Chapter 3

Official Novel Artwork by: Sakuraba_Mu

“Saoirse, would you like to introduce yourself?” It took the tannoy ringing at 8:45 for Saoirse to finally drag herself into the classroom. The buzzing of a dozen different conversations fall silent, all the other students waiting to discover who this new girl is. None of the other 9 and 10-year-olds had dared to approach her as she continued to stare daggers at me for the last 15 minutes from outside the classroom. Now each wondered just what kind of addition our class would have. A new friend? Someone to avoid? Her introduction would decide who took an interest in her and the intentions it carried with it. I give her a thumbs up, hoping it will break the tension and help her relax, but the glare stays fixed on her face, the impressions of the other children apparently meaning as little to her as my own hurt pride.

“I’m Saoirse Doherty. Me and my grandda move around a lot, so now I’m joining your school.” The room stays silent for a moment, waiting for more, but when it’s clear that none is coming one of the boys takes matters into his own hands.

“Why do you sound like that? Do gingers speak another language?”

“Jeremy!” The blonde boy laughs loudly, others in the room joining in as he looks around. The laughter slowly dies out as the other boys in the room stop cheering him on, the high fives turning into worried fingers pointing behind him. Saoirse’s scowl is fixed on Jeremy now, and she’s stalked close enough that the threat of her claws is a real one.

“What? It’s just bants.” Jeremy grins at Saoirse, the gap in his teeth making it hard to take him seriously.

“Saoirse comes from Ireland.” She whips around to face me, realizing I was right behind her in case a fight was about the breakout. The fury on her face makes me wither slightly. “… is that not right? I can’t place what part though.” She nods her head, striding back to the front of the class.

“I was born in Galway.”

“That’s the accent,” I exclaim as if it was clear now. “My family come from Belfast, so they sound a bit more on the extreme end.” A few of the children laugh as I do my best Irish accent that doesn’t sound like much more than a vague mix of stereotypes. Saoirse’s eyes lower to the ground, but she doesn’t seem angry. “And you Jeremy, your parents come from Birmingham, which is why their accents are so beautiful. I especially like the way they say bird.” I turn the word bird into two syllables, really going overboard with the impression and even Jeremy ends up slapping the table with laughter— the whole room joining in. When things have calmed down, I lower my voice a little and address one of the girls at the front of the class. “Since Saoirse is new, Lizzy would you show her around the playground at playtime?” Lizzy nods her head, the short curly ponytail on the side of her head bouncing in the sunlight as she smiles at Saoirse, but all she gets in return is a shy pout of the lips as she looks away. It doesn’t faze Lizzy at all as she giggles. “I’ll make sure she settles in,” she promises before returning to the picture she was drawing.

“I could show her the clubs after school too!” The girl next to Lizzy launches her hand into the air, practically shooting out of her seat with how straight her back arches to raise her hand as high as possible.

“That sounds good, too! In fact, Saoirse, why don’t you grab a chair and sit between Lizzy and Eevie. They can help you get adjusted for the first few days.” A grin engulfs Eevie’s face as she slides all her books and pencil case to the side. Before Saoirse can even sit down, she’s extending her hand for a handshake and asking what Galway is like, what classes are her favourite and if she has any hobbies. For the first time since I woke up Saoirse begins to soften, looking more uncomfortable than angry as she starts mumbling answers to the barrage of follow-up questions from Eevie. I avoid letting the relief show on my face and instead address the rest of the class to avoid ruining the peace. “It just so happens our first lesson today is Geography, so to start, why don’t you all talk to the others nearby about the countries that your family come from and any other places you’ve visited outside of London? In a little bit we’ll have a presentation, so grab some A3 paper and make a bubble map about the different places.”

“Sir,” the boy next to Jeremy raises his hand just off the table, trying to shrink down as much as he can. I make my way over, bending forward to let Ricky tell me what is wrong quietly. “I haven’t ever left London, Cú. My parents are both from here, too.”

“Yes, you have. We went to Richmond over the Summer ya’ donut!” Jeremy thumps Ricky on the back, causing me to grab his arm with a shake of my head before he can do it again. Ricky usually lets himself be thumped a few times before he’ll laugh at Jeremy’s ‘jokes’ and bring it to an end.

“Richmond is in London, Jeremy, but that’s okay, Ricky. For your presentation why don’t you tell me what Richmond was like.”

“We saw deer! Jumping all around the tress! And I was going to ride one but the park man—”

“On the bubble map.” I interrupt Jeremy, sliding a pencil in front of Ricky and wait for him to give me a smile and start writing down the tales spewing out of his best friend’s mouth before I step away. The class begins humming with energy as I sneak back to my desk to try to wake up by chugging water.

By the end of the day, I’m ready to have a nap and wondering why I ever stopped teaching the younger kids who get to sleep after lunch. Sliding a bag over my shoulder, I’ve almost made my escape when Will blocks me at the door. “Cucu~” they say grinning from ear to ear.

“Will!” I step around them, smiling as I start to head out the building. “Thanks for bringing Saoirse in this morning.”

“And covering your ass with the principal,” they remind me, matching me step for step to the door. “Annnnd~ you could pay me back since you owe me for the last time as well.” A deep sigh fills my mind as I begin to wonder what this payback entails. Will pushes open the door to the parking lot, the afternoon sun bringing their emerald eyes to life with infinite prospects. One eyebrow raised, and their head tilted to the side, even their lips pout to complete the look of a lost puppy as they wait for me to accept before they’ll let me through.

