Today I stayed away from the library. I did non want to be tempted; it would be so easy to hurt my mother in my nostalgia and my sadness. But tomorrow I will return to my work. I will continue compiling continue learning.
I cannot think of a better gift that I could give to Mama.
J.C.
Sorcier.
My head jerked at the French word, so casually spoken, as a man walked past Da and me. We were in the town proper of Saint Jérôme du Lac, which was basically one street, no stoplight. One petrol station. But at least there were sidewalks and some small shops that had a quaint, frontiersy charm. I had parked my car not far from the towns only diner, which was right next to the towns only grocer. It was dark and colder than an ice cave. I pulled my coat tighter around my neck and wondered that my father didnt get knocked over by the stiff breeze. And then Id heard it: Sorcier. Witch. I know the word witch in at least seventeen different languages: useful for a Seeker. Bruja in Spanish. Hexe in German. Italians call us strega. Polish people say wiedzma. In Dutch, I listen for toverheks. Once in Russia I had old potatoes thrown at me while kids yelled, Koldunya! Long story. In Hungary one says boszorkány. And in French Canada one says, Sorcier.
But why anyone from the town would identify my father as a witch was still a mystery. I resolved to ask him about it later, after we ate. Two more people greeted Da as we went into the diner. He acknowledged them with a bob of his head, an embarrassed nod. I scanned them with my senses: they were just townspeople.
I, for one, felt better after a dinner of sausage, potatoes, canned green beans, and four thick slices of a rough brown bread that was incredible. I felt self-conscious, sitting with Da; I felt eyes on me, speculation. Da introduced me to no one, never said my name aloud, and I wondered if he was being careful or if he had forgotten who I was.
Eat that, I encouraged him, gesturing at his plate with my fork. I paid good money for it.
He gave me a slight, wan smile, and I found myself hungrily looking for a trace of his old, broad grin. I didnt see it.
Your mother would be amazed to see my appetite so small, he said, forcing a laugh that sounded more like a cough. She used to tease me about being able to eat for three.
I remember, I said.
Da picked his way through his meal and left so much on his plate that I was forced to finish it for him. He did seem a little less shaky afterward, though. I bet he would be a hundred percent better after I got a couple more good meals into him. Luckily the grocers was still open after dinner. I bought a cabbage, some potatoes, some apples. Da, not even pretending to take an interest, sank down into a rocking chair near the door, his head on his chest, while I shopped. I bought meatmissing the somewhat intimidating sterile American packagingchicken, fresh fish, and staples: flour, rice, sugar, coffee, tea. Inspired, I bought laundry detergent, other cleaning supplies. I paid for everything, collected my dim ghost of a father, and loaded groceries and Da into the car.
By the time we got back down the road to the cabin, Da was a waxy shade of gray. Worriedly I helped him into the dark house, felt unsuccessfully for a light switch, gave up, and used witch sight to lead him to a tiny, bleak, horrid bedroomthe only one in the house. It was about the size of a walk-in freezer and had about as much charm. The walls were unpainted pine planks spotted with black, age-old sap. The rusty iron bed, like the furniture in the living room, looked like it had been saved from a garbage heap. Unwashed clothes were piled in small heaps on the floor. Next to the bed was a small, rickety table, covered with candles, dust, and old cups of tea. Da sank down onto dingy sheets and rested his arm across his eyes.
Daare you ill? I asked, suddenly wondering if he had cancer or a death spell on him or something else. Can I get you something? Tea?
No, lad, came his reedy voice. Just tired. Leave me be; Ill be fine in the morning.
I doubted that but awkwardly pulled a thin coverlet over him and went out into the lounge. I still couldnt find a light switch but brought in the groceries, lit some candles, and looked around. The cabin was freezing. As cold as outside. Shivering, I searched for a thermostat. Ten minutes later I came to the sinking realization that there was no thermostat because the cabin had no electricity.
Smothering a curse, I lit more candles. How had Da managed to live like this for any length of time? No wonder he looked so bad. Id thought all the candles and lanterns had been witch gearbut they were his only light sources as well.
