That night, she dreamt of being trapped in absolute darkness – no air to breathe – sharp cold pushing hard against her skin. Help me, she tried to shout. Free me. But she made no sound. All she could hear was water lapping against rock, the tide creeping in. She woke up gasping for breath. In her dream, she’d been the Baukan, trapped in the rock at Cannasay. Did I dream of it for a reason? Do I have the power to free it? Things were only going to get worse for those with magic. What if now was her only chance?
She sat up. Donnan and Aedan were breathing heavily. She chewed her lip as she deliberated. How long had the Baukan, or whatever it was, been trapped there? Why had it reached out to her? It was the memory of that suffocating feeling she’d had in her dream that decided it for her. She slid off her bed and moulded her straw sack and blanket to make it look like she might be curled up there. She gathered kindling, rushes and strewing herbs into a basket, freezing when Donnan stirred. When he’d settled again, she eased the door open and crept out, quiet as a shadow, a sliver of moon giving her all the light she needed.
She climbed up to the rock at Cannasay. A bursting nervousness made her hands tremble as she arranged the kindling and rushes around it. The scraping of sea against rocks shushed her, warning her to be careful. However, the beach was empty. No sign of danger. Amongst the kindling, she added tansy leaves and flowers – for bringing forth, for new life, for resurrection – and bruised sprigs of rosemary – for remembrance, for recalling the form you once took, for purging the power that curses you.
She took a deep breath. “Fire,” she said aloud, “for releasing your energy – body and soul – from your prison of stone into the free air.” She held out her hands, compassion and desperation rising within her. Strands of heat stretched through her, down her arms. Come on, she closed her eyes, concentrating, Fire take my strength, use the powers in the herbs. Break the curse.
Her limbs shook, a faintness coming over her just as flames leapt from the ring of kindling, licking the sides of the rock. She collapsed to her knees, her face warm in the glow of the fire, her palms cold against stone. A shiver in the rock grew to a trembling, then a quaking, a wave of rumbling crashing through her. She wanted to use her gift to hear what the Baukan was saying, if indeed the shaking of the rock carried words as it had before, but she knew she didn’t have strength left for that.
The flames died, swamping her in darkness, and the rock stilled. She shielded her stinging eyes from the wind which swirled with smoke and ash.
“I failed,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She shivered, weeping as she knelt on the rock until she summoned the strength to get up. The road felt like a mountainside as she trudged back home empty, defeated, burnt out like ash in the wind. She knew it was irrational, but it seemed to her that this defeat meant more than just the continued suffering of the Baukan. It felt like an ill omen for all the healers, charm makers and gifted ones whose freedom was under threat.
Hopelessness rolled over her like a storm cloud and it was temptingly easy to give in to it but she made herself hold her head high. No, she told herself, I won’t give up just yet. She’d been close to freeing the Baukan, she was sure of it, and it was because of her Fire magic. If anyone could do it, surely it was her. There must be a way.
Turning onto Curing Street and nearing the house, she froze. An indistinct whisper reached her ears, followed by a low murmur. She pressed herself against a wall, hoping that she hadn’t been seen. Squinting, she could make out two people. She crept closer.
She recognised her father’s profile in the moonlight. He put a hand on the other person’s arm. Though she couldn’t hear the words that were spoken, Kaetha made out the feminine tones of his companion’s voice. At first, she thought the woman must be Mairi but her hooded head barely reached Aedan’s shoulder. Mairi was taller. Something white caught the light. The woman put a letter or a package into Aedan’s hands before disappearing into the darkness.
FIFTEEN
The Merry Dancers
The air thrummed with the leaping, swirling music of drum and pipe, harp and fiddle. It was a cloud of the smells of ale, flowers, sweat and roasting meat. The room was alive with dancing figures. Kaetha hovered at the back of the tavern, sipping her ale, watching.
It was Aedan and Mairi’s wedding ceilidh and, naturally, they were leading the dance, their faces aglow with happiness. She thought of the woman Aedan had met with in secret weeks before. Perhaps he’d given her up. Maybe the marriage would work.
It was good to see the Morays there, all but Jean who, late into her pregnancy, found herself too tired to attend. Kaetha had seen next to nothing of the family for weeks. Her father and Mairi stopped her from working at the smokehouse. They even forbade her from going to help Finola move in with the Morays, despite it being her idea, as a way to help keep Finola safe. Rorie had his back to her and was talking animatedly to someone. They probably haven’t even missed me, she thought.
Life had felt as though it was shrinking around her and the only thing that got her through was the
