Chapter 4

 

I used to delight in the smell of manure. I remember rolling down my window whenever I drove past a farm and inhaling as much as I could. Those deep breaths lingered in the back of my nose; a pleasant visitor which could accompany me all the way back to the city smog if I was lucky. As I lay down in the middle of Hannah’s corn field, nose inches from the earth, each lungful clogs the back of my throat. “Are you su—”

Silence. Lest you wish us end Hannah once more to escape.

Footsteps. A branch breaks. I bite down on my hand to silence the chattering of my teeth. Manure tastes even worse than it smells.

“Christ almighty! Couldn’t even tell the sun had risen, I couldn’t. That’s a blessed sight if I ever seen one.”

“Don’t take the lord’s name in vain, halfwit.” The men’s voices sound just as loud and blunt as their stomping feet.

“What, you worried about someone hearing? There’s naught but animals and their shite ‘round here.” 

“Nah, there’s some human waste right there, see?”

Did they see me? I hold my breath, my heart beating so loud I can’t make out their words. Each new voice feels like another boot pressing me down, but I need to know how many there are.

Seven. All armed and laden with gear. Move any more and they might discover you.

I keep my head low, my eyes straining to make sense out of the flashes I see between the corn. An ear missing a chunk. Scars that have healed poorly. Pistols and rifles on each man. The witch hunters—heading right for Hannah!

Hold.

My hand is already pressed into the ground as I snap back at Féileacán. I’m not just going to watch her die. You know I can’t do that!

This isn’t where she dies. You took days to heed the call of the dusk butterfly the first time. Now, stay down and listen. Perhaps you’ll learn something. 

My elbow sinks back into the dirt. There was no emotion in Féileacán’s voice. No trace of insult. Just a matter-of-fact statement. This already happened. She survives it. I go back to gnawing at my own useless hand. A foul creature, more pox scar than face, clears his throat with a hacking cough. He spits a wad of phlegm so close to me, I can make out the speckles of blood.

“What’s the scrawny bitch doin’?” he asks.

“Conversing with a familiar?” another suggests.

I follow the men’s heads to see Hannah hunched over and petting a cat. It circles—slowly while Hannah can reach it—enjoying the scratches from her fingers as it wiggles to get the next best spot. Then each time it moves out of reach it limps back as fast as it can. Hannah cups her hands into a circle, closing her eyes and saying something too quiet to hear from this distance. “Enrichment,” I bet. The same ritual she does for her plants every time she finishes caring for them.

Poxmark spits again. “Witchcraft? Should we grab ‘er ‘ere and now?”

Stay, Féileacán commands.

The largest witch hunter growls before I can even argue. “Nah, that’s the Anderson girl, that is. Kids already torment that one, right enough. If we burn her today that’ll be most of the light gone. We’ll have to camp in the woods or stay in this god-awful sty. We’ll just eat here and be at the next village before nightfall, yeah? In a few days’ time the villagers will’ve put her on a pyre for us.”

“But the payment?”

A loud thump rings out, causing Hannah to flinch while the cat flees. Her eyes go wide then disappear under her hair as she places the wheelbarrow between herself and the men. The huge man waves her over with a smile that seeps into a sneer as he turns to the man he just hit. “As long as we perform the rites over the ashes, they’ll reward God’s servants rightly. Simple fucks don’t want a curse to fall on them, do they?”

My fingers strangle the dirt as his throat lets out a low cackle. Féileacán was right. They aren’t going to hurt her today. I just need to stop her being accused of witchcraft. I take a deep breath, letting it out with a shiver. Hannah is forced to step off the road as they pass and as she does, I slink back to the forest.

I brush myself as clean as I can, but the smell is going to cling to me until I can get a proper shower. Wait, will it? Or is the smell gonna stay here when we go back? Féileacán doesn’t humour me with a response, so I instead focus on the more pressing concern: my first impression on Hannah… again. If I want to save her, then she’ll have to trust me. A stranger suddenly meddling in her life isn’t exactly going to be welcomed—let alone a man of my age approaching a teenage girl. Shit. Last time we met I was given a good opening. This time I have to figure it out myself.

If you’d rather, I take control; let me know. Féileacán’s voice makes me bite my lip so hard I groan. I hadn’t even realized I’d been chewing on it, but as I lick the wound the taste of blood fills my mouth.

“Who’s there,” Hannah gasps. Great! There goes my first impression.

I stumble out from behind the tree waving my hand. “Hey there! Sorry if I scared you.” Hannah barely looks at me before her head darts over her shoulder to the village. Her garden is as far away from the village as it can be, right where the forest takes over. Even the farmers working their own fields look like ants from here. She shuffles sideways, staring at my feet. 

“Wh- who are you,” Hannah asks once she can grab the wheelbarrow. One wrong step and she’ll bolt. No chance she talks to me after that.

I throw myself against the tree, clinging to it as I slide to my knees. “Sorry! I got lost in the woods! Coming through the tree line I thought something bit me, but maybe it was just a thorn or something.” I don’t need to fake the pain as I force a laugh out between gritted teeth.

