Hills of heather and bon.., p.12
Hills of Heather and Bone, page 12
I glance over at a group of laughing children while Percy grows daisies and buttercups from his fingertips for them. With a flick of his wrist, the blooms in their crowns extend to tickle their faces. Percy made crowns and grew living flower sculptures for Àitesìol’s summer festival. The children see me staring from inside the stall, and they whisper to each other. Drawing so much attention to ourselves knots my insides, but seeing Percy so full of joy calms me.
Percy follows their glances back to me, his smile widening. “I always knew having a pocket full of seeds would come in handy,” he says.
The crown of pink poppies and yellow forsythia blossoms growing around a pair of small deer antlers on his head reminds me of when we exchanged our wedding vows ten years ago with only the gods as our witnesses. With the green tunic paired with a cloak made of leaves, the antlers of his crown adorned with colorful flowers, he looks like Kester himself. It’s funny how quickly I’ve gotten used to him having red hair, but I still miss the brown. It’s a small reminder that this town is a hiding place.
“Your crown’s crooked,” Percy says, coming over to adjust the wreath of lilacs and elderflowers on my head. “The children were asking if you were a giantess.”
“What did you tell them?” I ask, trying not to feel uneasy by the stares lingering on me.
“I told them that you were the gentlest giantess of all, and if they asked you nicely, you would sneak them a bit of tablet.”
I glance at the tray of caramel-colored candies behind a stack of scones on the table. “Those are some bold promises you’re making to children.”
“What can I say? I’m helpless before their smiles.” As Percy withdraws his hands from my head, something tickles my ear. “There. Perfect.” I pluck the dandelion from behind my ear to look at it before putting it back.
“You’re both adorable, but there’s a line of people, and I need to get the strawberry rhubarb tarts you’re blocking,” Anstice says, squeezing between us to get to other baked goods. Her hair is braided with raspberry blossoms and yellow ribbons. She balances a tray of tarts in her arms, and I step back. “Save it for the ceilidh,” she adds with a wink.
“Way to be a distraction, Mor,” Percy whispers as he helps Anstice with another basket of decorated pastries. “You got me in trouble.”
I laugh and smack his backside as he passes by. I’d almost forgotten the sound of my own laughter, the way it vibrates my chest and shakes loose the cobwebs. As Percy stands in the street, growing more flowers, I can see a life here. My hand rests on my stomach for a moment before I return to my work.
The music continues as the late afternoon sun stretches the shadows. I hum the familiar melody and let the words dissolve on my tongue like honey.
“Come shake off winter’s breath
And bask in the summer sun.
See the Lord of the Forest.
Flowers spring up from his hoofprints,
His shadow sheltering the grasses.
His breath stirs the seeds to sprout.
His antlers shake the leaves.
Kester has come now
To make the land green again.”
The last bit of cranachan lingers on my tongue, the raspberries and whisky cream warming my throat. Night is illuminated by the torches in the square, and sparks try to latch onto the stars. In the middle stands the giant straw sculpture of Kester other rootsowers in town built, flowers adorning the six-legged elk. His antlers are decked with garlands that people have thrown onto them for good luck. Rootsowers make petals dance through the air while windsingers keep them aloft.
A shadowcatcher and a lightcaster put on a show against one of the murals, creating shadowy shapes as they tell the story of Kester. It fills me with envy and sadness to see other bloodgifted using their gifts so freely while boneweavers have to hide.
The summer air cups my cheeks, and I lean back against the wall. Straw from the hay bale pokes against my legs. Percy’s sitting beside me, his shoulder warm against mine. The evening stretches on, but content exhaustion rests on me despite my stiff hands and knees. I flex my hands, the joints popping. I should apply more of the peppermint salve when I have a chance otherwise, it’s going to be a very sore walk back to the bakery tonight.
Percy nudges my shoulder. “Tired already? Don’t you owe me a dance?” he asks.