There was a fireplace with some handfuls of pale ashes scattered on its hearth. Of course there was no firewood insidethat would be too easy! I pulled on my coat and tramped around in the snow outside. I found some firewood, wet with snow. Inside I kindled a fire, and the flames leaped upward, the damp wood sizzling. Instantly the room seemed cheerier, more inviting. The fireplace was small but threw back an impressive heat into the frigid room.
Da was sleeping, and I was bone tired but filled with a frenetic energy that wouldnt admit to fear. I had been on the road since morning; it had been a long, strange, awful, sad day. I was in a cabin in the backwoods of Canada with my unrecognizable, broken father. I heard wolves in the distance, thought of Morgan, and missed her with such a powerful ache that I felt my throat close. I wanted to sit down in one of the vinyl recliners and weep again but knew that if I started, I wouldnt stop. So instead I rolled up my sleeves and went into the kitchen.
At midnight I sank down onto a couch I hadnt even realized was there because it had been covered with litter. I pulled an ancient, ugly crocheted afghan over me and closed my eyes, trying to ignore the hot tears that burned my cheeks.
In the morning I was awakened by the sounds of my father shuffling out of his room. He walked through the lounge without noticing me on the couch, then stopped in the kitchen doorway. I waited for his response. Last night, after thanking the Goddess for the propane-run refrigerator, stove, and hot water heater, I had done a major clean of the kitchen. Da stood there, and then he seemed to remember that if the kitchen looked like this, someone else must be in the cabin, and he looked for me. I sat up, swinging my long legs over the side of the couch.
Morning, Da, I said, standing and stretching.
He managed a smile. Id almost forgotten you were here. Its been too long since someone said good morning to me, he said wistfully. He gestured at the kitchen. You do all this?
Aye.
Ta. I just havent been up to much latelyI know I let the place get into a mess. Then he went into the kitchen and sat down at the table, and suddenly I remembered how he used to do that in the morning, just come in and sit down, and Mum would make him a cup of tea. Grateful for any reminder of the old days, I filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. I fixed him tea and toast with butter, which he managed to eat a little bit of. For myself I fried eggs and some rashers of bacon: fuel for the days labor ahead. I sat down across from Da and tucked in. I still had a thousand questions; he was still the only man who could answer them. I would have to choose my time.
After breakfast I set him to work, helping me clean the rest of the house. While I was piling papers and things neatly on the desk so I could wipe the surface, I couldnt help noticing letters from people, crude notes written in broken languages, handwritten thank-you notes in English and French, praising my da, praising his skill as a sorcier. With shock I realized that Daniel Niall, Woodbane, formerly of Turloch-eigh, son of Brónagh Niall, high priestess of Turloch-eigh, was basically the local medicine man, the village witch. I couldnt believe it. Surely this was incredibly dangerous. As far as I knew, Da hadnt worked real magick for years because it would be one way for Amyranth to trace him. Was it now safe? Why, and how?
Burning with questions, I went to find Da and sighed when I found him asleep again, on the bare mattress in his room. It had only been about an hour since Id started him on the candles and lanterns. Well, sleep was probably good for him. Sleep and food and someone looking out for him.
In the meantime, I couldnt just sit around this place. I felt a need to get out, breathe fresh air. In the end I made Da a sandwich and left it covered on the kitchen table. Then I bundled up every piece of cloth in the place, threw it into the boot of my car, and headed for the laundromat in town.
What do you do with your trash? I asked Da at dinner. There was quite a mound of black plastic trash bags in the front yard. Sadly, they actually didnt make the yard look that much worse.
He looked up from his boiled potato. Take it to the dump, outside town.
I groaned silently. Great. Now Id have to haul it all in my car. After we ate for a few more minutes, I said, Da, all I know is what Uncle Beck told me, what Ive heard whispers of from other people through the years. But now Im here, across from you, and youve got the answers. I need to know: Why did you and Mum leave us? Why did you disappear? And why is it now all right for me to know where you are?
He didnt look at me. His bony fingers plucked restlessly at the cuff of the clean flannel shirt I had given him to put on. Its ancient history, lad, he said in a voice like a dry leaf. It was probably all a mistake. Wont bring your mother back, anyway. A spasm of pain crossed his face.
