“Oh, Goddess, look at her!” Kyra laughed with me. “She’s a sorry sight.” “From what I know of her, she quite deserves it,” Falkner said. “I never thought I’d see the likes of her yelping about.”
“Indeed,” I said as Siobhan continued to hop around, pulling burrs from her clothes and hair. “At
least this should stop her from sending more spells my way.” And, I thought, perhaps it will keep her away from Diarmuid, too!
“Oh, dear,” Kyra said, her hand flying to her mouth. “She sees us! She’s coming this way.” I arose and stood tall, not afraid of this petty Vykrothe whore. “It’s you!” Siobhan yelped, stomping toward me. “This is your magick, is it not?” “Aye, though I must admit, I had to practice restraint,” I said. “It’s far less than you deserve.” “Blast you all!” Siobhan said, raising a fist in the air. “I’ll curse you and your families, too!” She was quite a sight, her blond hair matted and tangled like so many rough cuttings of dirty wool. She moved without grace, as if every turn pained her. ’Twas satisfying indeed.
“Easy!” Falkner stepped toward her and gently touched her shoulder. “Easy, now! You rail like a savage beast. Perhaps you’re in need of soothing!” “Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, stepping away from him. “I’ll have you know that I’m betrothed, and you must mind your hands.” Falkner lifted his hands defensively. “I apologize! I was just trying to help.” “Take your leave, all of you!” Siobhan cried as she turned back to the cottage. “Begone, you and your vicious spells.”
“Likewise to any witch who would summon frogs from the pond,” I called to her. As Siobhan slammed into the cottage, I turned to my friends. “That was worth waiting for, and you’ll be back to your da’s shop in no time,” I told Falkner. “But wait!” he said mysteriously. He held out one hand as if he were cradling an invisible tool. “What’s this?” Kyra said. “More magick?” He smiled. “When I touched Siobhan’s shoulder, I managed to extract a valuable item—a strand of her hair.” He waved his closed fingers before me, and I saw it—a thin line of gold. I was most impressed. All this time I had thought Falkner a bit dim-witted, but perhaps he had simply been keeping his thoughts to himself. In any case, I had to admire his foresight in stealing something that could prove quite valuable—especially if I needed to cast another spell against Siobhan. “Thank you,” I said, sweeping the golden hair from his hand and tucking it into a tiny pouch from my pocket.
Kyra brushed off her skirts as we headed back toward the center of Lillipool. “That was amusing indeed, though I think Siobhan is a waste of your time and power,” she told me. “You need to go directly to Diarmuid. Speak to him. The true power is with him, not that silly girl.” “I do believe you are right,” I said as we walked along. “And I shall go to him tonight when he has returned from the fields. The Goddess will give him the strength to defy his name and clan. I know it to be our destiny.”
I could not wait for the evening.
Spelling a Death Drink with Dark Powers
Falkner delivered me to the path to Ma’s cottage, and I waved good-bye to my friends with a firm resolution to work things out before nightfall. But as I neared the clearing, I noticed a group of coveners lingering outside our cottage. Panic ran cold within me. Something was wrong. Their expressions were somber as I ran up to them.
“What is it?” I called breathlessly. “What’s happened?”
“’Tis your ma,” Ian MacGreavy answered. He came to me and took my hand. “She’s been hurt, Rose.”
Gripped with fear, I broke loose from him and pushed past the others into the cottage. A few women from the coven were huddled around Ma’s bed, stroking her hair and speaking in hushed tones. As I pressed closer, I saw Ma lying there, her eyes open but glazed. A pool of blood stained the blanket beneath her.
“Ma!” I knelt beside her, taking her hand. “What happened?” Her face was a mask of pain, and from the look in her eyes I could see she was not completely in this world.
“She cannot speak,” one of the elders told me. Mrs. Hazelton put her hand on my shoulder. “Seems that a stray hunter’s arrow hit your ma. She was just leaving my cottage, having delivered a salve for my husband’s breathing. She went down so fast! The huntsman never came forward, but I did hear his arrow whirring amid the tree.” “I’ll wager it was an arrow from a rival clan,” Aislinn said, her face pinched with anger. “A deliberate act of aggression.”
