Chapter Sixty-Seven Finlyr
chapter sixty-seven
finlyr
A deep scratching at the door jolts me awake. I hadn’t realised I’d fallen asleep in the armchair, and I have that horrible moment of not understanding where I am before I see Isagani in the chair next to me and feel deep relief. Narra gets up from her armchair, moving cautiously to the door.
‘Who goes there?’ she asks quietly.
A plaintive meow comes from the other side of the wood.
Ligaya cries out in relief. ‘It’s Sini.’
Narra cocks her head to one side, listening closely.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, rising from my chair.
Narra says nothing but opens the door a sliver. The skinny black otter-cat slinks into the inn, dripping wet. He creates puddles on the wooden floor and shakes his fur until it stands on end.
‘Looks like the storm’s arrived,’ Isagani says.
Sinigang pads into the room without a care in the world, leaving little wet paw prints in his wake. Narra chews her lip and watches as he brushes past her legs and into the parlour, beelining for the hearth. He tucks himself by the warm fire and begins to purr.
Isagani gets up from their chair and crouches by the otter-cat, making to pet him. He starts back, eyeing Isagani warily.
‘What’s wrong?’ they ask. ‘Is he hurt?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ligaya says cautiously.
‘Here,’ Isagani proffers the half of the biscuit left on their saucer.
Sinigang approaches warily and sniffs the thing. Then he snatches it from Isagani’s hand with his mouth and takes it back to the hearth, munching happily.
‘Where’s your sharp tongue?’ I ask him, bending to stroke him.
The silence settles over all of us.
‘Why isn’t he saying anything?’ Isagani asks, voice becoming more desperate.
‘I don’t think he can,’ Ligaya says and then covers her mouth with her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, voice muffled.
‘Is that true?’ Isagani asks, their body deflating.
Narra sighs. ‘Something has changed,’ she says finally.
‘He can’t . . .’ Isagani says, turning to Sinigang. They put their hand out and the otter-cat butts his head against it, trilling happily. Their voice trembles and they clear their throat. ‘He can’t be ordinary. He’s magic; he’ll always be magic.’
We look at Narra, begging her to say something.
How do we answer? She looks so tired but gives Isagani a strained smile.
Then her face becomes pained, and she clutches the armchair, doubling over.
Ligaya is doing the same, having fallen to her knees.
They are writhing in pain on the floor. And then they start to levitate, as if lifted by invisible strings, hair flowing and arms outstretched unnaturally.
I fall out of my chair to see it. This is witchery gone wild.
They press against the ceiling, as though something is pinning them in place.
Their faces are blanched, and they scratch at their throats, turning a ghastly shade of purple.
‘Fuck, what’s happening to them?’ I scramble up. ‘They’re dying!’
‘What can we do?’ Morna rushes up the stairs, desperately trying to grab at Ligaya’s dress and bring her down.
The women let out a scream and gasp for air.
They begin to glow, the same golden light that emanated from Hanan in the cave.
Actually glittering like the stars, glowing like the full moon.
They shine from inside, gold and silver threads.
I try to shield my eyes from it, when the wind is taken out of their sails and they drop like stones.
We all scream, rushing to break the fall.
I roll onto my back, hoping I can cushion them with my bulk.
They fall fast and then stop. Narra’s face is inches from mine, and even she looks surprised.
She drops the short distance, flopping onto my soft belly.
The others are at the bottom of the stairs now, picking up Ligaya from the floor.
‘Holy Aistra, what was that?’
Narra catches her breath, and then she makes haste into the kitchen. We all look at her quizzically. All apart from Ligaya.
When the hedge witch returns, she’s carrying a potted plant. I recognise it as a propagated cutting of emerald vine. Ligaya’s prized possession. It’s withered and dried out, curling in on itself. A decaying world.
‘Here,’ she says, holding the pot out to Ligaya. The women hold the pot together, fingertips touching.
Slowly, painfully slowly, the plant comes back to life. It unbends, standing tall and proud. It’s plump and green and verdant. The flowers bloom again, leaves no longer shrivelled, the fragrance filling the room.
‘What in Paranish?’ Morna whispers in awe. ‘Is that the awakening you talked about, Narra?’
‘It was a very rude awakening.’ Ligaya smiles.
Sinigang meows, and we all turn to him. He makes a strange sound, like someone clearing their throat.
And then he retches until a hairball comes out.
He looks at it, disgusted, and then at me.
There’s something in his face, a knowing look, more like the old glint in his eye.
He says nothing but pads away, seemingly unimpressed by the awakening that just took place before him.