WELSH MAGIC: EPISODE #6
(Updated Weekly Each Friday)
Out in the garden, stood within a halo of stone, Sabina Begum sang. The orange embers of the dying dusk cast the song weaver in a warm light as birds of every size and colour perched atop the henge in quiet regard. The whole school was there, stood silently encircling the sacred space. Rhian would have been impressed and proud of her friend finding the courage to sing publically if she wasn’t so blooming angry.
She scanned the crowd for Gareth, with two hundred and fifty students all dressed in matching blazers it wasn’t an easy task. Between a pair of stone slabs Emmanuel and Lewis chatted with Gretchen. Grez must have finished up earlier than she’d expected, that or Rhian had spent longer packing up Afia’s things than she’d thought. Rhian headed over, Gareth’s letter bulging in her pocket.
Wicker men hung from the boys’ belt loops. Grez must have made a talisman for all of them. She’s scared, and why wouldn’t she be with Gareth still on the loose. Sabina hit a twittering high note and a chorus of birds joined in. The cord struck in Rhian’s mind a truth she’d been skirting around. She stopped and took in the scene, the mourning student body, worried staff, shy Sabina’s elegy. Afia was dead, along with Julia Silva and who knows how many other students. Gone, never coming back, drained of their life energy by a mad man, until dead. It was almost Gretchen. It could have been her. It still could be with Gareth free. Rhian spied him not far from her group of friends, scowling.
“You did this!” Rhian stormed up. “You’re a murderer!” She shoved her hand into her pocket and snatched the letter. “A monster. Don’t even try to deny it.”
Gareth looked around with red eyes before settling on her. “Piss off.”
Rhian held the paper up. “I found this in Afia’s room.”
“Did you read it?”
“I read enough to know you wanted her dead.”
“Merch twp,” Gareth muttered. “You don’t belong here.”
There it was. Eight people dead because of Gareth Harris’ bigotry. A tower of flame shot up from Rhian’s palm. “What gives you the right to decide that?”
The singing stopped and birds took flight. Flame and fear flashed in Gareth’s eyes, but a credit to either his braveness or stupidity, he stood his ground. He squared his shoulders and glared. “You not being able to read decided that.” He put out his hand. “Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Rhian, stop. You’re wrong about Gareth,” Alaric Strumbottom invaded her mind. Rhian’s tower shrank as she looked around. Teachers pushed through students.
He killed her.
“He didn’t. He loved her.”
Gareth’s shoulder collided into Rhian’s chest. Air shot from her lungs and her flame sputtered out. He snatched the letter from her hand.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Mr Jones, the crating instructor, was the first teacher to arrive, smelling of clay and looking like an overgrown rabbit.
“She attacked me.” Gareth shoved Afia’s letter into his trouser pocket.
“Aye, no need to be dramatic, Mr Harris. If Ms Peregrine did more than peacock, it’d be evident. Unless you have a fire resistance?”
“No, sir.”
“There we are then. Now give to me what you took from her.” Mr Jones put out his hand. “And Ms Peregrine stay where you stand. Your behaviour here has been most unacceptable.”
Rhian rubbed her chest. As if she’d go anywhere. “I found that letter in Afia’s room, the hands the same as the charm on the door that night. He threatens her in it and — ”
Mr Jones put up a palm. “What were you doing in Ms Phillips room? Nevermind, we’ll get to you in a moment.” The crafting instructor scanned the parchment. Across from her Gareth’s shoulders slumped, and his face flushed. They got him. She got him. Relief lightened her chest. Afia would have justice and this nightmare would be over.
Mr Jones coughed and refolded the paper. He handed it back to Gareth.
“What are you doing?” Rhian’s mouth dropped.
“Mr Harris, you may go.”
Gareth squeezed the letter in his hand and slunk off. A wicker man hung from his belt loop. Rhian stared at it as he disappeared behind a group of spectators. Gretchen knew she suspected Gareth why give him a protection talisman too? Rhian looked for her by the henge but she was no longer there.
“You’re ignorance of our language is astounding Ms Peregrine. I had my suspicions before, but your inability to read is most evident now.”
“I read English well enough. Why are you just letting him go?”
