Page 54 of The Scald Crow

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Page 54 of The Scald Crow

Branches tapped the windowpanes, and voices called my name. The walls spoke to me.

Orlaith’s vision revealed the woman in the photo as Ériu. Her possessions were scattered everywhere in Dermot Sweet’s cottage, each holding a memory. The blanket box at the foot of the bed sat, filled with trinkets, keepsakes, and one baby blue wedding dress.

I refused to touch them. The dreams were enough.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you, my sweet Ériu? That I would let you go?” His voice ran the gamut of human emotions: frustration, joy, and relief. His image taunted me—gleaming black hair swept back from a strong face and the golden diadem adorning his head, glowing like the rising sun.

On the morning of the fourth day, the sun crept through the bedroom window. I peered through my lashes at the puzzle crossing the floor, a tapestry of sunbeams and diamond shapes. The lilac fragrance teased me, and the bees hummed.

All of that I could ignore.

Krrrex-krrrex.Krrrex-krrrex.The corncrake’s incessant call dragged me from the arms of the dead.

I lurched upright, my skull throbbing, my heart pounding. The inside of my mouth tasted like desert sand.

Caw. Caw. Caw. Caw.Ravens took to the sky. They screamed and screamed and screamed.

The curtains moved with the fragrance of spring—soft air filled with sweet honey scents.

I stumbled across the wood plank floor. No one was coming to save me. I was alone, truly alone.

There was a quiet about the place. The cozy room looked the same: tweed pillows tossed over the sofa and the fringed throw folded into an olive-green square.

The chessboard, the black-and-white marble slab, claimed my attention. My thoughts flew across the board. Which army would win? Which royal family would fall? The pawns gave their lives freely. The knights rode gallantly into battle. The bishop protected his king. My inner voice whispered, “Kill or be killed. Defend and protect.” I crossed the bloody field, striking down the enemy king. The walls tumbled and fell. The voice inside my head cheered.

I clawed through layers of doubt, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching.

I left the slaughter behind and dragged my feet into the shower room, and while I waited for the water to warm, I stared at my reflection in the oval mirror––my ratted hair, my too-bright eyes. My thoughts were mired in a distant place. I shrugged out of the baby-doll nightie and walked into the water spray, lifting my face and relishing the full brunt of the heated water. Rivulets poured over my shoulders, running along the curves of my breasts, down my stomach, and over my hips, pooling on the shower floor, sloughing the dead from my skin.

I summoned the secret I had hidden from my entire life. I reached for it. I strained my brain until my veins pulsed. But I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t find it. I let the water run cold, and only then did my mind awaken.

I returned to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel. Sitting on an ivory-painted stool before Ériu’s vanity, I pulled a hairbrush through my hair until my scalp stung. My braid hung haphazard, but I didn’t care. I dug through the closet for a pair of sweatpants and a crop-top hoodie emblazoned with the wordsboys lie,another prize from the Treasure Chest.

Somehow, a bee had found its way inside. I watched it perch on the windowsill, sunning itself. I even spoke to it, describing where I planned to go and why. The man with the golden diadem had shown me a mountain that touched the clouds. I left the cottage on a quest to discover the truth.

The screen door thwacked shut behind me, and all around the croft, calla lilies danced in the gentle breeze. Every time I saw them, chills licked my spine.

A rabbit darted away, leaping from flowerbeds and landing beneath the sprawling lilac tree. Sitting on its haunches within a purple carpet of periwinkle and glossy green leaves, it studied me with its beautiful amber eyes before bouncing away.

Beyond the barnyard, past the sheep pens, along the mud track, a stone hedge snaked the hillside. I would find the stone shieling from Orlaith’s vision on the mountain's summit.

I ducked, hugging my bared midriff against the gusting winds. I climbed upward, following the zigzag trail carved by the black-faced sheep.

I stumbled over the crown and found what I knew had always been there—the skeleton of the same stone shieling. There were boulders, field grass, pink and purple heaths, and heathers. Where once glass panes glittered in the sunlight, black holes stared back. Holly fought Ivy for possession of the tumbled walls. The wooden door had long fallen from its hinges, and the thatch had blown from the rafters.

I stood at the entrance, the gnarled vines holding me at bay—the air shimmered, an unseen force protecting the shadows within. I projected my will, breaking free from the tangle and hurling myself onto the stone floor. The glass shattered, and the shadows moved. My vision came to life.

A man and a woman lay together in a little bed built into the stone wall. But it was not Ériu lying in the little bed. It was me. Am I Ériu? Are we the same?

She cried out, her ecstasy peaking. She weaved her fingers through his black mane, tenderly caressing him.

I hovered in the haze, a creeper watching, unable to move forward or escape.

The man making love to her was not of the mortal world. I knew him.

Finnbheara––Finvarra, the High King of the Faeries.

My breath came in short, ragged bursts.


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