Nos Galan Gaeaf #3
When Cainsville children were young, no one told them exactly what the rite of Coelcerth meant.
That would be cruel—ruining the night for them as they lay in their beds, terrified that a parent or other loved one might not hear their name read out the next morning.
Lance had been twelve when he overheard older kids talking, and the very thought of it had been a shockwave through his brain.
It was as if all of his personal talismans and rituals had coalesced into simple perfection: a ward against the ultimate uncertainty.
Would he survive another year? This rite would tell him.
Every year, he could answer that question.
Last year, having passed his thirteenth birthday, he’d laid down his stone…and plummeted from the heights of absolute control to the depths of darkest doubt as he realized he had to wait until dawn to find out if he would live.
He couldn’t wait.
He’d snuck back to the bonfire and found his stone. Then he’d hidden in the shadows, waited and watched the spot where his stone lay. Several times, he thought he saw a flicker in that ring of stones. Thought he saw one disappear. He’d been about to check when he’d heard footsteps.
As he’d hid, a figure had appeared. Hooded and dressed in black.
The reaper. Death. Come to claim his due.
In terror, Lance had watched as the figure circled the bonfire. It crouched, reached into a pocket of those voluminous black robes and pulled out a rock.
Next it pulled out a felt-tip marker, wrote something on the stone and laid it in one of the empty places. Twice more the dark figure did that. Then it stood and under that hood, he’d seen the wizened face of one of the elders.
Lance had held himself still until the woman left. Then he’d fled all the way home.
Over the next year, Lance realized what he’d seen. The trick of Coelcerth. The truth about fate and certainty.
The elders didn’t take stones. They replaced them. Some of them, at least. Every Calan Gaeaf morning, a few would still be missing. When the rite finished, the elders would speak. They would warn.
If you did not hear your name, the die has been cast. But remember this: there is no fate you cannot undo. Take heed. Watch your health. Examine your life. Find out why your stone has vanished, and correct it while you can.
And those whose stones were missing? The absence rarely surprised anyone. They were people who ate too much, worked too hard, exercised too little, drank to excess, or had otherwise entered into a life too dangerous to survive.
The elders used Coelcerth not to frighten people, but to shake them out of their complacency.
Death is on your doorstep. Do something about it.
Some heeded that advice; some did not.
As for the stones the elders replaced, those were the deaths that could not be prevented.
Accidents and tragedies. No one ever wondered why the rite of Coelcerth did not foresee these.
It was presumed they were unforeseeable, that the rite did not guarantee you another year, but merely suggested you were on the right path.
Lance knew the elders would replace Seanna’s stone. She would think she had another year. But she did not.
He smiled again. Then anxiety began gnawing at his gut, the one that insisted he had to be sure he hadn’t made any mistakes. He took out the stone and held it up in the moonlight.
Seanna W.
This stone was her grave marker. Seanna Walsh, R.I.P.
Lance snickered. Never had the epitaph been more accurate. He would rest in peace once Seanna Walsh was dead and gone.
He pocketed the stone again, making sure it nestled deep in his pocket where it couldn’t fall out. Then he headed down the passageway beside the bank. As he reached the end, his steps hitched, as if Hwch Ddu Gwta would leap out at him like it had for the fleeing children.
He smiled at the thought. The adults who played the role were long gone, the passage silent and empty, the park equally quiet. He took another step and—
A shadow slid over him.
Lance looked up to see an owl gliding over his head. The raptor landed on the playground fence. It perched on one of the cast-iron chimera head posts. He kept walking. The owl’s unblinking gaze followed him into the square.
Lance reached into his pocket to clutch the stone. The owl’s head swiveled, still following him. He had to circle the playground to get to the passageway that would take him home, and as the raptor’s head kept turning, his did, too, watching the bird, ready to bolt if it flew at him.
He knew that was silly. There were always owls in Cainsville. At night, he’d see them perched beside gargoyles, as if joining them in silent vigil. Spotting them always vanquished any fear he had of being out past dark. The owls and the gargoyles stood watch, so he was safe.
Tonight, he did not feel safe.
When a rustle sounded in the bushes behind the playground, Lance stopped so fast he stumbled. His hand flew from his pocket to stop his fall. The stone sailed free and thumped to the ground.
The rustling stopped.
Lance straightened and held himself still as he peered into the darkness. After a moment, he could see a figure half hidden behind the bushes. A black shape on all fours.
Hwch Ddu Gwta. The tailless black sow.
Lance shook his head sharply, ashamed by the very thought. Really? Whatever magic there was on Nos Galan Gaeaf, no one even really pretended there was such a thing.
The tailless black sow will snatch the last.
It’d been years since a child had died in Cainsville, and never on Nos Galan Gaeaf. He was imagining things.
He took a step toward Seanna’s dropped stone. As he bent to pick it up, a snort from the bushes startled him, and he rose, stone forgotten. A black, misshapen figure rose from behind the bushes, low and hunched, making him think of the headless woman who accompanied the black sow.
As the figure stepped around the bushes, Lance scrambled backward, his hands rising to ward off…
“You have got to be kidding me,” Seanna said. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He opened his mouth.
She beat him to it, saying, “Dumb question. You’re following me. Stalking me. Again.”
“I—”
“You just don’t take a hint, do you?” she said as she strode toward him. “I’m not interested, Lance Miller. You think this will get my attention? It only pisses me off, and you really don’t want to piss—”
Her foot kicked the stone. She stopped moving. They both did.
Silence.
Lance’s heart pounded, every fiber of his being screaming for him to lunge, to grab that stone. But he couldn’t move. Absolutely could not move.
