My Mother Divinity [Unedited]

Chapter Thirteen

I start to think that we should be getting on with things. Amon freed me for a personal price - I should have to pay it at some point, and the scars twist and turn on the expanse of my skin, a constant reminder that despite my lack of pain, I'm marked and vulnerable. I even manage to delude myself that some of the indents on my shoulders look like the witch mark in the book.

I read to Brodie as I promised the previous night. We went through the entire book of short stories and I wasn't surprised to see the depressing reoccurring themes of financial inequality, broken hearts and dampened prides. Brodie's favourite was 'The Devoted Friend' but I had to sigh at the predictability of the fictional character Hans' death. The poor boy shouldn't have to be subjected to this kind of ruthlessness all the time.

I still owe him a story of my own, and I'm still trying to conjure one up that would both entertain and charm him. So far all I have are the sad backstories and a lack of proper ending and he doesn't deserve that.

"Are you ready?" I ask Amon quietly. We're supposed to be moving on today, heading up to Leith. There were drawings of docks in the farmhouse so I figure north is a good way to head, but my heart drops if I think too hard about it because what are the chances we'll actually find who we're looking for, especially being up against a witch?

"I have to ask the innkeeper to refill these." He waves around the empty water bottles without looking at me.

"Amon," I say. It feels weird to speak his name; it's not something I often do unless I'm feeling a particularly strong way about a subject. He's aware of this at least subconsciously so when he turns to look at me, he gives me his undivided attention. "It's just," I start, struggling, "how long should we keep running before we address the elephant in the room?"

It's true that Brodie is really the only reason we have to run at all. If he were as invisible as I constantly am, or at least as Amon tries so hard to regularly be, we wouldn't have to go anywhere at all. We could live in a stationary place, or go our separate ways; whatever is appropriate. I would feel relieved knowing I've helped to save someone's life, even if the cost is high, and Amon wouldn't have to worry about murdering his nephew - it seems like a win-win. In fact, it would be a victory good enough to last a lifetime.

"One of the biggest reasons I didn't want to see you go," he replies, "is because you had every reason to abandon us. If you made it out on your own, you could have lived a long, free life." He puts the water bottles down on the sink. The taps don't work; we've been washing our hands and faces in the buckets by the unused bathtub. There's mould growing in the plug-holes. "But you chose to come back. You chose to help us." His eyes make my own eyes burn, perhaps with tears. "I don't entirely know why."

How am I supposed to begin to explain that he and his nephew have inexplicably become the centre of my whole life - and not just because they've been my closest companions but because I would die for them? I have my one greatest reason to loathe the Gods, the Goddess, the witch I went to school with, whatever 'higher power' there really is, and that's because divinity threatens the people I care about.

"But I do know something," he continues. Brodie is lying in the twin bed in the main room of our little flat and I'm not sure if he's listening by proximity or if he's used to tuning us out. "I can see a future for us now - all of us, whether together or apart. And because you're going to help us get there, I think we should find your mother first. Cross each bridge as we come to it." He tries to smile. "So don't worry, Cali. We'll be alright."

There's no reason why he would make up a sentimental speech for no reason or, indeed, lie, but something doesn't sit right with me. I reckon it's the fact that he can't see into the future anymore than I can, and we're going against a force far above any natural thing we've known to be true before - and it's petrifying. However, I appreciate any comfort he'll try to offer.