The Knight of Slaughtaverty

Chapter 8 - Stone Children

"Aubrey, are ye alright?"

I can hear a warm, kind voice reaching me from far away. I'm vaguely aware of being led to a bench, where I sit down. The world is underwater; all sounds muffled as if my head is wrapped in cotton wool. I can see the vague outlines of a face near mine, and hands are holding onto my upper arms.

With a suddenness that leaves me breathless, the focus and sound return in all its natural glory. The day is filled with the happy noise of children playing with a ball on the rolling lawns and birds chirping cheerily as they fly from tree to tree. Near me, some teenagers laugh together while one of their friends demonstrates his ability to be an idiot.

Normal sounds. Joyful sounds. Bright sunshine and a cool breeze. The face close to mine is Billy's, his blue eyes filled with worry. Blinking in confusion, I smile at him and shake my head to dislodge the cobwebs, still keeping my brain captive.

"Yes, why?" I ask, not sure what is going on.

"Ye zoned out completely there for a minute, lass," he says with a relieved smile.

"I did?"

We were leaving the restaurant after a wonderful lunch where I proved my ability to handle eating utensils quite dexterously, without spilling even so much as a crumb on myself - a great achievement for me - and now I'm sitting on a bench in the vast park taking up most of the town square. Billy is squatting in front of me, gazing into my eyes. What happened between leaving the restaurant and sitting down here?

"Aye," he assures me, narrowing his eyes. "What were ye saying about Roisin?"

"Who?"

"The woman whose baby died."

"Oh... nothing..." What could I possibly have been saying about her? It's tragic; it breaks my heart; I'm truly sad for her... that's about it. "I just got dizzy for a second," I say with a shrug, trying to explain away whatever I did or didn't do in the last few minutes... I have no idea. "The ale went straight to my head."

"I'm going to get ye some water," Billy says, and I'm about to protest since I'm feeling 100% fine, but he is already standing up and moving away. "Stay here, okay?"

I watch him run off and let my eyes travel over the beautiful garden I'm seated in, enjoying the lush vegetation, cobblestone paths and secret nooks with stone benches. At the furthest end of the park, a gnarly old oak tree grows strong and tall, with thick branches, perfect for hanging a vile man.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I hurry to move my eyes along on their journey. Across from the tree, on my end of the park, is a beautiful stone statue on a high base, set in an ivy-covered niche. It depicts a girl holding a baby and a little boy standing beside her, clutching the skirt of her dress.

Intrigued by its beauty and age, I rise from the bench and wander over to study it. There's a brass plaque mounted to the base with words etched into it. To our lost children, may you never be forgotten – 1745. There is a list of names and their ages under the title. Reading these names makes me feel decidedly sad and uneasy, and I jump slightly when Billy joins me and touches my shoulder, handing me a small bottle of cold water.

"Here ye go."

"Thank you," I smile, trying to catch my breath. "I was looking at this," I explain, though it was pretty clear what I'd been doing in his absence.

"Oh, aye," Billy says, looking solemn as he gazes up at the children. "This statue was created in memory of those children I told ye about. According to the stories about it, it was modelled after Mairead and Ulliam Doyle and Dáithí O'Hara. The three of them were the youngest in their respective categories."