CONTENT WARNING: Bereavement, traumatic memories
Reynold
I haven't stopped thinking about the events of yesterday's visit to Dr. Annorin. The ghost, another ghost- that spaniel-like dog that eyed him intently. Then there was what Owen said about me being oddly cold to the touch, and his prediction that it might have been caused by a dangerous build-up of the magic in my blood. If I have to go back to him, I just hope he performs a little less thorough of an examination- I know it's his job, but he'd explored places even Áine hasn't. I suppose you never know where the answer to a problem lies.
I don't know how I'm supposed to convince Kat that these ghosts are real, I know they're real. But why only animals, I wonder? Owen mentioned he thinks the overcharge might have meddled with my brain somehow, only no-one in Henford knows much about the human mind. I might find something in the Peteran library- nothing scientific, but Peteran scholars often had a fascination with the inner workings of the mind.
Ever since the incident, there's an emptiness in me that I can't quite describe, a kind of detachment. Maybe it's just all that's going on weighing me down, but there's no time for being weighed down when I have people to look after...
"Father. A word, if I may."
I only just recognise that voice, and that accent, from when we all gathered at Oskar's house. It's Violeta, Oskar's mother, and the woman that tried to attack my partner and my unborn child. Under this roof, I have little choice but to hear out whatever she's about to say.
"Go on."
"I have something I must ask of you, Father, but first...I have something I must tell you. I know you were close to him."
No.
No, he can't be. Oskar...already? Surely his illness hasn't gotten so bad so quickly. She lowers her head, and I can't see her eyes under the shadow of the brim of her hat.
"My son is no longer with us. He fought bravely to stop the witchfinders, and to allow the witches to pass to safety- but not without giving his life."
I feel a cold sickness sink from my chest into my stomach. To say I'm devastated would be an understatement. Everything he'd done for everyone- myself, Áine, Eli, my father, and everyone else that came before all of us. Oskar never wanted to stop living, even in his darkest moments. I want to say he would have never wanted this- but he was a soldier at heart, wasn't he? He wasn't going to let his sickness be the thing that took his life. All of them are going to be utterly heartbroken.
I don't even know where Áine and Róisín are. I don't even know if they're still alive, but I have to stay hopeful, for everyone's sake. Áine wouldn't have let any harm come to her or to Róisín.
"I'm deeply sorry, Violeta. Oskar did so much for everyone- we'll always remember him."
"Indeed, we will- and that is what I need your assistance with. I plan to bury him in Windenburg alongside his parents, but first, I would like to have a funeral of some sort for him. It doesn't have to be anything lavish- just something to remember him by properly. I know Oskar would have wanted something all fancy, but...I understand that everything is rough for everyone at this time."
On top of everything, there's a chance that Róisín and Áine won't even get to give a proper goodbye to him. I don't want to think about it, but I have little choice. I can't be the one to decide on when Violeta mourns her own son for the sake of my family.
"Of course. I'd be glad to."
"Thank you, Father. It would be good to see if Áine and Róisín would want to attend...though I know Áine probably does not want me anywhere near her."
I never did find out the whole story behind that. It's never something Áine has ever spoken to me about in detail.
"Can I ask what happened, Violeta, to make her feel that way?"
Under this roof, I can't judge her too much for what she's about to tell me. Now is the best time to ask.
"I planned to kill her. I didn't care when Oskar told me she was with child. In my 'youth', witches handed vampires and werewolves to the witchfinders to save their own skins. I hated them. I didn't care for her or her child. I wanted to protect my son, that was all; it's all I've ever wanted to do.
I would be lying if I said I felt guilty. I have mostly felt nothing for a very long time. But I realise that what I did was wrong, and the witches of today are nothing like the ones that would have handed the likes of me into the hands of the likes of Volpe. I didn't touch her- Oskar took me down to the ground before I could."
"You don't have to forgive me, Father, but I can promise you, I would not endanger the lives of either of them again- or any other witch. I know now that I made the incorrect assumptions, and I bear no ill will towards her- especially after all the good she did for my son."
Violeta didn't even land a scratch on Áine. I still remember what Clem looked like after what happened. Violeta was trying to protect her son, and she would have done anything to do so. I'd have done the same for my daughter- only my daughter's life was almost endangered by this woman.
