by Cate Tiernan
“I am,” I answered truthfully, astonished as I was that he would dare speak openly of clans and covens in public. I turned to my boy, wondering if he had heard. Did he know that I was a Wodebayne, one of the so-called evil ones? If he had heard, he did not seem daunted by the fact. He studied the vendor with a mixture of distaste and curiosity.
“Then you, ” groused the vendor, nearly breathing down my neck, “are not permitted to touch my merchandise. How do I know you haven’t cast a dark spell upon my wares so that the person who eats them will come down with a racking cough? Or a hideous boil. Or mayhap a burning fever!”
My senses stirred with alarm at his attack. The only consolation was that this man, whatever his clan, would not want to raise the hackles of the people in this Christian village. “Sir, I do not cast harmful spells,” I said softly.
“That’s what all your kind say,” the vendor growled again, suddenly aware that the villagers were taking notice.
All around us it seemed as though people had stopped their business and conversation to watch. I could feel the crowd closing in, watching, waiting. The witches among them were probably hoping the Wodebayne girl would get her comeuppance, as usual. I felt a tightness in my throat, not so much at the disapproval of the crowd as that my boy should be dragged through such turmoil. And surely the hatred of Wodebaynes would frighten him away.
“Just a moment!” the boy interrupted, holding the potatoes high in his hands. He lifted them, weighing and measuring with some degree of drama. “They do not speak, and I see no cryptic message carved among their bruises. There is truly no charm here,” he told the vendor. “But the potatoes must certainly be far more delicious for having been touched by a lovely maiden’s hands.”
A few people laughed, and he nodded at them, his cheek-bones high and taut above his broad grin. The crowd began to turn away. Somehow my boy had diffused the swell of hatred against me.
The vendor folded his arms across his chest, still not satisfied.
“I must insist, sir, that you let me purchase these potatoes—these two, no others shall do—for I find that I cannot leave this market without them.”
The vendor took a coin from the boy and crept back behind his cart.
“Thank you, sir. A pleasure doing business with you,” the boy called. He turned away and handed me the potatoes. “My gift to you. Though it can hardly make up for the way that ogre tried to defame you.”
“His hatred does not surprise me,” I said. “I’ve come to expect it, though I don’t know that I’ll ever become accustomed to it.” I dropped the two potatoes into my skirt pockets, where they bounced against my hips.
He watched with awe and reverence. “Would that I could venture where they go,” he said huskily.
I laughed at the temerity of his words, here in the wide-open marketplace. “Aren’t you the daring one?” I said. “When you’re not swinging from trees in the forest, you rescue Wodebayne maidens from mad crowds, then dream of their skirts.”
He shrugged and eyed me merrily. “And you despise me for that?”
I looked up at his handsome face and felt the rhythm of my life force increasing. “No, no, on the contrary.”
“Rose!” Kyra called, summoning me. “We must go!”
“Rose?” he repeated. “Like the rose on the bush, gentle and sweet, yet ready to prick a finger when approached the wrong way?”
“’Tis I.”
He lowered his head, his hair falling over his eyes in a shroud of secrecy. “We will talk later, Rose.”
I nodded, trying to remember every detail of his sultry looks, his feathery light brown hair, his sky blue eyes, his broad shoulders and long legs, coltish yet strong.
With a deep breath I turned away and joined Kyra, who had apparently witnessed the scene with the irate vendor.
“I was so frightened for you!” she said. “What do you think the man wanted? Would he have you locked in jail because you touched his wares? Everyone examines merchandise before trading.”
I shook my head, feeling a sense of warm, tender love. It wrapped around me like a cloak of security, just knowing that my boy cared for me, was willing to fight for me. “The man was full of Wodebayne hatred. I don’t know what clan he was from, but did you see what happened? The way my boy rescued me? He is the boy I’ve spoken of. He is a hero. My hero.”
“I’m not sure of that,” Kyra said regretfully. “Falkner knows him, Rose. His name is Diarmuid, and he’s a Leapvaughn. Not one of us.”
“Diarmuid,” I said, treasuring the sound of his name. I repeated it over and over in my mind.
