Chapter 21 #3
I am close to death. My every breath confirms thus.
But I will not depart this life a contemptible traitor.
My truth is penned here, in the cipher only others may decrypt, and I pray someone recovers my truth at the appropriate time.
The Beithir was not a brute, and I am not a villain.
And the Cailleach—the ravenous dark—is still out there.
Whomsoever reads this, I beg of thee. Convince them what I was ineffectual to complete.
Keep the promise my weakness prevents me from affecting.
My departure from this life cannot be in vain.
The entry ended there. I sat back, shaking, tears streaming down my face.
“She gave her life … to save her family and Loren Brae. And they called her a traitor for it.”
“Aye, lass. I’m sorry.” Quilliam hurried over to curl into my palm, worry on his wee face.
“But what will we do? Am I meant to fight this Cailleach? To find her? Is that the only way to break the curse? Because I’ll be honest here, Quill, I just don’t know…” I shook my head, unable to finish. I was just a Bookkeeper. How was I meant to defeat an ancient darkness?
“Maybe we need to call on the Stone of Truth,” Quilliam mused, hopping down from my hand and pacing across the table. “Because surely it won’t like the Cailleach using its guardian for nefarious means.”
“And the Beithir’s son doesn’t know any of this,” I said slowly, the wheels turning. “He thinks one of the Order murdered his father. He doesn’t know about the corruption, or the Cailleach, or the fact that his father begged Isobel to tell the truth with his dying breath.”
“He’s been grieving a lie for three hundred years,” Quilliam agreed. “And the Cailleach’s curse has been feeding on that grief, using his rage to make it stronger.”
“If I tell him the truth, if I keep Isobel’s promise, what happens to the curse?”
Quilliam was quiet for a moment. “The curse came from the Cailleach. It may not break simply because the Beithir understands. But if he stops feeding it with his anger... if he withdraws his power from it...”
“It might weaken. Might unravel.” I straightened. “Because it’s the Beithir that’s controlling the loch, isn’t it? That’s the one who pulled Graham in today.”
“It’s possible. The Beithir has been sustaining the curse with his hatred for centuries.
He’s become part of it, even if he didn’t create it.
If you can change his heart, make him see the truth...
” Quilliam’s tail flicked. “And appeal to the Stone of Truth for help? It might be enough to break the hold of the curse on your bloodline. Because at the end of the day, if you stand for the Stone, it should work on your behalf, no?”
“One would think, but then wouldn’t a curse not have landed on my bloodline? If Isobel was fighting for the truth?”
“Maybe the Stone didn’t know? Maybe you need to appeal directly to it?”
I stared at the diary, at Isobel’s final words. A woman who had died trying to save her family, branded a traitor by the people she loved.
“It starts with the Beithir, I think. I have to tell him. I have to tell him what really happened to his father.”
“Aye, lass. I think that you do.”
“And if he believes me, if he stops sustaining the curse with his grief—”
“Then maybe, finally, it ends.”
I stood, slipping Gran’s ring back on my finger.
“Wait. Agnes, you need to tell Sophie first. Tell the Order. We should plan—”
“There’s no time for planning.” The ring was burning now, insistent, pulling me toward the door. “I can feel it, Quilliam. This is the moment. If I wait, if I let myself think about it too long, I’ll lose my nerve.”
“At least wake Graham. Don’t do this alone.”
“If I wake Graham, he’ll try to come with me. And if he comes anywhere near that loch...” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “I have to do this alone. It’s the only way to keep him safe.”
“Agnes—”
“If something goes wrong, tell them everything. Tell them about the diary, about Isobel, about the Cailleach. Tell them the curse isn’t the Beithir’s fault, that he’s been used, just like his father was.” I met his eyes. “Tell Graham I love him and tell him I’m sorry.”
Before Quilliam could argue further, I was out the door.
The castle corridors were dark and silent. I moved quickly, not letting myself think, knowing I would hesitate if I did. The ring seemed to guide me, urging me on up the stairs, through passages, until I reached a side door that led out to the grounds.
The night air hit my face like a slap. It was cold and sharp and carried the dampness of the loch across the gardens to me, beckoning me forward.
I stomped across the grounds, impervious to the icy air, solely focused on the one place that I was meant to go all along.
Loch Mirren.
Her waters were dark and still under the moonlight, calm, as though waiting for me.
Somewhere beneath that surface, the Beithir was waiting too.
A creature raised on grief and rage. Such a long time to be controlled by understandable outrage.
How would I convince him that he’d been sustaining a curse he didn’t even create, feeding it with hatred that had been manipulated into him by something far darker?
Will he listen? Now that I knew my purpose, would I be enough to convince him that we weren’t the enemy? That he wasn’t my enemy?
He was another victim.
And I was going to tell him the truth. Goddess, be with me.
Lifting my chin, I ignored the nerves that twisted low in my stomach and walked steadily down the slope toward the loch, the ring burning on my finger, and Gran’s pen heavy against my hip.
Behind me, the castle slept on.