"Do you know where they are? I have something I must tell your daughter," she explains. "Róisín made Oskar promise to her to be brave, as he'd asked of her. I need to tell her that her grandfather kept his promise."
If Violeta had any intention of doing harm to either Áine and Róisín, she would have already done so by now. She'd have eventually figured out where we lived, and she'd have known human Oskar would have been powerless to stop her if she wanted to- and yet she didn't. She'd have found them both on one of their walks. She knows now that modern witches are not like those back in her day. If she can tell me where Áine and Róisín are, then I could possibly have a way of keeping in touch with them.
"I don't know where either of them are," I tell her, "and I mean that."
"Very well," she replies. "I have an idea of where they might have gone. When I found Oskar, there were witches following the river. Perhaps if I follow, I might find where they went. She could have gone with them. And if I find her and she asks about you...what do I tell her?"
What is she supposed to tell her, when I still have no idea what is wrong with me?
"Tell her...tell her I'm doing okay."
The last thing I want her to be worrying about at this moment is me. I just hope that, wherever she is, she's safe. Even Violeta knows I'm not telling the truth.
"Understood. If I come across her, I will be sure to let you know as quickly as I'm able, Father."
"Oh, and one more thing, Violeta- from now on, you're going to help protect my daughter in any way that you can."
Alistair
the next day
The moment my son told me what had happened...words can't explain how I felt.
One of my closest friends and allies, someone who would happily look after anyone that needed his help - one hundred and sixty five of years of history- gone. Even as a human, he managed to fight off at least one hundred of Volpe's witchfinders. Thanks to him, most of the witches had managed to escape Henford in time.
As I carve his name into the memorial, it dawns on me- not only am I one of the last of my blood, but I am now the very last survivor of the Bloodmoon. The last who remembers the horror of it all.
I know he doesn't want me to weep for him- but it's impossible not to. Without Oskar, the casualties both back then and now would have been far higher. Without him, I would have never found my children again. He did everything for everyone, and expected little in return.
I know that he didn't want it to be his illness that killed him. It nearly killed him back then, and he wasn't going to let it win this time. He'd devoted his life to protecting others; it made sense to him that he would die doing the same thing. Besides Violeta, nobody really understood him the way I'd learned to. I know I will never meet anyone else like him, and it feels like a dagger in my chest knowing I will never see him again.
I pray to both the Watcher and Lunvin for him. I hope that, wherever he is now, he is at peace- whether that is with the Watcher, with his parents with Ilse, or with our old brothers and sisters from the Bloodmoon, drinking and laughing together once again.
Áine
Róisín has been unsettled all day. She hasn't gone outside to meet anyone, not even the other children.
"I'm a bad person."
"Bad person? Róisín, you're nothing close," I tell her, with a hand on her shoulder.
"I am," she says. "I said nasty things to you. I do it every month to you and to Father. You must hate me."
It breaks my heart to hear her say such things. She's just a child.
"Róisín, you needn't feel bad all of the time. Lunvin's influence is incredibly difficult for anyone to overcome, let alone a young child. It's difficult to deal with such powerful emotions even at your age. There are adults in full control of their emotions who don't feel guilty for their outbursts. If you had any control over it, you would."
Her words devolve into mumbles and sobbing. It feels like a knife in my heart when I see her cry. I want nothing more than her happiness, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do to give her that. Maybe here, in relative safety, we can start working towards that.
"Don't cry, sweetheart. You don't need to feel bad. We all get angry sometimes. We all say things we don't mean. Sometimes your father and I argue. And sometimes he argues with his father, and so on, and so forth. What matters is you apologise and you know when you've said something you shouldn't have. Most aren't as caring to recognise when they've done as such."
"I wish I didn't have magic!" she cries. "I wish I wasn't going to become a werewolf. Then I wouldn't be mean to people and then people wouldn't want to hurt me!"
"Darling, please, don't say such things." I put my hand on her cheek, gently wiping away the tears from her little red face. "You shouldn't have to change for anyone. I know it hurts now, but when you're older, it will get easier. You will find ways to cope with Lunvin's influence and with anger and fear and all of those bad emotions. I promise."
Róisín looks up at me longingly, her eyes glistening in the muted candlelight.
"I miss Father," she tells me, her voice wavering as she tries to stop crying. "And you do, too."
I do miss Reynold. I pray to the Sun and Moon that he and the other Peterans are safe. I don't know when, or even if I'll see him again, but I knew that the moment we fell in love. We both knew that, someday, something would separate us. Despite everything, I have to remain hopeful- for everyone's sake.