Hannah peers down at me, and for the first time she doesn’t flinch away as we make eye contact. “You’re bleeding,” is all she whispers as she steps forward. Her hands dig into her pockets, coming up empty in one before pulling out a handkerchief in the other. She fidgets with it, letting out a squeak. Each time she tries to wipe it clean, the handkerchief ends up covered in more dirt.

I laugh, wiping away the blood from my lip. “It’s just a scratch, honestly! Thank you though. It’s not always easy to find nice people in the world.” I sigh, letting that anguish fill my voice as I pull myself up. “I was robbed on my way here. Lost everything that I had except the clothes on my back—and I had to fight to keep my boots! Anyway, I sure am glad I found this village when I did. Much longer and I’d be part of next year’s harvest.” 

Past Hannah’s garden, there’s nothing but mud and shrivelled husks in the ploughed farmland. Even the hovels in the distance seem to have more growing on them. I would have to be destitute to consider this village a welcome sight. “Your garden is beautiful,” I say. “You must work hard to keep the vegetables so healthy.”

“I do.” The words spill out of Hannah so fast even she seems surprised. When she turns to the garden, a smile as delicate as the autumn sun rises on her lips and her voice fills with warmth. “I work really hard to make sure the plants are all healthy. Not that I don’t enjoy it. It’s the most fun thing for me, anyway. Seeing them grow and come to life. It’s my own little… A- and I pray!” Hannah squeezes her handkerchief, her throat straining to get out every word as quick as possible. “I pray several times a day so that the lord will bless the harvest for all the village—not just mine.” She tips over the wheelbarrow, spilling its contents at my feet and I have to dodge backwards, not sure if its manure or dirt. “Good luck,” she says, managing a curtsy before trying to flee.

I search Hannah’s garden for something to stop her, but the only thing that stands out is the pile of filth she just poured out. Ugh, I’m already covered in it anyway… I dig down, mud swallowing me up to the wrist as I spread it more evenly. “The tomatoes over here didn’t get any,” I shout, hoping that the words will catch Hannah. When I hear her wheelbarrow squeak to a stop, I’m sure they have. Clapping my hands together, I grab the key hanging around my neck, my thumb rubbing the top where the leather cord wraps around the metal.

“Sorry!” I hide the key back inside my shirt, acting as if I’m surprised when I catch her staring. “That’s just kind of a ritual I do. It’s embarrassing to admit I still need little charms to get me through things at my age, but… you know; some things are just a part of us.” I paint a long streak of dirt across my face, pretending to brush the hair out of my eyes. “Is there any chance you could point out an inn, a tavern, or somewhere similar I might be able to get my bearings about me before I move on? If not, no worries. The village doesn’t look huge, so it shouldn’t take me too long anyway.”

Hannah pulls out her handkerchief, rubbing it cautiously. Then she plucks some of the berries next to the road, wrapping them up and grabbing more vegetables. Her voice slips back into its regular rhythm; pauses and dashes, like a mouse slipping between cover. “If you have nothing, I’m sure we could find you somewhere to stay the night in the village. There are good people here. If you need food, then I suppose I could spare some as well. I was about to collect a few crops to sell at the market anyway.” Finally, she grabs two large tomatoes and places everything into her wheelbarrow. She pushes the wheelbarrow slowly, glancing back at the ground to see if I’m following.

 “I honestly don’t need all that,” I reply, jogging to catch up.” Just point out the important buildings in town and I’ll figure out the rest. It was a very kind offer though. Would you like me to push the wheelbarrow?”

Hannah blows a puff of air up, lifting her hair long enough that I see her nostrils flare in defiance. “I’m not a child! But… thank you anyway. My name is Hannah.”

“Hannah? That’s a beautiful name. Mine’s Cú.” She nods, a smile flashing across her features. For the rest of our walk, all I see is bonnet as she stares at the ground away from me.

Even in daylight, the village is a dark smear over the land. Most of the buildings are unfinished shacks with beams poking out of them the way popsicle sticks do in a child’s art project. Piles of stone bulge against the wood, threatening to collapse and it’s clear a few of them already have. The gaping holes have just been stuffed with thick blankets to keep the cold out. Hannah points out a few important buildings to me, finishing with the largest one at the far end. Its steeple thrusts towards the heavens, casting a shadow across the village like the hand of a ticking clock. Stained-glass windows hoard the sun, offering the only glimmer of colour in an otherwise brackish eyesore.

“That’s the church. They might be able to give you a place to stay the night, but I doubt they’ll be able to spare any food. Anyway, that’s our village,” Hannah mumbles. “Uhm, would you maybe like some of these?” She leans the wheelbarrow forward, causing the vegetables to clump up in a pile. 

“No thank you,” I say. “You don’t have to waste food on me. You’ve done more than enough.”

The wheelbarrow lowers back down with a whine. “’Kay. Good luck anyway. Hope you stay safe wherever you end up.” Her voice trails off and she begins lugging the wheelbarrow away. As soon as she turns a corner and is out of my sight, I turn invisible and follow.

Is there any point in this? I gasp, drowning the sound with a deep breath and hand on my chest. Hannah plods on, as if I’m no longer here.

