Chapter Six
Prior to witnessing the boy’s outrage in the woods, I thought he was a whining, rude, and selfish brat. Now I knew that everything I assumed about him was, in fact, correct. But at least I had an idea of why he was so upset.
Even though he was only a year younger in appearance and years of existence, for me it was a gap of decades. Not only do Sidhe live almost five times longer than the average human, but also the nature of my kind pushes children to grow up when they reach ten years old. It’s the way we are—and it’s what’s expected.
In a way, it’s unfair that such selfish creatures as humans are allowed a longer period of rebellion. I was supposed to purge myself of all such emotions by ten.
Saying is easier than doing. That’s what Onora used to tell me. I knew plenty of young Sidhe in Finias who lapsed and lost their maturity for a moment.
He’s such an ungrateful thing. I sighed at my post in the boughs, my bird mind crisp and alert.
Now that I witnessed the boy’s temper and was close enough to hear him, I saw him for what he was.
Stupid child.
That was what he seemed to me.
Stupid child. I rolled the words around in my mind.
Then I caught myself. I sounded like her, and thought the very words I heard from Branna over and over again.
And yet…
I shifted my claws on the limb, settling in the gentle rocking.
I guess he’s overwhelmed? Overburdened?
The prophecy dictating the rise of the Thousand Year Sidhe, our new leader, frightened me. To think that the prophecy could come true for me and that I would hold a place of authority with my kind! It was scary.
But wouldn’t it be nice for someone to rely on me?
So it kept playing with my head and my heart. I memorized the prophecy’s cryptic phrases. But it was the prophecy that made me feel it was my duty to complete Aidan’s call.
Crow carrion.
The two simple words flew through my mind that tied my family to the prophecy. Two simple words that made my sisters the first anticipated candidates for fulfilling the divination of the Thousand-Year Sidhe. Yet when their lives moved on and showed no further similarity to the prophetic words, the clan’s eyes moved on for another candidate.
Me.
I was only nine when Bridget and Branna went through the Incantation. I was busy finishing up my last year of childhood. I remember the hours I spent exploring caves with Father and singing with Mother. In my heart, I wished to have that time back—that I could just bask in carefree childhood.
No one would want anything to do with me if it wasn’t for the prophecy.
I thought of Onora and the words she said to me the other night after I listened in on my sisters’ meeting with the Seer.
“Let the oracles spout their cryptic phrases and the council pass their judgment, Morgan. Neither I nor your sisters know what is to become of you. You are the only one who can decide that.”
I had cried back in frustration, “What if I can’t decide? What if I don’t want to decide?”
“You are the only one who can.”
The words of the sage echoed in my mind. I have to decide.
Except my sisters want to tell me what to do all of the time. It makes no sense.
A part of me craved a life like Onora’s—living in seclusion hundreds of miles away until others came calling. I would have a sense of purpose and feel genuinely needed by others, but I also wouldn’t have everyone looking over my shoulder all of the time, chastising every move I made. Burke used to keep me sheltered from all of that.
Despite the pain, I missed the first days when Father left. That was when Burke was in charge, acting as foster-father and telling us that our father would be back. He said Father would never abandon us after the disappearance of my mother, Endas. I still wished he was right. But if Father didn’t leave on his own accord, then that only meant one thing: Father was taken.
Burke was the first to tell me stories of the Chain of Constance—a secret group within the clan who was supposed to have been eradicated hundreds of years ago. They were extremely traditional, always believing that Sidhe had no business mixing with humans. Yet, I saw their point, considering the last time my kind was open with humans it led to much death. They were definitely the ones who had the motive to do something to Father.
Luckily Father thought of us after Mother died and made his wishes known. Burke was Father’s best friend and like an uncle to us. He was in charge when Father went missing. But Burke and Branna could never agree, and every night ended in shouting matches and flurries of spells cast in anger. Finally Burke lost the battle and went back to living at his own mound, leaving Branna in charge.
Now Branna always told me what to do and when. Sometimes I swear she’s just mad that the prophecy was not about her.
The prophecy. That was still like being told what to do, even if it were true.
And perhaps that’s how Aidan and I are exactly the same, I thought as I remained perched at the tops of the white pines, staring down at the unknowing boy. We both want to be appreciated. We both want control over our own lives.
Before this moment I saw my task in keening the boy’s fate as rudimentary, just another step forward in my development. But now his anger and frustration mimicked my own, and part of me wished I could swoop down to him and show him who I was so he could see that he was not the only one who had difficulty in life.
Pain is a part of every creature’s life.
But I remained in my state—the crow unseen amongst the boughs.
Maybe there is a way. Surely, getting a closer look at my ward won’t hurt anything. I’m supposed to track him, right? I’m supposed to find the time and place to let him know that he’s going to die.
