Page 60 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

“Then why show it to me?”

Harold points to the page. “Because it will help you. You say she cannae be killed? My granda didnae believe it, and neither do I.”

I force myself to focus on his words, though my thoughts are still tangled. “The Cutter herself said⁠—”

“And does the Cutter always tell the truth?”

His question hangs between us for a moment, heavy as a stone, then falls. The first drop of rain landing on a loch’s surface, ripples spreading outward.

Does she?

She sent me here to kill the Washwoman, knowing it’s impossible. If even she cannae kill her, how does she expect me to?

Harold must see the change in my expression.

“You see it. Don’t you? Magic isn’t absolute. Power doesn’t work like that. You can extend a life, but every spell, every curse, must have a way to break it. There is no true immortality.”

I freeze. Immortality. The words in the journal finally register in my mind. Those with the immortality dàn cannot die by conventional means, but the runes themselves are vulnerable.

“Is that why she cannae die? Because she has an immortality dàn?” I ask.

Harold nods, and my chest tightens. “If that’s true, why would the Cutter not have told me about it?”

His eyes flash with pity, and it fills me with rage. I am a Dìdeanair of the highest order. A warrior who has earned his magic. And yet, he looks at me as if I’ve been wearing a blindfold my entire life.

“Who gifts our dàn to us, Brennen? Tell me,” he says, like I’m a child. I want to leave. To demand respect, but something in his tone pulls at the strings of my mind. Harold’s line of thinking makes sense.

My eyes flick to his dedication dàn. “The Fates.”

“But it doesn’t take all three of them, does it?”

I swallow instead of answering. I don’t have to. I know where he’s going with this.

“The Weaver spins our threads, and the Measurer decides how long our lives will be. But it’s the Cutter who ends our lives at the time of her sister’s choosing.” He pauses, watching my expression.

I dinnae answer him, but he doesnae back down from my stare. “Are you hearing me, lad?” The word makes me feel three feet tall. “The Cutter cannae cut what her sisters do not measure and weave.”

His words fill the small cabin, a pressure building in my skull. What he’s saying makes sense. If the Weaver or the Measurer gave Bea a dàn that makes her un-killable, it could be why the Cutter’s attempts failed. Why Harold's grandfather's attempts failed.

“But why? Why would they do that? Why hide it from Cailleach?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? The Fates are the only ones who can give dàn, but they’re also the only ones who can take them away. The Cutter either doesn’t know about the immortality dàn, or she doesn’t actually want her dead and is lying to you. If you ask me, I think it’s likely you’re just a piece of Cailleach’s game. Figure out her next move, and maybe you can beat her at it.”

I tighten my hands into fists. “You’re getting awfully close to treason, Harold,” I warn, even though he’s already well past it. I could imprison him for life, based on what he’s already shown and told me.

He shakes his head. “I dinnae have to like her to follow her laws. I told you. I’m an honest man, and I’ve spun it round in my mind a hundred times. There is no higher power than the Fates, other than the Goddesses. But we all know they dinnae care about us anymore.” He meets my eyes. “The only answer is that one of the Fates made her immortal. All magic can be undone. There has to be a way to kill her.” He taps the book. “This might help you figure out how to do it.”

I stand still, my jaw tight and my mind spinning. I have no doubt the Cutter wants the Washwoman dead. It was clear as glass, her hatred for the lass.

Could it be the Weaver then? The Measurer, somehow overruling the Cutter’s powers? The two of them together perhaps… I grip the book tighter. I shouldn’t take it. It will only offer me trouble.

Or, it will help me discover the truth.

“It’s all in there, Brennen. A list of every way they tried to kill her.”

My stomach churns. “Does that not prove she cannae be killed?”

“It only proves no one has tried the right method,” he says. “You know I’m right. Take the book, and find a way to end this. Dinnae let her hurt anyone else.”