“You can believe what you want, but I think I deserve your compliance, Romilly. I have saved your life twice, and asked only that you consider your Wiccan heritage. Will you go to her grave?”
“I will go.” I intended to go, but to desecrate my Nan’s grave? I wasn’t so sure about that.
Why was Lunabelle doing this?
Remember what I said about destroying the Mirror, if that’s what you intend to do.
“You are correct that it needs a power from the sky, but it is not from star nor Sun, but the Moon itself. A crescent moon, no less. A symbol of hope for some, curiosity for others, and death to the remainder. I wonder to which group will you belong?”
“Hope,” I replied. “Always hope.”
Lunabelle stood up and embraced me. “There is no greater gift I can give you except for the one you already have. Do not fear to strike out hard at those who mean you harm, Romilly. You would do well to remember my words when you are deep in the forest, my girl.”
“I’ll remember,” I said. I picked my gloves up and placed them over my hands. Lunabelle conjured up a rucksack for me to carry the Mirror in. By my guess, it weighed about ten pounds on my back. No doubt it would feel heavier as I made my way to that cursed place.
Lunabelle connected with my mind, offering me advice with my every step.
Position it so it catches the full light of the crescent moon, Romilly. You may have to be there two or three nights. Survive, child. You have to survive until this is done.
The Forsaken:
Chapter 21
About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani,”—which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Matthew 27:46
When Toril asked her where she was going, Beth had simply replied ‘for a walk’, but if Toril knew anything about her friend, it was unlikely to be an aimless wander.
There was only place Beth was headed. I would have guessed The Dying Swan, but I would have lost the bet. With the demon apparently gone, Beth felt lifted from the depression that had weighed her down for so long.
Beth felt so confused. She didn’t know whether to be grateful to Toril or not.
As she walked down the dark street, with several of its streetlights broken, the rain began to fall. For December, it had been incredibly mild. The following week was supposed to see a return to snow. That would no doubt please many of the town’s children, who were looking forward to Christmas.
The decorations, newly put up and bright in colour, made up for the dilapidated area. The council no longer seemed to care whether the town looked good or not. Beth didn’t want to leave, but expected she might have to say goodbye to Gorswood one day.
Before leaving, Beth had mentioned that her grandparents were due back later that evening, and that Toril had better have taken the infernal book out of there. Toril agreed, and said that they could meet up later. Toril even offered to come out for a walk with Beth, but she had declined.
She needed answers, just like I did. We both sought them, needed them, and we both had a strong belief that what we would hear, we would not like. Still, my answers had to be found amongst the bones of the dead. Beth’s path was a rather more spiritual one.
Outside, in the car park of St Joseph’s Church, there was a light on, but no cars to be seen. Beth wanted to see Father McArdle one more time. His BMW was a giveaway. She was about to turn on her heels when the door opened, and a young face greeted her.
“I’d know that crazy mane of red hair any day,” he said, a fair-haired man in his thirties. “Beth, isn’t it?”
“Less of the crazy, please, and you’re right, I am Beth,” she replied. “I take it he’s not in? Father McArdle?”
“Ah, no,” he said. “I’m Father Collins. I may look too young for this job, but I’m not, you know. You’re very welcome to come in.”
Beth was unsure. She had rather detailed chats with Father McArdle, and she missed the older priest’s extremely wise words.
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt I suppose,” she said.
They went inside and made their way to the church benches. Beth felt different. The last time she was inside this building, everything felt so heavy on her. She truly began to believe that Dana was gone. Yet another thing to be thankful to Toril for. At this rate, it would be Toril, not Diabhal, who would own the rights to Beth’s soul.
“It’s peaceful,” he began, “that’s why people come here. I convinced Father not to shut the place up, even at night. You know he gives sanctuary here to the homeless. On a rotation of course.”
“Of course,” smiled Beth. “He’s a very kind man. Baptised me. First Communion was here with Father, and the Bishop. My parents were married in this church.”
“A lot of history,” said Father Collins. “I’m going to make my own history here too one day. When Father retires, I will be set to take over.”
Beth didn’t like the sound of that at all; the expression on her face was one that told her she wasn't the first to hear this young priest’s ambitions. He laughed, but sought to reassure her.
“I’m sure it won’t be for a long, long time. After all, this is Father’s church, he is practically part of the pulpit, as well as the rest of the furniture.”
“So where did you come from?”
“The Holy See.”
He waited to see how Beth would react to that, before she asked the question he had heard a few times before.
“You picked a two-hundred year old church in Birmingham when you were in the Vatican?”