I could not recall any rules prohibiting closer contact. There was only the rule of not being seen in true form prior to the keen—the crying of his death—because it was only at the moment of my announcement that I could really be seen by him.
He would never guess anything other than that I was just a curious bird.
Hopefully he won’t hurl rocks at me like he wanted to last time, I thought as I soared down through the trapeze of branches, my decision already made as I narrowly skimmed past the gnarled bark and lighted on a fallen log.
The boy stared up from his bloodied knuckles.
“What do you want?” he gruffly said.
Turning my head to the side, I saw his face more clearly—the reddened eyes hidden behind his mop of fiery hair, the freckles, much like my own, splattering his cheeks and nose.
What’s so special about him? What makes the O’Briens any more significant than any other human family?
I remembered the stories from the old land. Stories from a time before the Sidhe were forced to hide and other creatures were pushed into the Otherworld. Humans and Sidhe once lived side-by-side in Ireland, and the O’Briens were one of five families that openly mingled with the Sidhe, accepting us into their society. It was this unity that led to the Sidhe watching over the five families and helping to warn them of their deaths. It was the one comfort we could give to the humans. Unfortunately, over time it became misunderstood, the stories were lost, and the families began to see our calls as unwanted omens.
I looked at Aidan again, trying to understand if there was something more to him than what the stories told.
He spoke again. “I just can’t get away from stupid birds, can I?”
My clawed feet pattered nervously on the log, ready to take flight in an instant, if needed. But I remained, watching.
Why is he the one? How is he going to die? For what purpose?
He wiped his face with the open flap of his flannel shirt, tears and sweat erased, but not undone.
I wished I could hear his thoughts.
Maybe it’s best if he just talks to me like I’m some random bird.
I tried to simply listen and observe.
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And then the boy stared at me as though he could really see me. As if he could see through the façade. See through the Sidhe magic.
“Now I’m the jerk, right?” He laughed to himself, his words of malice circling through the air. “And now I’m crazy ‘cause I’m talking to a bird.”
He scuffed his feet around in the fine dirt, his eyes following the swirling patterns.
Click-clack-clack-click.
It was all I could manage to do in order to appear normal.
His head shot up, and he gazed at me.
My heart thundered in my chest. Maybe I had gone too far.
“It seems…” he muttered and then was lost in thought, staring.
He looked sideways at me, tilting his own head to the side like a mirror of the bird he saw.
“Were you…?” He shook his scruffy head, roughly running his hands through his tangles of hair, as though it would clear his mind. “No, can’t be. I’m just plagued by crows.” Another uncomfortable laugh in the quiet woods.
Click-clack-clack-click. My head turned the other way and as I did so, the boy turned his head the same.
“I could swear… But that would be insane.”
Aidan kept his head cocked to one side as he leisurely stooped for a tattered pinecone at his feet. He lightly tossed it in one hand-–up and down, up and down.
I leapt into flight just before he unleashed the pinecone with fury. The cone hurtled through emptiness as I retreated to the treetops, cawing the entire way.
The cone’s bobbling off trunks and rocks ceased, and then the pollen-laden forest was silent.
“Can’t everyone just leave me alone?” he whispered to no one.
I swooped through the ancient doorway and into the mound I called home, followed by a flurry of papers scattering off the great room’s center table and onto the floor.
“Way to make your appearance known,” snapped Branna as she bent down to clean up the mess.
“Sorry,” I apologized in a whisper, rushing over as best I could in my normal state, bones aching from the hours of transformation.
I wasn’t used to shifting back in mid-landing like my sisters could, but the more I practiced, the better at it I would become. I hoped. Most of the time I botched the landing and either morphed mid-air, thumping on the ground and knocking the wind out of myself, or I transformed too late and skidded in full animal form across the ground before transforming back.
“It’s okay!” Bridget skittered into the room, light as a leaf as usual, her motherly tone dusting away my shame as she rustled nearby papers into a neat pile and handed them to me. Just as quickly, she left again, busy cleaning the sleeping quarters beyond the great room.
I finished picking up the last few sheets, gingerly placing them on Branna’s stack, and gave her an apologetic smile.
Branna gave no direct response, but merely got down to business. “What did you find during your tracking today?”
“Ummm…” I knew this type of question and answer period would come. It was my sister’s duty as guardian to ensure that I completed the keen without a hitch. But I thought I would have at least a couple of hours of preparation to think through what details to share with my overly critical sister. Or at least I could figure out how to word things.
“You learned how to hum?” Branna snickered to herself.
“No,” I replied slightly above a whisper, my freckled cheeks blazing red. I always hated it when she twisted any response I made; any phrase that came out of my mouth made me look stupid once Branna was done with it. Why couldn’t Bridget be the oldest so that I could just talk to her instead?
“Well, then, what?” Branna went back to her papers, writing in beautifully intricate runes, her eyes not leaving the pages as she continued the interrogation.
