Page 111 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

It’s not until Garrick answers that I realize I spoke the final question aloud.

“It’s more than that,” he says. “They don’t protect us, and they dinnae allow us to protect ourselves, either. It's not right that the Fates have taken the magic that once ran in our blood away. It was a gift from the goddess, and it’s rightfully ours. He pulls down his shirt collar. “This was my naming dàn. Protection. The Measurer made a mistake in giving it to me because the need I have to protect this kingdom is all-consuming. I’ve felt it since I was a boy, and I see the holes in their design. The earth itself was supposed to give us our magic.”

I shake my head. “You’re making no bloody sense. The Fates have always controlled magic.”

“No. The goddess did not design it for the Fates to bestow us our magic. She gave it to us herself. We once submerged in the river Bàsail, and as the water cleaned our souls, we were blessed by her. It was the river that gave us our dàn. Not the Fates.”

My heart picks up in rhythm. It would make sense for there to be another source of magic. How else would our people once have known the runes and spells in Harold’s journal? “How do you know all this?”

“They may have destroyed our books, but they cannae destroy our voices. The story has been passed down through my family for generations, and I know we’re not the only ones. We used to be blessed with all sorts of magic. Our lives were far longer. There was peace. But these Fates, they've taken that away.”

“These Fates? What do you mean?”

“Hard-headed bastard,” Garrick mumbles under his breath. “Did you not listen to the story? The Fates we know today are not the first. There were others before. There will be others after.”

I place my dram down. “What happened to them?”

“No one knows, as far as I can tell. But it wasn't until these three Fates ascended that everything changed. So I'll ask you again, what is it that you think is happening at the river?”

I grip the arms of the chair, the wood creaking. “I think the Cutter is lying. I just don't know what she’s lying about.” I pause, mind spinning. “Choosing this story wasn’t an accident, was it? You think the Cutter is hungry for power.”

Garrick finally takes a sip of his whiskey, relaxing back into his chair. “I think there’s more going on than meets the eye.”

The story echoes in my mind, settling into my blood. When the queens acted outside of the goddess’s will, the After rose. Everything it touched died.

“If what you’re saying is true, and the Fates have stolen the goddess’s magic. Do you think it could happen again? That the After could come for the living?”

“I do. And with the Epoch approaching, I fear it may be worse than we ever imagined.”

My throat closes around my unspoken fears. Could the After spread and kill those surrounding the river? Theo and Harold. Billy and Anna.

Bea.

The thought turns my blood to ice, and my palm burns.

I stand. “I have to go back. Now. I have to warn them. I have to make sure it doesn’t take Bea.”

Garrick raises his eyes in surprise. “Bea?”

I ignore the way her name in his mouth makes me want to put my fist through a wall. It’s only my vow driving me back to her. Nothing more. Cailleach’s expectations of me. “If the After kills the Washwoman, and the Cutter won’t listen… If she thinks she disappeared… " I look toward the hall where my siblings sleep.

“Aye,” he says. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

Relief floods my chest. “You’re coming with me?”

He shakes his head. “No. But I willnae return to the Cutter just yet, either.”

“Where will you go?” I ask, walking around the living room to gather my things. I dinnae think I can wait till morning.

“I’ll need to warn my men in Dalrannoch and Braemuir to hide.”

I nod. “And then?”

“To Hollow Hill,” he says. “I can’t help but think what we heard wasn’t a coincidence at all. I’m going back.”

“But what if the woman we heard isn’t there?”

He rolls up his sleeve to reveal a second dàn. One I’ve only heard of.