"I do. And I know he misses us, and that he's thinking about us both. But we'll see him again sometime. Your father is strong- just like you are. And we love you."
Her smile makes all the anxiety in my chest melt away for a moment. "I love you too, Mother."
Róisín
Glimmerbrook is such a beautiful place. I like waking up to the gentle sound of the river trickling, and the huge cliffs and trees all around us. It really does feel like such a magical place being out here. I miss Henford, but at least the women here are very nice.
It's very early in the morning and the children are asleep. I haven't said hello to them yet. Something smells very good, and I see Iris at the cauldron, so I go and say hello to her. She looks very angry, but I think she's just concentrating.
"What are you making?"
"I'm making us all breakfast," she says, her voice strained where she's been stirring this for so long. "Why are you awake so early?"
"I didn't sleep very well," I say to her. "I wasn't very nice to my mother and I feel really bad."
"It's okay, Róisín. If you say sorry to her, she will underst-Emerald! Out! Now!" She swats towards the snake around her shoulder who's trying to eat from the cauldron, and she curls back around her shoulders in a guilty way.
"This smells good. I can't wait to have some."
"I'm glad you think so," Iris says, with a smile. "Have you met the other children yet? They've been excited to get to meet you."
"Not yet, no. I'm still a bit nervous. Can I ask more about you?"
Iris stops stirring, letting the food sit for a while. "Why don't I show you? Come with me."
Iris leads me into her room, somehow holding four plates of breakfast in her hands, which she says she's keeping there for the children and Mother when they wake up. It's the one right on the ground. Her room has lots of deer-related objects in it- a skull, a head, and also some pretty artwork that doesn't look like anything I've seen before.
"As am I, Róisín...Anyhow, breakfast is almost ready. Aren't you hungry?"
Iris calls everyone else over, and they all rush to eat.
I'm not sure what it is, but at this point I'm so hungry that I'll eat anything. It smells good, though, and all the witches say hello to me. I don't know what questions to ask when, but now I'm wondering more about Iris.
Katlego
In a way, Ellie and I are for once glad of the quiet for the day. We've been making herbal remedies and potions all day, but we've hardly had a soul come in. I suppose most of our custom had fled to safety, and as much as I sometimes despised doing divination readings for those without magic sometimes, custom is custom, after all.
The door creaks open, and Nia lets out a curious hoot. I must say, I'm surprised to see him again, and glad that he is still alive after all that's happened.
"A pleasure to see you alive, Father. And well, I hope."
"And to you, Kat, and I'm glad Ellie and Nia are okay. As for me, well- alive, yes, but well...not so much. I thought you might be able to help me figure something out."
Nia chirps at him, and tilts her head, turning back to me with an alarmed look. She's right- I sense something offf about him, also.
"I see. Have you seen Dr. Annorin?"
"I have," he replies, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. "He told me to come to you. He thinks my problem is more of a magical nature than a biological one. I managed to overcharge myself dangerously after protecting the monastery with a lunar magic shield. Ever since, I've been...seeing ghosts of animals. First one was the monastery's mouser cat, and I've seen a few since. Dogs, foxes, birds..."
He takes a breath, and I hear him mutter something to himself under his breath- about something he should have told Owen.
"On top of that...I didn't turn into a wolf on the recent full moon. I've withheld it in the past, but I didn't feel anything. No resistance to the urge, no burning headache, nothing. I just led there all night."
That is beyond strange. It's nowhere close to a day where the veil is thin, and I know Reynold has no knowledge of communication with the dead. I don't think I've met anyone in Henford who has, though I remember a few people back home to spoke of the world beyond now and again. But to stop turning into a werewolf? Surely such a transformation is inevitable regardless of how much someone resists it, but he didn't even try to hold back or feel the need to.
I don't know entirely what the cause is, but I think I already have a good feeling of what it could be.
"What did Owen tell you?"
"He said something about me being strangely cold, and thinks the overcharge has done something to the magic in my blood."
It sometimes pains me to think about all of the arcane knowledge Owen has that he has to keep buried. Though his outlook seems to be more of a biological one, like Reynold said, I don't think he's far from the truth. There's an emptiness about him.
"That doesn't sound too far off from what I'm thinking, Reynold. Sit with me."
