His frown unsettles me. ‘You’reaskingme? This just happened! How can you not remember? We just discussed Gruoch.’
Will blinks. ‘Apologies, my lady. Time here has a funny habit of stretching like taffy; I’m never sure whether I’ve lingered for a moment, or an eternity. And that drab castle had all the markings of a nightmare. I remember being certain I was going to die … and somethingabout black birds?’ He narrows his eyes at me. ‘No, that can’t be, how preposterous. People transforming into birds … What’s next, spirits turning into harpies? Ha ha, not even Marlowe would consider writing such unhinged lunacies … But no matter, Shepherd saved us, and at a great cost as you can see.’
I want to scream and grab him by the shoulders, shake his memories loose. But something tells me it won’t work; the man I travelled with, the man who managed to become my friend, already feels half gone, a dream forgotten upon waking. He has reverted to calling me ‘lady’, instead of Anassa or ‘villainess’. So I try a gentler hand. ‘Claret was with you when you crossed over, Will. With you and Shepherd and Gruoch. And Shepherd and Gruoch are right there, see? And you are right here. So where –’
Everything quakes. The wall Will was leaning on shakes, then collapses. A piece of ceiling falls behind me, crushing the table where we once drank aqua vitae. The sudden change in my surroundings stuns me. Could we have really caused all this? All this damage?
Will rushes to me. ‘Are you all right? We must hurry, get closer to Shepherd. She’s trying to mend this world, but while she does her proverbial stitching, we’ll be safer by her side.’ He takes my hand, leading me out of the wreckage, and I let him.
As we exit what I once considered an impenetrable fortress, lined with vindictive spirits in the brickwork ready to strangle me for escaping, it dawns on me that this is better. Chaos – but also freedom. We step through trampled doors and broken arches, through remnants of architecture both ancient and recent, alien and familiar, and reach a crowd of people gathered in the openingahead. So many people! It’s like being back in Elgin, or Tomnavoulin; they’re all huddled together, regardless of attire or looks. Roman helmets next to fur caps next to beautiful coiled hair, colourful scarves and turbans next to strange conical green hats, beastly antlers, crowns made of ice … All from different storyworlds, they must be. If the circumstances were different, I could have enjoyed learning more about them. Now they’re just obstacles on my way to Claret. Yet her old place should be somewhere here, too. I strain my neck, trying to see amid the madding crowd. There, maybe? Near a half-broken column. Blonde hair, pinned in elaborate design. Claret’s supposed sister … What was her name? I mean to go to her, ask her about Claret, when another earthquake stops me in my tracks.
Will pulls at my hand. ‘We must go to Shepherd for safety,’ he repeats.
He looks feverish, hypnotized. Then I realize he’s not the only one; every single face around me has that same sheen, like their breaths have been caught by religious fervour, like they’re about to experience a rapture.
And the obvious culprit licks her sharp teeth, stretching her crime-coloured mouth in a feline smile. ‘My children, do not worry, you are safe with me,’ Shepherd croons, and I can feel my ravens shifting, demanding to be let out, peck at her lies until there’s nothing left.
‘These are trying times, but we will persevere. Find your people; stay with them. Don’t stray far from –’ She flinches, head twitching.
Interesting. I study her golden-freckled cheeks, scrunched up in unseen annoyance or pain, the way the malar stripes under her eyes quiver, as if she’s also struggling to containher power. As if she holds a secret battle, while she speaks, and she’s not winning. This gives me a demented, desperate hope. My gaze strays to Gruoch for a bit, her previous bloodthirst now wrapped in the same ecstatic puzzlement as everyone else, drinking in Shepherd’s presence. I don’t know what to feel about this woman, so like me and yet not. She tried to kill us, in the most convoluted way possible, because she thought a spirit told her so. Yet how can I judge her, when I would have done the same? What chthonic spirits wouldn’t I willingly invoke, what war and death and plague wouldn’t I unleash upon the world, if someone had killed Claret? If I hoped my actions, villainous as they may be, could bring her back?
I haven’t stopped searching for her even now, cursing her smaller stature that makes it impossible for her to stand out in the pulsing crowd like her sister does. I see something red further back and my breath catches – but no, it’s neither her cloak nor her hair. Merely a stain on a ghostly wall, the palm print of some wounded person, most likely.
