68. Bea
BEA
The days pass in tense silence, both Brennen and I jumping at the slightest snap of a twig or rustle of leaves. I try to distract myself with building cairns or drawing in the mud, but my eyes continue to flick to the trees, waiting for my dàn of warning to activate.
“Could it have been Theo?” I ask when Brennen returns from a supply run in the village, handing me a new dress and apron. It’s similar to the last, a beautiful deep green, with gold thread along the neck and sleeves.
“No.” He shakes his head. “He already left to go to the Faerie Pools. Even if he hadnae, he would've shown himself. Best we can hope is that it was a child from the village. Anyone other than a guardian.”
I slip inside the tent to change, pulling off his long tunic and replacing it with the dress. Brennen hands me a bowl of porridge with nuts and dried fruit on top when I emerge. It's still steaming, and despite my nerves, my stomach grumbles.
“From the tavern?” I ask.
“Aye. Anna’s recipe.”
I take the bowl, the growl in my stomach turning into a roar. “Did anyone say anything?” I ask.
“No. Everyone acted as usual. No one seems to be questioning why Theo is gone, either.” Some of the worry has lifted from his features since returning from Dalbàsail this morning. “They think he went to visit family.”
Relief settles in my chest, and I take a bite of my porridge, smiling as sugar coats my tongue.
“You like it? I had Anna add brown sugar and molasses. Thought maybe it'd been a while since you tasted something sweet.” He smiles at me, a real, genuine smile that steals the breath from my lungs. I look down at the bowl, kicking myself for my racing heart.
“It's perfect. Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” he says, pulling out his wood carving and scraping his knife across it. He's ruined at least four birds since we were seen, his hands too unsteady to perform the delicate carving needed for the robin’s small features.
The wind shifts, and I put down my bowl to make sure my dagger is in my apron pocket. The visions do not scare me anymore, not now that I know how to save the women.
A face flashes in the water, and I hear a name—Saoirse. Her eyes look familiar, and I try to place where I’ve seen them before. They’re green, the color of the deepest parts of the forest. The same color I’ve come to know as distinctly Brennen.
My vision goes fuzzy. “No,” I say, my voice shaking as the child’s death plays out in my mind—a little girl walking in a garden, engulfed in a sudden blast of fire from an enormous black dragon’s mouth. “No, no, no—”
Brennen leaps to his feet as a shriek leaves my throat.
“No!” I scream, trying to stand, but the magic of the river is stronger than ever, holding me firmly in place, reminding me I have no choice. This isn’t a vision, and I can’t stop it. A sob breaks free, an awful, guttural sound.
“What is it?” Brennen says, crouching in front of me.
“No,” I say again, unable to say the words aloud. My entire body shakes as I look upstream, unable to speak as a soft white frock appears, tiny purple flowers embroidered into it.
Brennen follows my gaze, the color leeching from his face.
“No!” he shouts, his voice raw as he rushes into the river and grabs the clothes. It’s the only word we seem to be able to say. The only word I can think.
No.
Because this can’t be happening.
Brennen rips the dress out of the water, unburdened by the curse that prevents me from doing so.
“Oh, Saoirse.” He pulls the dress to his chest. His gaze finds mine, demanding. Panicked. “What do I do, Bea? How do we send it back upstream?” he asks, his eyes wide with terror.
With unspeakable pain.
I open my mouth to speak, but there isn’t enough air in my lungs to form words.
He steps forward, grabbing me. “Bea, what do I do?” His voice breaks.
Tears well in my eyes, and my lips tremble as I let out a slow breath. I shake my head, meeting his gaze. “I have to wash it,” I whisper.
“No,” he growls, his fear morphing into resolve. “I willnae allow it. There has to be something that will stop this!”
I place a hand on his forearm, my tears now freely running down my face.
“There isn’t. I’m so sorry.” My heart cracks as his entire body stiffens, a sob bursting from his throat.
“If her clothes aren't cleansed, if they don’t enter the After, she will still…” I can hardly bring myself to say the word, and I swallow.
“She’ll still die. But she will wander in between forever, lost. She’ll be afraid.
She’ll be like the souls we sealed down below. ”
“No.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “No! I willnae allow it!” he shouts, as if he will force the magic of this death into bowing to him by sheer will.
The pain in his voice is so visceral, I can’t bear it. My heart longs to take it from him. To carry the sharpness of it myself so he doesn’t have to.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again, but it’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough to fix this. To heal the wound this loss will cause.
Brennen falls to his knees, hands shaking.
“Oh, Saoirse,” he says, bringing the dress to his chest. He pauses, pulling a small wooden figure from her pocket. A lamb.
He closes his eyes, sorrow evident in every line of his face. “I dinnae want to let her go,” he whispers.
The river turns angry, the After writhing, and I place my hands on top of his.
“I know,” I whisper. “But you have to. For her sake. I have to cleanse her. Am Breitheamh will judge her well. He will take care of her. She’ll be happy, with your parents.”
Brennen doesn't look at me as he continues to stare down at the clothes, the fury and grief in his eyes so intense, it steals the breath from my lungs.
Agonizing sorrow pushes out of his skin and needles into mine as he tucks the lamb back into Saoirse’s pocket with trembling fingers and begins to whisper. “Tha mi duilich, a phiuthar. Dh’fhàillig mi thu.” I’m sorry, sister. I failed you.
I can no longer see through my tears as I watch Brennen let go of the dress, blaming himself instead of the Cutter as it falls into my hands.
As gently as I am able, I cleanse the fabric, singing my song. Brennen watches my every move, and I keep my voice soft, hoping it sounds like a prayer rather than a song of mourning.
I give him a second to caress the fabric once more, then, with a sorrow so intense, my heart feels as if it is being carved from my chest, I let the dress go.
The river calms as it swirls softly downstream, disappearing into the After. I whisper the prayer of the Three, dipping my fingers in the water and tapping my chest, lips, and forehead.
Brennen stands behind me, and I turn to him, reaching out. Tears stain his cheeks, and his throat works as he swallows.
“Brennen,” I whisper, unsure of what to say. Afraid of what he may do in his grief.
He doesn’t look at me, but stares into the black mist, unblinking. “She asked me to make her a second lamb.” His voice breaks. “Said the one I made for her birthday needed a friend. But I didnae do it. I thought I had time.”
I close my eyes, my heart shattering for the man in front of me. At the guilt and regret in his voice. “You couldn’t have known.”
He holds his hands up in front of him.
“I don't—” He continues to look into the After for a long moment before turning, stalking into the treeline.
“Wait!” I stand, running after him. I do not want him to be alone, but my chain catches, throwing me to the ground. The rocks scrape my hands and elbows, and when I look back up, Brennen is gone, and I cannot go after him.