Chapter 2 #3
“Not for the bed, though oh, I ache for you. Every day, every night. I need your sword, I need you by my side. Cabhan attacked today.”
Daithi sprang up, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Are you hurt? The children?”
“No, no. But nearly. He grows stronger, and I weaker. I fear I can’t hold him.”
“There is none stronger than you. He will never touch the Dark Witch.”
Her heart broke at his faith in her, for she could no longer earn it. “I’m not well.”
“What is this?”
“I didn’t wish to burden you, and . . . no, my pride. I valued it too much, but now I cast it away. I fear what comes, Daithi. I fear him. I cannot hold him without you. For our children, for our lives, come home.”
“I will ride tonight. I will bring men with me, and ride for home.”
“At first light. Wait for the light, for the dark is his. And be swift.”
“Two days. I will be home with you in two days. And Cabhan will know the bite of my sword. I swear it.”
“I will watch for you, and wait for you. I am yours in this life and all that come.”
“Heal, my witch.” He brought her hands to his lips. “It’s all I will ever ask of you.”
“Come home, and I will heal.”
“Two days.”
“Two days.” She kissed him, holding tight and close. And carried the kiss with her as she flew back over the mirror of the moon and the green hills.
She came back into her body, tired, so tired, but stronger as well. The magick between them flowed rich, flowed true.
Two days, she thought, and closed her eyes. While he rode to her she would rest, she would let the magick build again. Keep the children close, draw in the light.
She slept again; she dreamed again.
And saw in her dream he didn’t wait for the light. He mounted in the moonlight, under the cold stars. His face was fierce as his horse danced over the hard ground.
His horse lunged forward, far outpacing the mounts of the three men who rode with him.
Using the moonlight and the stars, Daithi rode for home, for his family, for his woman. For the Dark Witch he loved more than his life.
When the wolf leaped out of the dark, he barely had time to clear his sword from its sheath. Daithi struck out, but cut through only air as the horse reared. Fog rose like gray walls, trapping him, blocking his men.
He fought, but the wolf sprang over the blade, time after time, snapping out with its jaws, swiping viciously with claws only to vanish into the fog. Only to charge out from it again.
She flew to reach him, soaring over those hills again, across the water.
She knew when those jaws tore, knew when the blood spilled from his heart—from hers. Her tears fell like rain, washing away the fog. Crying his name, she dropped to the ground beside him.
She tried her strongest spell, her most powerful charm, but his heart would not beat again.
As she clasped Daithi’s hand in hers, cried to the goddess for mercy, she heard the wolf laugh in the dark.
* * *
brANNAUGH SHIVERED IN SLEEP. DREAMS STALKED HER, FULL of blood and snarls and death. She struggled to outpace them, to break free. She wanted her mother, wanted her father, wanted the sun and warmth of spring.
But clouds and cold covered her. The wolf stepped out of the fog and into her path. And its fangs dripped red and wet.
On a muffled cry she shoved up on her pallet and clutched her amulet. Curling her knees up, she hugged them hard, swiped her teary face against her thighs to dry them. She wasn’t a babe to weep over bad dreams.
It was past time to wake Eamon, and then hope to sleep more calmly in her own cot.
She turned her head first to check on her mother, and saw the chair empty. Knuckling her eyes, she called softly for her mother as she started to rise.
And she saw Sorcha lying on the floor between the fire and the loft ladder, still as death.
“Ma! Ma!” Terror seized her as she sprang over to drop at her mother’s side. Hands shaking, she turned Sorcha over to cradle her mother’s head in her lap. Saying her name over and over like a chant.
Too white, too still, too cold. Rocking, Brannaugh acted without thought or plan.
When the heat surged through her, she poured it into her mother.
Those shaking hands pressed hard, hard on Sorcha’s heart as her own head fell back, as her eyes glazed and fixed.
The black smoke of them pulled for the light and shot arrows of it into her mother.
The heat poured out, the cold poured in, until shuddering, she slumped forward. Sky and sea revolved; light and dark swirled. Pain such as she’d never known sliced through her belly, stabbed into her heart.
Then was gone, leaving only exhaustion.
From somewhere far away, she heard her hound baying.
“No more, no more.” Sorcha’s voice croaked out, harsh and weak. “Stop. Brannaugh, you must stop.”
“You need more. I will find more.”
“No. Do as I say. Quiet breaths, quiet mind, quiet heart. Breath, mind, heart.”
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Eamon came flying down the ladder. “Ma!”
