CONTENT WARNING: Deals with the aftereffects of the witches having to flee for their lives, and old-age animal death also comes up in this chapter. You don't see it happen though. and 1 instance of bad language.
Áine
Róisín is in one of her moods again. On top of the stress of this sudden relocation, it must also be the day of a full moon. Iris had kindly given us both a room in a small makeshift tower-like structure- small, but livable enough until it was safe to return home. There was some dried herbs and a cauldron, and some books to pass the time.
Sometimes, I admit, I hate dealing with both Róisín and Reynold's moods on full moon days. Reynold and I avoided each other most of the time, but when that wasn't possible, trying to deal with the little arguments that would arise became nightmarish at times. But I couldn't leave the house, otherwise the two would argue with each other. I know these tantrums won't be so bad once she's an adult, but for now, they're unbearable.
I keep telling myself it's neither of their faults, but sometimes, it's hard not to take what's said personally. At least with my daughter, I realise that she is dealing with far more than any child her age should have to deal with. It's understandable why she's like she is. I admit, it hurts a lot more when it's from my partner. There's no use talking about it to anyone else, though. Men and anger are inseperable from one another, no matter how hard you try, no matter how pleasant he may seem on the surface. Their anger is permitted and celebrated, and it matters not who gets hurt. Ours has to be buried deep into our hearts, never to escape, and it will hurt for the rest of your life. Perhaps Alistair is right in that it's a necessary catharsis- especially for my daughter, who might not get any release otherwise.
"All I'm asking you to do is stay in here whilst I go and speak to Iris."
"Why do I have to stay in here? It's nice outside! I don't want to stay in here!"
"Because I don't want you saying anything you don't mean to anyone here, especially not the other children!"
"Because you don't trust me?"
"No, because these people don't know what you're like on full moon days. I don't want you upsetting anyone. We only just got here, and I intend to keep us both in Iris's good books until we can leave safely. "
"Admit it!" she yells. "You're ashamed of me!"
"I'm not ashamed of you, Róisín," I tell her, trying as hard as I can to return to a calm tone.
"You are! You've always been ashamed of me!"
"Róisín, please, just stay here. That's all I'm asking."
She sits on the bed, arms crossed, and a pouty expression across her face. This will pass, I have to tell myself. Tomorrow, she'll apologise for everything. She'll know that I'm not ashamed of her, and that I love her more than anything.
The witches outside are dancing and chanting around a fire, supposedly some sort of ritual. Despite being accepted into their group, I feel as if I will always feel alone no matter what company I am surrounded with. Still, to be in the company of entirely magical women- perhaps I finally have the chance of realising myself.
Iris calls me down from my room after they're done, and sits beside me on a bench made from a log. The whole place is beautiful. I can sense the thickness of the veil of magic here; it's invigorating.
"If you ever see us doing anything like that, just join right in," Iris says, in a cheerful voice. "You're one of the group now, after all. Where's your daughter?"
"My daughter is very irritable right now," I tell her. "The full moon affects her a lot more. She always gets into terrible tantrums on these nights, just as a warning..."
"I understand. She's going through a lot. So are the other children that live around here," she says. "Everyone here is. None us know a thing about settling down. We're from all over the place. I came all the way from near Mt. Komorebi- the small mountain village of Yukimatsu. I used to be well-respected there, and then...Let's just say it's Henfordian people that completely turned my life around and leave it there for now."
The first thing I notice about almost every woman I meet is the years of untold agony behind her eyes. To have a leave a place so beautiful as Mt. Komorebi because of the people of Henford...
"I moved to Henford from Innisgreen, after my mother was killed by witchfinders. My father handed her in to protect his own back."
"Nothing more vile than someone who will turn their back on one of their own," Iris says, in a scornful tone. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. And in fleeing to one place, now you have to flee to another. But you won't have to flee anymore, Áine. Not from here. Here in Glimmerbrook, the witches have little to fear."
The snake twirls around her arms and shoulders, flickering its tongue at me. It's beautiful, but a little unnerving.
"I have family back in Henford," I tell her. "I have a partner, an adoptive father and little brother...I fear I will never see them again."
"You will, in time- once the witchfinders are defeated. Some adversaries can stick around for centuries, but I'm a firm believer that no adversary sticks around forever. All we can do is keep fighting it, and from what I know of you, you seem the perfect person to have here."
All she knows of me?
"What do you mean?"
"Someone who used to live here- Katlego. She spoke of you helping her in her time as a cunningwoman, and that you planned to go into teaching magic."
"I did teach and literacy, for a short while, in a small village- and then I had to protect them from witchfinders," I explain. "After that, I taught the matriarch of the village how to use magic to defend herself. She's doing well, as are the others. Which begs the question- Can I ask what happened with Kat? She said she left over a disagreement."
Iris's gaze narrows. What could Kat have possibly done wrong?
