by Mary Watson
Tarc moved to the wall, standing upright. A soldier on guard.
‘You did tell me,’ Cassa said. ‘Not with words, but I’ve known you were an augur for a while now.’
If Tarc was surprised, he didn’t show it.
‘You knew?’ I said. ‘How?’
And why didn’t she call me on it?
‘Augurs look at things differently. They’re always dissecting and designing their surroundings, searching for visual patterns. Augurs are all about art, and that’s impossible to hide.’
‘I’m not like that.’ But I wasn’t going to explain my wonky to Cassa.
‘You underestimate yourself.’ She remained still, barely moving at all. Behind her, the trees stood tall and silent and it felt like I was on trial. But I wasn’t sure what my crime was, nor what was at stake.
How I might be punished.
‘I want to know why you came to Harkness House.’ Cassa’s words rang through the forest. A crow flew from a tree, squawking loudly.
I paused, trying to organise my thoughts. I couldn’t tell her the truth. I dithered, suddenly unsure whether the story I’d prepared would be enough.
But then the words popped into my head, almost as if they were whispered to me.
‘I wanted to know about Arabella.’
‘Why?’ Cassa demanded.
Again the words were clear in my head. I could almost imagine a girl with white petticoats standing beside me, leaning in and saying the words close to my ear.
‘Because we are alike.’
‘And how are you alike?’ Cassa’s eyes gleamed. She stared hungrily at me.
You know.
‘You know.’ Loud and bold.
You tell me.
‘You tell me.’
‘Because you are also a judge,’ Cassa said.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Laney and David turning to the ruin, Laney letting out a small squeak of surprise.
‘How did you know?’ I sounded so weak. I felt weak, beneath the gaze that missed nothing.
‘I knew your father.’ Cassa spoke to the flowers. ‘A long time ago. Before he … went away. You have his eyes.’
‘You knew my father?’
Suddenly I was too aware of the others. I could sense them all watching the unfolding drama, silent witnesses to a different kind of metamorphosis. Girl turned augur turned judge.
‘Many years ago.’
So many questions, I didn’t know where to start.
‘My grandfather said he was a cheat.’
‘I barely knew him at all.’
From the wall, Tarc watched. There was something like shock on his face. I guess he hadn’t been expecting this.
‘Leave us.’ Cassa held out a hand towards the other three. Tarc nodded to David but didn’t move from the wall. Laney stayed close beside David as they walked down the slope together.
‘You too, Tarc.’
‘Cassa, I can’t do that,’ he said.
‘Don’t challenge me, Tarc.’ But it was a question, not an order. ‘Five minutes.’
‘I’ll be over there.’ He pointed just beyond a tree. ‘No further.’
Cassa nodded. Tarc came to me, running his hands down my arms and body. Then down my legs in brisk, efficient sweeps. He pulled out a long sharp pin and my hair fell down my back. His touch was all business, and it hurt.
‘Now, I don’t think you have ill intent,’ Cassa said once he’d left, ‘but it won’t do any harm to inform you that Tarc has excellent aim with his throwing knife. He would have you pinned to that tree before you could draw some cleverly hidden weapon. But we’re not here for that, are we?’
‘No.’ I swallowed.
‘How are we going to fix this, Wren?’
‘I’ll collect my things. You won’t hear from me again.’
‘When the judges learn that augurs infiltrated Harkness House at the same time that many of our nemeta have been damaged, they’ll be pushing for action. I’m not sure I can hold them off.’
‘I’ve nothing to do with that,’ I said.
Cassa studied me. ‘I believe you. You don’t have it in you to damage nemeta. But that doesn’t solve the problem. The judges, and they will find out, will want blood.’
I hesitated.
‘These are your choices. You could leave now and I will do my best to contain the inevitable hostility, but I can’t guarantee there won’t be retaliation.’
‘And the alternative?’
‘You show your commitment to the judges by becoming the Bláithín. Become one of us, the girl of leaf and petal who brings the third golden time, and you will change your story. You’ll no longer be the girl who deceived us when our nemeta burned. You will stop retaliation from the gairdíní. You will prevent a war.’