“I found her. Help me, help me get her to bed.”
“No, not bed. No time for it,” Sorcha said. “Eamon, let Kathel in, and wake Teagan.”
“She’s waked, she’s here.”
“Ah, there’s my baby. Not to fret.”
“There’s blood. Your hands have blood.”
“Aye.” Burying her grief, Sorcha stared at her hands. “’Tisn’t mine.”
“Fetch a cloth, Teagan, and we’ll wash her.”
“No, not a cloth. The cauldron. Fetch my candles, and book, and the salt. All the salt we have. Build up the fire, Eamon, and Brannaugh make my tea—make it strong.”
“I will.”
“Teagan, be a good girl now and pack up what food we have.”
“Are we going on a journey?”
“A journey, aye. Feed the stock, Eamon—aye, it’s early yet, but feed them and well, pack all the oats you can for Alastar.”
She took the cup from Brannaugh, drank deep, drank all.
“Now, go pack your things, your clothes, blankets. You’ll take the sword, the dagger, all the coin, the jewels my granny left me.
All that she left me. All, Brannaugh. Leave nothing of value.
Pack it all, and be quick. Quick!” she snapped, and had Brannaugh dashing away.
Time, the Dark Witch thought, it came, it went. And now she had so little left. But enough. She would make it enough.
She sat quiet while her children did her bidding. And built her strength, amassed her power.
When Brannaugh came down, Sorcha stood straight and tall. Her skin held warmth and color, her eyes focus and energy.
“You’re well!”
“No, my darling, well I’m not, nor will be again.
” She held up a hand before Brannaugh could speak.
“But strong is what I am, for this time and for this need. I will do what I must, and so will you.” She looked to her son, her baby girl.
“So will all of you. Before the sun rises, you will go. You will keep to the woods, go south. Do not use the road until you are well away. Find my cousin Ailish, the Clann O’Dwyer, and tell her the tale. She will do what she can.”
“We will all go.”
“No, Eamon. I will bide here. You must be strong and brave, protect your sisters, and they protect you. I would not survive the journey.”
“I will make you well,” Brannaugh insisted.
“’Tis beyond you. ’Tis meant. But I do not leave you alone or helpless. What I am, what I have will live in you. One day you will come back, for this is home, and home is the source. I cannot give you your innocence, but I will give you power.
“Stand with me, for you are my heart and soul, my blood and bone. You are my all. And now I cast the circle, and no dark shall enter.”
Flame circled the floor and, at the flick of her hand, leapt under the cauldron. Looking down at her hands again, she sighed once, then stepped forward.
“This is your father’s blood.” She opened her hands over the cauldron, and the blood poured.
“And these are my tears, and yours. He rode to protect us, rode home as I asked him. A trap, set by Cabhan, using my fear, my weakness. He took your father’s life, as he will take mine.
The life, but not the spirit, not the power. ”
She knelt, enfolded her weeping children. “I would comfort you in every moment I have left, but there is no time for grieving. Remember him who made you, who loved you, and know I go to be with him, and watch over you.”
“Don’t send us away.” Teagan sobbed on her mother’s shoulder. “I want to stay with you. I want Da.”
“You’ll take the light in me with you. I will always be with you.
” With hands now clean and white, Sorcha brushed tears from her daughter’s cheek.
“You, my bright light, my hope. You, my brave son.” She kissed Eamon’s fingers.
“My heart. And you, my steady, searching one.” She cupped Brannaugh’s face.
“My strength. Carry me with you. And now, we work this spell together. Stand with me! Say as I say, do as I do.”
She held out her hands.
“With blood and tears we spill our fears.” She waved a hand over the cauldron, and the liquid within began to stir.
“A pinch of salt times four to close and bolt the door. Weeds to bind, berries to blind. My children he will not see, and they will live safe and free. Pretty petals tinged with hate, scented sweet and so to bait. Boil it all in fire and smoke, and on this potion Cabhan chokes. When I call he comes to me, as I will, so mote it be.”
The light flashed so all in the circle burned with it.
She called on Hecate, on Brighid, on Morrigan and Babd Catha, summoning the strength and power of the goddesses. The air quaked, seemed to split and crack. It rang with voices as Sorcha stood, arms high in both prayer and demand.
The smoke turned red as blood, fogged the room. Then, as if in a whirlpool, sucked back into the cauldron.
Eyes bright, Sorcha poured the potion into a vessel, sealed it, slid it into her pocket.
“Mother,” Brannaugh breathed.