Silver in the Bone, page 34
“Try me,” I said.
“The first of the Children were captured and kept out of sight to avoid causing unnecessary fear,” Caitriona said. “High Priestess Viviane tried, with every scrap of knowledge she possessed, to transform them back into the people they had once been.”
Emrys crossed his arms over his chest. “Why would she try to sever their souls from their bodies?”
“When Viviane understood that our magic was incapable of transforming them back to their original forms,” Caitriona said, her posture turning defensive, “she called upon what she knew of the druids’ death magic to release their souls from their monstrous confines and return them to the Goddess.”
That may be what she told you, I thought, but it doesn’t make it true.
“And you’re certain the missing piece of the skull isn’t buried with the rest of her?” Neve asked.
“No,” Caitriona said. “When she was…when she—” She made herself take in a deep breath and look up at us. “When Viviane was killed, we were forced to burn her body so she would not become one of the Children.”
The grief on Olwen’s face was staggering; the pain of the High Priestess’s death would have cut like a serrated blade to the heart, aggravated by the need to burn her body, rather than bury it in the soil to meet her Goddess and begin life anew.
In the eyes of the Nine, High Priestess Viviane’s entire being had been destroyed, and the isle would never know her soul again.
“I know Olwen explained that blood can hold memory,” I said to Caitriona, “and what I saw you doing in the bone room makes sense now, but if no one can make a vessel, why are you cutting your hand and bleeding into a big creepy pot each night?”
She seemed less sure of herself than usual when she answered. “I believe another vessel maker will come, born with the sacred knowledge whispered in their mind. The cauldron will keep my knowledge until the day my own vessel may be prepared, and what we have faced will not be forgotten.”
“Here’s what I still don’t understand, though.” I licked at my chapped lips in thought. “You were so certain the sorceresses were behind the curse. It really never occurred to you that the druids might be to blame when you were dripping your blood into a swirling vat of silver the exact same color as the Children’s bones?”
Caitriona bristled at that. “There’s no silver in the cauldron.”
“Did you forget the part where Emrys and I saw it with our own eyes?” I asked her.
Olwen’s brow wrinkled. “No, Tamsin, Cait is correct. The contents of the cauldron, if there are any, are unseen to the eye. Even our blood disappears into its darkness.”
Alarm rang out in my mind, trilling down the length of my spine. The worktable creaked beneath me as I shifted, looking to Emrys.
“It wasn’t empty,” he confirmed, moving to stand beside me. His words and his nearness steadied me in a way I hadn’t expected. “The liquid inside it was silver, as if piles of it had been melted down.”
Caitriona and Olwen shared a look. Something silent passed between them.
“You both must have been exhausted,” Neve said. “And you were already upset and confused about the vessels…”
“We did not experience a shared hallucination,” I told her. “I know what I saw—in fact, I have proof.”
I undid the latches on my workbag and retrieved Ignatius inside his silk wrappings. I unwound the strips around the handle and thrust it out for them to see.
But the iron was as black as it had ever been.
“I don’t…” The words drifted away with my certainty. “I don’t understand…I dipped this into the cauldron. It came away silver.” I looked between the others, feeling strangely desperate for them to believe me. “It was silver.”
Emrys gripped my wrist, drawing my eyes to his. The belief in them gave me something to anchor myself to. “I know what we saw.”
“You are welcome to join me tomorrow so I can convince you otherwise,” Caitriona said.
“Then I’ll go too,” Neve said. “Neither Tamsin nor Emrys would lie about something as important as this.”
Caitriona bowed her head. “If you wish.”
“That’s what we were doing here,” I said, turning back to Neve. “Now, why were you waiting for Olwen?”
“Because I had a question of my own,” Neve said, retrieving the book she’d left on the table. “Why haven’t you attempted a ritual cleansing of the isle?”
Caitriona’s lips parted, but she was interrupted by a shuffling sound outside the infirmary door. Olwen quickly bundled the vessel away into its basket, and when it was out of sight, Caitriona opened the door.
Bedivere stood a short distance away, scratching at his gray beard. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked indecisive.
“Sir Bedivere,” Caitriona said. “What’s amiss?”
“Ah, I’m sorry, I let my worry get the best of me,” he said. “I only wondered if the interlopers needed escorting back to their rooms to put an end to the evening’s wanderings.”
Caitriona gave a faint smile. “You are too kind, but we have the situation in hand.”
“Come in,” Olwen urged him. “This conversation affects you as well, and we’ve need of your wisdom.”
My grip on the table tightened, just a little bit, as the old knight entered. Emrys strayed closer to me, his hand warm and soothing as it moved over my shoulder and ghosted down the ridge of my spine.
“Neve was just asking why we haven’t tried a ritual cleansing of the isle,” Olwen supplied.
The knight made a slow lap around the room as she spoke, stopping abruptly when she mentioned the ritual. I couldn’t see his face but could feel the burn of his eyes behind me.
“Yes,” Caitriona said, staring at Olwen. “And what a remarkable coincidence that the book describing the ritual found its way back to the library, where anyone might have stumbled upon it.”
