Page 105 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

I rub my forehead. “One would think. Would hope. But would it truly be so impossible for someone to work outside the Fates’ rule? These ceatharnaich groups we find and fight. The written magic that was destroyed. What if more remains than we think? What if there is someone with more power than we’re aware of, and that’s why the Fates are so obsessed with us finding and eliminating them?”

A scream of pure agony pierces the air. Sable’s ears perk, and Garrick and I meet each other's eyes. Without a word, we dig our heels into our horses' sides, their hooves kicking up peat as we steer them toward the noise. The scream rings out again—the rawness of it piercing through the air. We race forward, the Faerie Mounds coming into view. Hollow Hill rises in the distance, the standing stones on top looming over the braes.

The scream stops, echoing away into silence.

“Hello?” Garrick calls. “We are guardians of Cailleach! Are you in need of help?”

I strain to listen for an answer, but there's nothing but the sound of the wind rustling the heather. I hop off Sable, trekking to the top of Hollow Hill. I peek around the standing stones, but there’s no one here. No one hiding.

“What was that?” Garrick asks, breathless as he joins me. “An animal?”

“No. That was human. A woman.” I say, certain of it.

“Then where is she?”

I can only shake my head.

We search for an hour, then two, walking every inch of the rolling mounds, but find nothing.

“Maybe she fled,” Garrick says, and I nod.

“Aye. She’d have gone that way,” I say, nodding toward a deer-worn path through the birch trees.

“Then that way we'll go,” he says. My heart pounds with nerves as we travel, but we do not see anyone, and we do not hear any more screams.

“Is it possible we heard one of the women dying?” I ask.

Garrick’s eyes flick to mine. “Anything’s possible,” he says, pausing. He lowers his voice to a near whisper. “You need to be careful voicing your worries aloud, Brennen”

My brows lower. “Why’s that?” I ask.

“There are people you can question. The Cutter isnae one of them. I thought you’d know better. She’s executed higher-ranking members of her court than you for far less. I’ve watched her do it more times than I can count.”

I square my shoulders. “It's no death I'm afraid of. No my own.”

He appraises me, all traces of his usual humor gone from his features. “Then what are you scared of?”

I do not answer, because to give voice to my fears would be blatant treason, and while Garrick is warning me, he is still a guardian, and I cannae risk telling him more than what the Cutter already knows.

46

BEA

Ido not fall asleep until the sun is peeking above the horizon, and even then, I’m not granted rest. The black of my restless sleep morphs, and suddenly, I’m in a cottage. Sunlight filters across old wooden planks, and a rhythmic tapping sounds from the corner of the room.

I’ve been here before.

The fragmented pieces of my sight grow sharper, the picture coming into focus. A woman sits at a loom, but her face is hidden behind the frame. She’s humming, and beneath the melody is the sound of rippling water. I crane my neck to look out the window, trying to see where we are, but there’s nothing but sky out the window. We must be on a hill. I try to move towards the woman, but my feet are stuck in place.

“Show your face,” I beg her, but she doesn’t hear me, remaining hidden behind the large loom she works at.

There's a knock at the door, and the tapping stops. She stands, and I get a flash of her wrist. Where her dedication dàn would sit, there is a long, puckered scar. Hints of black peek around the edges of it, but I'm not able to discern which Fate she was dedicated to. Whoever it was, the dàn is too disfigured to recognize.

The woman's back is turned to me as she opens the door. She doesn’t seem afraid, but still, my stomach tightens. I know what happens next. I’ve seen it.

“I didn't think I'd see you so soon,” she says. A shadow falls in the doorway, but I cannot see who’s causing it.

And then the dream shifts, the edges growing fuzzy. A blade slices across the woman's throat, and she falls, twitching on the floor. Blood pools around my feet, and I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. It is horrifying, this helplessness. Even in my dreams, I cannot escape it.