I know it wont bring Mum back, I said. I took a swig of beer, watching him across the table as though he might disappear in a puff of smoke to avoid my questions. That doesnt mean I shouldnt know the answers. Look, Da, Ive waited eleven years. You took my life apart when you left, and Lindens, and Alwyns. Now I need to know. Why did you and Mum leave?
Though Im only nineteen, Im a Seeker. Which means I make my living by asking people questions. Ive grown used to waiting for answers, asking over and over until I find out what I want to know. Im very good at my job, so I said again, very gently, Why did you and Mum leave? Its almost unheard of for a coven to split up if troubles coming.
Da shifted in his seat. He held his fork and patted a piece of cabbage on his plate, pushing it this way and that. I waited. I can be very patient.
I dont want to talk about it, he said at last. His eyes flicked up at mine, and I noticed again how their color had faded, had clouded. But there was a hint of sharpness in his gaze, and in an instant I knew that my father still had some kind of power and that I needed to remember that. But you always were like a bulldogonce you got your teeth in something, you didnt let it go. You were like that as a lad.
I met his eyes squarely. Im like that still, Da, I said. Actually, Ive made a career of it. Im a Seeker for the council. I investigate people for a living.
I watched Das eyes, waiting for his reaction. Would he be proud of me? I had always imagined he would be, but then, so many of my imaginings had been proven hopelessly wrong in the last twenty-four hours. My father looked at me considering, and then his face broke into a sudden smile.
So you are, he said softly. Well, thats quite an accomplishment, son. Right, then, bulldog, if youll have it out of meSelene sent the dark wave after us, at Turloch-eigh.
I frowned, my brain kicking into gear.
Us who? I asked.
He cleared his throat. Your mother and me. Both of us. Your mother felt it that night, felt it coming, knew who it was aimed at. Knew who it was from.
Was Selene finally getting you back for leaving her? The dark wave that killed the entire village was about Selenes jealousy?
He gave a short bark of a laugh. Yes. Shed always said that I would need to look over my shoulder the rest of my life. And she was right. Well, until now. He paused. At least they were able to come together again safely.
Hows that? I wasnt sure if I had heard him correctly. Who came together again?
Da was looking at me, frowning. Gìomanach, what have you been thinking all these years? That we were gone, along with everyone else, and we never came back for you and you didnt know why? He shook his head. Oh, Goddess, forgive me. And I ask your forgiveness, too, son. He swallowed, then went on. No. That night Fiona felt the dark wave coming. We knew it was for us, and us alone, but that Selene and Amyranth would be happy to destroy the whole village if it included us. So, taking a chance, the only chance we could, we fled, leaving you three there, spelled with protection circles. We thought if we left, we would draw the dark wave away from the village. That it would follow us, instead of concerning itself with Turloch-eigh. Later, when I scried and saw the village gone, I was devastatedour flight hadnt saved anything. But years later Brian Entwhistle found me. You remember Brian, right?
I searched my memory and came up with a big, ruddy bear of a man. I nodded.
It wasnt safe to contact you kids or Beck. Too risky. But once or twice we were contacted by older witches, powerful ones who could protect themselves. Brian was one. I was astonished when he found usthought hed been dead all those years.
I was sitting on the edge of my seat, my hands gripping the arms. Here it was, the whole story, after so long. It wasnt what Id thought it would be.
Brian told us that you kids were safe, that Beck had gotten you. He told me the village had actually been spared.
But wait a minute, I said, remembering something. I went back there, not three years ago. The place is deserted and has been for years. No one lives there. I saw it.
Yes, they all returned a short time after the dark wave lefttrickled back in one family at a time. They tried to make another go at it there, but apparently the dark wave came too close. It left a destructive spell in its wake. After everyone had come home and settled down, things started happening. Accidents, unexplained illnesses. Crops failed, gardens died, spells went wrong. It took a year of that before the whole village up and moved closer to the coast. They made a new town there, thirty miles away, and Brian told me they had prospered.