Nia perches in the scales, chirping at Reynold, trying to cheer him up. He doesn't know that, and lightly shushes her. I let him settle a little before I reveal what I'm about to say to him.
"Normally, when I am around you, I can sense how powerful the magic within you is. Right now, however, I do not sense a thing. I feel the same way I do around those without magic."
His reaction is far from positive, as I expected. I see the panic in his eyes.
The Rite of Dissolution is not uncommon. It is also commonly fatal. Some witches would be willing to take the risk just to become 'normal' humans, in the hopes that they will evade being on the end of a witchfinder's sword. That said, to become separated from one's magic is devastating even to those who choose for such a thing to happen. To become separated from such a large part of yourself and your heritage, it is an unimaginable pain for the regular folk of Henford. For the magic-folk, and for those not from around these parts? All too real.
"W-what do you mean?"
"I don't think it's that your magic has disappeared, Reynold. Without a
Rite of Dissolution, it isn't possible, not to my knowledge. But I do
think that your magic has been greatly weakened by the overcharge. I do have a
theory for the ghosts- but you must prepare yourself for what I'm about
to say."
"I trust your judgment," he says, his voice shaking. "What do you think?"
I don't want to tell him. It'll terrify him, but I don't have much choice.
"Perhaps you would call them by something different in Henford, but back home, there was much talk of 'curses'- a mutation or a mishap within your own blood magic and that of the veil around us as well. Sometimes, it doesn't 'behave' as it should, and it can cause all sorts of problems. I believe that your overcharge may have been horrific enough to give you such a close brush with death...that you are neither living or dead. I believe that, somehow, you are caught between the veil of life and death."
His eyes are as big as Nia's. His shaking hands curl up. I notice the beginnings of tears forming.
"That can't be possible."
"Magic, and the manipulation of magic, can indeed make the seemingly-impossible very possible indeed, Reynold." I touch his hand for a moment, and it is strangely cold, as Owen said- and it's fairly toasty in here.
"So you think I'm cursed?"
"I believe so. Even those who claim they can speak to the dead cannot see them. I understand this is a lot to take in, but there is powerful enough magic out there to rid someone of a curse, I have no doubt. The only problem is I have no idea where you'd start looking. Such magic would be so powerful that I doubt any old witch could cast it."
Reynold lets out a long-drawn sigh that's far more painful than it sounds.
"Thank you for your time and effort, Kat," he says, in a whispery voice, handing me double in Simoleons than what I would have charged him.
"I understand that it's a lot to take in, but you must be easy on yourself, both physically and mentally. There's always hope, Reynold. You're a Peteran priest- you remind everyone of that every day. I hope you can remind yourself of that as well."
Reynold
My brain feels like it's been set alight. I've been lying on the sofa, almost paralysed with fear, waiting for Lunvin to show Herself. I want to scream at Her. I want to demand to know what I did to deserve this. My vision upon the river all that time ago, the sensation of myself dying...This is what it was, wasn't it? It was a warning from Lunvin of what was to come. Is it a punishment from Her? No, I can't be cut off from my own magic.
I try to concentrate as much as possible on the river in the sliver of moonlight. I can still do this. I'm still one of the Lunvinchenaîne. No-one can take that from me- not even Lunvin.
Nothing. I feel nothing. I don't feel the magic around me. I don't feel the magic within me. I don't feel the moon's light upon me. I feel nothing but the midnight cold and the wet, sickening dread sensation in my chest.
Lunvin...What did I do to deserve this? Is this your doing? Is this a punishment? A challenge? Or is this nothing to do with Lunvin? Or is this simply fate, with only the Watcher to guide me?
A nauseating guilt forces me to my knees. All of those things I said to Elias- they were nothing to do with Lunvin's influence. They were all me. All of the vitriol I spewed at him was all from the heart...or lack thereof.
I don't care if having magic makes me a target for Volpe and the like. Magic is a part of me. You can't take Lunvin and the wolf away from the Lunvinchenaîne. Without it, I'm nothing. As of today, the likely last remaining Lunvinchenaîne is my father. The longer I'm without my magic, the harder it will be to regain my power...that's if I ever do. All of this work on controlling my emotions and my anger won't mean anything if those emotions are completely diminished by the lack of magical connection to anything around me.
If Lunvin won't hear my call, then all I can do is hope that the Watcher will.