Behind Will a shadow plays across my vision, bringing with it a chill that causes us both to shudder. A butterfly, black for the most part but with stripes of white and colourful markings flaps its way towards me. Its long tail, almost the same length of its body trails behind it, the tips already catching alight with dusk flame. Do you really have time for this? The butterfly falls, almost hitting the ground, then begins rising once more, its wings beating to gain altitude. Black flames that drain light consume the butterfly’s form more with each beat of its wings, the whole creature burning away in seconds. Once even the wisps of smoke are gone, I see the apartment building in the distance. One among many, but the sight of it looming over me seems to eclipse all other thoughts. The chill that the butterfly had brought with it is nothing compared to the one in my chest as Hannah’s ghost, still crying in her bedroom, fills my mind.

The golden halo of Will’s hair floods my vision as they step in front of me, puppy-like features still plastered on their face. I have to blink to adjust to the light, feeling the warmth of the sun once again as citrusy cologne overwhelms my senses. Sometimes I forget just how young Will is considering any single piece of clothing or even accessory they adorn themselves with is worth more than my entire wardrobe and the clothes I leave piled everywhere else in my apartment. Everything is a calculated decision, from the oversized jacket to cover up all the other form-fitting stylish brands, to the fake, round glasses that they manage to make feel as animated as the rest of their face with a puff of the cheeks or wiggle of the eyebrows. Without the jacket and glasses, they would be at home on any runway in the world. With them on, the pair added a layer of maturity that both prevented them from looking like an overgrown student and reduced questions from the parents about a dress code at Harmony Park. With the clueless grin plastered on their features, the lack of any fatigue after a full workday, and being caressed by the expensive cologne that they’ve splashed on without a care for the price, I feel every one of the 10 years that separate us.

“What were you thinking?” I ask, doing my best to push the words out of my mouth instead of the sigh that echoes in my mind. Whether the exhaustion came out in my voice or not, it doesn’t matter to Will in the least. They bound out of the school, practically bouncing as we make our way to their car.

“Well, it’s Maddie and Derek’s anniversary tomorrow, right? So, we’re going to the pub with Nikki, and like 8 other staff members, plus Derek’s lot. They’re all well and good, but it’s been forever since you came out with us, Cucu. I need some advice from my—”

“Don’t! Say it.”

“If you say you’ll come, then I don’t have to say anything, do I? Tomorrow is Friday, and I know you don’t have anything better planned without me.” Will lowers their head, bringing their hands under their chin while they bat their eyelashes at me. I can practically see a tail wagging behind them as they shake their hips in anticipation. It’s enough to bring a giggle out of me and cure the exhaustion I was feeling. “I knew that’d work! Didn’t even have to mention our anniversary!”

“Yeah, yeah— Wait, you already did!” Will laughs, realizing they’d been caught. Just a month ago Will Huet had dragged me out of my classroom in almost the same way, reminding me that it had been a year since they started at Harmony Park as a teacher’s assistant. In that time, they had for some reason decided I was fun to have around and revelled in dragging me out of my introverted cocoon at every chance they got, oblivious to how awkward it was for a 33-year-old man to be used as a drinking buddy and occasional ice breaker for a barely graduated kid. Now as a fully qualified teacher they were still covering up my mistakes with the principal, and I continued to be drawn into their orbit as payback. “You know, when you get to be my age—”

“That has to be the most boomer thing you’ve ever said.”

“When you get to be my age, you can’t be going out every weekend for drinks. I’ll have one, for Maddie and Derek— then I’m going home. I have a project to work on this weekend.”

“Mmhmm, we’ll see. Text ya the details, but I’ll grab ya after school either way!” Will gives me a quick hug, before jumping into their car, classical music blaring from inside as they give me one final cheery wave before tearing off out of the parking lot. The warm smile I wore on my face fades, another dusk butterfly circling around me now that I’m alone.

Yeah, I know. There’s nothing holding me back now. I head out of the school grounds, walking a little while away until I’m sure that no one is around. I take a long slow breath, imagining myself becoming invisible as I continue to walk and then tap the gem hanging from my belt and matching opal bracelet on my left wrist with two fingers. From each gem, dusk flame erupts, spreading quickly to cover my whole body. A chill more biting than any winter engulfs me, but only for a second as the flames burn out and I continue to make my way to Hannah’s apartment wearing the black and silver of Féileacán.

 

*

 

The sky is just beginning to light up blue in the horizon as I find my way back to Hannah’s Garden. Standing in the same spot I had the night before, I look up to the spider web, the déjà vu shattered. It is barely visible until the wind shakes it, pristine threads gleaming in the sunrise and revealing the trap awaiting its prey. I bring a hand up, swatting away the web, and flick away the spider for good measure as it appears out of a crack in the bark.

“You’re sure she won’t remember anything? Not even the death?” I ask the question aloud, knowing that Féileacán can hear my thoughts just as easily.

When I killed her the tír reset. Time has returned to the moment she died in the real world. The same moment this world was birthed. She has not met you yet, let alone her own ending.

“So, is a tír like the afterlife? Do we all get one after we die?” Féileacán remains silent as my frustrations rise. “You can’t always ignore my questions about this stuff. We’re supposed to be partners, but you hardly tell me anything.”

The less you know about the things outside of mortal understanding, the better. I have a duty. Lost souls create these realms. I invade them to end their suffering that they might pass on. That is all you need know.

“But they also pass on when we solve their issues in these tírs, happily, as if they continue to live here? Isn’t that the same as it being an afterlife?” In the silence that stretches on for a moment I bite at my lip, thoughts carrying me elsewhere. Féileacán’s voice brings me back, calm and steady as ever.

What does it matter? Life, afterlife, beyond afterlife, they are all realms that mortals shouldn’t concern themselves with. If you wish to have the lost soul pass on your way, prove that you can. Now cease your endless rumination. It approaches.

