Page 199 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“You know your history, Cass,” Robbie said. “That classical witch hunting and the scientific revolution occurred during the same period was no coincidence. For plain folk, magic can’t be explained. Once, that was acceptable, in a world where good harvests were blessings from the gods and we lived, if not in harmony with plain people, then with understanding. But as the promise of knowledge became more and more universalized, so did the disdain and fear of the unknown.”
“Fae were always feared,” Rachel put in. “But we became something to hate too. Magic became a death sentence.”
“We fae entered the shadows for our own safety,” Robbie concurred. “We had to.”
A cold finger slid up my back, a forgotten memory that belonged to another time. It was the same feeling I had whenever I had read the old histories of witch burning and trials. The same chill was lodged in the chaos of the burial mounds on Inisheer.
“Caomhán wants to come out,” I said. “And you three agree with him, don’t you? And so did Gran.” I looked back at the parchment. “That’swhy she gave this to me. Because I can’t keep a secret—even though she asked me to. No oracle can.” Another question occurred to me. “But why now?”
“Because now we can prove it,” Jonathan said. “You remember what I told you about my research?”
My mind flew back to our first meetings. Jonathan’s description of his work at the Large Hadron Collider. His attempts to isolate the particles or sub-particles that were potentially the magic.
It had seemed so fanciful at the time.
He took my hand, and a vision of him in his lab popped up, alongside the joy of a new discovery that only academics really know.
“You found them,” I said when he’d released my hand.
“We’re close,” he replied. “So very close.”
“Oracles are vessels for truth, are they not?” Rachel asked. “Our world hasn’t known one since the early modern period. Since the last was put to death in Scotland. I know, because I’ve looked. Your grandmother likely knew it too. But unlike us, Penelope O’Brien wasn’t looking for evidence that the time was right.”
“That’s because Penny didn’t believe in science.”
We all turned to where Robbie rubbed his chin meditatively.
“What do you mean, she didn’t believe in science?” I demanded.
“There’s a famous prophecy,” he said. “You’ll likely know of it. From the Morrigan.”
“At the end of theBattle of Mag Tuired,” I confirmed. “Yes, I’ve read it. Had to translate it three times, actually.”
Rachel had already pulled out her phone, and without being asked, started reading.
I shall not see a world Which will be dear to me: Summer without blossoms, Cattle will be without milk, Women without modesty, Men without valour. Conquests without a king.
Woods without mast. Sea without produce.
False judgements of old men. False precedents of lawyers, Every man a betrayer. Every son a reaver. The son will go to the bed of his father, The father will go to the bed of his son. Each his brother’s brother-in-law. He will not seek any woman outside his house
An evil time, Son will deceive his father, Daughter will deceive…
She set the phone down on the table and turned back to us as if the answers were obvious in the passage.
“Yes, her famous second prophecy,” I said, already knowing that particular translation well. “It’s rather gruesome.”
“It’s also incomplete,” Robbie said.
“Well, yeah,” I said. “The remaining fragments weren’t finished. Still, she’s describing the end of the world, right?”
“It looks that way,” Rachel said. “Unless you’ve seen the complete version.”
She took up her phone again and pulled up a file—this one containing the original Middle Irish and a whole lot more.
I had to stop myself from pressing my face into the glass. “Where—where did you get that?”
It was a scanned image of what was obviously an original piece of parchment, nearly as worn as the one on the desk.
