34. Brennen
brENNEN
Iabandon hunting after an hour of wandering the glen, my mind too preoccupied to focus on tracking, or anything really, for that matter.
Sitting down at my writing desk, I pull out a quill and parchment.
And yet, as I stare at the paper, I’m unable to write a single word.
It remains blank, completely unblemished. Because what is there to say?
It feels as if I’m playing a game I have no chance of winning. I have to update Cailleach with something, but what? Should I tell her the Washwoman now has several of my dàn? That she begged me to ask her to stop torturing her with visions of joy and life?
I sigh, rubbing the scruff along my jaw, then pick up my quill.
Cailleach,
I hope this letter finds you well. I write to make you aware that something has changed with the Washwoman. She is seeing visions of life before deaths that dinnae follow the typical pattern.
I pause, unsure how to continue. I dinnae want to accuse the Cutter of not having control of her power, and yet, what if the change Bea is describing is unknown to her?
If so, it’s my duty to inform her. Even if Bea seems to think she’s doing it to torture her, it doesnae feel right in my mind. Something else is happening.
I’m sure you are aware of these deaths and that the change is intentional, so it is only with the most cautious intent I write to inform you, on the nearly impossible chance that these deaths are somehow occurring outside of your all-powerful will. I will continue to work on our mission.
Your humble, loyal servant,
Brennen.
I quickly fold up the letter and seal it with wax before I can second-guess anything I wrote. I could spend hours dissecting my words, making sure nothing could be twisted, but it will do no good.
I pull out a second piece of parchment. One I dread almost with equal intensity.
Lillian,
I start, but no other words come. Not this time. I stare at her name, waiting for something, anything, to come to me to write. I’m sorry for your loss? It feels trite. Doesn’t express that I understand the gravity of what happened to her sister.
I set the quill down, frustrated.
The sound of Bea’s chain against the rocks reaches my ears, and she pops her head into my tent, red curls tumbling into her face.
My pulse trips, the air thickening until the tent seems less than half its size.
I force my lungs to expand with a deep inhale, pressing down whatever emotion her sudden appearance caused before it can further take shape.
Her cheeks redden when her eyes meet mine, our conversation likely still circling through her mind as well. “Um… It’s getting colder. And I’ve gathered all the firewood I can reach,” she says, jangling her chain. “But it won't be enough to last us much longer.”
“I'll gather more in a moment.” My voice comes out tight. She must notice, because she doesn’t say anything else, nodding and backing out of the tent. “Wait,” I say, the word slipping out without my permission.
She pauses, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
I stare at her for a moment as she tucks that wild red hair behind her ears, emphasizing her freckled nose and wide eyes.
My lungs constrict again. I dinnae want to ask her for help, not when I still cannae rectify the woman before me with the crimes she committed, but it’s undeniable that she’s seen more death than anyone, aside from the Cutter herself.
I straighten. “I'm writing a letter to Betty's sister, Lillian. I wish to send her my condolences. We weren’t particularly close, but I’ve known their family for a verra long time.”
Bea’s blue-grey eyes turn sad.
“You know a lot about death, and you were with Betty in her final moments,” I continue. “What should— What would you say?”
She takes a tentative step forward, raising her eyebrows in question, and I gesture for her to come in. The tent seems to shrink even further as she enters, giving me a soft smile that travels straight through my ribs, and I clear my throat, looking back to my parchment.
“I've seen a lot of death, but I've also experienced a lot of grief. My own, and that of the family members of those passing or passed who come to me. They want to stop the death or find a way to reverse it, yes, but I also get the feeling that what they really want is to know their loved one won’t disappear.
They don't want them to be forgotten.” She pauses, pressing her lips together in thought.
“Losing someone, it's a wound that never heals, and yet the sun continues to rise over the ridge, and the larks carry on singing their songs.”
My throat goes dry at her words, because I’ve felt that exact way. Still do. How can the world continue on when a life ends so suddenly? Shouldn’t it change the verra fabric of the realm?
“Have you ever lost anyone?” I ask. Her eyes go glassy, but no tears fall.
“I've lost many people.” She clears her throat. “Have you?" she asks, and I stiffen.
“Hasn't everyone?” I ask. The words come out with a bite I didn’t intend, and she flinches.
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business,” she says softly, and I wonder if it’s because she feels for me, or because she knows she had a part in the death of whoever I lost by washing their clothes.
If only she knew really how big of a role she played. How sorry she should be.
“Losing someone changes you forever. Is there anything anyone could've said to you to make it better?” she asks.
I don't even have to consider her question. “No.”
She nods. “Exactly. You seem to spend a lot of time making sure you're doing the right thing, but there's not always a right thing to do.” She wrings her hands together, nervous. “There’s no way to make this better for Lillian. Some things simply cannot be made better. So you do the best you can, and you let go. You let that be enough.” She nods sadly, brushing off her dress.
“I'm sorry for your loss. For Betty. Even if you weren't close. I didn’t know her for long, but I'd like to say she'd be happy to know her life touched yours enough that you care to write at all. I think her sister will feel that way, too.”
I nod, taking in her words, the discomfort in my chest easing a bit. Despite everything, she's right about this, so I put my quill to the paper and begin to write.
Lillian,
I'm so verra sorry to hear about Betty's death. I was always fond of her. May she be safe and warm with your parents in the After. While I may be away at my post, my family will be more than willing to help you with anything, should you need them.
May An Glèidheadair welcome her, An Treòraiche guide her, and Am Breitheamh have mercy on her.
Brennen
Bea is gone when I finish the letter. I wrap the picture of Betty and Lillian’s parents in parchment, then bind it alongside the note with a length of twine.
It doesnae feel like nearly enough.
I hang my head in my hands. None of this feels right. With a sigh, I pull out a third piece of parchment.
Saoirse,
Just writing my littlest sister’s name allows me to breathe easier.
I picture her chubby little cheeks. The smile that has always been able to thaw my icy exterior.
I remember holding her as just a bairn after Marsaili’s death, her little fingers gripping mine, restarting a heart I thought had completely died.
Happiest birthday, little one. I cannae believe you’re six years old. How did time pass so quickly? I will be home as soon as I can, and cannae wait to celebrate with you. In the meantime, I made you something. I hope you love it. Tell Isla and Mairi to spoil you with extra sweets. You deserve it.
I love you, and am so verra proud of you.
Brennen.
I enclose a small lamb carving I made for her, sealing it with wax, and as I add the letter to the stack, a fraction of my unrest disappears. Saoirse would tell me not to fret. That as long as we have our family, everything will work out in the end.
I have to believe she’s right.