“I don’t recall you asking me to dance,” I say and set my empty bowl down.
“You haven’t learned how to read my mind yet? Guess we’ll have to work on that.”
I laugh and look back at the square as people gather around the statue. Anstice is surrounded by a few men, her mouth curved into a smile. Percy takes my hand, thumb caressing my knuckles.
“I’ve missed your laugh,” he tells me.
“It feels like there hasn’t been much to laugh about lately,” I tell him, kissing his temple. The scent of the flowers mixes with the smell of his soap and a little bit of sweat.
“This might not be a bad place to blend in. I could set up another practice here. Build a life for us. I think I’m starting to understand the bloodleaf better, and I should be able to try recreating it soon.”
This is like when we first came to Àitesìol three years ago. The little bothy had held so much promise after years of constantly moving around, and the garden walls shielded us from the world beyond. We sowed our hopes and dreams in the earth and watched our future grow, the tears and heartaches watering our resolve to keep going. My heart wants to lay down roots again, but the smell of ash creeps into the edges of my thoughts.
“We can’t stay in Anstice’s backroom forever,” I say, my smile drooping.
“I was thinking of looking for a house in town,” he replies. “She wouldn’t be opposed to us staying longer. You’ve been a huge help to her in the bakery. It’s been good for you to have someone to talk to who isn’t me or a chicken.”
With the music and joy around me, it’s easy to forget that we’re being hunted by the Failinis. There haven’t been any sightings of the green cloaks and talk about what happened in Àitesìol has quieted. I find myself slipping into a rhythm of normalcy that is sometimes interrupted by cold panic that we’re being too careless. If Anstice can live here without fear of being found out, could Percy and I do the same?
“What about this Tearmann Island?” We’ve talked about it, trying to get all the information we can from Anstice. The thought of it not being on any known map almost makes me worried that it’s not real, but Anstice is sure that it is. “A place where there might be other boneweavers…It seems almost impossible.”
He nods. “The world’s a vast place. There are many places beyond Errigal and the Mainland where boneweavers aren’t hunted—maybe even other bloodgifted we don’t know about. My parents used to talk about the trips they’d take to foreign lands and some of the things they saw.”
I imagine the maps at the Acadamaidh are painted in colors and have beautifully detailed images. I hope someday I can see something like that. There was a hand-drawn one in a book Da used to read to my younger siblings and me. It was just a story, but the thought of there being something beyond our island excited me.
“But the journey across the highlands will be treacherous, especially with winter coming,” Percy goes on. “I don’t want anything to happen to you or our child. If this town is safe, then I want to stay as long as we can.”
Before I can reply, fiddles and clapping fill the air. Anstice runs over and grabs our hands. “The ceilidh is starting,” she says, pulling us to our feet.
A deep ache runs from my tailbone up my spine. “It doesn’t seem like you’re short on dance partners,” I tell her as she leads us to the square.
She flashes a smile. “Oh, them? They’re nothing but flirts who hope I’ll give them a free meat pie or a sweet roll if they pay the right compliment.”
Percy and I stand across from each other with the line of dance partners. “Still have a little energy left for a dance?” Percy asks me.
“I guess I do.”
The man facing Anstice blushes as she winks at him. The music changes, and the couple on the end of the line skips to the middle and circles each other, hands touching. They spin around before heading to the next person across from them. My foot taps in time with the rhythm in anticipation for our turn. Warmth flows from Percy’s hands and through my arms, the magic seeking out the aches and pains in my body. He gives me his usual crooked smile.
“To help you dance better,” he says as the music moves through the crowd of dancers.
Anstice and her partner circle each other before breaking off and moving to Percy and me. She clasps my hand with a grin as we twirl around in a storm of flying skirts. The soreness in my knees is forgotten as lightness overtakes me, and I lose myself in the dance.
“You’re not a bad dancer,” Anstice tells me.
Sweat runs down the back of my neck as I spin around. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to a cèilidh, but I’m good at dancing, despite my joints,” I reply, matching her smile.