“He cannot be your true love, Rose. Falkner and I both fear for your heart. He’ll hate you as much as his clan hates Wodebaynes.”
“Aye, but he doesn’t. That’s the blessing of the Goddess. It doesn’t matter if he’s Leapvaughn or Braytindale or Wyndonkylle. He has a good heart. Diarmuid doesn’t hate without reason. Didn’t you see? He defended me from that peddler. I ought to toss that old ogre’s potatoes into the brook!”
“He was a terrible man!” Kyra pressed her hand to her throat, touching her charmed moonstone. “I’ll agree Diarmuid did save you. I’ll grant you that, and he is a handsome lad. Falkner says he’s not of Kirkloch. Where does he live, Rose?”
“That I don’t know, but I shall find out. I must cherish this gift from the Goddess.”
Kyra shook her head. “But he cannot be a gift from the Goddess, Rose. Not a Leapvaughn boy.”
“Would you stop saying that? I’ll not allow you to be so small-minded!”
“But to get involved with someone from another clan...”
“I know.” The reality of it stabbed at me. Diarmuid and I would have to face more than our share of foes. But as I walked along, my mother’s words came back to me. She always said that the other clans would one day see the good in the Wodebaynes.
Perhaps I had been chosen to help the world see our goodness.
It lifted my spirits to know that Diarmuid already saw the goodness within me. I couldn’t wait to see him again.
Kyra walked alongside me, observing. “You look more in love now than before you knew he was not one of us. But then, you’ve always been stubborn, Rose MacEwan.”
“Aye,” I said, thinking of Diarmuid’s eyes, his suggestive words, his strong jaw. “I think the Goddess has a plan,” I told Kyra. “And I won’t let anyone meddle with Her gift to me. I will not be daunted.”
4. Drawing Down the Moon
“It worries me, Rose. I know you think you can fight your own battles, but sometimes I fear for you, my child.” My mother scrubbed the potatoes furiously, upset by what had happened in the market at Kirkloch.
Of course, I hadn’t given her all the details of the story. I’d said that Diarmuid was a traveling peddler, probably a Wodebayne from the north. And although I hadn’t mentioned that some in the crowd seemed eager to join in on the Wodebayne bashing, I think she got the complete picture. Whether through her inner sight or simply her experience, Ma had spent her lifetime enduring prejudice from others.
“But it’s over, Ma,” I reassured her. “’Twas over soon after it began, and we got two fine potatoes out of it.”
She turned away, her face in shadow so that I could not see more than the hollows of her eyes. “I’ll thank the Goddess for my supper, not some brash vendor with hatred in his heart.” Her voice was strained, and I thought I saw a spot on her cheek—a dark tear. Was she crying?
“What is it, Ma?”
She shook her head. Her chopping was done. “This hatred of the Wodebaynes has to end, Rose. I had hoped it would subside during your youth, but instead it seems to be rising like a river during the spring rains.”
I wanted to tell her that the prejudice against us didn’t bear down on me so heavily now, not since I’d met Diarmuid. He was a window of light, my escape from the dark hatred that seemed to be closing in around the Wodebaynes. I wanted to go to her and touch her shoulder and ease her pain.
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br /> But I couldn’t. I knew that talk of a boy, especially a boy from another clan, would rattle Ma all the more. And I feared that if I touched her, if I rested my head on her shoulder or squeezed her arm, she would know the truth.
That the Goddess had interceded, bringing her daughter true love.
I went to her and scooped the potatoes onto my apron, then dropped them into the cauldron over the fire. Already the savory smells of tomato and herbs and beans rose from the kettle.
“The moon is full already,” I said, eager to change the subject. “You can see it in the day sky, hanging large as you please.” I stirred the stew, talking over my shoulder. “I’d like to go off and draw it down, Ma.” Again, a lie, but what could I do?
“’Tis the seed moon,” she said. “We’ll have a fine Esbat tonight.”
I stepped away from the fire and took off my apron. “I’ve gathered what we need for tonight’s spell. John Radburn was helpful.”
