“No.”
“Then you did it fine and well. Do you think he wanted them dead, and outside if he could’ve had them in and swarming over us?”
The image had Iona shuddering. “No. Good point.” She let out a long breath as at least the guilt she felt fell away. “I was going to bury them.”
“No, it’s not burying we do with them, not at first. We burn them.” Branna turned to Iona. “All of us, but the first fire is yours. Strong, white, and hot.”
She took Iona’s hand, stepped outside, with Connor behind them.
“Say the words I say, then send the fire.
“White to dark, power I call. On evil’s stench my fire will fall. Destroy this threat to mine and me. As I will, so mote it be.
“Say it,” Branna demanded. “Feel it. Do it.”
Iona repeated the words, her voice growing stronger, her rage keener. And her power at the end of them full and white.
Flames snapped, shot to the center of the circle, spread.
“Again,” Branna told her, as she and Connor joined her on the words.
Fire, white as lightning, burned. When it banked, only black ash remained.
“We bury the ash?” Iona’s body tingled, as if from an electric shock. Even her blood felt hot.
“We do.”
“And salt the earth.”
“I’ve better than that, but that would do as well. Fetch the dustpan and broom,” she told Iona, “and Connor the shovel. I’ve the spot for this.”
She waited a moment as they moved off to obey. “Oh aye, just the spot for this.”
She led them around, to the far front corner of the workshop.
“Here?” Iona stared at her. “So close to the house, to where you work. I don’t—”
“She’s a plan, make no mistake.” And trusting it, Connor shoved the blade of the shovel into the rain-softened ground. “Just what I wanted to be about this morning. Digging a hole for rat ashes in the bleeding rain.”
“I can help with that.” Calling on her lesson from the day before, Iona slid the rain back so the three of them stood in the warm, the dry.
“Very well done.” Branna shook back her damp hair, laid her hands on her hips as Connor dug. “That’ll do well enough. Dump them in, Iona. We’ve all three taken part in this, and the work’s stronger for it.”
“Then you can shovel the dirt back over them,” Connor suggested when Iona dumped the black ashes into the hole.
“You’re doing such a fine job, and I’ve my own to do when you’re done with it.”
“He’s watching,” Connor said quietly as he tossed dirt back into the hole. “I can just feel it.”
“I thought he might be. So much the better. Now this is mine.”
In her flannel pants, bare feet, her hair wet from the rain, Branna lifted her hands, palms up.
“Fire of white to purify, power of light to beautify. From Cabhan’s dark grasp I set you free. As I will, so mote it be.”
From the freshly turned earth flowers burst, bloomed, spread. A deep rainbow of colors shimmered in the gloom of morning, pretty shapes dancing in the light wind.
“It’s beautiful. It’s brilliant.” Iona clasped her hands together as the defiant palette glowed. “You’re brilliant.”