It all made me feel non-existent, as though any words I uttered would be either half-ignored or fully-analyzed and nitpicked. Either way, I was in for it.
“He’s up north, just like I thought on Incantation night when I followed him.”
“Good, and…?” Branna dipped her quill back into a miniature cauldron of deep purple pigment, scrawling another line of runes.
I took a deep swallow. Better just get it over with. I said it was quickly as I could, the words streaming from my mouth like an avalanche. “He’s with his family staying at an old cabin at Winchester Lake for the week, maybe more, and his uncle has cancer. Lung cancer.”
Branna stopped her work, tensely setting down the quill and turning to me with a clenched smile. “And what has that to do with anything?”
Her words cut through me in seconds, leaving me grappling for a response.
“I just— ”
“It doesn’t matter if he’s with his family, Morgan. Your first keen only involves the boy.” She sighed as though conversing with me was a dreadful chore. “And what does his uncle’s health have to do with your job?”
“Well, his uncle is a member of the O’Brien clan, right?” I waited for her to jab at me again, but when none came, I continued. “And if we are bound to their clan, then shouldn’t one of us be looking out for his uncle? Shouldn’t someone be preparing his keen?”
“Ah, very nice, Morgan.” Sarcasm leeched through Branna’s words as she leaned back in her chair, propping her feet up on the table. “Yes, I suppose the council would have no idea what’s happening with the O’Brien brood, would they? I guess the scholars of our kind would be surprised by one of our wards passing from this world to the next without our knowledge. I’m so glad you were able to figure that out for us.”
Her sneer made me want to fly away and never come back.
Branna picked up her quill and mocked writing a message with rushed movements. “Hold on, let me get this down so we can take it to the elders!” She slammed the quill back in the inkpot. “Ha! You’re priceless.”
I had never wanted to choke the cackling out of Branna’s throat more than at that instant.
“That’s enough, Branna,” warned Bridget from the nearby doorway, hands on her hips just like Mother used to do when she was annoyed with our fighting.
“Yes, ma’am.” Branna saluted the air, and then broke into more hysterical laughing. She finally stopped once Bridget walked past and shot her a death-glare.
“Come here, Morgan.” Bridget offered me a seat in front of the hearth. “Now,” her delicate voice whispered, “tell me all about your day.”
How could my two sisters ever coexist in the same house, let alone the same womb? Branna, the abrasive yet motivated twin, was bound for a leadership role within the clan, much like Father. Bridget, on the other hand, was a free spirit, much more like Mother in her ability to negotiate and nurture. Thankfully, Bridget always knew to intervene, I just wished she would do it sooner rather than later.
“Well, like I said, he’s with his family,” I cautiously began.
“Yes, and?” Bridget encouraged.
“And he has a brother and sister, mother and father, an uncle… oh, and the uncle’s the one who’s dying. You know, the one I was telling Branna about?”
“Yes, Morgan. And about Aidan? Anything you noticed about Aidan?”
“He’s angry?” I cast my eyes to the ground, remembering Aidan lashing out at his father and subsequently throwing a pinecone at me.
“Angry?” My sister seemed pleasantly surprised.
“Yes, but just your typical teenage boy anger.” I reached for the appropriate term. “Angst?”
Bridget giggled, relieving my discomfort. “Okay, then. Angst. Anything else?”
I shrugged. “He seems perfectly healthy to me.”
“Ahhh,” Bridget leaned back in her rickety wooden chair. “I see. And so you wonder how one can forewarn the death of a healthy young man?”
“Boy, really.” I tried to hide my blushing.
“Oh, fine. Boy. So, he’s healthy? What matter is that?” Bridget was so lighthear
ted about the whole exchange, it gave me a creeping feeling in my spine, a feeling I would never reveal to my doting sister.
“Well, if he’s healthy, then how do we know that he’s going to, you know—”
“Die?” Bridget smiled widely, as though she was speaking to a child about their time playing in the spring sun.
I sighed, forcing myself to say it. “Yes. Die.”
“Morgan, my sweet Morgan.” Bridget tucked a stray piece of my dark hair behind an ear. “We cannot all know the secrets of the Inner Ring, am I right? For knowledge in the hands of many results in ruin for all, whereas knowledge safely guarded leads to protection of the clan. You know that.”
Of course I knew it—I knew the second law of the Inner Ring like I knew the cold reality that I would never see Mother. I knew all of the Ring’s laws since I was seven, just like every other child of the Sidhe. But deep in my gut, I felt sickened by the thought of the laws and the secrets they protected.
How can I rule over a system I don’t even fully know? I wondered as I stared into Branna’s trusting eyes.
“Yes, I know, Bridget. Sorry if I misspoke.”
“Quite all right, Morgan.” Bridget patted my knee, eyes sparkling in the dimly lit great room.
Eyes so wide and reflective. Eyes, I realized, much like sheep.