Spirit Prophecy (The Gateway Trilogy Book 2) (53 page)

“This calling destroyed my mother’s life. It destroyed my sister’s life. It nearly destroyed mine. But we came. We came here and we trusted you. We gave up everything because we really believed that you meant what you said — that it’s all for the spirits, for those that cannot help themselves, and maybe for a few of you, that’s still true. But for most of you — ” and I shot a poisonous look at Marion and a few other unnaturally beautiful faces, all frozen in shock at my outburst, “ —it’s all about what you can take for yourselves. You claim to want to help them, but all you do is suck them dry. You could have known everything you wanted to know about the prophecy ages ago, but why would you bother with a ghost like Mary? You don’t bother with them if you can’t see what’s in it for you. But she risked everything to help me. She endured terrible agony every time she tried to speak to me, to warn me about what was coming. It’s too bad no one was there to warn her.”

“That’s enough,” Finvarra said, rising to her feet. Her expression was a nearly undecipherable collision of emotions. She was obviously angry with me, and her tone subdued me into a seething silence, but she seemed unable to decide how to proceed. I noted with satisfaction that what I had said had unnerved her, and she wasn’t contradicting me — in fact, when she next spoke, she did not even fully meet my eye.

“What did Mary tell you? How did she speak to you if she has been Caged?”

“We…I Uncaged her,” I said, changing tack midsentence. No reason to drag the whole crew down with me.

Siobhán piped up for the first time. “That is an incredibly complex and dangerous casting! How did you learn to do such a thing? We certainly don’t teach it, and I don’t think anyone here has ever even performed one.”

“The library. It was all in there, if you knew where to look,” I said.

“What did Mary tell you?” Finvarra repeated.

“She didn’t want to talk to me at first, until she could be sure that there were no others around. But finally last night, I followed her down to the dungeons and she told me the truth about how she died. She was murdered by the Durupinen because of that prophecy.” I pointed a shaking finger at the Book of Téigh Anonn, where the words had once again hidden themselves in the pages.

Shock wiped every face blank except for Finvarra’s, which crumpled instead into a mournful expression. She brought one hand over her eyes and held it there for some time. When she lowered it again, her eyes were oddly bright.

“The prophecy speaks, as I’m sure you’ve realized, of an illicit relationship between a Durupinen and a Caomhnóir. This relationship would result in twin girls, who would both be blessed with the gift. These two girls would hold the fate of the Durupinen in their hands, with potentially cataclysmic consequences. There were some,” she said quietly, “ages ago, who felt sure that the devastation laid forth in this prophecy was imminent. They chose to destroy all possible risks for fear of its fulfillment. Can I assume that Mary was the child of a Durupinen and a Caomhnóir?”

“Yes,” I said.

Finvarra nodded. “The prophecy was the very reason that relationships between Durupinen and Caomhnóir were forbidden in the first place. But those who first heard this prophecy allowed their fear to overwhelm their logic. There followed what can only be described as a witch hunt for the children born from these unions. It was a very shameful time in our history. I assure you that we are not proud of it.”

“She wouldn’t cross over,” I said. “She wanted others to know what had happened to her, to warn them of the dangers. They couldn’t get rid of her, so they silenced her with a Caging instead.”

“When I first arrived here as an Apprentice, the Silent Child had long since hidden herself in the shadows,” Finvarra said. “I must admit that I never gave her a second thought. She fled from us at the first sign of attention, and she was one of very, very many spirits that haunted these grounds. And in the many years since, I’ve never known her to attempt communication with anyone. But she sought you out, Jessica.”

“Yes.”

“Why.”

It was not a question. She already knew; she had realized the truth, as

I had, and she was merely waiting for me to state it aloud.

“She knew that I was in danger because I was like her. She was afraid for me, so she kept fighting against the Caging to warn me.”

“Because somehow she knew what even you did not,” Finvarra said.

“She knew that you were a child of a forbidden relationship.”

“An abomination, that was what she said,” I whispered.

“She feared for your life, and so she revealed herself, for what may have been the first time in centuries.”

“I don’t know how she knew it,” I said. “But she recognized me right away. She attacked me within hours of arriving here, and she’s been coming to me in dreams and drawings for months.”

“And she feared, as you do now, that you and your sister are the ones spoken of in the prophecy.”

I swallowed back the impulse to be sick. “Yes.”

The silence that followed was one of the longest of my life. Several Council members were sitting motionless, their eyes accusing me of being the very abomination Mary’s murderers had thought her to be. Others looked merely bewildered, as though they hadn’t yet caught up with the implications of what it all meant. Siobhán hung her head and shook it back and forth slowly like a mournful pendulum. One woman in the back appeared to be praying.

“We have no proof,” Finvarra said at last, “of your parentage. We were never able to discover, in all of our searches for your mother, any information regarding your father’s identity. You are quite sure you have no information about him?”

“Nothing,” I said. “She would never speak a word about him.” I’d always thought this was because the memory of him was, for whatever reason, too painful for her. Now, it seemed, that she was doing everything she could to protect us.

“Very well then,” Finvarra said. “I think we must take Mary’s actions quite seriously. Marion, please draft a letter summoning a meeting of the Caomhnóir Brotherhood. We will need all members here immediately. A formal inquiry must be made before —”

“Excuse the interruption, High Priestess. I’ve found the other Ballard girl.” Braxton had appeared in the doorway, his huge paw of a hand clamped tightly around Hannah’s upper arm. “These two girls,” he pointed over his shoulder at Mackie and Savannah, who were hovering nervously just behind him, “were trying to help her leave the grounds.”

“Thank you, Braxton,” Finvarra said. “What about Lucida?”

