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Castle Puff
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Priscilla takes me to a small room in the nave with a heavy wooden door. Inside is a raised stoup and two wooden benches.
“I’ll pour the water into the stoup,” the priestess says. “Just so you know, um, I’m not very good at keeping spirits away when I do this. Some of them may be able to overhear the conversation between you and your mother if she answers my spell. I can leave the room if you want, but the best I can do is keep the malicious spirits away, even if I’m in the room. If that’s not okay, you can look for someone more powerful than me for more privacy.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I assumed you’d be staying to keep the spell going. You said my mother will know you’re summoning her, so she’ll know there might be eavesdroppers. Do what you want.”
Taranis nestles against my neck. I give him a rub under the beak. I don’t know how to thank him for staying with me through all this… but I appreciate it.
Priscilla pours the water, says the prayer and asks me to put my hand into the bowl and think of my mother. I slide my hand under the surface of the water. It’s warmer than I expected. I close my eyes and let myself drift back to a time when I had hope. Warmth. Family.
When I open them again, I see my mother looking back at me.
The water is suddenly very cold.
“You can take your hand out,” Priscilla whispers.
I do.
“Ráichéalín,” says the image. It echoes in the room. “Ah, and a Priestess of Eirene. I have no doubt you have kept my daughter safe.”
Is it really her? I don’t know. I can’t know. What do I say back?
“I say this,” the image continues, “Because if she were in hiding, surely she would not dye her hair that color, and neither would she present her scar so prominently.”
A long-familiar shrinking sensation fills me. There’s no doubt in my mind: this is my mother.
“M-mother,” I reply. “I was worried you had chosen to pass on after your funeral. I know how dangerous it is for spirits to linger, but you decided to stay, and… I… t-thank you.”
“There is always danger,” says my mother, matter-of-factly, and I feel a sudden pang of pity for whatever spirits may have threatened her on the other side. “As much as I would have preferred to pass on, I had unfinished business. Your brother saw to that at my funeral.”
“He didn’t invite me,” I say, and I don’t know why I feel ashamed admitting it. “No one did. Mom, I’m… I… felt like I didn’t exist. They don’t see me.”
“Good. There is nothing for you there, not anymore. You know this.”
“I know,” I repeat. I thought I would be angry at my mom. I was so, so angry when I left, and ashamed, and now I want to curl up and hide. I wasn’t ready for this. Why did I do this?
Taranis puts his wing around my neck, and I remember that I’m not alone.
“No!” I say, correcting myself. “No, I don’t know that. Mom, the least Ciarán could have done was invite me to your funeral. I didn’t even know you’d died! That was heartless and… and… cruel!”
“Ráichéalín, as always, you fail to understand. He was doing you a kindness. With your fall, he has risen to the forefront, and he used my funeral to give voice to his madness. It would have been incredibly unwise for you to attend, for both you and he.”
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