by Lily Velez
“I know how much he means to you,” I said, trekking across the grooves in the sand, the ocean tide’s rise and fall like the gentle rhythms of a lullaby. “But taking away other people’s loved ones just to resurrect his own? And intending to use them as a sacrifice to stir a demon he’ll wield as a weapon against hunters and the Sightless alike?”
“Unforgivable,” Jack said, tipping his head back slightly to stare at the stars still glimmering in the sapphire and blush, pre-dawn skies. “His desire for revenge made him lose his way, and he let his anger consume him. He’s done evil things, yes. Terrible things. Monstrous things. But does that make him irredeemable?”
Didn’t it? Connor had easily made his mind up about Seamus. Zoe as well. For them, a trust once betrayed was apparently never gained again. I couldn’t say I disagreed with them. The things people were willing to do gave you a good indication of their character. The Black Hand, for instance, committed unspeakable acts against witches. That definitely made them irredeemable in my eyes. Of course, with that line of thought, Seamus’s plan to destroy every last one of them should’ve been something I easily bought into. It’s just that hunting them down the way they did us—killing them the way they did us—made us no better than them. Was that really the story we wanted to write for ourselves, the one we wanted to pass on to future generations of witches? That to defeat our enemy, we became just like them?
Then again, I knew the situation with Seamus wasn’t black and white for Jack. It never could be. Because though Seamus had betrayed his people and spilled innocent blood, he was also the man who’d taken Jack and his brothers in, who’d tried to be a father to them, who’d tried to protect them even from his own maniacal plan. How did one go about reconciling two completely different versions of the same person? I could see why Jack was conflicted. I stopped and turned to face him. “I know it’ll be hard for you to confront Seamus when the time comes. Right now, I wish more than anything that the Reaper could’ve been anyone else.”
“I appreciate that,” Jack said, his eyes still trained on the stars. He let go of a breath that was so long, it was as if he’d emptied his entire body of air. “When we face him on Samhain, I won’t hesitate to stop him, despite how difficult I know it’ll be. It’s only that this whole situation shows it’s easier to lose ourselves to the darker side of magic than most of us think. We want to believe ourselves immune. We want to believe we would never do wrong. But who knows what we’d be capable of if our mind was no longer our own?”
I thought about the surge of power I’d felt when facing off against Mary-Anne and the other hunters, how for the briefest moment, yes, I’d wanted to strike fear in them, to hurt them just a little bit. How far would I have gone had Kai not intervened and sent the hunters away, especially when Mary-Anne had been so intent on ending me? Shuddering, I pushed the image to the side, and we’d spoken no more of it since then.
Now, as the boys finished preparing for the ritual, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have a goddess, not a demon, imbue me with her strength.
“Will I still be myself?” I asked Jack at the altar.
He understood my meaning immediately. “Absolutely,” he said, putting down the chalice and focusing his full attention on me. “Brigid isn’t going to possess you and deprive you of your free will. You’ll still be in full control. She’s only lending you her power, her divinity. You’ll channel energy from her, much like what you’ve already done with me. Think of yourself as a conduit through which she’s able to work.” He placed a hand on my arm. “There’s no reason to be afraid.”
“Surprisingly, I’m not as afraid as I thought I’d be at this point. More like restless to get the ritual over and done with.” I knew a lot of that had to do with yesterday’s visit to the hospital where my dad was being treated. Despite what I’d last been told about his condition, I still hadn’t been prepared to see his gaunt frame, his pallid complexion, or the graying hair that had previously been as brown as mine. He was like a withered shell of a person, and that shell wasn’t going to last much longer without its soul. The doctors expected the end any day now.
I looked over the altar, the sigil beyond, the candles outlining it. “Will all this be enough to summon her?” I hadn’t been raised on a religious upbringing. I’d joined Natalie’s family for mass a handful of times, but I didn’t know very much about how deities normally communed with their parishioners. A part of me was still trying to accept that a pantheon of gods existed at all somewhere out there.