Hannah is just visible in the distance, pushing a wheelbarrow almost as big as her from the direction of the village. I sit, back against the tree so that I can hide behind the corn stalks that tower over me.

Hannah’s Garden is on the very outskirts of the village, just before the cultivated land gives way to forest. A gentle mist is rolling its way down the mountains that surround the village. Springing up from the dew of the morning, the small patches of fog that creep seemingly at random from the earth give the whole village an eerie, shifting ambiance in the early rays of dawn. The woods themselves are far darker from thick trees, laden with twisting tendrils of Ivy and other green growths. A crow rattles somewhere in the dark of the branches, the sound of it swooping away to a further branch audible in the distance while I can’t see it at all. Dawn did nothing to illuminate the secrets that lay within the woods, a much thicker fog coalescing at their edge which seemed to warn of dangers beyond.

“Time moves in here, the same way that it does in the real world back home?” I ask, trying to occupy my thoughts as more animal noises sound off in the woods.

Time moves, yes, Féileacán responds, refusing to elaborate any further.

“Great! So how exactly am I supposed to figure out when I should get out of here to get some sleep at home? It’s not like I can bring my phone.” I slap at the breeches and tunic that had replaced my clothing when I appeared in the tír, scratching at the material where it contacted my bare skin. While they did have large pockets, nothing that I had from the real world came with me apart from the bracelet on my left wrist and opal charm that hung from my belt, now looking more like Féileacán’s version to blend in with the puritan garb. I no longer fear my items disappearing as I once did when entering a tír, but it still sucks being forced to wear clothing that suits the worlds we enter in a lost soul’s mind. This one was especially rough, as Hannah had for some reason dreamed up a world that seems roughly like the colonial era, clothing and all. Warm as the clothes are, the material is rough and causes me to itch every time I feel it move over me. “Plus, the sun hadn’t even set when we came here. Now it’s dawn even though we’ve only been here for about 20 minutes.”

Quiet. If Féileacán hears my pissed off response he refuses to acknowledge it, simply repeating the word: Quiet, then continuing, there are footsteps approaching from the woods.

 Chapter 2

“Your way failed. The lost soul was going to meet its end. I brought it to a faster conclusion.” The metal tips of his boots jingle as he brings his foot down and stands to meet me eye to eye. In his boots he has a few inches on me and can once again look down on me as he uncrosses his arms. “I told you that this is the faster way. Once it has died in the tír a few hundred times it will let go of its bonds to the human realm and be able to pass on.” His voice betrays no hint of emotion even as I struggle to find enough breath to argue back. To him this is a simple explanation, no different from my discussion of the butterfly with Hannah.

“You told me we could do it my way. You said we could help them pass on peacefully. That’s what I agreed to!”

“And you tried to kill yourself. The lost soul is already dead. If you sacrifice yourself for it, we don’t get a chance to come back and try again. I told you to just let it be burned. Just look away and let it come to pass. You needlessly put us at risk for nothing.”

“You—” I pull to the side just in time, letting the vomit out on the floor instead of Féileacán. I catch myself on the back of the seats and hold them tight as my body shakes with each short gasp of air I can get down. It’s agonizing. All that my mind can focus on is trying to force more air into my lungs while my body fights against me. The train seats fade away and all I see is Hannah’s face as she was burned by the dusk flames. Right before they consumed her, she had opened her mouth. A single syllable that would never be heard. What was her dying thought as she stared at the man who had shown her nothing but kindness, then suddenly ended her life without a sign of concern.

A gentle touch brings me back to the train car. A tender pat on the back which makes me twist my head to see my own eyes staring back at me. Searching those eyes I see my own face, contorted with pain and gasping for each breath as tears and more threaten to drown me. I feel my chest shaking and grab onto the leather of his cloak. Féileacán is solid, even as I grip onto his arm to not collapse. His gloved hand continues to pat my back as I force myself to take deeper breaths. As my breathing begins to calm, he stops patting my back, instead placing a hand on my shoulder which he pushes gently to lift me upright. My eyes squeeze shut, plunging me into darkness as I swallow hard once again. When I open them, I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly and taking in the pale light of the train we’re in.

The train looks simple enough. Modern, like the ones I take to and from work each morning, but far too clean and empty. The usual smells of stale piss and half-eaten food aren’t present, and outside the window there is nothing but darkness in every direction. The rhythmic beat of the wheels rolling along the tracks and occasional flickering of the lights going on and off are the only sensory information I get from this train. Right now, I can feel my heart drumming in my chest at a far faster beat than the wheels too. Féileacán gives me a nod as I focus on him, and I nod back, releasing his arm and stepping away. I wipe my face with the back of sleeve, cringing a little at the vomit now on my cardigan as well as the floor. I wonder if it will still be here the next time we return. This train which travels between worlds, The Tracks Between, isn’t something I understand on any level, so it will be interesting to find out. The thought distracted me for a moment, but now my thoughts return to Hannah and I glare back at Féileacán.

“My apologies.” The words, spoken in my own voice but without any emotion bring me to Féileacán once more. “I should have stopped you as soon as you began to transform. Next time I’ll—”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” I interrupt Féileacán with enough anger for both of us. “I only agreed to help you with the lost souls if we do it my way. Next time I’ll tell you who to swing that whip at, but you don’t get to use my body to kill the innocent. She was a child, Féileacán!” His arms cross back over his chest as he looks out at the darkness beyond the window. I wait, used to these silent pauses by now. It’s been two months since my body was possessed by this entity, and his silence was one of the few things I’d become used to.