Jesus, Felly! Can you be more gentle when you speak up? I think the words this time, searching the buildings nearby for any other villagers.

No one will perceive you so long as you will it, Féileacán tells me. In what way am I not being gentle?

I don’t know! Just try saying my name first to warn me that you’re going to speak.

Very well. Cú, is there any point in this? I let out a chuckle in spite of myself then stare at Hannah. She really can’t see or hear me.

The whole point is learning, Felly. To save Hannah we have to stop the village from accusing her of being a witch. But it’s not like I can just tell everyone, ‘Hey guys, she’s totally not a witch,’ can I? I have to learn why they think she’s a witch so that I can inception them away from it naturally. When Féileacán stays silent for a moment longer than usual I add, oh, Inception is a movie where—

I hear all your thoughts, Cú. Even the useless ones about referential fiction. That isn’t what I’m questioning.

Of course it isn’t. So, what is your question? I’m a dumb mortal, remember? You’ve gotta be simple with me. 

Féileacán’s voice is like snowfall. Each word is gentle in itself, but they lay on my mind like a blanket of ice. Thus far you have manipulated the lost soul into lowering its guard and stalked it through a village. Will any of these actions accomplish your desire?

I stop dead in my tracks. My desire to save a child’s life? I thought you didn’t even consider them living. Why are you worried about my way of helping her?  I bite at my lip, dragging a tooth along the wound from earlier. Do you have any advice for me to help her pass on?

None that you would accept.

I scoff, catching back up to Hannah. Yeah, I figured. It’s not manipulation, Felly: it’s guidance. That’s what teachers do. I just need to figure out a lesson plan. For now, we watch and get to know the student.

We’re in the centre of town now. An open field that could easily fit a few hundred people. There’s a quiet hum as the scarce vendors go about their business, chatting and tidying up. All of them appear to be teenagers, huddled together at one corner. The rest of the field is scattered with stalls abandoned so long ago that lichen and ivy threaten to devour them. 

“Sorry, Hannah, I can’t purchase any of your produce anymore.” A boy, slightly older than Hannah scratches at his patchy facial hair. All he has in front of him is a basket of eggs and a couple wheels of cheese.

Hannah’s chin shrinks into her chest as she nods down at the vegetables. She arranges the corn like a bouquet, disappearing behind it as she speaks. “I—If it’s the price, I can go lower. We—we can even make a trade. Some eggs would—”

“I can’t anymore, Han!” The boy barely raises his voice, but the whole market hushes. One girl snickers, then whispers something to a friend who lets out a cackle. “Just… enjoy what you have, okay?” The man’s voice fades on the last word, but he keeps his expression harsh. Hannah’s eyes bounce back and forth between the vegetables and the ground. She opens her mouth a few times as if to speak but eventually turns away in silence.

As Hannah passes by the other vendors, they whisper to each other. At first, they can’t be heard over the wheelbarrow, but with each that fails to get a reaction the lashings of their tongues cut more clearly. “Serves her right, pedalling those cursed vegetables here.”

“They’re not—” Hannah spins around, but as she does the wheelbarrow topples over, tomatoes and berries rolling out. She collapses, scooping up everything she can in her dress while laughter echoes all around.

“Forget something, witch?” A tomato whizzes past Hannah’s head, smashing open on the ground. She winces as she picks it up, turning it over in her hand to see the seeds dripping out. Ignoring the rest of the insults and laughter, she storms off. I pause, looking at the other teenagers who continue to gloat among themselves. One picks a berry off the ground that Hannah missed, squishing it as the others laugh. Even the boy who seemed reluctant at first is adding to the jokes.

Was her life actually like this? Felly lets out a questioning hum in response. Her death was reported as suicide. She jumped in front of a train on the way to school. I read that much online after we found her lost soul, but the parents blame the school and some of the bullies. In the tír it’s others that burn her. Does that mean it wasn’t actually suicide in the real world either?

Does it matter? You can’t do anything for her in the real world. She’s already gone.

I follow Hannah all the way home in silence, afraid to look at her on the way. I haven’t done anything for her here yet either. Just followed along passively as though I’m just an observer. As she pushes open the door to her own cottage, her voice rings out with joy. She greets both of her parents ecstatically, telling them how well her garden is doing and that she brought home extra food to celebrate. The house fills with soothing lies about a morning filled with the fun greetings of missionaries, a chance encounter with a poor soul down on his luck, and an excited rush home to make lunch.

Mr. and Mrs. Anderson are glowing as Hannah gives them a tight hug. Both share a content look, beaming with pride before they help her prepare the food. They’re so unlike the lifeless couple I’ve seen rotting in their apartment in the real world. Neither of them are aware of what their daughter is dealing with outside the safety of their embrace. Hannah’s smile looks convincing enough.

“I’m done,” I say, my voice sounding more like Féileacán’s than my own.

I can end the lost soul?

“No,” I snap, the emotion returning instantly. “I meant done for today. I have another plan, but first I need to take care of my own life. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.” The sigh I let out isn’t nearly as pronounced as the one in my mind as I remember the promise to Will. “Just one drink after work. Then I’m free for the rest of the weekend.”