “There are other methods of Sight. Some use this leaf, or venom from snakes. Both are too dangerous for you. Some only have to listen. I listen to the voices in the wind and I can see what the water shows. Fire will sometimes speak to me. I’ve forged my power for many years. I will try to teach you how to do these things as well, mistress.”

  “What else have you seen?”

  “Mostly things meant for me. Now you need to learn your fate. If we’re lucky, you’ll see who means you harm and who will help you on this long journey. Do you feel the Lady? She whets us against her mighty grindstone!”

  * * * *

  Eleanor left in the translucent light of predawn, promising to return as soon as she could. She added acerbically that they could use the witch’s cap once; then Morrigan must go home.

  But the gloaming was deep before she returned. It was little wonder no one had found them yet, if Morrigan had managed to stray so far.

  “Glenelg is in uproar,” Eleanor said as she came in. “Mistress Ramsay must come with me now, before anything worse happens.” She sighed. “I cannot believe I allowed you to talk me into such a foolish and cruel delay.” She gestured in her indomitable fashion. “Come now, let us not put your husband through any more agony. There are those telling him you’ve fallen into the sea and drowned! What he said was wrong, but you’ve punished him enough, don’t you think?”

  Morrigan could hardly argue. “I miss him.” Only after saying it did she realize she’d spoken out loud, and that it was true, despite the memory of that awful thing he’d said. “I want to go home.” Diorbhail’s stricken expression filled her with guilt and confusion. “You knew I couldn’t stay much longer.”

  Diorbhail blinked and looked away, then she clenched her hands. “Why d’you think about that place? That Kilgarry?”

  “What of Curran?” Morrigan asked gently. “What of his child?”

  “She’s your wean. It’s your belly she grows in.”

  Morrigan took a step closer. “I’ve always believed that my thoughts were evil; that I was evil. But you, and Eleanor, and this place, have changed me. I can hardly understand it all yet, but I know I won’t ever go back to what I used to be.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Even though we see the truth, we cannot change the way things are. What you want is impossible. The world belongs to men, and they will never give it up, no matter what we think or feel.”

  Diorbhail frowned. She opened her mouth but Morrigan stopped her. “It’s a fantasy,” she said quietly. “They’ll never give up their power.”

  “You’re changing,” Diorbhail said, so low her voice was nearly drowned by a thrush’s singing outside.

  “I’m but one small person. I cannot cause the entire world to be different than it is.”

  Eleanor waited, her arms crossed, looking from one to the other.

  “He’ll never stop searching for me,” Morrigan said. “I don’t want to give birth here, in the dirt.”

  Diorbhail looked sad and defeated. The idea of walking off and leaving her was intolerable. “Come with me.” Morrigan held out her hand.

  “I’d no’ be welcome. I’m naught but a hoor in the eyes of the world.”

  “You will come with me,” Morrigan said. “We won’t tell anyone of your past. You’ll simply be the woman who saved me when I was lost.”

  Morrigan kept her hand outstretched. Hesitantly, Diorbhail came forward and took it. Morrigan smiled and they began their trek down the mountain.

  * * * *

  Morrigan’s ankle felt almost normal after three days’ rest and many cold compresses. Eleanor and Diorbhail took turns serving as support. Eleanor had cannily thought to bring two candles. Diorbhail put one inside her cracked lantern, so they wouldn’t have to make their way in complete darkness.

  Morrigan looked back, this time deliberately. Water from an earlier shower still dripped from the thatch. She fancied the lonely bothy was weeping. Part of her wanted to greet too. Her adventure was over. Her moment of imaginary freedom. She knew she must go home, but this broken wee place would always be a cherished memory.

  With Eleanor and Diorbhail beside her, Morrigan wasn’t afraid of the dark or any supernatural beasties hidden beyond the glimmer of their lamp. In fact, she told her companions of Agnes Campbell’s warnings— all but the one about selkies— and they laughed as they walked.

  But the downhill foray soon began to pall. “It could be worse,” Eleanor said. “At least we’ve this road, foul though it is. Did I tell you, mistress, that the horse and gig were found the day after you went missing? Not anywhere near here, though. They were on the other side of this mountain.”

  “Curran… poor Curran.”

  “Aye, mistress. I had naught to do but think as I walked all that way, and it ate at me, what he’s going through. We’re not to the days when men have no care for us, not yet, and I think I have an idea of his suffering. That’s why I insisted we go, and not wait for daylight.”

  They came to a fast flowing burn. The cold water felt delicious upon Morrigan’s ankle, but the rocks were moss covered and slick. Eleanor lost her footing and fell, but she rose laughing, proclaiming that her dowp was padded enough to soften the blow. All three giggled as they helped each other clamber up the bank on the far side.

  “What’s this?”

  Morrigan nearly jumped out of her skin and almost slid back into the water at the sound of a man’s voice.

  Eleanor and Diorbhail moved in close on either side of Kilgarry’s mistress; Diorbhail raised her lantern.

  He stood beneath the branches of a holly oak, a shotgun slung over his shoulder. For the briefest instant, Morrigan thought she was looking at a younger version of her father. She gasped, caught in a rush of dizziness.

  But it was Aodhàn Mackinnon, not the ghost of Douglas Lawton. He propped his shotgun against the tree trunk and came forward swiftly. “Morrigan,” he said, his voice unguardedly relieved.

  “Aye, she’s been found,” Eleanor said. “But how d’you come to be here, in the middle of the night, so far from home?”


  “You think that matters to me?” He sent Eleanor a cold glance before returning his attention to Morrigan. “Everything closer has already been searched twice over.”

  He frowned at her. “Are you hurt?”

  “My ankle’s a bit worse for wear.” She tried to make light of it but was moved to her core that he would be out combing the land for her so late. His face was drawn and tired.

  “Here.” Without any warning, he plucked her off the ground. “Put your arms round my neck,” he said, and cradled her, one arm supporting her back and the other holding her behind the knees.

  “I’m too heavy,” she protested, in an attempt to cover her embarrassment and something else, an inner thrill she knew was wrong.

  He merely nodded at his gun. “Fetch that, would you?” he said, glancing for the first time at shy, silent Diorbhail. Only Morrigan, who was so close, saw the sudden intensity of his gaze then the bitter loathing that passed across his face. His arms tightened. Puzzled and nervous, she looked at Diorbhail, but saw nothing amiss. Diorbhail had her head lowered and was scurrying to get the gun.

  “You’re light as a midge,” he said. While she’d been staring after Diorbhail, he’d turned to her again. Diorbhail’s lantern was some distance away; she was surely wrong about what she thought she’d seen. There was nothing of anger or hatred on his face now. What she saw was something else entirely. He was so close she felt the heat off his skin, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. She waited, her heart pounding so dreadfully she was sure he could feel it.

  But he drew in a deep breath and began to walk, instructing Diorbhail to hold the lamp higher so he could see his way.

  Her faithless brain recreated the boulder by the sea, the kiss, and how, for an instant before Curran appeared, she had wanted to open herself to him.

  Under the disguise of darkness, it seemed only natural to rest her cheek on his shoulder, close her eyes, and give herself over to his competent strides.