3. ÉIRE 9th Century #7
“ Your Aodhán?! He has been my Aeneas for nearly a thousand years and will remain the other half of my heart and soul until the end of time. God or no god, I will not listen to lies.
“And though I mean no disrespect, you are no god of mine, Cernunnos. As you stated, I am a child of Hecate and blessed with her favour. I have encountered immortals before, and though I know I cannot match your power, I will never cede my life to anyone, mortal or god, without a fight. I will not go into death easily.”
“You misunderstand my intentions,” the Horned God stated without a shred of emotion in his tone or showing upon his countenance.
“I have no interest in you. I hold no concern for your fate, whether you thrive or perish, but my heart swells with deep affection for my disciple, the beautiful and gifted Aodhán.
He who has captured my favour and holds a cherished place in the heart of the Goddess.
“Your moment of weakness, Roma witch, when you opened your mind and showed Aodhán glimpses of his past lives and origin as Aeneas, has doomed him. You know the price of forcing a remembrance. You may awaken his soul, your connection, but not his memories, not without a terrible price paid.”
“How do you know what I can and cannot do with my Aeneas?” the Romani witch shot back. “Who are you to interfere in our destiny?! Aodhán may be your disciple, but Aeneas was of an Egyptian religion, a follower of their ancient, mysterious gods, and—”
“That matters not!” the Horned God boldly interrupted. “I am speaking of Aodhán, the flesh-and-blood man who dwells in my heart and is the pride of my followers. I care not for you or the long-dead Aeneas, whose soul may reside within my disciple but is not bound to any specific set of gods.
“Instead, that spirit is connected only to the Wheel of Destiny, that arcane, timeless power transcending all faiths and godly pantheons. It shapes the fates and destinies of countless divine and mortal individuals. And it has a firm grip on Aeneas. What happens to his soul affects the mind and body housing it. You abused Hecate’s gift, and so I was forced to step in to avert disaster. ”
“You speak in riddles, Horned God,” the Romani witch exclaimed, his voice laced with defiance as he glowered at him.
“I have done nothing to endanger myself or Aodhán. Like so many I have encountered over the centuries, you are a trickster god, playing with the hearts of good people to quench your immortal boredom.”
The Horned God’s mouth curled into a sneer of irritation, his piercing red eyes narrowing slightly as he restrained his anger, his surge of frustration.
The air around him crackled, and the earth rumbled, for the environment mirrored his barely contained outrage.
Still, he maintained a composed exterior, keeping his temper in check despite the provocation.
In place of the Horned God reacting in anger, the stag stomped its hoof, the boar snarled, and the serpent hissed, for Cernunnos’ irritation would still be heard.
“Foolish, arrogant witch! I am well acquainted with your goddess, the great and wondrous Hecate, for she travels far and wide from the Southlands when she wishes.
She is worshipped in many places and by many names.
Know that I have recently spoken with her.
But I shall start at the beginning, one year past, when I first felt a disturbance within my sphere of influence—when you opened your mind to Aodhán.
“Seeking an answer to a conundrum that I could not uncover myself, I went before the Goddess regarding this unrelenting feeling of chaos suddenly surrounding one of our disciples. With a heavy sadness about her, she showed me your and Aeneas’ past. I learned how Hecate intervened on your behalf and what your transgression now meant for our most favoured adherent, Aodhán, because you were weak and disregarded the ordinances of your entwined fates.
“Did you think you were spared the punishment you know I speak about because you believe you acted quickly to shutter your thoughts and memories? Little fool! I have been holding Aodhán’s mind together for the last year!
My power has staved off your blasted curse, but no more.
As I stated, I have been visited by Hecate, who warned me that the Wheel of Destiny will soon seek to strike out at me for my meddling.
“If it cannot shatter Aodhán’s mind, the madness will surge forth from him like a dark tide, spreading its insidiousness to all who come into contact with him. Neither the Goddess nor I will tolerate a throng of deranged followers, enslaved by a chaos meant for one alone.
“And so, upon the witching hour, I will arrest my shielding of Aodhán’s mind from the Wheel’s punishment, though it cleaves my heart in two to do this. Our beloved Aodhán is doomed, though I cannot help but think it is you, witch of the Roma, who should bear the weight of this curse alone!”
