Brennen
The tavern patrons are already several rounds of ale deep when I enter, based on their red faces and raucous conversations.
Theo nods as I approach the bar, his eyes flicking toward a large man sitting at the end of it.
I know what he’s saying before he has the chance to speak—not because I can read his mind, but because I noticed the man the second I walked in.
He’s drunk. Too loud and slurring his words, and exactly as Theo described. But more than that, there’s an aura of danger about him, as if he could switch at any moment from a jolly drunk into a raving lunatic.
I slide up next to him, placing my forearms on the bar. “I think it’s time to go,” I say.
“Och, piss off,” he says. “You’re not me mam. Another,” he stares me straight in the eyes, slapping his hand on the counter so hard, the mugs sitting on it rattle, and ale sloshes onto the wood. Several patrons glance over, but quickly look away. It seems they know trouble when they see it, too.
My already strained patience thins, and I grit my teeth. This man is no different from the men in that journal. I have no doubt of it. He doesnae care about his actions. Doesnae care how they affect anyone other than him.
“He’s finished,” I tell Theo, then use my foot to push back his stool. The man nearly falls. “I dinnae think you’re understanding me. You’re leaving.”
He stops, putting his glass down, and turns to face me slowly. “I’ll drink as much as I please. Try to stop me again, and we’ll have a problem.”
I take the glass, moving it out of his reach. “Threaten me again, and you’ll see how big of a problem we can have. I couldnae care less how much you drink, but I do care about keeping people like you out of this village. You’re leaving. And you’re leaving now.”
He starts to stand. “Who the fuck do you think you—”
My control snaps, and I pull my dagger out, pressing it against his inner thigh near the groin, right where his blood pulses beneath his skin. One slice, and he’ll bleed out in minutes. Seconds, even. He freezes at the pressure of my blade, and his eyes go dark.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he says again, a low hiss, and I allow my dàn of dread to unleash its power.
The bar goes silent, the man’s face draining of color.
“First,” I say, brushing a speck of dust off my pants, “I’m a general of the Cutter. You’d do well to be a bit more respectful. Besides that… Och, well, I’m a man who would never beat my wife. Or any woman, for that matter.”
His face turns red, and he bares his teeth, but his eyes flick to the dàn on my neck. “How dare you?” he hisses. “My wife is missing. Probably dead by now. This is how you speak to a grieving man? Threatening me? I came here for help!”
“You came here to find her and drag her back to whatever hell she escaped from to finish what you started,” I say, echoing the Washwoman’s words.
I press the dagger harder against his leg, dropping my voice low.
“I ken what you did to your wife, and I willnae allow you to harm anyone else. Not here. Now leave. Go far away, and do not look for her again.”
His nostrils flare as he breathes in and out, his hands tensing into fists.
“You cannae keep me from finding my wife.”
“Oh, I think I can. There isnae much I can’t do. I’ll ken if you look for her,” I say, leaning forward. “I’ll leave my warning at that.” I pull the knife away, rolling up my sleeves to show him my numerous dàn. Battle skill. Tracking. Precision. “Now go.”
“Foul fucking bastard,” he says, stumbling off the stool. “You’ll regret this.”
I raise an eyebrow, giving him a cold smile. “No. I don’t think I will.” I stand, nearly a head taller than him, and nod toward the door. “Out.”
He storms from the bar, spitting at my feet on his way.
The patrons look down at their drinks as he passes them, and I take a deep breath, shaking off the interaction. I turn back just as Theo places a pint in front of me. “Thanks for that,” he says.
“Aye. How’s Billy and his mum?” I ask, changing the subject and forcing my dàn of dread to sleep once more. Theo visibly relaxes, exhaling.
“Good. Safe, thanks to you.” He gives me a nod, turning to walk away, but I stop him.
“Why is it you don’t fear the Washwoman?” I ask, surprising myself.
“Who says I don’t?” He leans against the wall. I tap my fingers on the bar, raising my eyebrows and waiting for him to answer.
Theo sighs. “What do you know about the Washwoman?” he asks, and I shrug, taking a sip of ale.
“She’s a murderess. Bound to the river and all that.”
