Chapter 2 #2
“They’ll be fine, my word on it,” Ailish said as she poured out tea. “He’s a good lad, is Conall—one you helped bring into the world. We’ll let the men see to the horses and that, and you’ll both take your ease awhile.”
“Praise be.” Brannaugh sipped the tea, let it and the fire warm her, soothe her. “I’m sitting in a chair that’s not moving.”
“Eat. You’ve another in you who needs the food as well.”
“I’m starving all the day and half the night. Teagan’s not as hungry—yet. But she will be.”
“Oh, are you carrying?” Delight glowed on her face as Ailish stopped her fussing with tea, laid her hands over her own heart.
“My sweet little Teagan, to be a mother. The years, where do they go? You were but a babe yourself. Will you stay? Will you stay until your time comes?” she asked Brannaugh.
“It’s still a distance to Mayo, and you’re close. I can see you’re close.”
“A day or two only, and so grateful for it. The babe will be born in Mayo. It’s meant. It’s what must be.”
“Must it?” Ailish gripped Brannaugh’s hand, then Teagan’s in turn. “Must it? You’ve made your lives in Clare. You’re women, mothers. Must you go back to the dark that waits?”
“We’re women, and mothers, and more. We can turn our back on none of it. But don’t fret, cousin. Don’t think of it. We have today, with tea and cakes and family.”
“We will come back again.” When they looked at her, Teagan pressed a hand to her heart. “I feel it so strong. We will come back again. Believe that. Believe in us. I think faith only makes us stronger.”
“If that’s so, you’ll have all of mine.”
They had music and feasting and family. And for a night and a day peace. Still Brannaugh found herself restless. Though her man slept in the bed Ailish had provided them, she sat by the fire.
Ailish came in, wearing her night-robes and a thick shawl.
“You need some of the tea you always made for me when I was so close to the end, and the babe so heavy in me I couldn’t sleep.”
“I look for her in the fire and smoke,” Brannaugh murmured. “I can’t help the looking, I miss her so. More as we near home. I miss my father; it’s an ache. But my mother is a kind of grieving that won’t end.”
“I know it.” Ailish sat beside her. “Does she come to you?”
“In dreams. There are moments, but only moments. I long to hear her voice, to have her tell me I’m doing right. That I’m doing what she’d want of me.”
“Oh, my love, you are. You are. Do you remember the day you left us?”
“I do. I hurt you by leaving.”
“Leaving always hurts, but it was what was right—I’ve come to know it.
Before you left you told me of Lughaidh, the babe I carried.
You said he must be the last, for neither I nor a babe would live through another birthing.
And you gave me a potion to drink, every moon until the bottle was empty.
So there would be no more children for me. It grieved me.”
“I know.” And knew it more poignantly now that she had her own children. “You are the best of mothers, and were one to me.”
“I would not have lived to see my children grown, to see my oldest girl ripe with her own child. To see, as you told me, Lughaidh, so bright and sweet, with a voice—as you said—like an angel.”
Nodding, Ailish studied the fire in turn, as if seeing that day again in the smoke and flame.
“You laid protection over me and mine, gave me the years I might not have had. You are what she would want. Even as it grieves me that you will go, you will face Cabhan, I know you must. Never doubt she is proud of you. Never doubt, Brannaugh.”
“You comfort me, Ailish.”
“I will have faith, as Teagan asked. Every night I will light a candle. I will light it with the little magick I have so that it shines for you, for Teagan, for Eamon.”
“I know you fear the power.”
“It’s my blood as well. You are mine as you were hers. This I will do, every sunset, and in the small light I’ll put my faith. Know it burns for you and yours. Know that, and be safe.”
“We will come back. In that I will have faith. We will come back, and you will hold the child now inside me.”
· · ·
THEY JOURNEYED ON, WITH A LITTLE SPOTTED PUP GIVEN the children with much ceremony, and with promises for a longer visit when they returned.
The air grew colder, the wind brisk.
More than once she heard Cabhan’s voice, sly and seductive, trailing on that wind.
I wait.
She would see Teagan look out over the hills, or Eamon rubbing his fingers over his pendant—and know they heard as well.
When the hawk veered off, and Alastar strained to follow, Kathel leaped out of the wagon, trotted off on a fork in the road.
“It’s not the way.” Eoghan pulled his horse up by the wagon. “We would make Ashford by tomorrow, but that is not the way.”
“No, not the way to Ashford, but the way we must go. Trust the guides, Eoghan. There’s something we must do first. I feel it.”
Eamon drew up on the other side. “Near home,” he said. “All but near enough to taste. But we’re called.”
“Aye, we’re called. So we answer.” She reached out, touched her husband’s arm. “We must.”
“Then we will.”
She didn’t know the way, yet she did. With her mind linked with the hound’s she knew the road, the turns, the hills. And oh, she felt him reaching out, that darkness, hungry and eager to take what she was, and more.
The hazy sun slid down toward the western hills, but still they rode. Her back ached from the hours in the wagon, and a thirst rose up in her. But they rode.
She saw the shadow of it in the oncoming dark—the rise of it with fields around. A place of worship, she thought, she could feel that.
And a place of power.
She stopped the wagon, breathed the air.
“He can’t get through. It’s too strong for him to push through.”
“Something here,” Eamon murmured.
“Something bright,” Teagan said. “Strong and bright. And old.”
“Before us.” Grateful for the help, Brannaugh let her husband lift her from the wagon. “Before our mother. Before any time we know.”