“Indeed,” Olwen said serenely. “Truly remarkable are the workings of the Goddess.”
“And the scheming of Olwen,” Caitriona muttered.
“What does the ritual do?” Emrys asked.
Neve opened the heavy book to a page marked with ribbon. “When dark power stains the land and hope retreats from shadow—sounds like a place we’re all acquainted with, doesn’t it?”
“It’s painting a familiar picture, yes,” I said.
“The isle must be restored through the invocation of the maiden, young and blooming, waking that greater power which ever slumbers in the mists,” Neve read. “Only Her renewal shall drive out all that is cursed and ailing within the soil and those who walk upon it, for there is no power greater than rebirth.”
My pulse stammered in my veins.
“Is that saying what I think it is?” I croaked out.
“Yes.” Neve met my gaze, determination blazing in her eyes. “This ritual wouldn’t just heal the land—it would break every curse within it.”
Every curse.
Not just the one upon the land and the Children of the Night. Every curse.
Even Cabell’s.
Neve must have seen those thoughts play out over my face, because she nodded, fueling my hope. Bedivere came around the worktable to face us, his expression inscrutable.
“It seems to be saying that the isle has to be purified through a kind of rebirth,” Neve said. “This ritual summons the Goddess back to the isle to restore it to a new cycle of life.”
She and Emrys blurred at the edges of my vision as I looked from Olwen to Caitriona. A burning desperation rose in me again, and I didn’t fight it. I was beyond caring. “Why haven’t you done it, then?”
Olwen was uncharacteristically silent, her face turned toward the window of her infirmary.
“Neve has not told you what is required for the ritual,” Caitriona said.
The attention of the room swung back toward the sorceress. Neve glanced at Caitriona before reading aloud. “Join hands with your Sisters, and be whole of heart and power once more. Await the full blessings of the moon to bring forth Her three gifts entrusted to you, and cleave yourself to Her anew with blood and mist.”
She looked up as she finished, brows lowered in thought.
“What did this person have against writing clear instructions?” Emrys asked.
“Viviane transcribed the messages of the Goddess that came to her in dreams,” Olwen explained.
“But when you break it down, it all seems doable,” Neve said, turning to Caitriona. “The incantation is here in the book, and you must know what she means by the ‘three gifts.’ What’s the problem here?”
“We are not whole of power,” Caitriona said. “We need nine sisters to attempt the ceremony.”
Neve’s face went ashen as she understood what I didn’t. “And while Flea was called by the Goddess, she hasn’t come into her magic yet. That’s why your High Priestess lived so long, isn’t it? Why the magic of her vow wouldn’t allow her to pass into her next life?”
“We will not be whole of power until then, whether it be days or years,” Caitriona said. “It weighs heavily on Flea’s heart, but it is not her fault. And we lack one of the three gifts besides.”
Neve tilted her head in question.
“The wand and chalice are with us, but the athame, our ritual knife, was lost many years ago and no amount of searching has brought it back.”
Bedivere drew in a harsh breath, but said nothing. He fiddled with a pair of shears hanging from a hook on the wall. My gaze lingered on him. If it had been anyone other than the chivalrous knight, I would have called the flicker of emotion that crossed his face guilt.
“Couldn’t a new athame be made in the forge?” Neve asked.
Caitriona and Olwen looked horrified at the thought.
“Why not just see what happens?” Emrys asked. “What do you have to lose at this point?”
“Please…,” I breathed out, the sting of hope, the lance of knowing better, almost stealing the words from me.
“It will not work,” Caitriona said. “We have not been successful in any other ritual since our ranks were diminished—not in blessing the earth, nor clearing the skies, nor freeing the souls trapped within the Children. We are eight, not nine. Until Flea comes into her power, we are not whole.”
Neve made a small noise of frustration, shaking her head.
“Well, you could wait years for that to happen, or you could, you know, hold your nose and ask the sorceress standing right in front of you for help,” Neve said.
I heard myself gasp, but I wasn’t the only one. Caitriona sat heavily on the edge of the table, her face tightening with unspoken emotion.
“Before there were only nine priestesses left in Avalon, there were many,” Neve continued. “I’m descended from one.”
Bedivere lifted his head again, turning to the priestesses. Olwen bit her lip, as if to force herself to stay silent as she looked to Caitriona. The words she’d spoken on the night of our arrival rose in my mind: If I am absolutely certain of anything, it is this: the Goddess led you here to us. All of you.
Caitriona’s long silver braid glittered in the firelight as she turned to her sister.
“You and the others have fought me every step of the way, and it”—she drew in a choking breath—“it is…not easy to stand against you all alone and feel as if I am difficult—and to be resented…to be hated for it. I only know what our High Priestess taught me, and she—if I cannot do what she asked of me, then I have failed her.”
“No, my dear heart.” Olwen dropped to her knees in front of Caitriona and gripped her hands. “Never think that. You are our sister. Even when there is nothing left of this world, our love for you will still remain, because there is no power capable of destroying it.”
“I have disappointed you all,” Caitriona said desolately.
