Yeah,that. Iliterallyhave to cling to Dexter’s arm as I stare at the stones, because…
I’ve been here before.
How could Inothave remembered this?
“Love, what is it?”
I swallow hard. “You’re…you won’t believe this.”
“Believe what?”
I look around. It evensmellsfamiliar here, and I don’t mean faint whiffs I’m getting from Dexter’s previous visits. The trees are different, obviously—some taller, some small saplings that weren’t here before, some missing that used to be here. But there are several rock piles scattered around the outside of the stone ring, and IknowI’ve seen them before.
When I was a child, this ring sat within the middle of dense, thick woods. Some of these rock piles weren’t even visible then, where they lay just outside the standing stone ring. Dad always parked on a little dirt track on the other side of the woods from where we’re parked now, because we came in from the other side of the ring, butthisis the place.
I close my eyes and softly clap my hands a couple of times as Dexter keeps a steadying grip on my left shoulder, letting me walk as I listen.
The acoustics.
Unbidden, I remember a Welsh nursery rhyme Mom and Dad and Zuzu used to sing to me, and I start singing it.
“Heno, heno, hen blant bach…”
I freeze, listening. Then I turn, close my eyes, and sing the first verse again, my bearings now solid. Opening my eyes, I zero in on one of the rock piles just outside the ring, where I drop to my knees and wrestle one of the larger stones out of its place. Reaching into the void behind it, I feel around…
Sobbing, I pull out the tattered remains of the green checked scarf Dad always used to blindfold me.
“I’ve been here,” I sob as Dexter drops to his knees next to me, his eyes wide with shock. “I’vebeenhere.Thisis where we used to play the blindfold game.Thisis where we used to come so we could go see Zuzu!”
33
Dexter
Stunned,I stare at the scrap of fabric in Eilidh’s hands as she literally crumples to the ground sobbing.
This is the first shred of hard proof we’ve had tying her to her past with her father besides the ring.
I gather her into my arms, her ragged crying ripping my soul to shreds. I instinctively know we are about to reach the heart of whatever that thing is pursuing her, and perhaps it will intersect with the mystery about her father.
“How could I have stopped thinking about Zuzu?” She gently fingers the ragged scrap of fabric that time and moisture have done a number on. “How could Inothave thought about him in so long? They called meMazbushka. Zuzu said it meant ‘sweet little angel.’ He said I was his little angel, like a daughter to him. How could I have forgotten the stones? Dad always said it was special magick. That when I was older, he’d teach me.”
“The mind has ways of protecting us, sweetheart. Maybe it was so painful to you, to lose your father so suddenly and then lose his friend, that it shut things out that hurt too much because you missed them so keenly. Your mother was scared, you had to move, you ended up in the States. It’s not surprising. Survival mode took over.”
She stumbles to her feet, the fabric clutched in her hands and a wild look in her eyes. Then she closes her eyes and starts whispering to herself in a language I don’t recognize. She turns, changing directions, until she stops and stares at me. “I need you to hold me.”
I stand and rush to embrace her, but she steps back. “No, I mean like I’m a kid. Carry me on your hip.”
“Why?”
“Just…do it!Please?”
“All right.” I dip my knees and scoop her up, settling her on my hip. She clings to me like a child would as I straighten, then she closes her eyes again and repeats the phrase. I recognized the lullaby she sang earlier as Welsh, but this…
It sends chills ricocheting along my spine. It feels like very old, very powerful words, but I do not recognize them.
Her eyes open and she looks around, has me turn, and closes her eyes again, repeating the phrase, a little louder this time. She opens her eyes again, looks around, and is obviously getting frustrated.
“The trees were different. There was a certain way Dad always stood, facing certain stones.” She has me turn a little, and once again chants the phrase. “Why isn’t thisworking? It shouldwork!”