“You’re her chosen warrior,” Jack said. “Even if she finds me unworthy to do so much as cast the circle that summons her, there’s no reason she wouldn’t appear to one of her own.”
I wanted to ask why he’d ever think himself unworthy of a god’s attention, but twigs snapped underfoot to my left, signaling somebody’s arrival. Two somebodies. Connor and Zoe. They’d patrolled the immediate vicinity to ensure we were in the clear where it concerned the sluagh and The Black Hand. We couldn’t afford to have a ritual as important as this one be interrupted.
“We’re good,” Connor said, nodding to Jack.
By this point, Rory had finally finished his masterpiece of a sigil and was standing back, admiring his handiwork. With a snap of his fingers, Lucas illuminated the dozens of candles he’d set out, and the flames threw dancing shadows against the giant menhirs.
“Then let’s begin,” said Jack.
41
The six of us stood inside the sigil, spread out in a circle, the heels of our bare feet flush with the ebony edges drawn with charcoal. The warmth from the flickering candles seeped into my bones, and I welcomed their hot glow against my skin. In the dark, our faces, lit up as they were in the candlelight, seemed to float apart from our bodies. We all wore long, black robes, the hems of which were embroidered with gold triple spirals.
Jack’s solemn voice cut into the silence like a knife.
“Darksome night and shining moon,
East, then South, then West, then North;
Hearken to the Witches' Rune--
Here come we to call ye forth!
Earth and water, air and fire,
Wand and pentacle and sword,
Work ye unto our desire,
Hearken ye unto our word!”
He nodded to Lucas, who lifted his palms skyward and intoned, “Hail to the East, Powers of Air. I do summon, stir, and call you up to witness our rites and guard this Circle.” A rush of wind surged across the circle. The candle flames snapped, dancing wildly.
Connor followed after, mirroring his brother. "Hail to the South, Powers of Fire. I do summon, stir, and call you up to witness our rites and guard this Circle." The flames doubled in size, brightening like comet tails. The space instantly became several degrees hotter, as if we were in a sauna.
“Hail to the West, Powers of Water,” came Jack’s voice, eyes fastened to the night sky. “I do summon, stir, and call you up to witness our rites and guard this Circle.” Instantly, thunder bellowed like the rumbling stomach of a hungry beast, and a downpour of rain charged down to earth, but an invisible barrier snapped into place above us and kept us dry.
Rory called upon the final Quarter. "Hail to the North, Powers of Earth. I do summon, stir, and call you up to witness our rites and guard this Circle.” Leaves the color of cherries and apricots rattled on neighboring trees and then took flight in the wind, dancing around us like a living ribbon as the ground trembled slightly beneath the wooden board we stood upon.
I felt the exact moment when the circle was infused with magic. It was invigorating, bliss-filled. Invisible threads of magic reached out to me from the sigil’s center, wrapping around me, pulling at me. I felt connected to the sigil but connected to the boys as well, to Zoe, as if we were all threads in a piece of string art.
“The circle is cast,” Jack said. “The ritual is begun.”
My heart struck against my ribs in hard, resounding beats that reverberated throughout my body
. Though I’d seen the boys practice magic before, this was different somehow, perhaps because it was more ceremonial in nature. I couldn’t take my eyes off Jack, who looked every bit a high priest in his black robe, his airs somber.
He approached the center of the sigil, where he’d set the altar. The Hallowstone waited for him there. He sprinkled the flower petals and herbs upon the table, creating a bed upon which he set the Hallowstone. Then he tipped one of the vials against his fingertip until a drop had emerged. He pressed the drop to the Hallowstone. He repeated this for the rest of the bottles, anointing the star fragment. Finally, he took the Hallowstone in his hands and lifted it above his head, as if presenting it to the gods.
“Cords and censer, scourge and knife,
Powers of the witch's blade--
Waken all ye into life,
Come ye as the charm is made!