"It's very rare that we ever get witchfinders here, but...She refused to kill a witchfinder. Just muddled with his mind using her 'mischief' magic, and then let him flee. You see, Áine, it is the duty of all adult witches amongst my people to protect us from witchfinders by any means necessary- not to meddle with their "heads until their memory clears and they come back."
"And did this witchfinder come back?"
"He did," Iris snaps. "I took care of him myself. I'm glad Katlego left. Anyone who isn't willing to kill a witchfinder is complicit in their violence, as far as I'm concerned."
"Kat isn't complicit in anything!" I yell, drawing the shocked attention of the other women. "She's a healer, not a killer! All she's ever done is try to protect witches. She just does it without having to kill people."
"And that's part of the problem," Iris replies, in a monotone voice, her snake opening its mouth as wide as it can towards me. "The only good witchfinder is a dead witchfinder. And I won't stop until they're all gone- for my sake and for the sake of the witches of Glimmerbrook."
As much as I want the witchfinders dead, I can't get behind what Iris is saying, and I don't appreciate her slandering a friend. As much as I want to stay in her good graces, I owe it to Kat to stand up for her.
"Iris, would you ever break a promise to your mother?"
"My mother is long dead, but of course I wouldn't," she replies. "My parents were more than good to me- and where I'm from, you respect the people who raised you with unconditional love. Something that seems to be lost on the people of Henford."
"Well, there we go. Kat is just honouring her mother's words. Her mother told her to never take a life or act out in violence. She told her she can never wash the blood off her hands."
Iris looks down into the grass as I speak. The snake turns to look at her, and she runs her hand across its head.
Iris
I had no choice but to let Katlego go, as much as I treasured her. There cannot be any mercy in the face of evil. If the witchfinders aren't defeated, then I will never be able to move on, and my sisters will never be able to live fully. I do not like admitting to being wrong, but Áine has a point.
"I understand. I admit, I do miss Kat. I miss her company and her wit. As angry as I've been with her decision, she made this place feel alive. And I miss Eleanor. I miss a lot of people who once stayed here. People don't leave here often, but when they do..."
"I think you owe her an apology."
"Indeed, but I cannot leave this place," I tell her. "As capable as these fine women are, I don't want to leave them here by themselves."
"Well, what if I go-"
"It isn't safe. It won't be for a long time. You're staying here."
I remember everything Katlego told me about Áine. To know that she defended people from witchfinders and taught magic means she'll be an asset to the group. With Áine on my side, maybe we're a step closer to beating the witchfinders. Only then can I move on from this place...at least, that's what I believe.
Reynold
I write with the Watcher.
As usual, it isn't doing anything. The symbol of the Peteran Sun isn't powerful enough to drown out the noise of the upcoming full moon.
I think of yesterday's revelation- not only that Susana and Elias now know of my true nature, but the revelation that my doubts were entirely correct- Elias has always been suspicious and distrusting of me, and now is even more so. I try to write with the Watcher, but another deity speaks far louder to me. My brain feels like it's on fire, and Lunvin's anger spreads throughout me.
I risked my own life to save his and everyone else's, and this is how he reacts? If I did nothing, and everyone in this monastery died, wouldn't he have complained about that as well?
Elias is too devoted, that's his problem. Reads the Book of Peter without questioning a thing, without any reading between the lines. People may think me scandalous and unfit for my role, what with all the proclivities- the killings, the giving in to certain pleasures no Peteran priest would give into- but I am doing exactly what Peter would have- putting myself in danger to protect everyone else. There's nothing more Peteran than that. What is it that he doesn't understand?
But that isn't good enough for him, is it? He's never once had an ounce of faith in me at all.
The door creaks open, and the voice that comes after isn't one I want to hear. I can hear him behind me, speaking in a pathetic, apologetic tone. That, perhaps, he 'took it too far' in yesterday's argument.
No, no, Elias. I can take this much further than you ever could.
My headache only gets worse as I resist the irresistible- the urge to verbally lash out at him. I don't want to hear his apologies. I don't want to hear his voice at all.
No. He needs to hear it. All of it, in all of its raw truth.
"You don't mean any of it, do you? You've never once trusted me- not even when I became Prior. If you wanted to show us all how to be a perfect Peteran, when why didn't you fucking speak up when Mother Joyce asked about a successor? Why didn't you step in and offer yourself up instead of leaving it all to me?!"
His eyes widen. He didn't expect it, did he? He expected the Peteran priest to forgive and forget and not say a word. Why such surprise, I wonder, when he thinks me so unfit to be in my position?
"What is your problem? I'm trying to apologise for my attitude yesterday. But I can't forget what you did, Reynold. You took multiple lives-"
"I saved your life! If I'd have just stood there and prayed until they raided the place and accused you all of witchcraft and hung you all, then you'd have thought that I was wrong to do that as well! The only person who's in danger because of this is me- because now all of Withernham knows what I am! I endangered myself to protect all of you!"
