‘It is not a gift, Evey. I only like animals. And they like me.’
She looked with love at the slumbering pups. How I wanted to pinch her, pull her hair.
‘And they do not like me.’ My jaw hurt with gritting my teeth.
Dill brought her arm under the dog’s head, and the stone caught firelight. Why did she cling to it so? Would it bring Mother back? Would it kill those men who took her from us?
‘Birds do, if you let them.’ She yawned. ‘But I think you do not try to, sister.’
Her head turned back to that bed of bodies. How simple for Dill. She had lost Mother. She had been hunted. She had run for her life. And she had named a dog. In a day her world had spun. And yet, Dilly Doe danced on. She had a way all right. Mother knew it. But did Mother ever tell me I was gifted? Not never.
‘What… is in the child’s hand?’ Croake’s chair creaked, as he leaned to look.
Before I could utter, Dill lifted her head, her smile so white and proud. ‘It is Mother’s scrying stone. It has powers. Mother gave it me to keep safe for—’
‘Powers?’ Croake’s eyes flickered. ‘Is it magick?’
Dill sat up to stroke the stone like a drowsy pup.
‘It is, Jim Croake, but only to those who know.’ Her smile grew bigger still. ‘Some things, Mother taught me…’
‘It should be mine,’ I said. ‘Since I am the eldest.’ My words pinched her. I could not help it. ‘Since Mother is dead.’
Dill’s smile dropped. ‘Evey, Mother only meant for me to keep it safe.’
‘And does that make it yours, sister dear?’
Her face was still and sad. ‘Evey, I did not say it was—’
‘Now Mother is dead, it should be mine.’
‘Stop saying that!’ She stood, shaking. ‘Stop saying Mother is dead!’
‘But she is.’
‘I know! I saw! And you stopped me!’
The shadows hummed with her shout.
Tears lined her cheeks. But I felt raw, and empty. I wanted everyone to leave me be. Mother was dead. For ever.
‘I had to stop you, Dill, the men were—’
‘I don’t care about it now.’
She turned from me to stroke Berry. ‘Leave me alone. I want to sleep.’
It was as if all her spirit had gone, snuffed by me. She curled about the dogs and closed her eyes, the stone glimmering in her grasp.
I watched her fall to sleep. I had hurt her, goaded her. I did not know why. But I knew I would do it again. I could not help it. It was Mother’s fault.
You’re my clever little witch, Dilly.
And what did she ever say to me?
Be strong, Evey. Look to your sister, Evey.
‘She minds me of my little Alice,’ said Croake, watching Dill’s head rise on Berry’s flank. ‘My granddaughter.’
I had seen Alice only once before. I remembered a scurry of smiles and curls.
‘I lost her,’ he said low. ‘In the war…’
‘I did not know it.’
It was as though my voice was not part of me. As though it came from another Evey standing alone in the corner of that dusty kitchen.
He bit his lip as he looked into the flames. ‘Your mother…’
I felt that cold slide again in my belly. ‘My mother? Have it out, Jim Croake. You have ridden that chair this long to it.’
His stare became harder, and the fire jumped in those old eyes.
‘Well, then… Your mother showed Alice and others some of her ways… that she… and what they learned… It brought trouble. It must have…’
So finally, Croake had grasped to it, like a blind beggar to his stick.
I felt a shout rise in my chest. I wanted to push over his table, break his chair, kick out his hearth. So angry I was for it all. For Mother. Against my sister. Now at this old man’s stupid stumble.
‘Does it seem as right,’ I swallowed the tears that welled within me, ‘that a woman… who taught girls how elderflower might cure a fever. Who…’
I thought of Mother shrieking for us to run.
The taste of blood on my breath, how guilty I felt as we ran.
‘Who showed how meadow grass might take the worm from your cow…’
How they laughed, circled her like dogs, like she was that cow, sick and lost.
‘And for that… Does it seem as right… that her life, that your Alice’s life, that others’ lives should be so spilled?’
I whispered, for if I shouted, I would cry. ‘Well, does it?’
The fire hissed, and the rain ran heavy upon the house.
‘No.’ Croake watched me as I shook. ‘But it will not bring back my Alice neither.’
His good eye blinked fierce, as we sat, picking memories like magpies at bones.
If Mother had not taught things, perhaps they would not have come. If we had left on the first whisper of hunters. If she had listened to me. If I had listened to her. If. If. If.
‘What will you do?’
How many lines his old face had, drawn by the sun and the rain. And there, a scar. I wondered on the knife that made it, and the hand that wielded it.
‘You are a woman on your own, with a young ’un.’ His eyes fell to Dill, yearning to stroke her head.
‘I will find them.’
My voice came from deep in me, where my song for Mother lay wreathed in her blood.
‘And then what, child?’ Croake said. ‘What will you do?’
Child, was I? Fast I leaned, made him flinch, as my words poured from that hole in my heart, and filled his home, every corner, every shadow.
‘I will avenge Mother, old man. Till balance is got. Till those that came are dead.’
His eyes grew wide, his mouth gulped to speak.
‘What, now, you would stop me, James Croake?’
‘There can be none of that in God’s land. Don’t you see, girl? This is not the time of old. This is the time of God. Only His word, His law will d—’
‘I care not for any god.’ I spat to the cross above his bed.
Dill lifted her arm around Berry, who opened a glint of an eye. Gods and dogs.
‘Girl!’ Croake whispered harsh. ‘They will kill you before you strike any balance, or as to seek it. I know they will kill you. And then they will kill others. They will come for our families again! I know they will come. They told me—’
He stopped.
I had him, snared like a rabbit. The rain drummed upon his roof.
I stood slow. ‘They told you what?’
His eyes flew to the window.
‘You know these men… don’t you?’
He shook his lying head.
I would draw it from him. How?
I looked around, to the hearth I sat on. Something about ash. I had stopped listening to Mother, bored by her spells. Yet there was a song she sang that came to me then.
Ash and fire and stone and ash,
from ash we rise, to ash we go.
She never showed me how to hex. Said she would not till I knew how to heal. But Croake didn’t know a hex from a heifer. So, I would play the dark witch, give him a fright.
I took up ash, smoothed it to my fingers.
‘What… What are you doing, girl?’ Croake stammered.
‘You know what I am doing, old man.’ I made my voice bold as I spoke Mother’s words, ‘Ash and fire and stone and ash.’