Chapter 31: Remembrances

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You’re a person, William Doherty.

They have not moved me from the binding circle. I remain in the same cellar, though Salazar left some time ago in pursuit of some nebulous issue. By now my flesh is whole again, the cloying scent of my own pain nothing but a lingering haze. The branding iron sits on a table ten feet away from me, the cross upright and dangling over the edge like a reminder that it will be used again if it becomes necessary.

I see no reason to make it necessary for the time being.

I cannot remember the last time someone used my name in kindness. True Names are weapons. Even with the more agreeable mortals I’ve dealt with, the knowledge of my True Name is a bullet eternally lodged in the barrel. It is a promise. I know you, it says, I know you, and I will use that against you.

I’d become numb to it. I think that is why I’ve kept pieces of myself so deeply hidden away, even from my own thoughts. I barely remembered who I was anymore. There were fragments, yes, but it was just enough to keep my sights set on what I wanted. On freeing Elan.

But Lydia’s words stay with me long after she’s moved too far away for conversation. True Names have power, and I always understood that in a negative light. The power to hurt. The power to cut. The power to defame. It did not occur to me that it had the power to bolster me.

As I sit in this room, bound in this circle, I remember things I had long forgotten.

There was a girl when I was younger. When I was mortal. A girl with dark curls and a shy smile. I do not know that I loved her, but I know we danced together at Lá Bealtaine. I remember the softness of her warm hands, the way she laughed when I spun her round and round, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the bonfires. Stars above us, laughter around us. There are faces in the gathering I know - faces which know me.

The memories roll over me like a tide, and I let them come.

You’re a person, William Doherty.

A man crouches near me, the scent of whiskey on his breath. He’s grinning from ear to ear, his fingers nimble in spite of the drink. He shows me how to tie a snare, the rope in his hands wriggling and writhing like a snake. “Like this, mo mhac, ” he says brightly. “The little buggers will never wriggle free if you do it just so.” He unties the ends of his snare, then holds it out to me, his expression expectant. “Here now. You try, yes?”

I focus on the man’s face. His features become clear to me, and the longer I stare, the more of myself I see in him. Myself as I was. Or perhaps as I am.

This man is my father. He is my father.

You’re a person, William Doherty.

I remember the stench of smoke. The bite of it as it stung my eyes. Men were riding through the fields on horses, clashing with one another, steel on steel and fists on flesh. We crouched, hidden inside, the door of our home small comfort against the rage around us. I do not remember who the men were. I cannot say what they fought over. What mattered was the look on my father’s face as he held my sister close: grim and determined. He looked me in the eye as he said:

“You look after her, William. You be a man and you look after your sister, no matter what happens. You understand that?”

He thrust her towards me then. I grabbed Elan and ran, leading her into the cellar, pressing her teary face into my chest as we listened to my father drag a rug over the trap door. Listened as the men splintered wood and tore off hinges. Listened as they broke their way through, cutting and slashing. To the pattering of blood as it dripped down through the floor and into the cellar, staining the back of my hand with scarlet…

“I hope those claws aren’t out on my account.”

I jerk back to my senses, looking toward the voice. Avidia sits on the table nearby, twirling the branding iron back and forth between her fingers. Her legs are crossed demurely, and she’s watching me with a knowing expression.

I peer down at my hands. Sure enough, claws extend from the tips of my fingers, the same ones I used to punch through the eldritch creature's chest. I force them to retract through sheer willpower, ordering my mind carefully to rivet my full attention on the woman before me.

Going up against Avidia without one’s wits about them is ill-advised.

“I know what you did, you know,” she says, her voice light and playful. “What you told the girl to do. She’s a slippery one — hard to see what she’ll do next. I’m sure if they put any lesser creature on the job, they wouldn’t have been able to pull it off.”

“You’ve always had talent in the foretelling,” I reply blandly.

“I have, haven’t I?” She swings the iron about, this way and that, before casually tossing it off to the side. There’s a distinct clang as it hits the wall across the room. “Ugh. Salazar can be so terribly tactless. I wouldn’t be caught dead using so boorish a method as that.”

“If you knew where Lydia was going, why did you not try to stop her?” I ask.

Avidia hops smoothly from the table. She steps towards the binding circle, moving around its edges, the soft clicking of her heels on the stone floor a staccato beat. “Because I foresee this working out in our favor regardless,” she replies. “If the little creature needs someone to hold her hand, so be it. My only command is to ensure she winds up in these halls. My bonded was loose with the specifics.”