“English without context. Please leave the investigating to us. For now it’d be best for you to return to your room, you’ve caused enough disruption. People deserve to mourn in peace.”
“And the dead deserve justice. Afia was my friend.”
“So you say.” Mr Jone’s eyes were unreadable. “Return and await the Headmistress’ summons.”
Abang woke Rhian up. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and turned to Gretchen’s bed to find it empty but freshly made. Gretchen hadn’t returned until after Rhian was asleep and now she left before Rhian woke. Rhian frowned. Could Gretchen be avoiding her? Another bang came from the hall. She stuffed her feet into some slippers and scuffed over to the door. Her eyes weren’t the only pair peeking out from wooden frames.
“Everyone back to your rooms,” The house matron mimed shutting a door. A useless gesture as no one budged.
Rhian’s breath left her. Two paramedics in green jumpsuits carried a stretcher to the stairwell. A white sheet covered the body and face. It was supposed to be over. The note she’d received flashed into her mind. She stepped into the hall.
“It was her!” Braith jabbed a finger. Her eyes rimmed with red. The house matron turned to Rhian as did all other eyes. “She killed Sabina.”
Rhian staggered back. “Sabina?”
“I saw her in my room, wearing that stupid puffy coat of hers.”
“It’s not true!” Rhian looked to see the other students staring at her. “It isn’t. She’s lying.”
There was a low murmur throughout the hall.
“… just happened to know where to find them.”
“… poor grades. Probably jealousy.”
Rhian’s skin began to warm. “Who said that? Huh? Sabina, Gretchen, and Afia are my friends — “Her voice dropped as she corrected herself. “ — were my friends” She exhaled a shuddering breath and squeezed her ribs. The heavy boots of the paramedics disappeared down the stairwell.
The house matron rested her hand on Rhain’s shoulder. “I think you should go back in your room.” She then raised her voice and turned to the girls. “That goes for all of you.”
Braith glared. Her nostrils flared. Rhian expected her to shout something else but instead her oh so perfect classmate slammed shut her door. A gesture Rhian quickly copied.
She made a fist and punched the thick aged wood. How could Braith accuse her like that? Sure, she may not be the best student, but did Braith think so poorly of her as to believe she’d kill her own friends? Rhian neck grew hot. Her ability became difficult to control when she was upset. She tried taking several deep breaths to chill herself out, but she was too angry.
A rage burned inside her and it needed to come out. A murderer had taken Afia, tried to take Grez, and now Sabina. Sweet gentle Sabina was the first student to talk to her after she enrolled — besides Gretchen, but as Rhian’s roommate Grez had little choice in the matter. And thanks to Braith everyone will think she killed her. Sabina’s parents will think she murdered their daughter.
Rhian clutched the door frame and howled as bursts of flames poured out of her palms. The fire splashed against the door and flowed over the wall like a flooding river. It was probably Braith taking out the competition. She only accused her to take the heat of herself. Or Gareth. Why was everyone so certain of his innocence? He loved Afia — what nonsense was that? He was awful to her. All the students targeted that she knew of were non-Welsh, and Gareth’s disdain towards non-Welsh students was well known.
She sighed. Her flames sputtered out into smoke. The walls undamaged. Maybe Gareth was right, and she didn’t belong here. She was rubbish at spell casting. Her grades were appalling. All she had was an innate ability and compared to the other special students it was nothing grand. She could make fire — so what, so can lighters, ovens, matches. It couldn’t prevent her friends getting hurt. Or help her figure out who was responsible.
The arms of her Victorian bed-side clock pointed to eight and three. Rhian kicked off her slippers and walked over to her wardrobe to get out her standard issue leisure wear. As she reached for the hanging grey sweatpants her eye drifted toward a vacant space — a space where her puffy coat should be. She looked to the bottom of the wooden wardrobe then to her bed.
There was a knock on her door.
Rhian glanced back at her dresser as she made her way over. The door opened before she reached it.
“Hello,” said a female police officer with a blonde ponytail tucked under a round black bowler hat. “Rhian Peregrine? We’re with the Heddlu. We have a few questions. I’m going to need you to come with us.”
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Diolch! (That’s Welsh for thanks.😉)