“Aye. But I’m not speaking of her tale. I’m talking about her. She’s never seemed like a monster to me.”
“And how would you know that?” I ask.
“Because Billy’s not the first child to stumble into that glen.”
I still, tilting my head. “You’ve met her?”
“Aye. I was no older than five. I went to find her, but when I got to the river, I thought I saw a kelpie in the water.” He laughs.
“Ma had told me stories of them, and my imagination ran away from me. I was frightened, crying, and she held me until I calmed. She seemed genuinely worried about me being out in the woods alone so young.”
He pauses, meeting my eyes. “I’ve always had a hard time reconciling the woman who soothed me so gently with the one who murdered all of those people.”
“You don’t say.” I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Wait. You touched her. What happened when you touched her?” I ask, looking at the dedication dàn to the Weaver on his arm.
He leans against the bar. “Nothing. Like I said. She held me until I calmed.”
“Are those your only dàn? Your dedication dàn and your naming dàn of empathy?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“I have another on my shoulder. A travelers’ dàn. I can find my way anywhere you ask with my eyes closed.”
I nod, impressed. Most people are blessed with a single rune, unless they join the Dìdeanair. The Weaver must have seen something special in his thread to gift him more than one.
“And the Washwoman…she didnae take them when she touched you?” I ask.
Theo looks at me as if I suddenly grew a second set of arms. “No. But she asked me not to tell anyone I’d found her.
Said she was afraid I’d get in trouble if I told them where I’d been—and she was right.
I dinnae think my parents would have let me leave the house until I was twenty if they’d known who I’d snuck off to see. ”
He leans forward, bracing his forearms on the counter. “You know, I wasnae afraid when I saw her, and I haven’t been since. No one died from me seeing her face. Nothing happened at all, actually.”
I tuck away his words, more proof that the tale of her legend has been twisted into something it isnae. “Were you here when… Six years ago, when the murders happened. Were you here?”
Theo nods, his eyes flashing with something akin to regret.
“Aye. But we didnae know anything had happened until after. Didnae know the Washwoman had been gone at all. To me, it never made sense. For someone to kill so many people, there has to be a wickedness inside them,” Theo says, shaking his head.
“An evil that cannae be tamed or fixed. I dinnae ken how to reconcile the woman I met with the stories of what she’s done.
Maybe it’s as easy as what the rumors suggest. A century at the river turned her mad.
Far less believable things have happened. ”
I don’t say what I’m thinking. That I, like Theo, have yet to see an ounce of evil in the Washwoman. She’s hard-headed, for sure. Stubborn as an ox, in fact. But not a single thing she’s done has shown she wishes to cause anyone harm.
“Maybe,” I say, finishing my ale. I stand to leave, but hesitate.
The Washwoman’s hand was cut to the bone when I left. I shouldnae care. I dinnae care. But I can’t stop picturing the blood seeping from between her fingers, along with the dozens of images that filled my mind as I’d read the journal. A hundred stabs on her body. A slit throat. Burned skin.
My stomach lurches because, even though I shouldn’t, it seems I do care about her pain. At least a little. “Mallachd ort,” I curse under my breath, placing my palms on the bar. “Do you have any bandages? Or clean cloth? And a bit of willow bark?” I add, unable to stop myself.
“I do,” he says, eyes quickly scanning my body. “Are you hurt? I can send a healer.”
“No,” I say, not offering any more information. Theo doesn’t ask further about who the supplies are for. I think he already knows.
He taps his hand on the bar a few times. “I’ll be right back,” he says.
The half-carved block of wood is heavy in my pocket as I wait for him to return, and my fingers itch to grab it. To take out every bit of my frustration on it, but Theo’s back before I even have the chance.
“Here you are,” he says, setting down a neat stack. Added some yarrow to help with clotting.”
“Thank you,” I say, standing.
“It’s kind of you. To help her.”
His words stop me in my tracks. “She’s a murderer. I dinnae think she’s anything more.” I say, but my dàn of truth flares.
“Didnae say you did.” Theo studies me for a moment. “But it takes integrity to separate justice from cruelty.”
I toss a few coins on the bar. “Aye. But it shouldn’t.”