“Was a child, Cú. It no longer lives in this plane.” I’m about to snap at him, but Féileacán raises a hand to silence me. I fume at the dismissal but let him continue. “We will do things your way, as we have the last few, but when you fail, I will do what I must to protect this vessel.”

“My body.”

“What?”

“Quit calling my body a vessel. Besides, if you’d fought the witch hunters instead of killing Hannah, we might not have failed to help her pass on.” Féileacán lets out a small puff of air, barely opening his lips. Sighs are the closest I’ve seen him come to showing emotion, and while this isn’t exactly a sigh, I can tell he’s frustrated. Once more, his eyes drift off to look out the window before he speaks.

“Don’t try to sacrifice yourself again, and I won’t have to take control forcefully. You showed them that you were something from beyond their realm of understanding. The only options for mortals when faced with a power beyond their comprehension is to slay or pray. Neither one would have led to Hannah moving on by choice.” I let out a little laugh which brings Féileacán’s eyes back to me.

“Okay, you’re right. That one is my bad. We ran out of time, and I panicked. I’ll make sure I figure out a way to have her move on from what’s keeping her attached to her past life next time. I’m not gonna stop trying to save them that way, though. I don’t care that the tír isn’t my own plane or realm or dimension or —whatever! It feels real to me. They feel real. So, when you use my body to kill them, that feels like I’m killing someone rather than just helping them pass on. I am a mortal, Felly. I can’t put myself above them and extinguish life the way you do.” Taking another deep breath, I feel the rage leave me. I’m not even angry at Féileacán I realize. He made it clear from the beginning what this covenant entailed. It’s me that let Hannah down. Her final breath enters my mind again, but this time I remind myself that it wasn’t our only chance. When we return to Hannah in her afterlife she won’t remember any of what happened last time. I can make it right. That thought is enough to settle my mind for now.

“That’s why you chose me as your partner, right, to be the human part of this equation? You’re already calling her Hannah instead of ‘the lost soul.’ That’s progress.” The grin I aim at Féileacán makes him narrow his eyes, but he only lets out a slightly longer puff of air this time.

“You are only…” he pauses, catching himself before calling me a vessel once more. “Very well.” His eyes wander outside the window again and I follow them to the darkness beyond.

“What was that castle to you?” Féileacán’s eyes whip back to mine with such intensity I can almost feel the sting of the binding barbs themselves. I turn, expecting to see his eyes narrowed, but instead of anger I find the same passive expression as always. He holds my gaze, daring me to make one of my usual jokes to defuse the tension. Something holds me back. A sense of danger that I can feel from Féileacán on some level that I don’t need to read on his face, the intensity of which makes me stumble backwards, not daring to break eye contact with my doppelganger. As my weight shifts, the lights flicker for the briefest of seconds and the breath catches in my throat as the darkness lingers.

Féileacán is gone when my sight returns, and instead of the train I am staring at the sobbing ghost of Hannah once more. I let out a gasp, pulling away even further and hearing the metal of Féileacán’s boots thud on the hardwood floor of her bedroom. I spin around, expecting to find him behind me and crash slightly into the girl’s bookshelf having to steady it as some of the books fall. Black leather on my hands brings me back to my senses, reminding me that when we entered Hannah’s tír I had been in Felly’s form. I take a deep breath, then almost jump out of my skin as the door to the bedroom opens.

Mr. Anderson, Hannah’s father, peers into the room, looking from corner to corner. His eyes pass over me without any acknowledgement, coming to rest on the desk that Hannah is still hunched over, crying at. Tiptoeing in, he strokes his hand over the laptop on the table, delicately, as if worried it might break from the slightest weight. There, his fingers linger for a moment before they flip the laptop open bathing the room in soft blue light. In the light, Hannah’s form has become clearer. I can see her body, but it is as though she is made of shadow, all the features there, but without any colour. As she turns to face her father, I can see him through what should be the back of her head. Her hands reach up to try and cup his face, but the fingers pass through without any resistance, and she pulls her arms back in defeat, simply pleading with him to notice her without making a single sound. His lip trembles, and he brings his hand to his mouth to stifle a breath of his own. Hushed as it was, the whimper is loud enough that another voice calls out.

“Hon’, did you find what it was?” There’s a hint of hope in the voice that overcomes the hoarseness she fights through to be heard down the hall. Mr. Anderson slams the laptop closed, looking directly at me for a moment and then all around the floor. He takes a small breath of air, his anguish smoothing into a gentle frown.

“Just some books falling off the shelf. I’ll fix it in the morning.” Hannah is wailing at me now. Even in the dark I can see how desperate she is for me to say something, do anything to acknowledge her existence.

Don’t.

You don’t have to tell me. Knowing that she’s there won’t do anything to help him. That much, even a mortal can understand.

Mr. Anderson leaves the room, shutting the door once more with just me and Hannah’s ghost. She shakes her head in disbelief, eyes squinting as though fighting back the tears that aren’t there. I don’t have to hear what she tries to call me before collapsing back on the desk with her head in her hands. I feel it all, more than any word could have hurt me. My hand goes to the whip resting at my hip, fingers curling around the handle as I circle around the room, eyes unable to move on from Hannah’s ghost.

You’re sure that they’re not conscious of the things that happen in the tír? He’s told me as such several times already, but I need to hear it once more. If I don’t, I might not be able to take another step.

They’re not conscious of anything anymore. They simply exist trapped inside the moment that they died. The only thing they feel is the pain of whatever unfinished business prevents them from moving on. You can’t do anything for it here.