I thought about everyone I loved. I looked at Tarc and David, alert and ready. I thought about the warriors from Birchwood making their way here. About boys like Simon, who would stand up and fight. Who would be outnumbered and outclassed.
‘And you will achieve what you set out to do. You will learn about Arabella. And more about who you are, about the judge in you.’ She moved closer to me. ‘I think you don’t realise how strong that desire is. How much you need to complete the pattern, to connect to your other side.’
Her voice was soft and lulling. ‘It’s augur nature to find the balance in a design.’
‘When did you realise what I was?’
‘From the start, there was something that niggled. Your eyes were so familiar, and there was that day you stared through the peonies.’
And I knew what she was thinking: she sees what isn’t.
‘But it was impossible to be certain. So, not until that night in my garden.’
I leaned against the broken wall, feeling cool moss through my dress and on my thighs. ‘And what about my family? If I do it, I’ll want to see them.’
‘Your loyalty will be to the Rose Gairdín.’ But she nodded her agreement.
I could stay with Cassa for a few weeks. Long enough for her to see that her metamorphosis didn’t work and for the dust to settle. The gairdíní would soon lose interest in me.
And in the meantime, the groves would be getting stronger with the Daragishka Knot formed, and soon enough I’d be back home where I belonged.
I leaned against the wall for a long time. I felt the cold of the ruin seep through my dress into my skin. I thought I heard something whisper: do it do it do it.
There wasn’t really a choice. It was my fault, my lapse in judgement that had caused the plan to unravel.
‘Yes,’ I said.
I expected the earth to tremor and the walls of the cottage to shiver, so charged was the air around me.
Cassa smiled. She drew nearer.
‘You chose the right thing.’
I bloody hoped so.
‘Wickerlight is drawing close,’ she said as she took my hands in hers. ‘The equinox is approaching. Last night there was torrential rain.’
I remembered walking from the bus stop in the dark, wretched and wet, numb. In bits.
‘A thunderstorm last week.’ Cassa continued to list weather conditions, visible constellations, and she may have mentioned a bunny-shaped cloud, but I couldn’t be sure.
‘What happens afterwards?’ I said. ‘To me?
‘You’ll still be you,’ Cassa said. ‘But more so. The girl of leaf and petal has the power of nature humming through her veins.’
Upgrade to Wren 2.01 and eliminate the wonky. Except I knew now that I quite liked my wonky. That I preferred to keep it, thank you very much.
But it didn’t matter. I didn’t believe it. Magic was subtle, quiet. It worked through patterns. It wasn’t this rush of power that Cassa was describing.
‘You would have it all,’ she said, picking up soil from the ground. She rubbed it against my palms, soothing the ache there. Last, she raised her hand to my mouth, the smell of it rich and earthy. She put a small bite of soil inside my lips. It felt cool. F
resh.
I don’t believe you, I wanted to say. I didn’t think anyone did. Not Laney, who so meticulously organised the information that Cassa had collected. Not Tarc, whose gentleness towards Cassa made me quite certain that he felt sorry for her. That’s what her money could buy: her own private fairytale, acted out for her with full cast and costume.
And afterwards we would say, Oh the wind blew wrong. Or Mercury was in retrograde or The cloud was a koala, not a bunny. Sorry. But we’d all know that it hadn’t worked because it couldn’t.
My mouth full of dirt, I said nothing.
‘You probably know that there are material benefits to this,’ Cassa was saying. ‘I would treat the Bláithín as my own. And I am very generous.’
‘I don’t want any of that. I don’t want your money or things.’ I spoke with a gritty mouth.
‘Do you have any idea what you’re refusing?’ She examined me curiously. ‘Are you not even a little tempted?’
‘No.’ Then I paused. ‘There’s a problem. With the list I gave you.’