Seanna reached down and picked up the polished stone. “This is…” Color bled from her pale face. “You stole my Coelcerth stone?”
“No, I—”
“I tell you I’m not interested, and you steal my stone to punish me? Let me spend a year thinking I’m going to die?”
She closed the gap between them in an angry stalk.
“You cowardly little prick. You don’t even have the balls to threaten me to my face. That’s it. I’m taking this to the elders. No more dealing with your bullshit. Let the town council handle it.”
She turned away, stone in hand, and that’s when his paralysis broke. He lunged. Knocked her flat on her ugly face. Grabbed her hair and yanked it back to slam that ugly face into the ground.
Bash it until it was bloody. Bash it until she never opened her foul mouth again. Bash it until he dashed her brains out. Until he was free.
As he slammed her face into the dirt, he waited for her scream. For her pain. For her fear.
Seanna didn’t make a sound.
He yanked her hair back again and—
Seanna ripped from his grasp. She rolled over, blood flying from her nose. As she raised her hand, he saw something clutched in it. A rock. A large one. She swung it against the side of his head, and everything went black.
Lance opened his eyes to see the full moon overhead.
How was he seeing the moon from his bed?
And why did it feel as if he were lying…?
On the ground. He bolted upright as he remembered Seanna with her Coelcerth stone. Seanna with the rough-edged rock. Swinging it at his head.
He leaped to his feet and looked around, his head pounding.
He was alone beside the playground.
Damn it, no. No, no, no. He couldn’t let her tell the elders. Seanna might have thought he was only trying to frighten her, but the elders would know the truth, and if they did not, Rose would tell them.
This whole thing was a trap. Seanna had made him take her stone, and then she’d lain in wait to catch him. Why else would she have been out here?
Her fault. All hers.
He heard a noise from the street. The slap of shoes on pavement.
Seanna, returning her stone to the bonfire.
He still had time to stop her. Stop her and make her pay for her trick. He wouldn’t rely on old magic to get rid of her. She was right—that was the coward’s way. He would do this himself. He looked down at the rock she’d hit him with.
Justice.
Lance scooped it up and started for the passageway back to Main Street. He was just about to step into it when a shadow passed overhead. He looked up, ready to glower at the owl. Instead, he caught a flash of what looked like…
No, it was an owl. It must be. The yellow talons and feathered tail of an owl. Not stone-gray talons. Not the flick of a stone-gray tail.
Just an owl.
He picked up his pace as he crept between the buildings, his footsteps silent on the well-worn path. Shadows swallowed the moonlight, and he had to reach out with his free hand, fingertips grazing the brick wall as he used it to guide him.
When a figure stepped into the passageway, he gave a start. Then he shook himself. It was just Seanna. He could tell by her thin body and height, though she’d tried to trick him by donning one of the Hwch Ddu Gwta cloaks, the oversized black robe trailing behind her, hood up over her face.
Lance hid the rock behind his back and walked right up to her and said, “Is that supposed to scare me?”
Seanna just stood there. He couldn’t see her face in the shadows under the hood. A tickling chill ran up his spine, but he forced it away and reached up to knock her hood back.
The hood fell. There was nothing under it.
Lance staggered back. Pale hands appeared from the sleeves of the robe. Bony fingers unfastened the cloak. As the flowing fabric pooled to the ground, he saw a neck. A bloodied, raw neck, the severed spine poking through.
He spun so fast he pitched forward but came out running, tearing down the passage. When a shadow filled the other end, he knew what it was. Knew and told himself he was wrong.
A trick. Just a trick.
The black sow curled back its lips, dagger-sharp tusks flashing. Lance wheeled, rock still in his hand, back to the wall, gaze swinging between the two, ready to bash whichever came at him first.
But they just stood there, one at either end of the passage, blocking his escape.
The headless woman.
The tailless black sow.
Silent.
Motionless.
Waiting.
Seanna crouched before the glowing embers of the bonfire. She’d found the place where she’d laid her stone. Empty now. She cursed Lance. Nasty tricks were fine, but this was outright cruelty.
She reached into her pocket for the stone. When she pulled out snips of ivy instead, her temper sparked anew. Goddamn him. When he’d shown up, she’d been cutting ivy for the rite of Eiddiorwg Dalen.
Snip ten pieces of ivy on Nos Galan Gaeaf, throw away nine, and sleep with the tenth under her pillow. That would grant Seanna the gift of prophetic dreams. The gift of the sight. Rose might claim that wasn’t how she got hers, but her aunt had to be lying. Trying to keep her gift all to herself.
Seanna threw the ivy aside. Too late now. She’d have to wait for next year. All because of Lance.
She returned her stone to its place and settled back on her haunches to survey the ring of rocks. She had to squint to make out names, and she was about to give up when the clouds veiling the moon thinned and its glow lit the street.
Another scan of the stones. Then a smile as her fingertips touched down on the one marked with Lance’s name.
To her left, she heard what sounded like a sudden gasp. She squinted toward the sound. It seemed to come from the walkway by the bank, but she couldn’t see anything.
She reached again for Lance’s stone. Her fingers wrapped around it. A shriek rent the air, and she stumbled, falling flat on her ass. Then a screech, this one cut short, the cry of some animal seized by a predator.
Seanna peered toward the walkway. She’d seen an owl earlier by the playground. As she caught the faint but sickening crunch of bone, she shuddered. Definitely the owl.
She rose, pocketing Lance’s stone. Then she set out for home, taking the long way around, letting the crunching of bone and ripping of flesh fade behind her.