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It shook inside her as she spoke the words.
“We come this night to bring the light, and here it spreads to reach the dead. Dark spirits trapped within, reap the dark you’ve chosen. Your sins are great, now meet your fate.
“Innocent souls, your suffering ends, and to the light the seven sends all tortured and slain by cruelty. This night, with the light, ends your misery.”
And the light did spread, sweeping down the rise, covering the ground, gliding up the stones so it shined as bright as noon.
It breathed, and it sang, and on the high hill, the stone dance sang with it.
With the wind snapping at her cloak, Marg lifted her voice, strong and clear.
“What magicks shut, now magicks open. Let the seal be broken. Release all souls as we desire, into the light or into the fire.”
When the ancient doors burst open, when the ground shook and cries ripped the air, Keegan unsheathed his sword.
“I am taoiseach, and this is Judgment. Come forth to take your peace or punishment.” Flames engulfed Cosantoir, red as blood as he sliced it down toward the stones. “From this world you are set free. As we will, so mote it be.”
They poured from the ruins, both beautiful and terrible. Forms only, white and dark. The white soared up, and Breen felt their desperate relief, even joy as they streaked from the ruins to the stone dance. The dark rushed or crawled, and unleashed shrieking cries, no longer human, as they turned to fire, then to ash, then to nothing at all.
The stone circle sang a welcoming on the high hill, and below the rise, fire roared. And like a statue, Keegan stood, the sword of the taoiseach lifted and flaming.
Then silence fell like thunder.
“So it is done,” Keegan said, and sheathed his sword.
The cleansing and sanctifying rituals took time, but after the wild beat of power, Breen found the work both gentle and kind.
For the first time she walked inside the ruins, inside the great stone walls with its pillars and tombs, its winding stairs and altars.
“I can still feel them.”
“Echoes only,” Keegan told her. “Memories, and nothing more. What walked here, both the light and the dark, is gone, but the stones stand and will. We don’t forget.”
“I saw… Some of the spirits that went to the dance, they were so small, Keegan. Only children. And I thought, I thought I saw the form of a woman holding an infant. What drives anyone to torture and kill children?”
“Power drives all,” he said simply. “For good or ill. They rest now because we had the power. Don’t forget that.”
How could she when that power had been a live thing inside her?
“I’m going to take a moment. My father.”
When she walked out, she realized she could smell the grass again, the flowers, and air apple crisp. With Bollocks by her side, she stood at her father’s grave.
“Did you believe I’d come here one day, that I’d help do this? I wish I knew. But you were there to welcome those we released. I felt it, and feeling it, felt close to you.”
She watched Marg walk through the grass, around headstones, and waited for her.
“Did you feel him, Nan?”
“I did, aye, I did. And I felt his pride in you,mo stór, as I felt my own.”
“I’ve never been part of something so far-reaching. There was such goodness here tonight, such love and care. I know we have to fight with swords and arrows—I know it takes violence—but it’s that goodness that’s going to win in the end. I absolutely believe that now. It sounds naïve.”
“No. It’s truth. Go now, have the meal Marco made, as I’m sure it’s brilliant.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“I’m for my own cottage, for Sedric, who waits for me, and a whiskey by the fire. I want my man tonight, the comfort of him, and the goodness.”