‘The definitive traits,’ she said. ‘Almost an orphan. Grows where the last Bláithín trod. Steals the love of one from the garden. Marked by the garden. Wakens the doll. Sees what isn’t there. From the line of the judges. Brings the golden time.’
‘They don’t all apply to me,’ I said. Tarc hated me and I hadn’t a clue how to bring about a golden era. ‘So it probably won’t work.’
‘I think you’ll find that they do.’ Cassa spoke quietly, and then she walked out of the ruin.
Tarc started after her, then paused. He looked at me, and there was such sorrow on his face. Our eyes locked. Then Cassa called and he turned away.
At home, Aisling was waiting. I must have had muck on my cheek because she touched a hand to it saying, ‘Wren, what have you done?’
TWENTY-EIGHT
There’s a good girl
Since agreeing to Elizabeth’s game, I feel oddly detached.
AdC
Since agreeing to Cassa’s metamorphosis it felt like I was moving underwater. The normal chat of everyone at home was strangely muted. I couldn’t hear them, I couldn’t reach them. Perhaps it was an underlying shock. It didn’t matter that nothing would happen when I did the ritual. Because something already had. In having that conversation with Cassa beneath the trees, I’d chosen to be a judge. Which meant that I’d chosen to not be an augur. And it didn’t matter if it was all a trick and a lie, the trees had heard me.
I moved between Carraig Cottage and Cairn House, trying to absorb the familiar comforts. Cassa had invited me back to complete the internship. Smith and I agreed that I would continue at Harkness House for few weeks after I’d done the ritual, so I could find the last stone. This way, I could make a discreet exit that didn’t cause the judges to bay for blood. Cassa was right, by doing the ritual, the judges wouldn’t know about my deception. Instead, I would be seen as Cassa’s failed experiment with the halfling.
But I couldn’t shake this fear that I would never find my way back. That if I moved to Harkness House, our cottage would never be my home again.
‘Wren honey, you’re here.’ Maeve came in while I was standing in her kitchen, staring at the empty table. Her eyes looked worried, as they had been since I’d started listlessly ghosting through the two houses. I wouldn’t go to the woods, I had this weird idea that the trees would whisper along messages to Tarc. At the Foundation, I avoided him. And he avoided me. Each of us barely able to look the other in the eye.
‘You’re not going to the party?’ Maeve said, carrying bags of groceries.
‘What party?’
‘Ash and Simon went with a bunch of others from the grove. You should go. You can still catch up with them.’
‘Nah. I’ll stay home. Watch TV.’
‘But you love the old power station parties,’ Maeve said.
‘There’s a power station party?’
The old power station had been abandoned for decades. It was boarded up, with no one permitted inside because the building was in a bad state. The parties happened maybe three times a year and weren’t authorised. Maeve must be really concerned if she was trying to send me to one.
‘That’s right. Simon and some of the other boys are going. I figured they’d watch over you and Ash.’
I was so listless I didn’t even attempt to reprimand Maeve: if the building fell down, it wasn’t like Simon could hold it up with his boy muscles.
‘Didn’t they tell you?’ But Maeve was now putting the shopping in the fridge, the ice cream in the freezer, and wasn’t paying me much attention.
Something niggled. Something about a power station party.
Then I remembered. David had been talking about a surprise at the power station. Maybe it was perfectly harmless. But I didn’t like the thought of them all at the same venue together. Especially since it was odd that Aisling hadn’t dragged me with her; we’d always gone together.
‘Maeve, I think I will go. Would you mind dropping me there? I’ll catch a ride back with Ash and Simon.’
‘There’s my Wren.’ Maeve was delighted. ‘Of course I’ll drive you. Now go and put on something pretty. There’s a good girl.’
At home, in the middle of my bedroom floor, was the not-brídeog. I almost didn’t notice her any more.
Instead, my attention was taken by a short note in Aisling’s handwriting on the bedside table.
After I’d changed, I went downstairs, clutching the doll. Outside, I handed it to Maeve. ‘Please, get rid of this for me.’