“Then your bonded is clearly a fool.” I lean back slightly, keeping my eyes on her. The spell currently keeping me in place will have no effect on her, I’m certain. None of the aspects which compose her essence would be touched by them. She is not made of demonic ilk. “One would think the Archive would know by now to keep the noose tight around your neck.”

She flashes a smile at me, a sharp one. “That is the difference between you and I, William. I know when to play at yielding. You do not. You struggle every step of the way, and so they paint you with a target. You’re rather notorious in these halls, you know.” She chuckles. “That little Caladrius was running about crowing that she’d met the legendary demon, the Great Rebel.” Avidia studies me for a moment, and I get the impression she’s almost sad. “But look at you, William. Look at where it’s gotten you. Over all this time, and you’ve failed to learn anything.”

“You’re trying to help me,” I say, the words acidic in my mouth. “Or you’re trying to play the part. Why.”

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Her laugh is an utterly delighted sound. “It would defeat the purpose if I told you, wouldn’t it?”

“Games of cat and mouse are hardly amusing when the cat is omniscient,” I say, my words dry.

Avidia’s eyes brighten. “Omniscient? Oh, William. You flatter me.”

“You are close enough to it that I would not risk your claws.”

She sobers, watching me with such obvious intent that I wonder if she is attempting a foretelling on me. But eventually she crouches, rocking back on her haunches, hands clutching the silk of her dress.

“There are so few left like you and I, William. There’s so much new blood here, you know. And I hear word they’re finding fewer and fewer mortals with valuable skills. Powerful Seers are disappearing. Shapers are a rarity. Navigators?” She snorts. “All but nonexistent. The Archive is growing desperate. They’ve started taking risks. Trying to bond people with only the barest of connections to the Aether.” Her lips curl in a sneer. “I’ve seen the aftermath of those efforts. Once and a while they get lucky, of course — but it almost always ends in blood.”

I stare at her. “Why do you tell me this?”

The Sibyl purses her lips. “So you understand how much they want this girl, and why. William, if you go against them this time, believe me: it will be the end of you.”

Her words do not bear the heat of a threat. It is a warning. Almost earnest. Avidia and I have never gotten along well, but we have worked together in the past, if only out of necessity. I despise her, but I have always known her to be competent. Composed.

This is the closest I’ve ever seen her to genuine concern.

“What is happening to them?” I ask. “The mortals with connections to the Aether. Why is their number dwindling?”

Avidia gives a light shrug of her shoulders. “No one knows. There’s precedent for it, of course — the Archive’s records show their numbers swell and taper off now and then. Never quite this sharply though. I can understand why it has them so worried.”

I draw in a breath. Lying to a Sibyl is possible, but only with forethought and proper planning. Gratefully, I can reassure her without having to twist my words. A truth — even a partial one — should sate her well enough.

“I have no intention of turning Lydia against the Archive. It is in her best interest that she join them. You said it yourself — she simply needs her hand held. The reassurance that they will not harm her.”

Avidia remains crouched for a moment, her eyes riveted on the space between my brows. Then, without warning, she rises smoothly to her feet and steps aside just as the door swings open.

Whatever business Salazar had evidently only held his attention for a few hours. At first I assume the sharp anger in his gait has something to do with it. But when he strides across the room and scoops up the branding iron, fist tightening upon it so hard his knuckles whiten, I know otherwise.

When he presses it into my chest, I make no sound. I stare at him as the scent of my burning flesh fills the air again. Avidia watches in silence over his shoulder, meeting my gaze. She lowers her head ever so subtly.

I relent, allowing my face to form a grimace. I give Salazar what he wants — allow my pain to show through. I jerk myself back, my skin tingling as it meets with the edges of the barrier. More of my power ebbs from me as my flesh immediately begins trying to heal without the touch of the cross. I’m grateful that I was so filled before I came here — otherwise, I know by now I would be hurting far more.

“I assume this is your doing?” Salazar hisses. “I’m told the Templars have offered Lydia Grace their Sanctuary. I warned you about interfering further.”

I press a hand over the newly opened wound, face still locked in a wince. “We met a Templar on our way here,” I say, my voice pained. “I’ve no doubt she went to him of her own accord. I can hardly control her actions from here.”

He continues to clutch the iron. Then he whirls towards Avidia, and for a moment I think he’ll try to strike her with it. I wonder if it would lead to his death. Not in the here and now, of course — the Sibyl’s methods have always been more subtle than that — but it would not be wise of him.

She meets his gaze steadily, and he slowly lowers the iron back to the ground, the tip of the cross clinking quietly.