I nod, finding the doorknob without turning around. Still facing Hannah’s ghost, I make my way out of the room. “I’ll be back. I promise.” The words are as useless to her as they are to the parents in the next room. Passing by them as I leave the apartment, I find the pair holding each other on the couch and staring blankly at a television they haven’t changed the channel on for days. Neither one notices me take my leave until I slam the door shut on the way out. By the time they open it and look around, I can’t be perceived by mortal senses once more. I hear them talking about calling the police again as I head down the stairs. At least letting them hear the door slam was safer than leaving it unlocked, I tell myself. Still doesn’t take away the feeling that I’m harassing grieving parents.

The living are not a part of our duty, Cú. Don’t trouble yourself with mortal issues.

I happen to be a mortal, remember? What about your Outer God? Does he hear our mortal payers? The same black flame engulfs me once more, leaving me to shiver as I step out into the autumn night in more comfortable soft clothing. Pulling the cardigan tight across my chest, I accept that I won’t be getting an answer. Yeah, I thought not. Does he at least listen to yours?

I don’t pray to The Outer God. I do my duty. That is all that is required.

Could you send him a quick prayer to hold this bus? I manage to flag down the bus before it leaves and collapse in the back, realizing I might get home in time to have three hours of sleep before I need to be at work. Praise be, Toggy! If you did pray, what would you wish for? Banana cream pies? I tease Felly, remembering the only time I’ve felt sincere emotion from the entity. I can get you more if you pray to me, you know. No duty required~ Just heartfelt appreciation.

The only thing I pray for is that you’ll learn to appreciate silence. I smile, leaning against the window and hoping tomorrow will be a calmer day.

 

*

 

The shrieking of a banshee. 

I fall off my desk, and onto the cold linoleum floor. The wail still echoing around the room has me back on my feet, head pivoting left and right until I find where its coming from. The child can’t be any more than 10 years old, and it’s only when she covers her mouth and the room falls silent that I can believe such a loud noise came from such a scrawny thing. The beating of my heart swells in my ears filling the void left from the child’s scream, as an adult I recognize takes the girl’s hand for comfort. It takes me a moment of searching around for any more danger to realize I’m in my classroom and then another moment to remember laying my head on the desk to rest my eyes before the school day begins. With that information I’m able to take a long deep breath, unclench every muscle in my body and step back to my desk at the front of the class, looking less like a squatter caught in the act, and more the teacher I’m supposed to be.

The early morning sun pierces through my classroom at Harmony Park Academy Primary, making it painful to force my eyes open enough to wear my usual disarming smile. The best I can offer is a tired grimace as Will guides a student in through the door. Long tangles of red hair coil around her face, flickering like fire in the morning sun as she plants her feet, refusing to move any further. Will gives the girl’s hand a squeeze for comfort, turning to face the child with a playful smile. “Come now, Cú might be awful to look at in the mornings, but he ain’t scary. He’s gonna be your new teacher.” Her green eyes pounce around the classroom before landing once more on me. Pinned under that intense gaze, I don’t dare look away even as Will continues in their most serious voice. “You didn’t see the notice on the dashboard?” I shake my head, earning a groan from Will that I know is only a groan because they can’t use the words they want to in front of a student. “This is Saoirse Doherty, your new student. She’ll be joining 6-B today.”

Saoirse backs away as I step forward, cowering behind Will as though I am the scariest thing she’s ever seen. I stop short, feeling every part the monster that she seems to see me as, but only for a moment before I kneel to the ground, meeting the child at her eye level with a smile. She pushes away from Will, taking one more step back as she raises her fists up to her chest. She looks less afraid now, flight giving way to fight, her dark green eyes as feral as a feline’s as they challenge me to take another step forward. My own opal eyes soften in turn. The mask of caring teacher slips on, similar gentleness swelling in my voice as I speak through a practiced smile.

“Nice to meet you, Saoirse. My name is Cú. Sorry if I scared you.” Saoirse punches Will in the hip, causing them to yelp in response.

“That’s my teacher?” The girl’s voice is high pitched and cuts through the space between us. The tinge of an Irish accent that reminds me of family does nothing to soften the sting of her obvious distaste. Will looks between the girl and me. Unsure of what to say, they just nod, a finger coming to their lips as they search for a response. Saoirse marches backwards out of the class standing against the wall without ever breaking the glare. “Thank you. I’ll wait for class to start here.”

“Good luck.” A single giggle escapes Will as they shoot me a smile, green eyes twinkling with mischief. “Check your dashboard, you silly. The principal said it’s been there a week.” I nod to Will as they leave the classroom, sitting back at my desk and offering Saoirse one more pleading smile. Her head darts to the side as she squeezes her fists tight at her side, but her glare stays sharply focused on me.

So much for the day job being any easier.

Chapter Fan Artwork from Sakuraba_Mu

 Chapter 1

Official Novel Artwork by: Sakuraba_Mu

            

            Even in death, the butterfly is beautiful.

            Suspended in the air on silver thread, it rotates just enough to show off each feature. A final bow before the curtain call. Delicate wings, so thin and pale at the centre that they appear clear as glass. Each gasp of wind which rattles its way through the forest lifts the butterfly, carrying it high in the air. At its zenith its wings catch the light of the setting sun, shining iridescent with all the colours of a rainbow before inevitably crashing down as far as its tethers allow. The tips of its wings are as dark as the night to come, a pale grey forming in the space between body and wing. Moments ago, they had beat with all the ferocity they could muster. All that energy, all the struggle, only served to tangle the butterfly, wings catching on more of the threads which now dangle the body like a noose. Even the purple spots, usually a warning against predators, do nothing to slow the descent of the shadow looming above. With all its fight gone out, the butterfly has grown still, basking in the golden light that will be its last.