“We go where we are told, Beth, and in any case, this church, this family, represents a huge opportunity for me. Now that’s my story. What’s yours? What brings you here today?”
Beth wanted to be honest. She wanted to say I’m not sure but that sounded indecisive, and men disliked such a character trait. Women weren’t exactly in rapture about it either, and in the past, I would have accused Beth of being indecisive, disloyal, untrustworthy, and all the rest of it.
I had my problems, same as she did, but she dealt with them without the powers and support that I had. This served to change my hardened view of her. Girls at my school were so fickle, saying oh you look beautiful when it really means you look beautiful, I hate you and I hope your face gets cut. I think Toril got it far harder than I ever did. Most of it was said out of earshot, but the barbs were nasty.
‘If she can remove her four-carat diamond earrings for a second, maybe she’ll hear me cursing her.
I hope Troy Jackson is fucking her. I hope he is HIV fucking positive, and that he’s fucking her.
I hope she fucking dies.
Let’s push her over in the shower room. Let her pretty face be smashed against the wall so hard, that she is drinking from a straw for the next six months.
Don’t let her get any towels if she has her period. I want to watch her bleed. Bleed to death, fucking Prom Queen!’
Toril had made it her business to surround herself with people she felt she could trust. For my own part, I could not be bothered, and whilst I didn’t share the negative sentiments of some of the other school girls, I didn’t necessarily want her to succeed either. They were calling her Prom Queen even before the year there was going to be a prom. She was going to walk it and they knew it. It was enough for them to hate her.
I think Toril’s biggest problem was that even when she tried to help, it came across as condescending and patronising. One time, when she was in music class, she claimed I wasn’t getting the sound I wanted from my violin because I was holding it wrong. I wanted to add in your opinion, Toril but she had already moved onto the next phase.
She just wrestled the violin from my grip, positioned her chin slightly different to the way I was, with her chin raised whilst mine was pinning the instrument down, and placed her hands a lot higher too.
I was taller than her by some five inches, and the teacher had told me that this was the way to do it. Not good enough for Toril thoug
h. She started to play. It was alright, technically very good, but passionless. I wanted to say that when I played the violin, I put my heart and soul into it. Toril was merely being precise.
“You see? See what I mean?”
“Thank you, Toril. I’ll work it in somehow.”
God, how I wanted to punch her. But I never did, not at school. In fact, for all the instances where girls talked cheap about her, threatening to do this or that to her, she was only ever in one fight that I knew about.
About fifteen girls had closed a circle around her, and bear in mind this was just before Toril’s thirteenth birthday, so Jacinta was yet to join her at the school. There was only myself and Beth who would have cared what happened next.
Toril walked up to the edges of the circle but the girls wouldn’t budge. Someone from behind shoved her hard, and Toril bounced off one of the girls and fell to the ground. She should have scraped her knee at the very least, or had a bruise on her face, but nothing was showing.
“You don’t bleed, Toril! Why don’t you fucking bleed?”
The girl was tall, blonde, mildly attractive, with a huge chip on her shoulder. No doubt one of the many girls who liked Troy, Alix, and some of the others.
“I mean,” she said, raising her hands to the other girls present, “if someone got their face kicked in, they’d bleed, wouldn’t they?”
Toril begged for blood to seep from her body, but as the kicks came in, she reeled from the blows. She wasn’t exactly unfit, but was no fighter. Despite her bigger opponent’s efforts, no blood left Toril’s body.
“Okay then, hold her up.”
Unbelievably, two of the boys from the back row came forward and locked both of Toril’s arms behind her back. I hated this sort of thing. It’s not fair. It’s not what I was taught in kung fu class. And I would act to save this girl, even though I thought by showing I had some skill, I feared my intervention would make things worse.
Before all that happened, Beth was a blur of red as she pushed herself inside the circle, and was at least at tall as the other girl. The collision knocked them both to the ground.
Irritated more than stunned, she spat at Beth. “O’Neill, you are going to pay for this.”
Beth had not got to her feet, placing one hand on the ground before pushing herself up. She then felt dizzy and knew she had been hit by something hard. This was followed by her mouth tasting gravel on the ground, with her lips smeared with blood.
“Well I’m glad one of you bleed! Look Toril, that’s going to be you. I’ll keep hitting you until you bleed.”
By this time, I had arrived. This wasn’t really about Beth or Toril. This was about what’s fair. And this wasn’t fair at all.
“Why don’t you fight someone who can make you bleed?” I said. I knew about Vicki Gorman. I knew all about her.
“Well look who we have here. Another wannabe girlfriend of a boy she can never get. Is that why you’re moving onto his girlfriend, Winter? You think Toril will take you into her little clique now?”