“We don’t know that,” Mrs. Hazelton pointed out. I stood and looked over Ma’s body. The arrow was still in her back. “This must be removed,” I said, wondering how deep it had penetrated. “But the heat in her body is high,” said another elder who went by the name of Norn. She was a shriveled prune of a woman, but I had always been fond of her humor and her spirit. Norn touched Ma’s forehead, clucking her tongue. “ ’Tis dangerous to take the arrow while she is feverish.”
“Then we must take care of her fever.” I pushed back my hair, then went to the basin to wash my hands. If there was ever an occasion that I needed to call upon the magick I had learned, this was it. I handed the broom to Aislinn to sweep the circle, then I went to Ma’s Book of Shadows for remedies. “We need something to bring down the fever, and we must help her sleep. Removing the arrow might cause her great pain—it’s better if she can rest.” I leafed through the book. “I know we can start with chamomile and passionflowers.” “Anise in the tea will help her sleep,” Norn told me. “And rosemary will help the pain.” “Add cayenne to stay the flow of blood,” Mrs. Hazelton said. I nodded as I leafed through the book. Finally I found a remedy for fever. “We’ll need boneset in the tea to lower the fever,” I said, rushing over to the jars and pouches to retrieve the herbs. “Pray Goddess that she’s able to drink this at all!” Norn had already put the kettle on the fire. Working together, we steeped a strong tea for Ma. As it brewed, I went to the altar and consecrated the tea and the comfrey poultice that Norn was preparing. I don’t know what I said in the heated, dreadful moment, only that I summoned the Goddess to heal Her daughter and to work through my hands, and the others chanted, “So mote it be!”
We managed to prop my mother up so that the tea could pass over her lips. Still dazed, she sipped most of the contents. After that, her eyes closed and her breathing slowed. “’Tis working,” Norn said, dousing my mother’s head with a cool cloth. “The fever is lifting.” Thanking the Goddess, I set to work on the arrow. I had to cut the skin a bit with my bolline to remove the barbed head, and as I worked, Ma’s blood ran out steadily. At last the arrow was out, and I dressed the wound with the poultice and covered it with a clean white cloth. “Now . . . she must rest,” Norn said, her own voice cracking with weariness. “As should we.
We’ll know more when she awakens.”
I lifted the plate containing the bloodied dressings and the arrow that I’d removed. Glancing down at the base, I noticed that it was marked with runes. My body went cold as I deciphered their meaning. “Vykrothes . . .” So this was no hunting accident. The arrow was part of a spell cast by Siobhan, I was sure of it. Had not Mrs. Hazelton said that a hunter had never appeared? Surely a hunter would come forward to claim his prized deer or rabbit? No, this was not a normal arrow. It had been spelled by Siobhan. Had she intended to hit me? I couldn’t be sure. But one thing I was sure of: Siobhan had gone too far. She had to be stopped.
“A Vykrothe arrow . . .” Norn gasped.
“What?” Aislinn darted over to my side to study the arrow. “Oh, Goddess, this is truly war! To have our high priestess struck down by another clan!” “It might have been an accident,” Norn pointed out. “Come along now, Aislinn. You get yourself all liverish at every turn, girl!”
“Oh, some accident!” Aislinn exclaimed. “If it were not intended for Síle, why did the huntsman not come forward and state his mistake?” “Quiet, girl!” Mrs. Hazelton hushed her. “You’re loud enough to wake the dead, and Síle must sleep.”
“Sleep, she will,” Aislinn said in a quieter voice. “But when she awake
ns, she will find a changed world. A clan at war! For we cannot sit back and let our priestess be attacked!” “Enough!” Placing a wrinkled hand on Aislinn’s shoulder, Norn led her to the door. “Let us go so Síle can rest. Rose will watch over her.” She ushered Aislinn out, then turned back to me. “You performed some powerful magick today,” she told me softly, her eyes gleaming. “Your ma would be proud.”
I nodded, my lips twisted with pain as the women filed out the door and returned to their own cottages. I closed the door and sighed, alone but for the quiet breathing of my mother in the bed. I cleaned up the bloodied things, dumped the old water, tidied the cottage, nursed Ma’s head with a cool cloth. All the while I felt embittered and frightened. I had brought a Vykrothe arrow upon my mother. It was time for Siobhan to have a taste of her own evil. Listlessly I paged through Ma’s Book of Spells, praying for an answer. Aislinn was right. The Vykrothes deserved a taste of their own dark magick. But where do you begin if you’ve not been trained in the ways of darkness?
