Page 167 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

Ban-dia a’ Bhàis blade.

The goddess of death lifts her chin.

So sing till the song takes the life it is due.

Some hands can hold blades and still hold onto truth.

When horizons turn red and the After is here,

The darkness will come and bring all that you fear.

“It was you. You sent the song,” Bea says, her voice barely a whisper. I tuck her further behind me.

Ban-dia a’ Bhàis nods. “There is magic in music. I couldnae come to you. There would have been too many consequences. But without speaking the truth directly, and through song…” she trails off, eyes sparkling as they meet mine.

She smiles, broad and bright, as if we’re old friends reunited after years apart. The skin around her eyes crinkles, and she walks to me, her steps light as air, reaching out to take my hand.

“It is so good to see you again. You did well, delivering her to me,” she says, and the moment her skin touches mine, I remember.

76

BRENNEN

191 YEARS AGO

The fire is warm as I settle down in my chair, pouring myself a dram. It’s been a long day of judgment. Decisions that weren’t as clear as I like for them to be. It’s challenging when a soul is both dark and light. There should be a clear line, or at least, I want there to be. One that is either crossed or not, but mortals dinnae seem to be like that.

Horrible consequences can come from good intentions, and the unfortunate truth is, that must be considered if I am to be fair.

I kick my feet up onto the table just as there's a knock at the door. I sigh, putting down my dram. “Back so soon? I call, flicking my wrist. The chair I sit in morphs into my throne, a ridiculous black monstrosity made of hardened shadows meant to inspire fear, though I’m not sure why. It is not my desire to judge anyone poorly, and it is their own choices that lead to my verdict in the end.

I pick up my gavel from the armrest, waiting for an answer, but one never comes. My mood turns serious.

With the pure souls, the ones I judge to go to peace, my brother An Treòraiche is generally jovial. He teases me before I even open the door, his voice light to try to put the souls he guides to me at ease. It is only with those he fears I will sentence to suffer that he remains silent.

“Enter,” I say, sitting up straighter. The door unlocks at my command, swinging inward, and I stiffen. Theo’s face is drawn in, and a young woman with blonde hair and sad eyes stands next to him. But that is not what causes my concern. It’s the goddess of death standing beside them, her face sharp with anger.

It’s happened again.

“Come in," I say, keeping my voice measured and calm even though rage burns inside me hotter than thousands of stars. It is not this young girl's fault humans cannae seem to withstand the allure of power. Not even the Fates.

“Hello,” I say, ducking my head in a nod and giving the young girl a gentle smile. “I see my friend here has brought you to me for your final judgment. Would you like to plead your case?” I ask.

The girl wrings her hands together, clearly nervous, but before I even use my magic, I know I will judge her well. Her aura is clean, almost as white as fresh snow.

“I think I lived a good life,” she says, tentative. “Or, I've tried to, at least.”

“Then I'm sure you have nothing to fear,” I encourage her, extending my hand. She looks to my brother, Theo, an action that isn't uncommon. He’s the gentlest among us, after all, though it should not be mistaken for weakness. He’s as deadly as any of us, but souls feel comfortable with him, often looking to him for approval or advice. He is the guide, after all.

He nods, giving her a kind smile. “Go on, then. I'm sure it will be just fine.”

The girl takes a deep breath and steps forward, her hand shaking as she reaches out to lay her palm on top of mine. I bring our joined hands to my forehead, and it begins, just as it always does. Her life flashes before my eyes. Every decision she’s ever made, and the consequences of those choices.

I see her helping her little sister. Offering food to a young boy at school who was hungry. I see small lies to her parents—normal things, for a child. I see overwhelming goodness. It doesn't surprise me. The goddess would not have picked the next Cutter to be unkind.

“Bidh sìth agad,” I say with a smile. You will have peace.

Her eyes light up immediately, and I wave my arm to the right. A door appears in the mahogany wall, swinging open wide, and beyond it is what can only be described as paradise. Highlands and moors and lochs all in one landscape. All so stunningly beautiful, one could spend the rest of eternity marveling in the glory around them and never tire of it. “Go on,” I encourage her. “All you could ever want, you will find just through there.”