I could not have cared less about that. “I know how to fight. So why don’t you fight me?”
In years to come, I would realise how stupid it was to say things like that. Whether you were a twenty-year veteran of martial arts training, or you have just had one lesson and watched a Bruce Lee season on Netflix, you never gave away knowledge to your enemy. Fighting was about showing, not telling. It was also about walking away every single time if you could.
I could not watch them beat a girl senseless. They were treating Toril badly because she had this freakish condition. She could not be cut, yet this crowd were baying for her blood.
A year from now, I would have a freakish condition of my own. But right now, I had no marks on my hands or wrists that needed to be covered.
“I’m waiting,” I said. I was looking over at the people restraining Toril. What ever kind of look I gave them, the one in martial arts fights that said you’re mine, asshole, they let Toril go.
“For God’s sake, Winter, lighten up. You’re as dreary as your name. Was just having some fun. Come on, everyone. Let’s go.”
Vicki Gorman never really knew how close she came to being the first person I ever hit in anger. She may have roughed Toril up, but it was Beth that was bleeding. You don’t hit someone when they are down. It’s not fair.
“You know,” I said. “There’s a lot of people like you out there. Bullies who think they can lord it over everyone else. You’re nothing special. You’re odd, you’re a freak like many of us. But it’s worse than that, you’re boring. You’re not threatening – even accidentally! You’re boring, ugly and a coward. And you know you’re a coward. That’s why you pick on others. I don’t like bullies, and I don’t like you.”
I had said my piece, and turned to walk off. There was just about enough sunlight giving me the information I needed – the shadow of Vicki Gorman closing in on me. She wasn’t about to let go being called a coward. Some in the gathered group had laughed when I called her that, because they knew I was telling the truth about her.
I didn’t wait a second longer. I was good at crescent kicks because I had worked on my flexibility. Such a kick, with its high arc and rounded shape, meant that even if it looked like you were going to miss, you would eventually collide with something. In this instance, when I spun around, I caught the top of her head, and she fell to the ground hard.
Everyone who had begun to walk away quickly turned around.
Vicki Gorman was out cold. I mean, I had practised that kick in class. Attempted it a few times against others who could fight. Maybe I was too young to realise just how much damage that kind of blow to the head could do.
The school gave me a formal reprimand and I was handed a two-week suspension. After that, I fully expected to see Vicki Gorman return, but she never did. When I talked to my Nan about it, who was my only support at home because my parents were furious with me, Nan said ‘These things have a way of taking care of themselves. The school isn’t punishing you further because you’ve removed a problem for them. I can see you are set for great things.’
Vicki had gone to one of those special schools. All of a sudden she found herself amongst those who she had routinely called freaks and spastics. I wanted to feel sorry on some level for her, but couldn’t.
Beth had even put a card through the door, thanking me for my intervention.
Hi Romilly,
Just wanted to say thank you. She was hurting us pretty bad. If you hadn’t come along when you did, it would have been much worse.
Toril also says thank you.
See you at school.
Beth
- x -
This was typical Beth, she was kindness personified. She needed to give the priest an honest answer, and if she was being honest with herself, she was unsure. So she gave the best answer that she could.
“I just wanted to chat with Father McArdle,” she told Father Collins. “He knows me a long time.”
“Well I may not know you a long time, but I’ve seen such a look before. A haunted look. Someone who is not at peace.”
“I’m alright, Father. Better than alright, actually. It was nice to meet you.”
Beth turned to leave, but the priest’s words stopped her in her tracks.
“What was the demon’s name?”
Beth’s breathing went from reasonably calm and constant to rapid and loud.
“There’s….there’s no demon. Not anymore.”
“Ah,” he said, “So there was. I was part of group of priests in Rome who dealt with demons. One attached itself to you. I know it has. I’ve seen it before.”
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” said Beth.
“The truth is, you don’t want to talk about it with me, the young bucko of a priest, right?”
“Father Collins, you seem very nice. It’s not for me to burden you with.”
“Come on, Beth, tell me. I won’t bite, you know.”
The mild D
ecember gave way to a blast of heavy rain smattering against the stain glass windows inside of the church. Knowing she would be soaked, Beth decided to stay for a few minutes.
“There’s nothing to tell,” said Beth. “I’ve had the demon removed.”
Father Collins sat back on the church bench, rolled his eyes one way, then the other. It looked like he was going to speak, but then he would say nothing, and Beth would look away in the hope he didn’t catch her waiting on his response.
“What is it?” asked Beth.
Dark Winter: Trilogy Page 91