Page 147 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“Most seers take at least seven years for their apprenticeships,” Caitlin said as she got up to bring her empty mug to the sink. “Thirteen to twenty. But we’ve only got three—maybe less, from what Jonny says. Four if we’re lucky, and they don’t find you before you manifest. Time to get to work.”
She looked at me expectantly as she wiped down her counter, and I recalled Mr. Miyagi handing the Karate Kid a rag and a bucket.
Wax on, wax off, I thought, earning a snort from Caitlin.
I scowled. No matter what I said, she wasn’t going to stop reading my thoughts until I made her. If I could.
“Well, you’re right about that,” Caitlin agreed. “I was halfway to the other side of your mind and battering around like a ram before you noticed. I could have dug through your darkest secrets, had I wanted to.”
She hung the rag on a hook, then grabbed two wool coats from a rack by the kitchen door and threw one at me before she tugged on the other. “First things first. You must know your own mind before you can hope to guard it. Or any other secrets, for that matter.” She opened the door and stood expectantly at its threshold. “Come along, then. Nothing helps the mind so much as exercise. We’ll start with a walk.”
On that note, she exited the house with a brisk stride, leaving me to shovel down the remainder of my breakfast, put on Robbie’s old coat, and scramble after her.
Caitlinand I walked for close to an hour, chatting as the gravel crunched under our feet on the winding roads called boreens that divided the stone-bound fields of the island. She was curious about everything—how I had grown up, what my mother was like, why I had gone to Boston. I could feel her listening to my words as well as my thoughts as I spoke, and I soon realized that she was as interested in what I wasn’t saying and why as what I chose to say out loud.
She was right about one thing—I couldn’t keep her out if I wanted, despite my one success with Jonathan. She was a talented telepath, and the more we spoke, the more comfortable I became with her presence in my mind. For the first time since I could remember, I wasn’t trying to ignore my childhood, content to trust that someone who actually wanted to know about it was listening.
We had only just reached the part of my story where Jonathan entered when Caitlin turned abruptly and started down a path toward a dilapidated cottage at the top of a hill sloping toward the ocean. The house was whitewashed brick with a thatched roof, similar to the Connollys’, if about a quarter of the size.
Unlike the Connollys’ farm, however, this one hadn’t been used in many years. Several parts of the fencing had fallen into a jumble of rocks and dirt, the roof was discolored from weathering and leaks, and one side of the foundation sagged. A broad field behind it had been left wild and was overgrown with weeds and grasses.
“Here we are,” Caitlin said as she pushed open a crooked gate. “You’ll know the place?”
She knew I’d never been to Ireland, but she was suggesting I might have Seen it in Gran’s memories.
I shook my head. “No.” Bitterness twinged at the fact.
“Come. See if it’s more familiar inside.”
My Sight had been relatively quiet over the last few days as if the stress of travel had taken its toll there too. Much like Gran, Caitlin kept her home clean to the point where I hadn’t missed my gloves since she had me remove them.
But as I followed her across the lot, my abilities gurgled to life like a fresh spring. Visions passed through me with each step.
A tiny redheaded girl sprinted through a gold-tipped field of rye into the arms of a stocky farmer. Her laughter echoed to the cliffs, and the sweet, salty scent of wet kelp laid in between neat rows of rye and potatoes twisted through my nostrils.
“Penny!” The farmer called his daughter’s name as she tackled him to the earth.
My heart ached with recognition.
“Can you See her, then?” Caitlin’s voice pulled me from the scene, and I turned to find her observing me from the stoop. “Your eyes were moving. Like you were watching something.”
I nodded. “Couldn’t you See her too? Through my mind, anyway?”
Caitlin shook her head. “Conscious thoughts only, remember? I heard you think her name, but that was it.”
I almost offered a hand when I reached the porch, but took it back when I realized it wouldn’t work. Jonathan was the only one who had been able to See my thoughts and feelings as clearly as I could See his, despite the fact that he wasn’t a seer, let alone a telepath or a bard. I still wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Caitlin produced a large iron key and unlocked the house. Even more than in the field, remnants of Gran clung to every surface, though they were patchy at best, like red wine stains that persisted even after countless washes. Visions of her raced around every corner. The little redheaded girl skipped through the house only to turn into a sullen teenager fighting with her mother. She danced with her father while a Christmas tree twinkled in the corner, then baked bread with her mom, both of them dressed in hastily dyed black dresses. Then her parents were gone, leaving Penny on her own, sorrow pulling her shoulders down. Others I didn’t know came and went from the cottage, their faces often obscured by time or maybe spells, but it was all part of the same story.
Tears pricked my eyes as I watched my grandmother grow up.
“I See her, Caitlin,” I murmured.
We stood in the doorway silently while I enjoyed the visions. After a few minutes, when my thoughts shifted to what we must be doing here, Gran in her many forms faded away. One last version lingered by the window—a young Penny, with red curls rioting over her shoulders as she gazed out to the sea.She hummed a song under her breath, one hand resting atop her belly in the way that newly expectant mothers sometimes do. She turned to face me and smiled before disappearing completely.
She was beautiful. So beautiful. So happy.
What happened?