Goddess, whom we humbly serve
Grant ye now thy truth and light
Lend your pow'r unto our work
Grant our will by holy rite!”
The thunder roared, lightning flashing like spears of bright light. The rain fell even harder now, thick sheets of water blinding us to our surroundings, but still the magic of the circle the boys had cast protected us from the elements.
Jack set the Hallowstone back upon its bed of herbs and flowers and looked across the circle at me. He nodded. My time had come.
Swallowing, I forced myself forward, the ends of my robe trailing against the wooden board in a hush. When I reached Jack, he gently took my right hand, turning it over so my palm faced the sky. Magic hummed from his fingertips like an electric current. Without meaning to, I opened myself up to his magic, drawing in what he sent me, and his energy fizzled throughout my hand like champagne bubbles.
Jack brushed his thumb across the center of my palm, and when I looked up, his hypnotic eyes bored into me, searching. “Are you sure about this?” His voice was a whisper, reserving the question for my ears only.
“I’m not afraid,” I assured him, closing my fingers over his thumb for a brief moment. “I’m ready.”
Jack held my eyes for a few seconds longer, as if giving me the opportunity to withdraw from the ritual if I still wished to. When he saw I had no intention of doing so, he reached for his athamé. It was quite possibly the most beautiful knife I’d ever seen. Its ornate hilt was made up of scrollwork, Celtic knots, and a carving of a dancing goddess. The crossguard of the hilt was in the shape of curling horns. As Jack handled the dagger, its long, silver blade glistened in the firelight.
He’d told me what would need to occur in order to consecrate and charge the Hallowstone. I pushed iron into my veins, willing myself not to flinch as he swiftly cut the blade across my palm. I hissed against the sting of the wound, a small river of red spilling out. Jack closed my fingers over themselves, encouraging me to make a fist over the chalice. Blood trickled down my palm and pitter-pattered into the cup, which bore a triple moon insignia with a triskele in the center. When the chalice had collected enough drops of my blood, Jack quickly tied a cloth around my hand to staunch the flow.
He lifted the chalice above his head, his lips moving slightly as he once again petitioned the goddess. I watched breathlessly as he slowly tilted the chalice and let the blood fall upon the Hallowstone, staining it crimson.
Almost at once, the world around me bled away, and I was instantly transported to a place of muted colors. It was like being trapped inside a Polaroid picture that hadn’t yet fully developed. The edges of this place were blurred, hazy at the seams like a dream. Apart from a breeze that tugged at the hems of my robe, the storm at large had stopped, and the complete absence of noise was jarring. As was the fact that though the menhirs remained, Jack, his brothers, and Zoe had completely vanished into thin air.
“Welcome, sister.”
My heart went wild. I spun around, and the breath flew out of my lungs.
Before me was the warrior witch from the Echo I’d seen, the very first Daughter of Brigid. She looked exactly as she had in the vision. Stripes of war paint cut across her cheeks, and as she approached me, her necklace of animal teeth rattled against her breastplate. Up close, I realized how right Father Nolan had been. She couldn’t be more than a few years older than me, though her eyes were brimming with the type of wisdom that made it seem like she’d existed since the beginning of time. She smiled at me, inclining her head in a surprising show of respect. She was there and not there at the same time, her form transparent enough for me to see through.
“Welcome, sister.” Another apparition joined us. She was older, her hair tied back in thick braids. She clasped her wrinkled hands before her heart and bowed her head to me.
“Welcome, sister.”
“Welcome, sister.”
“Welcome, sister.”
I turned and turned and turned, and all around me, the spirits of women appeared until I was surrounded by a throng of them. They were all ages, all nationalities, from every imaginable time period, and the energy they exuded suffused my body until I was humming with their vibrancy, until I felt practically weightless.
