Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters: Witch Moon

by D. C. McGannon

  “You can rest here, and in the houses of those close by. I will have your horses taken to the stables and cared for, and we will take those who have died,” he said, gesturing to himself and the other people in white.

  “I want to go with her,” Aisling said, clenching her jaw. Her hands still squeezed Maurie’s arms.

  “Of course, lass.”

  “Excuse me,” said Lisa, a hand laid protectively on her horse.

  Dunwick smiled softly at her. “Yes?”

  “Where is the Curse Eater?”

  His smile slipped, and a couple of his white-clad followers glared at Lisa suspiciously.

  “Let’s get you all settled in,” said Dunwick. “Shaun, Patrick, please show them to rooms, baths, food, whatever they need.”

  One plump man and another with black hair and a ruddy complexion stepped forward, smiling hospitably.

  Lisa frowned. He had just completely ignored her, hadn’t he?

  Shaun and Patrick began to usher the Hunters into the house, but Lisa stood close to her horse. The man with the red face—Patrick, if she remembered right—tugged at her arm, but she refused to step forward. His grip tightened, his smile widened. Lisa’s eyes narrowed, and Charlie, Darcy and Nash tensed as they saw the wheels turning in her head. Nothing happened, and they were about to sigh with relief when something did happen.

  A black tentacle of energy appeared from somewhere over her shoulder, wriggling over the man’s hand and wrapping it tight. The man grunted and tried to pull his hand away, a look of concern quickly growing as the skin under and near the tentacle turned red and steam rose from it into the cold air.

  “Lisa,” said Charlie. “Let him go.”

  The tentacle loosened and evaporated into nothing. Patrick pulled his hand away from her arm, rubbing it and whimpering once.

  “I’d like to take my horse to the stables myself,” she said, looking at Dunwick Sol. “If that’s okay.”

  The village elder nodded once, eyeing her warily. When he spoke, his voice sounded somewhat less hospitable. “You can follow the other horses.”

  Her friends gave Lisa a concerned look before they were led into Dunwick’s house. They disappeared along with Priest and Chen, as Aisling was led away by Dunwick and some women in white, keeping two horses with them to carry the partially covered bodies of Maurie and Derrick. Lisa waited for a minute or two before one of the men in white—this time it was Shaun, who looked at her nervously—came to lead the horses to the stables.

  “Do you know where the Curse Eater is?” she asked him as they began to move forward.

  Shaun glanced over his shoulder. “Never heard of such a thing.”

  Astounded, Lisa fell silent. She didn’t believe him for a minute, of course. She would have to find the answer her own way.

  Drakauragh’s graveyard lay on the edge of town, beyond houses and farms. It was large, for such a small town. While most of the graves were old, too many were fresh, the headstones clean, the dirt black like rich soil awaiting a crop.

  The Hunters watched as Nathaniel and his men dug two more graves. In front of the small crowd lay two figures, washed by the women of Drakauragh and lovingly wrapped in cloth. They were Maurie and Derrick, a Hunter and a messenger who would not be forgotten. Only Aisling’s muted sobs broke the rhythmic shoveling of dirt.

  The shovels stopped, and the men helped each other climb out of the graves. Dunwick swept forward somberly, his followers staying behind for once. He stopped in front of the two still figures and held his head to the sky, singing a soft song in Gaelic. It was soothing, and obviously part of a burial rite and, at first, the Hunters were glad to know that Maurie and Derrick were being given something proper, something full of care and respect. But Nathaniel’s sour face and the way Priest stiffened rose suspicions among those who couldn’t speak Gaelic. In her grief, Aisling stepped forward, her face pain-stricken.

  “Why? Why do you say such things?” she demanded of Dunwick, who turned around in surprise.

  Charlie looked at Priest. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “He’s praying to his Goddess, lad. But she doesn’t sound like any Goddess that Maurie would want to be taken to.”

  Priest walked over to Aisling, patting her on the shoulder. “It’s alright, lass.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Dunwick. “I’ve asked that your grandmother be taken into the Goddess’ arms…something many would be grateful for. She is the ruler of the air, the earth, and the world below.”

  “But not of my grandmum. She may have been your friend and guardian of this portal, but she never approved of your goddess, nor of the alliance with witches that it brings.”

  “Thank you,” Priest told Dunwick, although his tone did not hold much gratitude. “But, I think I will do the prayer over Maurie.”

  Dunwick frowned with confusion, but nodded. “Alright.”

  Priest knelt over Maurie. It had been many years since he presided over any service as a man of the church. Frankly, on the terms he had left the church, he didn’t care. He laid his hand over Maurie’s eyes, covered by the shroud as they were, and spoke simply.

  “May the earth be soft under you, when you rest upon it. May it rest easy over you, when at last you lay under it. And may it rest so lightly over you that your soul will be quickly out from under it, and up and off, on your way to God.”

