1. ONE
ONE
VARETH’S MARK
I sat on the stool, watching the old cuckoo clock, my breathing matching the slow swing of the pendulum .
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
My arms wrapped around my knees as I stared at the intricate carvings on its face. It had been here forever, or at least as long as I could remember. Its tiny bird, poised to spring free, was frozen behind the wooden doors. How long had it been broken? Weeks or maybe years?
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I couldn’t stop watching it. The motion, the sound, it pulled me in and filled my head until it was all I could hear.
Everything felt off today. Not wrong, exactly. Just unreal.
Why did everyone believe so easily? Believe that God built the world?
That trees were green, the sky was blue, and time moved forward and never back?
We’re told these things, and we accept them without question.
We’re told what’s beautiful, what’s ugly, what’s possible, what isn’t. But what if none of this is real?
The cuckoo clock ticked louder, its rhythm burrowing deeper into my head. My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe. The air felt heavy. My vision blurred causing the room’s edges to distort.
I blinked hard, trying to shake it off, but the room swayed. My hands gripped the edge of the stool, knuckles white.
Then everything stopped.
No sound or motion. Just silence, like there was a glitch in my brain.
The clock was still, its pendulum frozen mid-swing. The house around me melted away, replaced by darkness. No, not darkness, space.
I was standing, though I didn’t remember getting up. Eleven stars circled me, glowing so brightly they left trails of iridescent light in the void. I reached out, and they seemed to respond, pulsing brighter as though they could feel my presence.
The air, or whatever this was, vibrated with energy. My whole body tingled, as though a thousand invisible threads connected me to the emptiness.
A voice, soft at first, began to hum in the distance.
“You’ll bear the Varethym mark until blood is offered, your fate to be sealed before the blood moon rises.”
The voice wasn’t one, but many, layered on top of each other, a symphony of sound. It was feminine and masculine. Powerful and it sounded real.
How could that be?
“Ignorance is the first mercy Vareth grants you, and the last you will ever receive.”
“What mercy?” I tried to ask, but no sound came from my lips.
The stars spun faster. Their light growing brighter, until it was almost blinding. The voice spoke again, louder now, shaking the space around me .
“The Mark is bound. The hunt has begun.”
The words echoed through me, burning like fire.
Pain exploded in my head, sharp and searing, right above my temple, as though the name itself was branding me from within. I clutched at my head, gasping as the heat spread, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
Through the haze of pain, I whispered, and another voice, not my own, spoke,
“I am the stars. You cannot bind the sky.”
The stars froze. For one brief, perfect moment, everything was still.
Then it shattered.
The stars disappeared. The voice gone. I was back on the stool in the living room, the cuckoo clock ticking softly again. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, with my hands trembling against my knees.
“Is this real?” The words escaped before I could stop them, my voice raw and desperate.
“Tilly, what did you say?” My stepdad’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and impatient.
“Snap out of it, lass.”
My gaze was hazy at first, and I panicked. Why couldn't I see? I felt the world slip back into place, and my stepdad swam back into view as everything disappeared.
There it was, the look of annoyance I had come to know all too well, a far cry from the pride that used to light up his face when I was a child.
“Nothing, I... I didn't say anything,” I stammered, hoping he would believe me, or at the very least, just let it go.
My stepdad gathered his luggage together in the hall and checked his airline tickets one last time as he prepared to leave on his business trip to New York.
As he frowned over his itinerary and I noticed a touch of silver at his temples.
It contrasted sharply with his sandy hair and finely weathered looks.
As always, he was dressed casually in the faded jeans and pullover he reserved for longer flights.
“Tilly, you haven't been yourself recently. Is everything all right at college?” he said, his blue eyes locking onto mine with a seriousness that belied his casual appearance.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?” I said quickly. I couldn’t let him think I was losing it. He would think I was just like my real dad.
My stepdad sighed and glanced at the cuckoo clock. It was six forty-five in the morning.
“I don't have time for this right now. We will chat about this when I get back.”
Mum wheeled herself out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel draped across her lap. Blonde and blue-eyed, her porcelain skin complemented her rosy cheeks and red lips.
Though she faced the challenges of her stroke with grace, it still weighed on me to see her in a wheelchair.
She had always been the voice of reason when my stepdad and I argued, and I hoped I could count on her to set him straight this time, too.
She shot my stepdad a disapproving look, which he chose to ignore, but it effectively ended the lecture, and for that, I was thankful.
“Catherine, darling, I've got to get going if I want to catch my flight. I want to avoid getting caught in traffic on the way to the airport. It's a nightmare travelling through Edinburgh at this time of the day.”
“Then off you go, Tr—Trevor,” Mum said, her voice slower and with a slight stutter. Her gaze softened as she looked at me.
“No need to start the day with an argument.”
“Aye,” he muttered, grabbing his luggage.
At least Mum was reasonable, but recently my stepdad kept thinking I was unwell. I was fed up with it and wanted him to know I was upset at his accusations. I grabbed my mobile and portfolio from the hallway table and barged past him, nearly knocking the phone from his hand.
“Stop acting like a child, Tilly,” my stepdad said, his tone weary. He was as sick of this argument as I was, and yet he was the one who refused to let it go.
“If you keep this up, you're never leaving this house again. Do you understand?”
Yeah, because that's going to happen, I thought to myself. I bolted out the front door, slamming it hard behind me. Something smashed on the floor inside the house. I looked back towards the door, feeling a stab of guilt.
Oh, no, I hope that wasn't Nan's ashes .
My stepdad opened the door as violently as I had slammed it.
“Tilly Rose,” he shouted with a voice that demanded I stop.
“Look what you've done to your mother's Japanese cat. For goodness’ sake.”
I looked over his shoulder at the now headless ornament.
Thank God it wasn't Nan's ashes .
“Mum never liked the cat. She only pretended to because it was a present from you.”
I shouldn't have shouted it, even though it was true, and I instantly regretted my words. Mum was the one who at least tried to keep the peace, and I shouldn't have brazenly shared one of her secrets.
“Get back in the house. Now.” he snapped.
He stepped to one side, holding the door at arm's length and gesturing angrily towards the hallway.
Ignoring him, I put my mobile in my cardigan pocket. I rushed out of the gate and followed the road east toward Galashiels village. I needed a place to clear my head and calm down.
As I walked away from home, I couldn't shake the worry gnawing at me about leaving Mum alone.
Even though she could look after herself, the responsibility I felt tugged at my heart, and I knew I couldn't stay away for too long.
I had to make sure she took her medication.
Her stroke had made her forgetful, and it was part of my daily routine to help her stay on track.