Scenes began playing in the air above their heads. Echoes. Scores of them. Each showing the gathered women in the throes of battle, of persecution—conflicts that had spanned seemingly from the very dawn of humanity. There were inquisitions and trials, hunts and invasions, public executions and whole villages engulfed in flames. And in every instance, there was a Daughter, standing her ground, facing off against her oppressors, protecting her people—sometimes to victory and other times to her dying breath. There were women charging into battle astride heavy-muscled horses, Hallowstone in hand, the clash of swords ringing all around them. There were women rescuing imprisoned witches, leading them through dark and dank underground tunnels by the light of their star fragment. There were women arguing for their brethren in old-time courtrooms, women fending off attackers in small villages, and yes, women holding their heads high at the gallows as well.
I took it all in, my lungs clenching tight, warm tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. What I’d known of these dark periods in history came from brief textbook units in school and from what Jack had told me at Crowmarsh. To see it for myself, to have these moments in time stretch across the ages to reach me…it unraveled me piece by piece.
There has always been a need for my warriors, a voice spoke from inside my head.
A powerful brightness shone from behind me, and when I turned, I nearly staggered back from shock. Though I had never seen a rendering of her, I knew who she was instantly, something in my blood coming to life in her presence.
Brigid.
I fell to my knees in reverence, and though I bowed my head, I quickly lifted my eyes again, not wishing to look away from her. Because she was breathtaking, radiant. The beauty of the heavens personified. She was the first snowfall of winter, silent fields blanketed with endless white. She was spring in full bloom, butterflies and bees dancing from flower to flower in rainbow-colored gardens. She was every stained-glass window in churches the world over, every masterpiece painting hanging in museums, every love sonnet and shooting star and sunset.
In the back of my mind, I knew she hadn’t really come down to earth. Jack had said she could only walk among us on her feast day. No, I’d been whisked away to some sort of place in between, a place where I could interact with the spirits of my sisters, a place where I could commune with gods.
A cloud of mist surrounded Brigid as she approached me. As she glided to me rather, every movement so effortless, so graceful. She wore a gown of the deepest green, which complemented the glittering emeralds in her gold circlet. Her thick locks of hair trailed down her back in a river of vibrant red. When I blinked, there were suddenly three versions of her, all identical save for what they held in their hands: one a harp, one a bouquet of flowers, and one a sword. The Triple Goddess of inspiration, healing, and smithcraft. I blinked again, and there was only the original Brigid before me now.
She regarded me tenderly, as a mother would a child. Though I was only now meeting her, I felt as if I’d known her my whole life, as if we’d always been connected. Her voice entered my mind again, warm and soothing. She held my eyes as she ‘spoke,’ her lips never moving. Now, more than ever, the need for my warriors has grown. Long have my people called out to me, and tonight, I shall at long last answer. Thus I summon you forth, my Daughter. Will you heed the call?
My heart beat double-time, pounding against my chest, but I knew what my answer would be. I’d known it before she’d even asked. “I will,” I said, making my voice heard above the sudden gusts of wind.
Wisps of hair blew across Brigid’s face, but she remained as still as ever, seeing only me. And do you swear to always be worthy of the honor I bestow upon you on this most sacred of nights, to uphold the values and virtues befitting a Daughter, to always be a beacon of light even in the darkest of hours?
“I swear it.”
And do you vow to unfalteringly defend those who’ve been entrusted into your care, to put their lives before your own, to fearlessly protect the last and the least—even to your dying breath?
“I vow it.”
The current of power surrounding me from the other Daughters intensified, the hairs on my arms rising. Brigid drew closer, pressing two fingertips to my forehead. The skin beneath burned under her touch, as if she were branding me.
Then, my precious child, she said, with your dear sisters serving as witness, and under the watchful gaze of the stars in the glorious heavens, I claim you as my own. Instantly, heat surged through my body until it felt like I might explode. Go forth now, my warrior. Go forth and defend your people.
In a blast of light, Brigid and the Daughters of old were gone. I was back with the others within our circle, kneeling before the altar. The color of the world had returned, as had the raging storm beyond our magical barrier. Everyone’s eyes were on me, watching, waiting.