“A church.” Gealbhan reached up to lift Teagan from the saddle. “But no one’s here.”
“They’re here.” Weary, Teagan leaned against him. “Those who came before us, those who sanctified this ground. They will not let him pass. This is a holy place.”
“Tonight, this is ours.” Brannaugh stepped forward, lifted her hands.
“Gods of light, goddesses bright, we call to you across the night. By the power you have given, by the purpose we are driven, we seek your blessing. A night within your walls before whatever fates befall, this respite, this resting. We are Sorcha’s three.
Dark witches come to thee. By thy will, so mote it be. ”
Light bloomed like sun, shining through the windows, the doors that opened with a wind like breath. And warmth poured out.
“We are welcome here.” Smiling, she lifted her daughter, and all the fatigue from the long journey fell away. “We are welcome.”
Brannaugh settled the children to sleep on pallets she made on the floor of the church. And was grateful to find both of them too weary to whine or argue, for her momentary energy already flagged.
“Do you hear them?” Eamon whispered.
“Even I hear them.” Eoghan scanned the church, the stone walls, the wooden seats. “They sing.”
“Aye.” Gealbhan picked up the pup to soothe it. “Soft, lovely. As angels or gods might sing. This is a holy place.”
“It offers more than sanctuary for the night.” A hand pressed to her back, Brannaugh rose. “It offers the blessing, and the light. We were called by those who’ve come before us, to this place, on this night.”
Teagan touched her fingers lightly, reverently, to the altar. “Built by a king for a kindness given. A promise kept. Built here near a pilgrim’s walk. This abbey called Ballintubber.”
She lifted her hands, smiled. “This much I see.” She turned to her husband. “Aye, this is a holy place, and we’ll seek the blessing of those who called us.”
“Like the king,” Brannaugh said, “we have a promise to keep. Eoghan, my love, would you fetch me my mother’s book?”
“I will, aye—if you will sit. Just sit, Brannaugh. You’re too pale.”
“I’m weary, in truth, but I promise you this must be done, and we will all be better for it. Teagan—”
“I know what we need. I’ll—”
“Sit,” her brother insisted. “I’ll get what we need, and the both of you will take your ease for a moment. Gealbhan, I swear by the gods, sit on the pair of them if they don’t rest for a bit.”
Gealbhan had only to touch his wife’s cheek, to take Brannaugh’s hand to have them heed. “What must be done?” he asked Teagan.
“An offering. An asking. A gathering. He cannot come here. Cabhan cannot come here, or see here. Here he has no power. And here, we can gather ours together.”
“What do you need?”
“You are the best of us.” She kissed his cheek. “If you would help Eamon, I promise you Brannaugh and I will bide here, will rest.”
When he’d gone, she turned quickly to Brannaugh. “You have pain.”
“It’s not the birthing pains. You’ll learn the babe often gives you a bit of a taste of what’s coming. This will pass. But the rest is welcome. What we will do here will take strength.”
They took an hour, to rest, to prepare.
“We must cast the circle,” she told Eoghan, “and make the offering. Do not fear for me.”
“Would you ask me not to breathe?”
“It is your love, your faith, and Gealbhan’s with yours we need.”
“Then you have it.”
They cast the circle, and the cauldron floated over the fire they made. Water flowed from Teagan’s hands into the cauldron. Brannaugh added herbs, Eamon crushed stones.
“These come from the home we made.”
“And these.” Teagan opened a pouch, poured in the precious. “From the home we seek. Small things, a dried flower, a pebble, a bit of bark.”
“More than gold or silver treasured. We offer to you. Here, a lock of hair from my firstborn.”
“A feather from my guide.” Eamon added it to the now bubbling cauldron.
“This charm my mother made me.”
“Ah, Teagan,” Brannaugh murmured.
“She would wish it.” Teagan added it to the offering.
“To you we give what we hold dear, and add to them this witch’s tear. And seal with blood this brew to show our hearts are true.”
And each with a sacred knife offered their blood, and with it the bubbling cauldron boiled and smoked.
“Father, mother, blood of our blood and bone of our bone, we orphans have faith forever shown. Grant us here in this holy place, in this holy hour the might and right of your power. With your gift we cannot fail and over Cabhan will prevail. Imbue us now, we witches three. As we will, so mote it be.”
The wind had stirred inside the walls. The candlelight gone brilliant. But at the final words the three spoke together, the wind whirled, the light flashed.
The voices that had murmured, rang out.
With her siblings Brannaugh clasped hands, with them she dropped to her knees.
It ripped through her, the light, the voices, the wind. And the power.
Then came silence.
She rose again, and with Teagan and Eamon turned.
“You were alight,” Eoghan said in wonder. “Like candles yourselves.”
“We are the three.” Teagan’s voice rose and echoed in the humming silence. “But there are many. Many before us, many who come after.”
“Their light is ours; ours is theirs.” Eamon lifted his arms, his sisters’ high. “We are the three, and we are one.”
Filled with light, fatigue vanished, suffused, Brannaugh smiled. “We are the three. We cast our light over the dark, we seek it out of its shadows. And we will prevail.”
“By our blood,” they said together, “we will prevail.”
· · ·
IN THE MORNING, IN THE SOFT LIGHT OF DAY, THEY SET OUT again.
They traveled the road with green hills rising, with water shining blue under a welcoming sun.
Toward the grand gray stones of Ashford they rode, where the gates were open for them, the bridge drawn down, and the sun shined bright over the water, over the land of their birth.
And so Sorcha’s children came home.