She nodded. “You can go. But don’t be long. We’ve a few chores to do before the circle.”
I moved slowly, trying to ignore the coursing sound in my ears that urged me to make haste and run off to meet Diarmuid. I hung my apron on the rail outside, measuring my steps while I was in view of our cottage.
One, two, three. four steps closer to him.
The waiting was excruciating.
At last I reached the brush at the end of the path. Without looking back, I scooped up my skirts and leaped ahead, startling a small rabbit from the heather at the side of the trail. It darted off into the brush, and I laughed. “I’ll not hurt you, little one,” I called, racing ahead.
By the time I neared our meeting place, my neck and hands were damp with sweat. I slowed my pace to a brisk walk, mopping my neck with a rough cloth from my pocket. It reminded me that the rose stone was still there, and I paused to take it in my hand and hold it up to the glowing day moon.
“I thank thee, Goddess, for the use of thy power.”
When I lowered my hands, the stone winked at me, ever cheerful and appealing. I lifted the top of my dress and dropped the stone down into the hollow between my breasts. Its warm glow worked its magick there, emanating from the middle of my body like a ray of sunshine breaking through clouds.
“Rose?”
It was him. He appeared directly before me, slipping from the trees as though he had materialized out of thin air.
I laughed heartily. “My love! How is it that you seem to appear out of nowhere?”
My boy chuckled happily, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I did a see-me-not spell, Rose. You are familiar with these?”
I nodded. It is a simple spell one does when wanting to mask oneself from another’s eyes. I had never seen it done quite so convincingly. “Diarmuid,” I said, loving the sound of his name.
“So, you’ve discovered me.” He moved closer, chuckling and reaching out to me. I gave him my hand and was startled by a beautiful spark of magick. He led me down the path, toward my special altar. “I suppose you’ve also learned that I’m a not-to-be-trusted Leapvaughn.”
“A Leapvaughn, aye, though I find you trustworthy.” I lifted my chin to study his face. “You may be full of tricks, swinging from trees and juggling vegetables in the marketplace. But I find you to be honest.”
“I believe you are wise beyond your years, Rose.”
Under the cover of trees he pulled me into his arms, my body pressing against his. I had never known a man or boy in this way, feeling his legs and chest and hands upon me, enveloping me, inciting tiny wildfires beneath my skin.
Who could have imagined the power of love?
I had felt drawn to the Goddess on many occasions, but never had I felt this incredible desire to press into another person, to combine our two bodies in the simplest of unions.
He lowered his head, his soft lips meeting mine. I sucked in my breath and fell deep into his kiss, a sweet, languorous kiss. Then another, and another, and soon we were touching each other and performing a dance of kisses, soft, then severe, light, then dark and torturous. I wrapped my arms around his neck, gave myself over to him, and we tumbled onto a bed of moss, still kissing.
I don’t know how long we danced that way—a chorus of moans and breathless sighs. When we fell apart and lay side by side, staring up at the Goddess’s sky, our words seemed to shimmer like leaves in the summer breeze. I learned that he lived in Lillipool, a Leapvaughn village several miles down the road. His father was a sheepherder, a job that Diarmuid hated. He preferred trade, which his father occasionally let him handle. He had been in Kirkloch trading sheep at auction the very day we met. He learned that my father had died when I was young, that I lived with my mother, who was the high priestess of our coven.
“I don’t care that you’re a Wodebayne,” he said. “I wouldn’t care if you were Ruanwande or Burnhyde or the daughter of a bestial dragon. I love you, Rose. As you are.”
I dipped my hand into the opening of his shirt, pressing against his warm chest. “My friends cannot believe I have fallen into the arms of a Leapvaughn. Yet here I am, body and soul.”
“We are mùirn beatha dàns,” he whispered.
I nodded silently. Yes. my love knew it, too.
Two days—we’d had barely time to know each other. Yet I was utterly certain that he spoke the truth. We were soul mates. “So mote it be,” I said.
“Aye, the Goddess has certainly brought us together.” His fingers stroked the hair at the tender nape of my neck. “Who could imagine that She would bring me a tiny Wodebayne girl, with hair as black as a Samhain sky?”