Braxton shook his head ruefully. “I could not find her, High Priestess.”

Finvarra rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised? When is Lucida ever where I need her to be? Very well, please keep looking.” Braxton clicked his heels together and marched from the room.

“MacKenzie, Savannah, please sit down. I shall speak with you in a few moments,” Finvarra said. Mackie, trembling from head to foot, sat immediately. Savannah made a brave attempt at her usual swagger, but also sat without protest.

“Hannah please come here and join your sister,” Finvarra said.

Hannah shuffled forward, looking smaller than ever in the vast cavern of the hall. As she reached my side, Milo shivered into view beside her.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, reaching out to touch me but unsure where she could safely place a hand.

“I’ll live,” I said, winking at her. She didn’t smile.

“Are you sure?” Milo asked. “No offense, really, but you look like hell.”

“I feel like hell, so that seems appropriate,” I said. “But really, I’m alright. I’ve got some bad burns on my hands, but —”

“Does the ghost need to be present for this?” Marion asked.

Milo’s eyes snapped up to meet Marion’s with the ferocity of a mama tiger in her den. “The ghost has a name, Miss Thang, and we’d appreciate if you’d use it. Also, the ghost is a spirit guide, Bound to protect these girls, so you bet your sweet ass he needs to be present for this.”

Marion’s face twisted into a sour knot, but she raised no further objection. “That’s enough,” Finvarra said sternly. “Hannah, why were you trying to leave Fairhaven?”

Hannah swallowed hard and the voice that escaped her was barely more than a whisper. “Jess told Mackie I should get out of here. She didn’t tell me why, but I trust my sister.”

“And did you see the entrance hall? Are you aware that your sister created that image?”

Hannah nodded, her eyes filling slowly with tears. “It…it looks terrible.”

“It is terrible,” Finvarra said. “It is a depiction of a prophecy made many hundreds of years ago. Perhaps its importance will make more sense to you if you hear it for yourself.”

We listened to the prophecy again. When it was over, it was hard to tell whether Hannah or Milo looked more like a ghost. “A Caller?” she asked.

“Yes,” Finvarra said, closing the book once more.

“And you think the Caller in this prophecy is me? That I have the power to …” she looked down at her own hands, as though she had found them suddenly to be deadly weapons rather than just tiny, scarred hands.

“We must proceed under that assumption. Which brings me back to my orders. Marion, please draw up a letter to —”

“With all due respect, High Priestess, I must protest,” Marion said, rising from her seat. “I contend that we have no time for the drafting of letters or the calling of meetings. We need to act, and act swiftly.”

“Please clarify yourself, Marion,” Finvarra said. Carrick was stirring nervously beside her.

“I am moving that we separate these girls and confer them immediately to the dungeons, where they will be placed under castings of containment until we can discuss what further action should be taken to protect ourselves from them.”

These words were met with a huge outburst. Savvy was on her feet, shouting. Celeste and Fiona were likewise protesting. But it was apparent that the general tenor of the noise was that of assent; most of these women were agreeing with Marion, staring down at us in alarm and mistrust.

“This is preposterous and I will not allow it!” Finvarra’s voice boomed over the racket, which quieted to a buzz. “This is not the dark ages, Marion, and these girls have done nothing wrong.”

“It is not what they have done, but what they are capable of doing that we must prevent!” Marion said, standing her ground.

“There is no proof!” Celeste said. “No evidence at all that what you are saying is even true!”

Marion turned on her. “What do you call that monstrous display marring the walls upstairs? What do you call the behavior of the Silent Child? If these things are not evidence, I don’t know what would please you.”

“You can’t lock them up! You have no right!” Celeste cried. She had crossed the room and now stood between us, one hand on Hannah’s arm and the other on my shoulder.

“We have every right!” Marion replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “We have not only the right, but the responsibility as members of this Council to protect the Durupinen from the utter destruction that these girls will surely cause.”

Voices all around the room rose in a swell of frantic agreement. Marion’s fear-mongering was working, whipping them all into a frenzy.

I looked up at Finn. He was standing poker-straight, fists clenched, eyes darting furiously around the room for the first sign of attack. I knew, though we’d barely spoken a civil word to each other in our entire relationship, that he would fight with his last breath to protect us, if it came to that. But looking around the room at all of the other Caomhnóir, his last breath seemed like a real possibility.

“Stop this at once!” Finvarra said, slamming her hand down upon her podium with a resounding crack. “I will not allow our fear to turn us into monsters! There is no reason at all why we should —”

“This is not a question of monstrosity!” Marion cut across her. The disrespect inherent in the gesture elicited gasps from several of the Council members, and Carrick actually planted himself protectively between the two women, as though the interruption were a physical threat. “It is about safety and a responsibility to protect our way of life! You saw the horror defiling the walls of our sacred hall upstairs. Will you really stand by and allow those images to become our reality?”

The murmur of the crowd grew louder, angrier, as Marion’s words sunk in and further sparked their fear. Under cover of the noise, I leaned in toward Finn.

“Should we be nervous right now?” I hissed.

Finn did not take his eyes from the heated debate in front of us, but he nodded his head. “I think so. If she rallies enough of them on her side, we may be in trouble.”

“What can we do about it?” I asked.

“I’m thinking,” he said. His eyes were darting around the room now, taking in the closed doors, the high windows, the stone-faced Caomhnóir stationed along the perimeter; in other words, the utter lack of an escape route.

“What I will not do,” Finvarra said, “is stand by and watch as two of our own are scapegoated. Marion, I must ask you to step down.”

“No, Finvarra. I must ask
you
to step down,” Marion said, her voice ringing with cold satisfaction. And she pulled from the pocket of her jacket a scroll of paper, sealed with gold wax.