Is it appreciating this final gift of beauty, as I do its soon to be corpse? Has it lost itself to despair, blinding itself to what the world has left to offer? Or, like so many of us when we see oblivion on the horizon, has it already given in, allowing light, warmth and sound to dull into a haze hardly decipherable from the oncoming void?

One final sigh of wind lifts the butterfly, tearing it just out of reach of the spider’s fangs. The venom would save it from any more pain. A quick end, preserving this beautiful moment as its last. Instead, the butterfly feels the embrace of darkness, the chill of the unknown as it is swallowed whole into an abyss while it can still feel.

The hands a of a child. A child too innocent to see the futility in her actions.

For a moment, the butterfly would feel the warmth of her embrace. The hands which had reached as far as her body could stretch to save him from death, and then he was dumped onto the earth, cold and threatening as the shadows stretch long.

The scents of fresh soil, manure and sweat assault my nostrils at the girl’s arrival. I can’t help but smile as she does her usual ritual, making a circle with her hands around the butterfly and whispering the word “enrichment.” The word means nothing to the butterfly which flaps its wings uselessly, stumbling over the uneven grass as it tries to escape this much larger threat. In all her excitement to save the bug, the child has dropped the corn she was carrying to the ground. A single ear signalling the upcoming harvest. I retrieve it, stalking along behind her as she scrambles after the butterfly on all fours.

“Hannah,” I ask, causing the girl to almost leap off the ground. She whips around, panic clear on her features as well as in the little gasp she lets out. It only takes a moment for her panic to calm as she takes in my form, but even as recognition sets in there is an air of concern about her.

“Cú?” I fix a rehearsed smile on my face, trying to be as warm and gentle as I can. “How did– how long have you been there?”

“Just a moment,” I lie, holding up the corn with a more playful smile. “I see the garden is going well.” Hannah softens a little, her eyes less narrow as she beams at the corn. Dark hair cascades down her face, spilling out of the bonnet that is trying to keep it contained. At first, only one eye is visible beneath the shroud of hair. A flash of purple meets my gaze for an instant before it falls back to the corn. She pulls the mess of hair to the side, more of it spilling between her eyes which she blows up with a puff from her lips, exposing the rest of her pale face for an instant before it comes back down out of her eyes at least.

“I’ve been working really hard on it,” she says, fingers teasing at the fabric of her skirt. Her eyes fall from the corn to her hands and suddenly she stiffens, grabbing at the filthy cloth with all her strength. “A-and of course, the lord has blessed the harvest. God willing, everyone will be as blessed as–”

“You don’t have to do that with me, kiddo,” I laugh. “You’re the one that did the work.” I step around the girl, kneeling beside the butterfly as her head follows me on a swivel. We’ve only met twice before in this life. She’s understandably cautious. “You were trying to save the butterfly?” I watch it stumble forward. Some of its legs have been damaged from the struggle it put up against the web. It’s leaning to one side, the once beautiful wings already beginning to tear as it drags them through the grass and dirt. When I look back at Hannah, she is still wide-eyed from my previous interruption. Her head nods a little in response, then her focus returns to the butterfly which she collapses next to.

“No!” Her hands once more cup around the butterfly, this time spreading outwards as she pushes back at the ants which have already set in on it. Even as she brushes them away more appear from the earth, each oblivious to the threat of Hannah until she knocks them off course. Only the pair which already carry one of the butterfly’s legs move in the opposite direction. The creatures are too simple to learn their lesson, continuing towards their target once again as Hannah pleads this time, “no!”

She scoops the butterfly up, placing it high on a stalk of corn, but with half its legs mangled and one missing it tumbles down, bouncing a few times before it comes to a rest, wings now stuck to the ground by the web it brought with it. Once more she scoops it up and tries to put it on a lower leaf, but now it won’t even attempt to grab at the plant, simply sliding off and hitting the earth silently. The sound Hannah makes isn’t quite a whimper, but close enough. She squeezes at her dress once more, her other hand lowering towards the butterfly as if to scoop it up again, but it stops short, moving to cover her mouth instead.

“Butterflies wings are very fragile. Once they’re unable to fly, they’re as good as dead. It’s best to just enjoy their beauty from afar while they’re alive and not trouble yourself too much when it’s their time to move on.” I dig a small hole with my fingers in the soil, scooping out more than enough for a butterfly burial. It won’t stop the ants or any other creatures below being fed, but it will at least spare Hannah the sight.

“I’m not a child, Cú. I know all about the circle of life.” With one final sniff to pull in her emotions and a wipe of her nose which leaves dirt smeared on her face, she brushes the butterfly into the hole herself, scooping dirt over it in the reverse motion. “Now it can become nourishment for the plants and feed us before the winter comes.” She stares at the earth for a moment longer, giving it a pat to make it blend in with all the other tilled soil, then she looks up to face me, nostrils flared in defiance, that smear of dirt making it impossible to take her seriously. “Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try to help.” Her eyes shoot off to the side once more before she stands back up. Her voice is softer, the small shake of nervousness filling it again when she continues. “Anyway, thank you for helping with the burial, and for the other day.”

She makes a hasty curtsy, rushing off before she even stands all the way back up. She's at the next row of corn before she slides to a halt. Body twitching like a marionette, she slowly turns around, inch by inch, keeping her eyes on the earth as she scampers my way.

"Could I... have that... back?" Her request comes with a finger stabbing at the corn in my hands. The tiny hand trembles, her fingernails caked in dirt and callouses that have formed from the months she spent growing the vegetable. I barely hold it out before she pounces on the ear, scurrying away through the stalks without another word. In contrast to her size, I wouldn't have been able to hold onto the vegetable had I tried.