“Well?” He says to her, expectant.

“Nothing has changed,” Avidia says. “The girl is walking a path that will lead her back to us.”

“Complications?” He asks.

“Few, assuming we keep our grip gentle at first. She is a bird lighting on a palm. Agree to the terms. Assure her. Then, when she’s firmly in hand…” She trails off, spreading her arms in what looks like an invitation to an embrace.

“Why did you not foresee this turn of events?” Salazar demands. He still grips the iron, and I wonder if he will yet attempt to use it against her. The cross will do nothing to her - but the bite of metal beaten against skin is a pain applicable to all.

“Looking into her future is like trying to look into the sun,” she replies. “I cannot gaze long, and she shifts the world around her. She is a chaotic, nebulous thing. Trapping her will require expertise, not shows of force.”

“You have never failed us before,” he insists, his tone rife with barely contained anger.

“I have never had to watch so many events unfold before,” she replies evenly. “In the past, there were more of my kind to assist me.”

Salazar draws himself upright. I can see the way he studies her, weighing her. When he’s taken her measure, he relents, turning his attention to me once more.

“The girl,” he says, still addressing the Sibyl at his side. “What does she feel towards him?”

“I cannot say that for certain,” Avidia replies. “But I know he has managed to capture some of her trust. That much is clear simply through observation.”

“So he would be useful as a lure.”

I do not speak. I know if I do my words will betray my brewing rage.

“Without question,” comes Avidia’s reply. She casts a glance at me, and there’s a certain knowing in the curve of her lips.

I see how she feels about you, that smile says. I know. Remember that, William. I know.

It is a mark in her favor, and I know she is pulling that card close to her chest. Something to play later, to force my hand.

“Fine.” Salazar waves a hand through the air flippantly. The shimmering script that kept me imprisoned melts away into nothing. Keeping the iron in hand, he turns away from me, flippantly putting me at his back. It is a display of power, I know. To show me he is not afraid.

I rise to my feet in silence, refusing to act against him.

“When Lydia Grace arrives with her escort from the Order, you will do everything in your power to give them assurances that she will be safe with us.”

I nod once. “Of course.”

“The offer of Sanctuary only goes so far. We have the greater claim to her — you were bonded before they even knew her name. Our agreement makes it clear that any established member of the Archive cannot be hunted down by their Order.” He arches a brow, turning back to me. “How did they even become embroiled in this in the first place?”

I dip my head. “One of their Knights was chasing my host. Lucas Hallowsworth.”

“The one who tried to summon you in the first place,” Salazar says slowly.

“Yes. The one who had the grimoire.”

“I assume you’ve managed to fish out how he got his hands upon it.”

I hesitate. I know nothing yet of the layout of the Archive as it stands. I do not know what position the traitor holds — only that the ring indicates he is high in the ranks. My word will be nothing against his. If I lay the accusation down without learning more, I have no doubt it will be twisted against me.

I must buy time.

“My host’s spirit is badly damaged,” I reply. “I will need to fish through what’s left of his memories to find the answer. I’ve not yet had the opportunity.”

Salazar steps towards me. He moves into my space, his face hovering mere inches from mine. “If I find out you are lying to me,” he says, his words edged with menace, “You cannot even begin to fathom the consequences. Am I understood?”

I give a mute nod. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Avidia watching the exchange, something in her demeanor giving off a sense of tension. A panther coiled to strike.

What is her motivation in all of this? She must have a goal. I know for certainty that she feels no sense of protectiveness toward me. Never in our association has she exhibited such.

“Get cleaned up,” Salazar steps away from me again, setting the iron back on the table once more. “Change into suitable attire. You will meet us in the main antechamber in twenty minutes. I expect Lydia and her entourage will arrive shortly.”

He pauses as he moves back towards the door again, indicating Avidia. “Show him to a room. Make sure it’s ready for the girl’s arrival. We’ll want to make her comfortable.”

He leaves with that. Avidia waits until the sound of his footsteps has grown distant, then nonexistent. Looking towards me, she flashes a smile that looks more like bared teeth.

“You heard the man. Make sure she’s comfortable, yes?” Her words are goading again, all signs of concern vanished like so much smoke. “You’ve always been awfully good at that.”

When she leaves, I follow behind her, not deigning to reply. In truth, her words do not needle me.

If I must be saddled with anyone, if I must have anyone hold my leash, I’m glad it is Lydia Grace.

You’re a person, William Doherty.

In fact, I intend to ensure she survives long enough to hold it a while longer.

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-[Gaelic] 'My son.'