“The night’s young. There’s plenty of time for you to show off your skills,” she says, and we switch partners again.
Percy’s hand finds mine as we come together. Flower petals swirl in the air. Outlined by the flames and surrounded by so much joy, the moment makes my heart swell to the point where I don’t know if my rib cage can contain everything. This is the kind of moment I want to write in my journal, to press it into the pages like flowers to preserve forever.
My knife slices the light-colored piece of oak wood, and I brush the skelfs from the elk’s antlers. Kester’s shape takes form in my hand as I sit in Anstice’s garden. The God of Growth’s face is the last thing to detail. I hear Da reminding me not to rush and go with the grain. He taught me how to carve wood from a young age, and I continued it after he died because I found it comforting. I started making wooden toys when I first got pregnant, but I never finished them. Instead, I made little figurines for Percy’s younger patients when they came to the house.
Morhenna pecks at the shavings, giving me an annoyed cluck when she discovers that they’re not edible. She struts off to chase a few sídhe by the lavender and yarrow. The chicken likes it over there, probably because it reminds her a little of home.
I haven’t spent much time in the garden like Percy has. I sense the bones of a man buried in the ground—the man who used to own the bakery. His rage claws at the earth that entombs him, and, unlike the other dead beneath the bakery, his voice makes me uneasy. I asked Anstice why she kept his bones so close when they give off such strong emotions, and she said she liked the idea of his body giving life after he’d been responsible for so much death.
It’s strange at times to think of a murderer here in the garden, but that was who he was. Now he’s bones held together by memories. Whatever punishment his soul is due awaits him in the dark mists of the Forests of Cadal—an eternity of maddening wandering.
A shadow falls over me, and I find Percy standing next to me. Clouds move through the overcast sky. “You’re carving again,” he says, dimples creasing his cheeks. “Are you going to make one for each of the festivals?”
I brush wood shavings off my brown skirt. “I don’t know. That’d be a lot of carving,” I tell him. Today my hands don’t hurt, so I could make another one after this. The brief thought of making another toy crossed my mind, but I fear it may become like the other ones I never finished.
Morhenna darts out of the bushes toward Percy. She has the gall to give me a look of irritation that I’m still here now that Percy has come outside. Percy sits on the stone bench beside me, weaving a chain of daisies and red clovers into a circle. When he’s working on a problem, he finds ways to keep his hands busy. He took to making flower chains and crowns when I was first pregnant. I used to find his creations all over the bothy.
“I’m sure there will be time between all the baking you’ve been helping with. You’ll have to rest eventually. Healer’s orders,” Percy says.
When he talks like that, it makes it seem like we’ll be here to see all these festivals. The dread still hovers in my stomach, but I don’t shut out the image of a small face peering back at me with a gummy smile and tiny fingers. The bubbling warmth pads around my chest, kneading the space as it prepares to curl up and stay there.
Percy sets the finished crown on my head. “How are you today?” he asks.
“No nausea today or dreams that I can remember,” I say, etching one of Kester’s eyes on his face. “I’m still worried, but it’s not overwhelming me. Some days it’s easier to forget that we didn’t lose everything.”
My knife stops as a tightness grips my throat. I blink and try to steady my breath. A cold lump of sadness leaks through the calm I’d let settle on me. I try to swallow it back down, breathing in the lavender and grass to keep myself centered.
Percy scoots closer. “I think the worry will always be there, but hopefully, it’ll get better each day.”
He plucks a daisy growing beneath the bench. Another one springs up from the broken stem, white petals unfurling like an old man stretching out his limbs. The chicken comes around to his side in hopes of receiving a pet or a treat from him.
The backdoor slams open, startling Morhenna. Percy and I turn to see Anstice leaning against the doorframe, panting, and her dark hair in disarray. Her eyes are wide as she stumbles outside with sweat on her ruddy face. My breath hitches seeing her usual calm broken. Coldness slithers into my stomach while my chest grows hot with each quickening heartbeat. I clutch the knife tightly and stand.