I turned to a spell called Death Drink and paused. I had never had much interest in this ritual. It called for a covener who wanted to visit their own mortality to drink a bitter brew. The potion sometimes made them a bit ill, but it was never fatal. As far as I was concerned, this was a tedious mind journey. So what if it led to inner wisdom? But now, in this light, I wondered if I could use the death drink as a spell upon an unwilling victim . . . Siobhan.
I would add a few poisonous ingredients and a dark spell that would send Siobhan to death’s door. She would not die, though she might wish she could. As I doused Ma’s forehead with a cloth, I imagined Siobhan writhing in pain. Oh, I would send her a spell to end her viciousness. “I’ll need bitter ingredients,” I whispered as I combed Ma’s hair back with my fingers. “Cranberries from the bogs. Toadstools. And bitter essence of appleseeds.” Ma sighed contentedly, and I realized her fever had cooled. She slept soundly while I shuffled about the cottage, assembling herbs from our collection. When I was sure she was resting
comfortably, with no sign of fever, I slipped out to consecrate the brew at my sacred circle.
Along the way I found a small wren hiding in the bushes. I paused, my life force pounding in my ears. I had never hurt one of the Goddess’s creatures before, but everyone knew that the blood of a living animal made for potent dark magick. Quietly I knelt beside it, taking a large pouch from my belt. In the blink of an eye I swung the open pouch over the bird, trapping it with such deftness, I felt sure the Goddess intended it. The stars were shrouded by clouds as I reached the clearing. I had expected darkness, with the new moon this eve. I squeezed the nectar from some sweet honeysuckles, thinking that if the potion tasted a bit palatable, Siobhan might drink it all. I added Siobhan’s golden hair from her very own body. And much to my surprise, I barely flinched when it was time to cut the wren’s neck and add its blood to the potion. There . . . the death drink was complete. “Oh, Goddess,” I whispered, “here I do display the chalice of death. Whoever drinks this shall journey to the land of darkness and dwell there until she comes to realize the error of her ways.” I dipped my athame in the chalice, then held the blade up to the sky. “A bitter potion to end a bitter evil!” I said. I placed a cloth over the chalice as drops began to fall from the sky. Cool, cleansing raindrops. From the distant hills came the rumble of thunder—the Goddess’s answer. She had heard me. “So mote it be,” I whispered. The sun rose on a newly cleansed earth. I sat in bed, grateful that Síle was still resting comfortably. I arose and began to wash and dress. It was getting more and more difficult to find a place for my girdle between my belly and my breasts. Soon the world would know I was expecting a child. If all went well, I would have a husband before then. I had just finished eating my breakfast of warm gruel and apples when Norn appeared at the cottage door, bearing a basket of biscuits. “I have come to give you a rest from nursing your ma,” she said, her beady eyes shining in her wrinkled face. “Go forth. You need some fresh air and release.” “Thank you,” I said, taking a cloak to cover my belly and ward off the morning dew. “I have need of some time to commune with the Goddess,” I told her. I started out the door, then turned back to retrieve the pitcher containing the death drink. “Let me not forget the ceremonial wine,” I said.
“It is good that you are working your own spells,” Norn told me. “Your mother must be pleased. Has she told you that you’re likely to be our coven’s next high priestess?” “N-no,” I said, surprised at her words. “But Ma has taught me well.” Norn smiled brightly as I headed down the path, on my way to Siobhan’s cottage. The trip to Lillipool had begun to seem shorter now that I’d traveled this way so oft of late. The sun was still low on the eastern hills when I rounded the hilltop near the heather fields. The MacMahon cottage sat in the sun, a young lad of five or six playing about near the woodpile beyond the house. He had long golden hair that hung to his shoulders and a smudge on his cheek. Probably Siobhan’s younger brother, I wagered as I approached him. Perfect! He was scalping the bark from various tree branches, his own unskilled attempts at carving figurines. When I drew close, he glanced up at me curiously. “Hark!” he said. “Do you come to visit me?”
“I come with a gift for Siobhan,” I said, holding up the pitcher. “But since the hour is so early, I dare not disturb the household. Do you know her?” I asked. “Aye! I am her brother Tysen.” He eyed the pitcher curiously. “But what gift have you there?” “ ’Tis a sweet nectar from her love,” I said. “Siobhan is to drink this first thing upon awakening.” I lowered my voice, adding, “I think perhaps he has put a love spell upon it, hoping to capture
your sister’s heart. Do you know Diarmuid?”