  From his coat he pulled a necklace—a silver cross. He used it once as a priest, and many times as a Monster Hunter. It had always been there for him, although he had trouble wearing it recently. The thought of parting with it was difficult. Still, he coiled the silver chain around his fingers and placed it over Maurie, finishing with a simple prayer spoken in Gaelic. He turned and said the same prayer over Derrick, to the muttering of Dunwick’s followers.

  Then Priest stood up and looked at Aisling, who nodded to him with tears in her eyes. He walked back to the crowd as Nathaniel and the other men from the village gingerly lifted Maurie and Derrick. At that moment, many of the village elders gasped, and Charlie and the Hunters tensed as three white wolves prowled carefully, respectfully through the burial grounds. Some of the men carrying Maurie and Derrick trembled, and Nathaniel reached for his shovel, but Aisling called out to them, “Wait!”

  The faoladh regarded them all with black eyes. Slowly, their black eyes seemed to settle on Maurie, and they lowered heads to the ground, bending their front legs. After a moment, Aisling realized what was happening. They were bowing.

  One of the three faoladh stood up. It backed away slowly, the other two following its lead, until they were well behind the empty graves. They stood there watching and, perhaps, waiting. Nathaniel seemed to understand, leading his men forward. They lowered the dead into the ground.

  As the earth began to cover them, the faoladh backed farther away, having come to pay respects to the protectors of the land. A small whimper escaped Aisling’s lips as her grandmother—the only constant in her life—began to disappear, shovel by shovel.

  The elders and Hunters dispersed quietly, the Witch Moon’s arrival as heavy on their minds as the sacrifice of Maurie and Derrick. Lisa looked over her shoulder; Charlie lingered behind, touching Aisling’s shoulder. He began to say something to try and console her, but what could he really say? As the words refused to come, the girl pulled him into a hug and cried on his shoulder.

  Eventually, he left, too, and Aisling said her final goodbyes to her grandmother, letting the tears run in private. Standing there at Maurie’s grave, she swore that Drakauragh would not be taken by the Sagemistress.

  They bathed and they rested, while Lisa carefully found a hiding place for a bleeding, exhausted wolf Liev in a stable full of nervous horses.

  Then, after Dunwick and the other village leaders thought they had enough time before the moon rose, the Monster Hunters were escorted into a room big enough to fit th
em all around a large table. Breakfast was gloomy and meager, a mush—possibly wheat, who could tell?—that smelled bland and looked blander, strips of bacon so thin they might have been toothpicks, and just enough eggs that each person could have one. A short glass of milk and another of water had been placed at each seat. It was no king’s feast, but this was all the people of Drakauragh could spare.

  And after their journey, for the Monster Hunters it was enough to ease their hunger pangs.

  When the younger Hunters got there, Priest, Chen, and Dunwick and his elders were already seated, waiting for them. Nash sat first, ecstatic about food, while Darcy sat, relaxed after finally getting her hot bath. Aisling sat away from the group, still very quiet. Her face was blank, composed, but she could not hide her red-rimmed eyelids. Charlie sat down last, visibly tired, and looking as if he didn’t want to be at that table right then.

  “Where is Lisa?” asked Priest of the others.

  “She’s on her way,” said Chen, sensing her in the next room.

  Lisa turned the corner, striding through the doorway. She said nothing as she found a seat next to Darcy. Charlie noticed she was still wearing the same clothes that she had travelled in. It didn’t look like she had rested or recovered at all in the last half hour.

  “This appears to be everyone,” said Dunwick. “Let us bless the food.”

  Darcy slapped at Nash’s hand, which held a thin strip of bacon halfway to his mouth.

  “Our Goddess,” Dunwick began to pray. Instantly, Priest tensed. “We thank you for this humble meal. We thank you for the life of our town, for protecting it thus far. We thank you for bringing us champions, Hunters, that will defend it from the witches and monsters that hope to harm us. Please, please, keep Drakauragh standing tonight. Let our enemies fail to overtake us, and these Hunters drive away the darkness that has forever haunted your humble town.”

  After a moment, the Monster Hunters looked up and realized Dunwick and the elders were already eating, the prayer apparently finished.

  “This…goddess you speak of,” said Priest. “What is her name?”

  Dunwick smiled. “Oh, we do not speak of her in conversation. If the time is right, if she deems you worthy, she will reveal herself to you on her own terms.”

  The old Hunter frowned before taking a bite of the porridge-mush-whatever-it-was.

  “Derrick spoke of such a goddess before he died. There was a woman who helped Charlie, Lisa, and Aisling when they got…separated, and when they described this woman, Derrick seemed to recognize her. He said that if she was helping us, we were fortunate.”

  Dunwick and other village elders all seemed to be enthralled by this. One even clapped her hands together.

  “This is a great sign,” said Dunwick. “This must mean that you cannot lose against the witches.”

  Priest looked doubtful. “Perhaps. But if this person who helped them really was who Derrick thought she was, then your goddess is also a witch.”

