“No one wants me there anyway!” I’d thrown back at her. Even before my true abilities had manifested, many were uneasy in my company. It was as if they sensed from the very beginning that I was different.
I was more hurt that she never defended me. She knew what the others said about me, but she never attempted to silence them. It was as if she silently agreed. And when she took away riding, the one thing that made me feel free and useful and accomplished, something inside me broke.
It was as if my fury took on the form of an invisible hand, reaching from my mind to hers. It grabbed hold of her and pushed hard enough that she stumbled backward into the wall. Her anger and disappointment in me quickly changed to an icy, paralyzing fear.
She’s just like her, my mother had thought, her words tumbling over themselves, echoing in her mind. Too powerful. Too dangerous.
Just like who? I’d thought back, but I was already letting go of her mind. Shaking with the horror of what I’d done to her, with the fact that she was afraid of me, I watched her flee my room.
That was five years ago.
Ever since then, my mother had been cautious in my company, like one would be cautious with any wild thing. My father, when he’d heard what I’d done, had locked me in my room for two days. On the third, he’d asked me to join him on the training field with a single rule: I was never to use my abilities on members of our family. And once others found out what I could do, I was no longer welcome in church.
“I would take great comfort from it if they stayed,” I said to Máthair now.
She hesitated, and I felt my heart twist in response. What had my sisters to fear from me? “Very well,” Máthair said. “Just for tonight.” She rubbed her hand gently over Branna’s head, and bent down to kiss Deirdre’s cheek.
She left as quietly as she’d come, and I pointed to the fastenings of my armor. “I will have to remove all this before bed. Will you help me, Bran?”
“Of course,” she said, her nimble fingers making quick work of the stubborn buckles.
I’d washed the blood and gore from my armor before entering the keep, but it still took the effort of the three of us to remove it. The leather leggings were the worst of all, practically molded to my skin.
Branna sat back on her haunches with an exasperated groan after several unsuccessful attempts to free me from them. “I think I will have to cut you free,” she announced.
“Do whatever you must,” I said.
She retrieved a dagger from my wall and cut them off in strips. I breathed a sigh of relief when they fell in a clump at my feet, and I was left in my linen tunic.
“Here’s your robe,” Deirdre said, holding the heavy velvet aloft. “Now will you tell us a story?”
I glanced at my wooden tub longingly but knew it would have to wait. I smiled. “I would love to.”
Deirdre threw herself into my bed and buried herself beneath the thick pelts. Branna and I joined her, laughing. “What kind of story?” I asked.
“A scary one,” Branna said. She gave Deirdre a nudge with her shoulder, and Deirdre nodded.
“Now what kind of older sister would I be to scare you both witless before bed? Haven’t you had enough fear for the day?”
Branna shook her head while Deirdre watched me solemnly. “Better to think of a story and be afraid than to think of the Northmen,” Branna said. “We won’t be scared because we’ll all be together. It’s only when we’re separated that we’re afraid.”
Guilt spiraled inside me. Depending on what I learned from the Northman prisoner about my father, I might have to leave them again soon. “Very well, then. I shall tell you a story about one of the scariest water creatures.”
Branna’s face lit up. “Is this about a each-uisce? Shauna swears her grandfather tamed one once.”
“Shauna is wrong,” I said, holding her gaze so she knew I was to be taken seriously. “Each-uisce can never be tamed. They may appear as sleek black horses, eerily beautiful, or even ponies, deceptively small. Always their manes and tails are dripping wet, and their eyes glow like a wolf’s.”
Deirdre shuddered and pressed closer to Branna.
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Branna said, but I could see the gooseflesh on her arms.
“Their appearances are meant to draw you in,” I said. “You see, there was a girl, long ago, who was the lone survivor of an each-uisce encounter—though her friends were not so fortunate. On one of the darkest nights the world had ever seen, with thunder roaring so loud in the sky it seemed as though the rocks beneath their feet would crumble away, a young girl and her friends were on their way home.”
“Why were they out wandering in the dark? I’ve never heard of anything more foolish.”
“Shh,” Deirdre said to her sister. “It’s just a story.”
“It’s a warning,” I corrected. “They had strayed too far from home and had lost their way in the storm. Another lesson you’d do well to learn. The craggy hills and coast can all look the same; that’s why Brother Mac Máel spends so much time on lessons of the land with you.”
“He hardly teaches us anything else,” Branna said, and Deirdre shushed her again.
“There were four of them altogether, the youngest Deirdre’s age. They held hands and kept close to one another, but they were afraid they’d never find home again. Lightning lit up the sky, and a magnificent black stallion appeared before them. His mane dripped, water flowing in rivers down his sleek body, but the girls thought nothing of it. He was in the midst of a thunderstorm, after all. He knelt down before them, inviting them onto his back. The girl’s friends said, ‘He wants us to ride him, and he’s big enough for all of us. We’ll be sure to make it home now.’ But the girl was afraid. She remembered the tale of the each-uisce her older sister had told her,” I said with a pointed look at my own sisters. “The horse’s nightmarish eyes sent chills racing up her spine. ‘I’m afraid this horse is a demon in disguise,’ the girl said, but she was too late. Her friends leaped astride, and the each-uisce galloped away so far and so fast not even a hawk could keep up from the sky.”
Both Branna and Deirdre listened with wide eyes, so quiet I could hardly hear their breaths. “Why did they not throw themselves from its back?” Branna asked.
“Its skin becomes like the stickiest sap. There is no escape.”
“What happened to them?” Deirdre asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“The each-uisce took them back to his pond and dived to the very bottom. He trapped them under until they drowned, and then he ate everything but their hearts and livers. He came back for the girl, for an each-uisce has never had his fill, but she hid from him in a cave. She watched him change into the most beautiful man, with a voice like an angel, but still she did not leave the safety of the rock at her back. Morning came, and the each-uisce disappeared, along with the thunderstorm. In the light of day, the girl realized her keep was within sight and walked back home without her friends, but alive just the same.”
A hush fell over us, the crackling fire the only sound in the room. “That was a sad story,” Deirdre said finally.
“It is, so you must promise me you will remember it. It’s no secret there are monsters that roam all over the coast.” I leaned closer to them and whispered, “Especially at night,” and they both jumped and then laughed. “Truly, though, you should only ride the horses and ponies we have here.”
“Then you must also promise to keep teaching us in secret,” Branna said. “We’re tired of Brother Mac Máel keeping our ponies on leads.”
I smiled. “That all depends on Máthair. She’s the one who fears you will hurt yourselves.” Our mother had an unusual fear of horses, preferring to walk unless absolutely forced to ride. I had always wondered if perhaps she had encountered an each-uisce in her younger years, but as with many things, she would never say.
“Will you tell us another story?” Deirdre asked. She yawned so wide I could see every tooth.