The Romani witch inhaled sharply, his breath catching in his throat as shock and disbelief washed over him. He had been so sure, so confident that he had successfully retracted his memories of Aeneas from Aodhán, erasing any traces that might inflict harm.
And why would he not believe this? After all, a full year had passed without incident.
Throughout that time, his beloved had exhibited no signs of mental turmoil, no lingering hints of confusion nor the dread spectre of madness lurking behind his eyes.
Each day had unfolded as a testament to his conviction, painting a serene portrait of clarity and composure in Aodhán’s demeanour.
But the Romani witch now wondered if the Horned God spoke true. Was it all a deception? Was Aodhán’s mind constantly on the verge of collapse, held together only by the power of a god? And now this divine strength, once a source of necessary support, was soon to disappear.
No, he refused to believe the words, thoughts, or visions of any god other than Hecate, Gian, or the Great Mother. He would not play the fool.
“No, this cannot be. You seek to trick me, to break me! You desire my departure from this land, leaving Aodhán for yourself alone. No, I will not fall into your jealous entrapment. Leave us alone and return to your Otherworld, Horned God.”
Feeling no unseen force anchoring him, the Romani witch pivoted smoothly on his heel. His heart raced with urgency, pounding steadily against his chest as he set his sights on the path that led back to Aodhán.
In his mind’s eye, he vividly pictured enveloping him in a fierce embrace, their souls intertwining, like their bodies, in a sacred shared moment.
The very thought of holding him close, feeling the warmth of his body, naked or robed, against his own, filled him with deep comfort.
He needed their connection now more than ever, to draw strength from it amid the turmoil he silently feared might still rear its ugly head.
“Do you know the Spell of Footprints, witch of the Roma?”
The Romani witch abruptly halted and turned back to face the Horned God, who remained seated on the forest floor, his red eyes still like twin embers, glowing with an otherworldly brightness to pierce through the thick, shadowy darkness of the woods.
Why he turned back remained a puzzle to the Romani witch.
Curiosity? Anger? Perhaps arrogance? Maybe he wished to reveal to the Horned God that he was quite adept at spellcraft, having memorized hundreds of spells over centuries of study.
“Yes, I know it, but I will not play your games. Go away and vex one of your precious Celtae witches.”
The Horned God smirked, disregarding the disrespect. “If you refuse to believe me, I have just provided you with a way to uncover the truth for yourself. You claim to be familiar with the Spell of Footprints. Good, then perform it tonight. All will be revealed tomorrow.
“You know this grim foretelling requires ashes from a fire. Upon the fire’s extinguishing, rake the ashes and sprinkle them onto the hearth.
Go to bed, and the following morning, check the ashes.
If there is a footprint in the ash, the person whose foot fits that ghostly print, and it will belong only to one who dwells within the residence, is not long for this world.
“Are you concerned about this spell’s effectiveness? It is not of my creation, not of my magic, so I cannot influence its outcome. Carry out this spell tonight, witch of the Roma, and see if my words prove true.”
As a tempestuous wind howled and flung leaves into a frenetic, swirling dance around the Romani witch, the majestic figure of the Horned God and all the animals he controlled vanished before his eyes, engulfed by the untamed embrace of nature’s wild spirit.
As he slowly made his way back to the flickering bonfire, the warm glow still illuminating the night, the Romani witch watched the Celtae witches slip back into their flowing robes.
Their revelry of dancing and chanting around the bonfire had ended; this part of the Rite of Samhain was now complete.
His eyes scanned the gathering, seeking out Aodhán amidst the soft murmurs and laughter of the jubilant mystics.
And they were the only ones in the surrounding area who felt this way, for the Romani witch was beside himself with misery.
“Why do you look so forlorn, my love?” Aodhán asked as he emerged from the shadows, worry etched on his brow.
Fully dressed, he wrapped his muscular arms around his heart-mate and held him close.
“Are you upset because you could not participate? Or is it seeing our strange ways up close? I know that nudity is not a part of your traditions, so I hope that revealing aspect of our ritual has not upset you. I did warn you that it would be a part of this.”