Shepherd resumes her speech. We are advised to stay calm, to talk only to those we know, to be wary of wraiths. Remain in the square, while she works to rebuild our world. If we’re approached, given a key, take it calmly and walk to our assigned door.
That excites the crowd – but I see trepidation in people’s expressions, too.
‘Do not fear, my children. Earning your key, stepping through your door, is the most magnificent gift. A wondrous new beginning … Here, let me demonstrate. Gruoch, if you will?’
Gruoch gets up, eager. ‘Yes, yes, goddess. I’m ready.’
Shepherd plucks a pendant from that cascading necklace of hers, and for the first time I can see their shape clearly. Keys. So many golden keys, jangling together. Clotho’s choice to arm us with our own seems more calculated now. We were never meant to bow to Shepherd, were we? We were always meant to cause chaos, to write different stories. To retell is to rebel. I grit my teeth making my way forward, to Shepherd, to Gruoch, dragging Will by the hand. I reach them right as a door marked with a saltire cross, the symbol of Scotland, appears in front of Gruoch. I don’t know what possesses me to grab her sleeve, force her to turn around, look at me.
Gruoch squints, as if trying to remember who I am. ‘You … I saw your face in so many dreams … I was supposed to capture you. I thought I did, once, but you slipped from my fingers, taking flight. Who are you?’
‘I am myself,’ I say, and I’m surprised to find my eyes filled with tears. I blink, and one breaks free, tracing a path on my cheek. ‘And you, Gruoch Macbethad, are also yourself. And this time, you can make better choices, if you want to.’ I reach inside my cloak, knowing exactly what I’ll find there. I grab a black feather and give it to her. ‘A reminder. Of better choices.’
Reluctantly, Gruoch takes the feather and tucks it in the sleeve of her dress. I like to think a part of me is with her now – perhaps the discerning, rebellious part. She unlocks her door, and a burst of brilliance forces me to shut my eyes for a second. ‘Oh, it’s so beautiful,’ she mumbles, clearly seeing something meant only for her. ‘Thank you, goddess,’ Gruoch tells Shepherd, voice thick with happiness. Then she steps through her door and disappears into the brilliant light.
A collective ‘aww’ from the crowd lingers longer than the door does.
‘See? Wasn’t that inspiring?’ Shepherd says, like a teacher ensuring their lesson had a lasting impact on their pupils. ‘And you can all experience this, soon. When the time is right for you, I shall give you your key, ensure your crossing. For now, remember my words, my children, and stay safe. The danger hasn’t yet passed.’
The crowd begins dispersing, dividing into distinct groups. Still no sign of Claret.
‘What did you do with her?’ I whisper, knowing I need not raise my voice. Shepherd will hear me. ‘I saw your tail wrap around her ankle, I saw you drag her along. Where is she?’
Slowly, very slowly, Shepherd turns to face me. I’m stunned by how her light has dimmed, the seven-pointed star above her head flickering, parts of it winked out of existence. For the first time, she looks old, exhausted. ‘Claret saved us all,’ she says, and the sorrow in her voice sounds almost genuine. ‘I told her, her presence here is too destabilizing. That I can’t hold this world together with her in it. So she did the decent thing; the queenly thing.’
A million ravens flutter in my ears, blocking Shepherd’s next words. I don’t want to hear them. I don’t want to believe them. Claret can’t have left me. Not willingly. Not after all we –
‘She accepted her key, opened her door and left,’ Shepherd insists, as if I’m slow and don’t understand. ‘Like Gruoch did. Like you should too if –’
I run so fast I’m almost flying, leaving Shepherd and her lies behind. ‘Where are you going?’ I hear Will yelling but I don’t stop, wading through the crowd for the sign Iknew I saw before, the sign my corvid eyes acknowledged but my heart refused to pay heed to. That scarlet stain, on that ghostly wall. Only it wasn’t a wall, was it? It was a door – Claret’s first door, the white one with the blood-red doorknob. The door I opened when we first met.
I’ve almost reached it when I spot Ophelia, next to Claret’s sister. They both look lost, confused, but finding purpose in each other, slow blinks turning to smiles, glazed gazes turning clearer. Good. As long as there are more rebels in this world, more people willing to break free from their goddess-ordained narratives, there’s hope. I want to say something, give them something, but I realize it’s not important. They don’t need me. And I don’t need them.
All I need is behind that fading door, its contours vanishing into the wall by the second, the claret stain the only thing remaining.