“ ’Tis an extraordinary match, to be sure. But the Goddess must have a purpose.” I stared at the sky, watching as two fast-moving clouds raced into each other’s path, melding into one. “Do you think we are to be the example to all clans? To prove that if the two of us, members of rival clans among many rivals, can come together in peace, so can all the clans?”
Diarmuid sat up and pulled my shoulders from the ground. “We are to be the champions of love. Our union will settle clan differences. End the age-old wars.” He smiled proudly. “Could it be that the Goddess has chosen us for this noble task?”
“We will be the example of harmony under the Goddess’s great blue sky.” I leaned forward, brushing my cheek against his. “A noble task, yet hardly a task at all.”
“Mmm...” His lips met mine for another deep kiss.
I melted against him, knowing it was true. We had been chosen. Ours would be an extraordinary love. The charm glowing at my breast was just the beginning of it all, thanks to the Goddess. I knew that we needed to pay homage to Her.
When the kiss ended, I arose and prepared a circle, sweeping it clean with my broom. Without wasting words, Diarmuid joined the cleansing ritual, working with me so naturally I felt as if we’d been raised in the same coven. He picked up two handfuls of dirt and spread them around the circle, moving so beautifully I nearly lost my way in the cleansing ritual.
Diarmuid turned to the east and stretched out his arms. “Ye Watchtowers of the East, I summon you, stir and call you, to witness this rite and watch over this circle.” He waved his hand through the air, drawing something. A star? No, a pentagram.
I watched in wonder as he moved to the south quarter of the circle and beckoned the Watchtowers there. This was a practice I had never witnessed, and I wondered at the many things I might learn from him.
When he had called to the Watchtowers of the West and North, we ended up together in the center of the circle, facing the altar.
I lifted my hands to the moon. “The circle is cast, and we are between the worlds. We are far from the bonds of time, in a place where night and day, birth and death, joy and sorrow meet as one.”
The forest seemed suddenly silent, our circle a haven of peace apart from the wars of the nearby clans and dreary villagers.
“O mighty Goddess, I have come this day to honor Your presence and to give thanksgiving for bringing Diarmuid to me. We who
once were two will become one, Goddess, as we dedicate ourselves to You.” I went to the altar and removed a pouch from my pocket. It was filled with dried sage, good for protection and wisdom. I poured the sage onto the altar, crushed it fine with a smooth stone, and pushed the tiny flakes onto the palm of my hand.
“We offer sage,” I said, returning to Diarmuid’s side. “Sage for protection against those who would harm us.” I sprinkled the flaked herb over Diarmuid’s head, then over my own. “Sage for the wisdom to fulfill the Goddess’s will.” I held my hand to his face, and he tipped back his head. I sprinkled sage onto his tongue, then poured the remainder into my own mouth. “Sage for protection and wisdom,” I said, feeling a mist come over me.
“But you are wise already,” Diarmuid said, taking my hands. He began to turn us in a circle. We moved slowly, but the earth seemed to race under our feet. “We have been chosen. The Goddess looks upon us with favor. How is it that She knows you so well?”
“I, Rose, am the Goddess incarnate,” I answered. I was beyond thinking. Where had those words come from? Had I heard my mother chant them in an Esbat rite of long ago, or had the Goddess lifted my tongue like a winged bird at my back?
My whole world was spinning, my head dizzy with the whirring motion. Hands joined with Diarmuid, I lifted my face to the sky. It opened up upon me, sending a crushing blade of lightning to my chest.
The jolt lifted me off my feet. Suddenly my stomach was sour, my knees turning to mush beneath me. The ground seemed to rush up, sucking my body onto it.
The next thing I knew, my cheek was pressed to the earth, my knees curled beneath me like those of a child suckling its mother. My eyes were closed, but the whirring noise had stopped. The only sound was Diarmuid’s voice calling my name.
“Rose? Are you all right?”
His hands were upon me, rubbing my shoulders, stroking my cheek.
“Aye.” I sighed and sat up in his arms. “What happened? I’ve never been struck like that before.”