In my other hand I held the crumpled-up note from Aisling: Wren, I’m sorry.
The abandoned power station was a solitary building out on the marsh, two villages over. A long time since it had been in use, the building was near derelict.
Inside, a crush of bodies danced in the blue light. It was packed, much more than the last time I’d been here, which was a shame. The desolate half-empty space mixed with wild music had been part of the appeal.
I searched through the crowd downstairs. The blue light changed faces, made them almost grotesque. I pushed through people dancing, people at the bar, but I couldn’t see anyone I recognised.
Near the stairwell was a chill room with a mandala light show playing on a large screen. The mandalas formed slowly with a jagged line of light, then disintegrated until a single strand remained and then re-formed into a new shape. At the best of times mandalas were irresistible: they invited meditation and were a tool for inducing trances. At an impromptu club where the lights made me feel a little trippy, it was impossible not to be drawn in. I went to the doorway and stared, feeling a prick of excitement. That hunger.
Around me, people danced in the light: blue, red, then blue again. I focused on the image so intently that I became lost in the creases and folds of the lines that moved from squares to triangles to rectangles. That pricking in my palms and heart. The tingling started, and it felt so good.
But I saw nothing. Instead, I suddenly felt a pain so intense that I doubled over. My bones breaking, then melting into a hot liquid as they re-formed. My skin tightened, hardened. I felt light-headed, like I might escape from the top of my head and wisp away in the lights and smoke and music.
‘You all right there?’ said a voice beside me. A boy stood there, frowning with concern.
‘I’m OK.’
As I straightened, I saw Laney a few feet away. Her white-purple hair took on the colour of the lights. She was walking towards the other end of the large room. I followed her through the crowd. She went down the length of the room and then slipped through a partition. Waiting a moment, I did too.
There, staying within the darkened recess, I saw David and Tarc facing each other. They were both bare to the waist, caught in a strobe of blue light. Covered in sweat, they were breathing heavily and giving each other the stink eye. They’d been fighting. Cillian stood between Tarc and David. Around them was a circle of boys, maybe a dozen, all stripped to the waist. Watching th
em, I felt that taste of soil in my mouth, that cool, earthy tang.
‘Round two?’
They both nodded. David spat on the floor. And then they were at each other, fists pounding, the sound of hands smacking against skin. The music from the other side of the partition was loud, the beats punctuating their blows.
Laney walked around the circle of boys, heading for Cillian.
David cracked his fist against Tarc’s jaw, and from the way he twisted it obviously hurt. Tarc launched at David, bringing him down. As he fell I saw that David had the lines of the Bláithín symbol tattooed near his hipbone. Just like Tarc.
Agitated, Laney was talking to Cillian. He held out his hands, turning away from her. But Laney grabbed his whistle and blew it hard. The boys broke apart.
‘Stop,’ Laney called. ‘We can’t do this tonight. They’re here.’
‘We’ll sort them out afterwards,’ said David, getting to his feet.
‘There’s a crowd of them. More than we thought,’ she said. ‘You can’t fight them with cracked ribs. And you can’t pull your punches when competing for Raker.’
‘Don’t worry, Davey,’ Tarc said, reaching for his shirt. ‘I’ll beat you up another time.’ He turned to Laney. ‘Where are they?’
‘Upstairs, behind the bar.’
‘What are we waiting for?’ one of the gardeners called. The others started shouting.
Tarc let out a single piercing whistle and they shut up, gathering around him. I retreated through the partition, shaking. It was worse than I thought.
This was an apostrophe, a big fucking apostrophe.
TWENTY-NINE
Girl of leaf and petal
I have not seen Elizabeth since wickerlight. I think that she is jealous that I was chosen.
AdC
Pushing through the crowd, I went to the stairwell, past a couple kissing on the stairs. Through the dance floor to the upstairs bar, and there they were. Simon and Aisling. A bunch of guys with them. I felt a pull, telling me I was near strong augurs.
‘Wren.’ Aisling was wide-eyed when she saw me. ‘What are you doing here?’