Percy moves to steady Anstice. “What’s wrong?” he asks, fingers at her pulse on her wrist.
“I saw them,” Anstice gasps, her gaze going to me, “in the market. Ten Failinis led by a flamekindler. He looked like the one you told me about. You must leave now.”
The world rushes by while I stand frozen in the bedroom like I’m caught in a dream. Anstice’s description of Captain MacAdoh turned my bones to stone. I try to think through the fog clouding my mind while I pack, but my shaking hands can’t seem to grasp anything real. He’s found us and has brought more Failinis with him. How did they find us? Did someone at the festival discover that I’m a boneweaver? Or did they track us here?
“Mor.” Percy touches my shoulder. When I look at him, words fail me. He helps me with my pack, squeezing my hand. When he puts the green dress I wore a few days ago into the bag, I swallow a sob.
Anstice comes back into the room with bundles of food and supplies. Morhenna clucks loudly and darts around. My knuckles turn white as I clutch the axe, as if doing so will allow me to hold onto the last shred of safety we have left. The roots we started putting down are being yanked up again.
“Do you have everything?” Anstice asks us, but the question sounds so distant as if she’s asking someone else.
“Yes,” I hear Percy respond.
Grunting, Anstice moves the bed aside and pulls back the rug beneath it. She removes a few boards until a gaping hole is staring back at us with a wooden ladder leading downward.
“The previous owner used these to get in and out unseen,” Anstice tells us. “Despite their former uses, I knew one day they’d come in handy. They extend all the way out of town with hidden entrances around the hills.”
There’s a banging sound from the front of the bakery, and my blood curdles. “Open up!” a muffled voice carries through the house.
The presence of ten bloodgifted burns in my veins. Dogs bark and growl. They must have a beastcharmer. Every pounding fist on the door hits me with a memory of the Failinis, the wolfish smile, the kitchen wall crumbling, and flames going up around us.
Anstice glances over her shoulder. “Keep going straight down the tunnel. It’ll bring you to the western side of the town to the barley field,” she whispers and points at the hole in the floor. “From there, keep going until you reach the woods.”
Anstice pushes something soft into my palm. I look down at the red and tan pouch in my hand. The bloodleaf. “Anstice…No! I…Why are you giving this to me?” I ask. “I can’t take this. This is all you have.”
She stops as I try to give it back to her. “You need it more than I do,” she says.
“But what about you?” The answer constricts my voice, breaking my words into pieces. The pounding on the front door grows louder. “Come with us. Please.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle as she touches my face. “Sweet Morana. My place is here. I’ve been running for too long.”
I grasp her arm, throat tight. I don’t want to lose her, the only other boneweaver I’ve met—my friend. “But the flamekindler will kill you.”
“I willnae leave this place without a fight.” Her brown eyes are like steel despite tears. “If it’s my time to join Arianrhod, then so be it. You and Percy still have a chance. Take the bloodleaf. Just a pinch will be enough, and the effects will start in a few minutes.”
I glance at Percy, hoping he’ll say something to convince Anstice to come with us. His face is grim as he looks at the pouch of bloodleaf. “I don’t like you taking it without knowing how it might affect the baby,” he mutters, brows creased as his voice cracks, “but if it keeps you hidden, we don’t have another choice.”
I stare at the pouch. No choice. Percy never says that. Risk losing our lives or lose another child. Regret rakes its thorns through my insides. My fear continues to fracture, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. The pounding on the door turns into the sound of cracking wood.
“You have to go. Now,” Anstice tells me.
I slip the axe through my belt and take a pinch of the dried leaves with trembling fingers. The room around me blurs as I swallow, bitterness and salt slipping down my throat. The sensation of something being leached away from my blood is immediate, even though I can still feel the power in my veins. I don’t know what it’ll be like to not have my bloodgift.