The chuckle I’ve been holding in since she covered her face in dirt is finally able to escape me. Smothered by the hush of whispers that the corn stalks seem to share with the wind, it goes blissfully unnoticed by the girl. In just a few steps, she stumbles and has to catch herself on some of the larger stalks, taking a moment to breathe deep while hunched over. I’m up instantly, and about to steady her when she holds out a hand telling me to stay away.

“Just a dizzy spell. I haven’t been sleeping much.”

“At least let me walk you home,” I say, brushing the dirt from my own knees as I follow. “It’ll be dark before you get back to the village.”

“I’m not a child!” Hannah grabs a basket full of vegetables as she keeps going. Most have been ripped from the earth too early and are bruised, some of the tomatoes have even popped open with seeds spilling out from the rough treatment. She adds the ear of corn, coming to a stop as her eyes linger on the harvest. “My parents did want to thank you. No-one has ever stopped the other kids before…” Hannah’s voice trails off, and I let out a little puff of air that brings with it a genuine smile to my face. Other kids? It takes all my self-control not to tease the slip-up from the self-proclaimed adult, but even the hushed laugh was enough to make her face bloom scarlet. “Anyway, please let us treat you to dinner. The vegetables might not have made it if you hadn’t been there anyway.” I let out another chuckle at the second ‘anyway’ and Hannah hunches over, face almost completely concealed beneath her bonnet and hair. In silence, she pushes on, carving a path through the corn stalks and bounding over pumpkins that even I have to hop over.

“Sorry!” Finally catching up to Hannah, I take the basket from her. “Look, we’re all children to our elders, young lady.” I make sure to sound as old and tired as I can when I continue. “Back in my day I thought I was all grown up. Truth is, I was basically a child until I hit my thirties.” Hannah lets out a laugh herself which she captures behind a hand, but it leaks out once more as she teases back.

“Anyway, you’re more of a child than me even now.”

“At least I don’t have manure all over my face.” Hannah huffs, turning away from me as she tries to wipe away the mess with her sleeve.

The rest of the trip from Hannah’s Garden towards her home is made with the girl in stunned silence. On the way the red of sunset fades to the black of night. Hannah similarly calms, her face cooling from red to its normal shade and we find a more relaxed rhythm than the march she began in. The stench that wafts from fertilized fields lingers still, but with each step we take it is less pronounced. An autumn chill has crept into the air, bringing with it a sweet scent; freshly fallen leaves, fruit not picked in time and left to fall to the earth and ferment, and the wilting remains of flowers that might grow again another season. Each household is preparing a meal of their own, the scents of which tease the nose with hints of onions frying in oil, broths boiling with fresh herbs picked that morning and various scraps of meat all mingling as one. Above all, the smoke takes precedence, its telltale burn singeing the back of the throat and nostrils with each breath.

“Hannah, run!” We can barely see the house that the woman spills out of in the darkness. “Run!” She calls once again before a boot to the stomach takes the air out of her.

“Mum!” Hannah rushes forward, the basket of vegetables slamming into the ground and pulling me back to my senses.

You’ve taken too long. My own voice admonishes me as Hannah is grabbed by the wrist of a man twice her size. I warned you that there was a time limit. No longer is it in our hands.

I shake my head, watching as more men come out of the house, each as stark as the last, clothed in black and white, and carrying a torch which now illuminates the pyre they have built just outside. The man who grabbed Hannah rips her away from her mother as two more men join him to force her towards the pile of dried wood.

“Stop…” my voice comes out as a whisper that the men, boisterous as they are with their accusations, don’t even notice. It is already done. Let us leave. We can return when it is over. “No.” Yes. “No!”

Flames erupt from the ground, bringing a squeal from the gathered men who continue to make exclamations of witchcraft. While their torches light up the night, these flames seem to be one with it, smothering the light and bringing the chill of death which makes the blood run cold. I step out of the flames, the metal of my boots ringing out in the night as the men fall silent and thrust their torches in my direction.

“The devil! See, she is a witch!”  One of the men grab Hannah by the hair, her bonnet falling to the ground as he drags her to the pyre. The scream she lets out makes me tighten the grip on the weapon in my hand, charging forward at an inhuman pace. The witch hunters gasp as I bring back the weapon and swing it at the one holding Hannah. He falls backwards, dragging himself away on the ground, before stumbling up and realizing nothing has happened. I stare at the weapon in my hand, turning it over as the metal glints in the light. Why isn’t it working!? I think to myself, staring at the handle. You don’t have the intent to harm, my own voice answers back. The binding barbs aren’t meant to be played with as you would a toy.

“That’s right, I am Lucifer!” I panic, holding out the weapon to show the men its guard. A cross inlaid with intricate metalwork, wings that meet at the top with a sharp tip. The red gem at its centre gleams in the firelight as I point it at each of the witch hunters in front of me. They freeze as I look their way, but they’ve already got me surrounded in a semi-circle and there’s at least half a dozen each looking to one-another for their next move. There’s no way I can win this fight, I realize. I can’t let them hurt Hannah either. I gulp down air, steadying my voice before I continue. “That child’s innocent soul belongs to me! If you want to free her, you’ll need to kill me first!”

My eyes narrow and I let out a long slow exhalation of breath. It feels as though my body has become completely weightless. My arm swings to the side and the man who tried to grab at me is knocked so hard he hits the house before the ground. I hadn’t even noticed him charge at me. The surprise of the movement doesn’t register on my face as I swing the weapon once more, this time a chain ripping out of the handle and making the witch hunters dodge backwards as it arcs through the air. More men pour out of the house now, drawing their own weapons. Rifles and matchlock pistols which they struggle to load in the panic. Some already have them trained in my direction. My eyes find Hannah, tears streaming down her face as she tries to drag her mother to her feet. I barely register the movement as my wrist flicks and the whip cracks.