This is it. This is the catharsis that my father spoke about, that was written in all of the books of Lunvin's teachings. Some years back, I held back so many times during full moons. I resisted the transformations for months. I ruined myself and degraded myself by forcing pacifism where it wasn't needed. I'm not doing that again. Lunvin is reminding me what I deserve- and what I don't.
"No, they don't, Reynold," he says, his voice shaking. "They don't know what you really are. That's the problem. I've been suspicious of you, yes, but I've always had faith in you. I've always respected you. I even told you that you were brave for what you did...but to know now that you killed those people with your magic, and that you've killed many other people before...I can't just push that aside, Father. "
"Look, now isn't the time to be arguing with me! I don't want to hear your apologies, I don't want to hear your voice! Just go!"
Elias simply huffs to himself before leaving, and doesn't say another word. Thank goodness. I try to calm myself down, but it's impossible- it was easier to chase him out than risk saying anything worse to him- though something else interrupts the silence, a strange, nostalgic sound. The sound of a cat. A stray, perhaps?
No, it can't be. The echo is unwordly, and there's a chill near my feet. I peer down, and-
No. It can't be...a ghost? Is that really Whisper's ghost, or is my mind still frayed from overcharge? Is this a hallucination? I've never seen a ghost in my life. I always thought that every creature joined the Watcher after death. Do animals not?
She climbs up onto the desk, as she always did. She didn't like me writing with the Watcher- as far as she was concerned, she was the goddess around these parts. She started off as a mouser, though I loved her so much that I spoiled her into nothing but a communal housecat. I started to think people came to the church to see the cat rather than listen to the sermons- not that I blamed them.
I run my hand through her body, and she hisses at me. There's a strange sensation to her- a kind of chill, like putting your hand outside into the winter wind. She gives me the same excited meow she always used to give me, laced with some concern.
She runs into the old refuge room, and I find her relaxing on the end of the sofa, tapping at the cushions with her paw. I'm doing everything that I can to offset the burning anger in my mind from Lunvin's influence. Maybe some time with the cat might help offset it a little more.
I'm still on-edge about this- if I can feel it, then it certainly isn't an illusion of a fractured mind trying to mend itself after overcharge. As far as I'm aware, every soul goes to the Watcher to look down upon and guide their loved ones. I never did believe that the world beyond the veil even existed like most witches do. So many questions, and no idea where to start looking for answers. Whisper lies against my chest, her tail curling and unfurling on my arm, and her chin resting on my chest. I can't feel her, but I try to touch her as if I'm holding her. She screeches when I accidentally put my hand right through her 'body', but relaxes once I pet the back of her neck like I used to. I try to drown out my thoughts, difficult as it may be at this time.
Her body turns a bright green colour, and the eerie echoes of her ghostly purrs send a shiver through me. I don't know how to feel- warm? Glad? Shocked? Terrified? How exactly do ghosts work? When do they leave to the other side of the veil? Is the veil thinner now for some reason? It's nowhere near any of the celebrative days for magic-folk...
Why did Whisper, of all ghosts, decide to show herself to me? Why now? Is this her intent? Can ghosts control who can see them and when? Has she always been here? Is Mother Joyce here, or is she with the Watcher? Could a cat really love someone enough to surpass the veil just to have a cuddle again?
I think back to what Lunvin said during my time 'lost between veils', though I now question if that was just a strange, almost comatose dream, and that it might have not been Lunvin at all. It seems far too coincidental, in hindsight, that She looked so close to what She looked like in old drawings.
I thought that Lunvin had spared me from death when She said it was not my time. Perhaps such a thing is outside of her control- surely something as ominous as life and death is out of the control of anything and anyone except fate itself. Maybe I had almost died, yet survived against all odds. The image of how I picture Lunvin appeared to me, in all my mind's shattered emotions, to comfort me and ground me. The brain has peculiar ways of ensuring its survival, after all.
Maybe...maybe it's more complex than either, I think to myself, as the long-dead ghost of my old mouser cat kneads against my chest.
The only chance I have of getting answers is from either of two people- one a woman of the metaphysical, the other a man of (mostly) science. My old friend Katlego, for one- she was everyone's go-to for all things spiritual, and often dealt with some level of communication with the dead- at least, that's what she told her customers.
I didn't want to deal with Samuel, not in the slightest- but Owen and I know each other from his monthly donations to the monastery, and he seems a lot more grounded than his father is, at least from what Eli tells me about him. I could use some of that money, and write a letter to him to try and book an appointment with him. No-one really knows much about the mind, even still. How can we, when it's never anything that comes up in conversation? Peterans have tried time and time again to study it, but I don't know how much any of those old books would still hold up. Surely such a renowned physician might know something- or, at least, someone.
It feels as if my skull is about to crack open. With this revelation, I
gladly welcome my transformation into the evening. I would gladly rather
think about nothing other than survival, running through the forests of
the night and preying on those who try to do harm to the good people of
Henford.