He grinned. “Aye, I know him well. He owes me a ride upon his shoulders.” “I shall remind him of that,” I said. Carefully I handed the pitcher to the boy. “Do you think you can handle a task of this magnitude?”
“Aye.” He smiled proudly, his pale eyes gleaming. “ ’Tis an easy task.” Tysen headed toward the house, and I headed back the way I had come with a new sense of righteousness and balance. Siobhan had struck down my mother, but her evil magick was now cycling back to her.
When I returned to the cottage, Ma was sitting up and eating biscuits with Norn. “Look who’s feeling better,” Norn said, all smiles as she took the kettle of tea off the fire. “That’s some powerful magick you wrought yesterday, Rose. Síle, your daughter is truly blessed by the Goddess.”
“Indeed,” my mother said. “I have always admired her powers. I am fortunate she was at hand yesterday when I was in dire need of them.” I thanked Norn for her help, and she insisted on leaving the biscuits behind. After she departed, Ma moved back to the bed to drink her tea. “What a world of difference,” I told her as I sat at the table. I bit into a biscuit and brushed flour from my fingers. “You look so much better.” “Thanks to you,” she said. “You have come a long way in your magick, Rose.” I smiled. Perhaps Ma finally realized that I’d been working hard to learn the ways of the Goddess.
Ma sipped her tea, then let her head drop back. “But I must say, my mind traveled to some frightening places in my dreams. I saw you concocting a dark spell, inviting in evil, conjuring a potion with the intention to hurt someone. I saw your athame raised to dark thunderclouds and—did it rain last night?”
“I think it did,” I said innocently. The biscuit was now wedged in my throat, and I no longer had the appetite for it. Ma’s insightfulness scared me. It was difficult to fool a high priestess—especially if she was your mother! “Such frightening visions,” Ma said.
Brushing off my hands, I went to my mother’s bedside. “Shall I change the dressing or wait?” “Let it wait,” Ma said, lifting the cloth to show me the wound. “It seems to be healing.” I nodded. “It does look much better. But you should sleep. You need to heal.” “I will, though I fear my sleep will be haunted by more of the same dreams.” “’Twas but a vision of your delirium,” I assured her. “Now that you have no fev
er, your dreams will be gentle.”
Síle smiled. “Advice from my daughter?”
I nodded. “Sage advice.”
Reversing a Spell
While Ma slept, I went down to wash at the brook, trying to think of a way to sneak off and see Diarmuid. I could not abandon Ma in her current state, not for a long period. And although I was grateful that she was healing quickly, my patience was wearing thin.
“You need your da,” I said, rubbing my belly as I waded in the cool shallows.
I would have to give Ma one more day. After that, perhaps I could convince Kyra or Norn to stay with her while I went to fetch the man who would become my husband. Feeling cleansed and refreshed, I headed back to the cottage. When I came upon the main road, I spied Kyra tramping along, a basket on her arm. “I have sweet oat cakes for your ma,” she said, “and dreadful news for you.” She took my hand and pulled me off the road. “Did you cast a spell over Siobhan? Some kind of deadly potion?” “I did.” I squared my shoulders. “After what she did to my mother, I—” “I’m not blaming you,” Kyra interrupted, “but rumor has it that Siobhan’s younger brother has fallen ill. The boy seems to have a sleeping sickness, his breathing slowed to frightening depths, his body racked by convulsions.”
I gasped. “He drank the potion?”
Kyra nodded sadly. “The poor little thing.” I thought of Tysen, carving the bark diligently. The way he had been so proud to bear the pitcher to his sister. I’d had no idea he would drink it himself. But then, he was only a child—perhaps a mischievous one. I should have realized that when I handed him the death drink. I bit my lower lip, wondering if all of the death drink had gone to the wrong person. “And how is Siobhan?” I asked, hoping that she might have had a few sips herself. “In a fury,” Kyra answered. “Siobhan is telling everyone that the potion was spelled, an evil spell cast by you!”
I folded my arms defensively. “The cup was not marked, and no one saw me give it to Tysen.” At least, I didn’t think anyone saw me. “Siobhan will never be able to prove her suspicions,” I said.