The barbed tip at the end of the chain pierces the girl’s chest, plunging into her heart. I feel the chain pull tight as flames darker than night erupt from the handle, making their way to the tip and engulfing Hannah as she lets out her last breath, a scream dying in her throat before it can be heard. The fear and agony on her face as she stares at me in her dying moments is burned into my mind even as the whole world catches fire and fades to black.

“What did you do!?” The weight of reality comes crashing down on me as I fall forward in the darkness. My hands smash against cold metal, and I raise my head to look up at the form I had just been in as the world reappears. 

Eyes as cold and clear as ice meet my own, looking down on me from above. He’s sitting in the train the same way he always does. Arms crossed over his chest, one leg resting on the other. The whip he had just murdered Hannah with hanging from his belt where I had grabbed it moments ago. I push myself off the ground, raising to my full height and glaring down at him. He doesn’t move an inch, simply following me with his eyes as I might a bug. The man and I look exactly alike aside from the clothes we wear and his longer hair, but we couldn’t be more different in our reactions to what just occurred. Bile rises at the back of my throat as I remember the look of pain on Hannah’s face, the feeling of the whip vibrating as the tip pierced her heart, the icy stab as dusk flame engulfed her form and ended her life. I swallow hard, forcing the bile down long enough to shout at the man who wears my own face like a mask of indifference. 

“Féileacán, what the fuck!?”

Chapter Fan Artwork by Reina Noi

Chapter Fan Artwork by Natzumeko

Life, Death & Rebirth

    The last star in the universe let out it's final gasp. A mercy at this point. It had held out for centuries after all other light had been extinguished. A tiny thing fated to never grow. In terms of celestial bodies it was a child, barely formed before the end set in. A dwarf with no partner to dance with, let alone give life to. Others burned brighter, bidding farewell with elaborate explosions or colossal collapses. The last star simply faded. No fanfare. No funeral. None left to mourn. It simply ceased to be, allowing the dark and cold to take dominion.

    Life, along with light and warmth, had come to an end. Only traces remained of what had long ago been sentient. Fossils, oil, fumes. No way to discern which of the beings had prayed for rapture, which rebelled against fate until the end, how many had simply gone to sleep never to wake again. Architecture that once threatened to challenge the heavens, had long since crumbled and returned to the earth with their creators. The seas, primordial birthplace of life, had frozen, shattered, and disintegrated, falling still and silent ever since. Even the wind had ceased it's endless wailing, it's final sigh passing shortly after the sun's last breath. 

    The interloper walked among the ruins of reality. Each step loosed clouds of dust that could only be felt. Sight and hearing were gone now that entropy had set in. The building blocks that made up the universe had begun to decay. With no energy left to share, all had begun to end as one. As above, so below. 

    Moments ago it had been beautiful. All of reality crumbling into its base components. While there was still light to see, the universe had become a single joined being. Iridescent. Shimmering. All of the rainbow road meeting back at its origin. It would never reach its final destination. Not when the interloper had already seeped into its very foundation. Now there was nothing left to bring it all back together. Neither order nor chaos, simply a lack of being, itself.

    The next part was the most tedious. Soon even the interloper would not have the energy to move. Incorporeal as it was, even it had to obey the laws of reality. It knew all about the laws. It was one after all.

    A single leap was all it took to leave the surface. It hadn't been a forceful affair. This was the great calm before the storm, the moment between the bang and crunch. As the only conscious observer left, it didn't even need to leap. Thought was enough to bend reality in this state. Only habit made it perform the action. A habit formed over immeasurable eons and through countless forms. What had this form even been? The interloper floated on through the expanse. Looking around would bring no answers, even if it had the will to seek them. 

    All was dark now in a way that no other sentient being could experience. The universe had become nothing. It joined the interloper in the abyss, each becoming as one. Time ceased as all became still. For almost as long as the universe had existed, now it ceased in death while the interloper waited. Words came to its mind in a language it no longer recalled.

    "Oh, pitiful soul, freed from the shackles of this world. Burn bright and find your place among the endless night."

    Void. That was the only word for it. Not cold, for friction ceased to exist. Not quiet, for all movement halted. Only thought remained. Thoughts which threatened to become as still and cool as the universe. An eternity passed then, as it always had, in the blink of an eye. The interloper was moving, drawn backwards in every sense of the word. Dimension had lost its relevance, so who was to say whether it was a physical experience. The end had come, now it must begin again as it always had. All of reality condensed from everything to nothing, as the interloper was.

    Light, heat, life. It felt them for a fleeting moment as time began anew. The sensations passed as quickly as they came. Light couldn't illuminate such darkness. Heat wouldn't thaw such cold. Life? At this point the feeling was as foreign to the interloper as the interloper was to this universe. Once more it witnessed the birth of reality. Stars, solar systems, galaxies, all of them were forming as the interloper woke. A dazzling display that might reduce a younger being to pure emotion. Looking upon the majesty of the almighty, there was no feeling that took hold within, only the instinct that brought with it conscious thought. Words once more filled it's mind as it stood vigil to all of creation at its inception.

    "Oh, pitiful soul, weighed down by a life of resentment, would you share this burden with me?"

    One word above all others filled the interloper's mind, and in doing so chilled the universe at its core.

    Death.

    That was its purpose. Its existence. The fate of all things bound by the laws of reality, and bound to it. Death was the one thing that couldn't die, and it greeted life once again with barely a thought. Its time would come. Until then it returned to rest, allowing reality all it needed to form new life. Waiting for its time to usher in the end, as it had before time existed many times over.