“Never,” Bedivere swore, pressing his hand to his chest. “Nothing could be further from the truth.”
“It is as the High Priestess said,” Olwen told her. “Only deep roots survive harsh winds, and you have kept us steady these last years. We only ever wanted you to see our perspective—that it may be time to open ourselves, and the isle, to a new season, with new ways. The Goddess will meet us there.”
“There is only the way that is written,” Caitriona said. “And the rituals require priestesses to be pure of heart and intention because we are asking the Goddess to use her more powerful magic on our behalf. I don’t doubt Neve’s power, but the High Priestess said that the magic practiced by sorceresses poisons their souls.”
“How dare you—” I began.
Neve put her hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze to cut me off. The hurt had vanished from her face, leaving only deep resolve.
“The Goddess will be my judge,” Neve said, “not a High Priestess who never laid eyes on me. Not even Caitriona of the Nine.”
“Cait,” Olwen started again. “I know the war in your heart, and that you only wish to respect our ancestors and honor the Goddess. But if we do not do what we must to survive, the old ways will not merely cease to exist, they will pass from memory forever. If Neve is willing, there can be no harm in trying.”
“There is harm if it fails,” Caitriona rasped out. “For then we will truly be without hope.”
“No, my lady Cait,” Bedivere said. “We will know we have fought with all our might, and there is only honor in that.”
For a long while, they listened to the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the howling of the creatures in the dead forest.
Emrys was lost in his own thoughts. He finally sat on the table beside me, bracing a hand near my hip. The weight of his shoulder pressing into mine was like a ballast against Caitriona’s words. Unconsciously, his little finger began to stroke my thigh, the featherlight touch turning the skin beneath the fabric hot. Something in me shifted as I realized I wasn’t the only one craving the comfort of touch. The need to feel anchored to something—someone.
“All right,” Caitriona said at last, bowing her head. “We shall try and see if the Goddess will recognize Neve as her own. And if it should come to naught, then may we be forgiven.”
Olwen broke out into a smile, sharing a look of relief with Neve.
Caitriona struggled to rise from the table, accepting the arm Olwen offered. “I will speak to Lowri and the others, then. We will search for something suitable to forge the new athame.”
“You need to explain it to Flea first,” I heard myself say.
They turned to me, surprised.
I swallowed. “It’ll hurt her if she feels like she’s not needed.”
If she feels useless.
Caitriona hovered in the doorway, giving me a long look of what might have been approval. “Yes. I will speak to her.”
Olwen ushered the rest of us out with her. “Until then, no more lurking about. Rest. All of you. By morning, the way—the new way—will be clear.”
* * *
I trailed behind the others as we walked toward the tower, trying to work through everything I’d learned. Bedivere wrapped an arm around Caitriona’s shoulder, saying something I couldn’t quite make out about resting. Ahead, Deri was still at work patching and pruning the Mother tree. Emrys stopped to speak to him, pointing out something I couldn’t see.
“Meeting without me?”
I startled at Cabell’s voice cutting through the darkness. I turned, searching for him among the shadows, only to find him leaning against the rickety fencing of the training area.
“There you are,” I said. “I tried to find you earlier. Where were you?”
His arms crossed as I came toward him, and there was a hardness to his expression I hoped was the night playing tricks on my eyes.
“You think people really want to see me wandering around after what happened?”
I knew the sting in his question wasn’t aimed at me, but I still flinched. His words from the stables twisted like a knife in my chest. You promised.
“They know it’s not your fault,” I said. “It was the curse.”
“Yeah,” he said, looking down. “I’m sure.”
I hopped up onto the fence beside him, turning to face the tower. “Were you with Bedivere? Did you ask him if the stories about Arthur going to Annwn were true?”
“Oh, are we still working together on this?” he said. “Mind filling me in on whatever your midnight meeting was about first?”
“Yeah,” I said, remembering my shock from earlier. “After you tell me why you ratted me out to Bedivere for searching the underpaths.”
“It made me feel bad to keep lying to him when he was helping me,” Cabell said sharply. “And answering the questions you wanted answered. Maybe if you’d ever thought to tell me what was going on, I would have given you a heads-up.”
I released a soft breath.
He was right to be upset. I should have tried to find him, to make sure he was aware of all the pieces of this story finally shifting into place. I would have been hurt too.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Tonight happened so fast, and I wasn’t thinking. Your sister can be an idiot sometimes too, you know.”
“Runs in the family, of course.” Some of the stiffness in his posture eased. “What happened, though?”
He stared down at his boots as I recounted the story, only nodding now and then, as if he’d suspected some of it himself. I wondered at that, but worried more about his utter lack of reaction to hearing about the ritual.
“What do you think?” I asked him. “If Neve can help them pull it off, it could be the answer to everything. It could fix you once and for all—it could make everything right.”
“Fix me.” His lips pressed into a bloodless line. “Yeah.”
I opened my mouth to clarify what I meant, but backed off when I saw the way his shoulders hunched. I really was an idiot—it was way too soon after losing the trail of the ring and enduring another transformation to try to lift his spirits. There were only so many times you could get your hopes up.