  Dunwick’s glass of milk, halfway between his mouth and the table, froze as his eyes narrowed at Priest. There was an almost tangible change in the air, from warm and friendly to cold and suspicious. The Hunters all paused in their eating. Nash, who had been more focused on food than conversation, now placed his fork down and wondered what he had missed.

  “Is this true of your so-called goddess?” asked Priest.

  Dunwick set his milk down without drinking from it. “If you are asking if the Goddess is a monster, then my answer to you is no. She is the protector of this village.”

  “She is not a monster, you say. Is she a witch?”

  “A long time ago,” Dunwick said, beginning to sound impatient, “she was known as the goddess of all witches. This much is true. However, as you can see, these witches that plague Drakauragh hold no love for our goddess.”

  The air was still, waiting for one side of the room to make its move. Priest shook his head, but said nothing. They had been dragged into a feud between monsters, but there were still humans here, innocent people that they could save from the collateral.

  “Tell us about these witches,” said Priest. “What do they do?”

  “They come every night, just appearing through our own doorways, more each night with the waxing moon. They drain our cows dry of their milk and steal our grain, then kill our pigs and use the blood for some sort of magic against the Old House. We’ve tried to stop them in the past, but they’ve killed many people, and put curses worse than death on a few others.”

  “The Old House?” Priest repeated. “What is that?”

  “Yes, that’s the black house in the center of our town. It’s what Drakauragh was built around. They seem unable to enter it.”

  For the next hour, well after the last scrap of the porridge-like mush had been spooned from Nash’s plate, the village leaders of Drakauragh and the Monster Hunters tried to work out details and some sort of strategy of defense. Charlie suggested that everyone in town could hide in the Old House if the witches could not enter it, but Dunwick grew pale and said that would not be possible. He refused to explain why exactly. Growing frustrated, Priest said that all of the villagers should stay in their homes then, barricade them as best as they could.

  The Monster Hunters would gather and hide somewhere near the Old House, and attack the witches when they began their nightly rituals.

  No one believed it would go that smoothly, of course.

  “We will take care of our people,” said Dunwick.

  Priest nodded. “Charlie, can you help the team check weapons, supplies?”

  “Yes.”

  Dunwick stood, and the village elders followed suit. “Well then. So we are good?”

  “If we need anything, we will find you,” Priest said gruffly.

  “Wait!” said Lisa, and the elders riveted their attention on her like hawks.

  “Yes, child?” asked Dunwick, putting an emphasis on the word child.

  “I need to know where the one you call the Curse Eater is. I need to know now, before anything else happens.”

  “What exactly do you want to know something like that for?”

  “I have a curse, obviously.”

  “You don’t seem cursed.”

  Lisa leaned forward, hunching her shoulders. “Where is he?”

  Dunwick smirked. “I do not know where she is. The Curse Eater…she makes people uncomfortable. But don’t worry, she serves the Goddess. If the Goddess thinks you truly need her, the Curse Eater will find you.”

  “But…”

  Across the table, Charlie’s eyes flashed red at Lisa. He shook his head ever so slightly. She frowned at him as Dunwick and the village elders—if that’s what they were—left the room.

  “Where is he?” Darcy whispered to Lisa.

  “He’s in a safe place. But it won’t matter where he is, if we can’t get the Curse Eater to save him.” Lisa’s voice cracked as she spoke.

  “Leave that part to me,” said Charlie, letting his eyes flicker red. They all caught his meaning. “Nash, can you check ammo and supplies for me, get everybody ready for tonight?”

  Nash nodded.

  “Thanks. I’ll try to be back soon. Lisa, where is Liev?”

  She sighed. “He’s in the stables, asleep where my horse is.”

  He headed for the open door, Lisa close in his wake. When he saw her, Charlie shook his head.

  “Stay with the others. Get ready for tonight.”

  “No way. Liev is my brother.”

  “Lisa, we can’t both spare the time, and you wouldn’t be any use in looking for the Curse Eater right now.”

  Charlie fought back the grimace at his own words. But his blunt words did the trick. He could see Lisa’s jaw clench, her cheeks flush to a stinging red and her eyes squint to hold back a slowly growing moisture.

  He avoided lookin
g at the rest of his team and left the room before anyone could respond.

  Darcy laid a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up, while you can? Then meet us at Dunwick’s house.”

  “Because that’s all I can do that’s of any use, right?” asked Lisa.

  “That’s not what I said—”

  Lisa stormed out of the room, cutting her off.

  Nash looked at Darcy pointedly. “She can’t fight off a coven of witches like that.”

  “I’ll deal with her.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Aisling, surprising Darcy.

  “Which leaves me with the weapons and the ammo and all of that,” grumbled Nash as the girls left. He looked at Priest and Chen. “What are you two doing, again?”

  “Praying,” said Priest.

  “Meditating,” said Chen.

  Nash sighed and watched as they also left, going separate ways to mentally, emotionally—and apparently spiritually—prepare for the battle to come.

  Charlie walked briskly through Drakauragh, ignoring the people who looked with horror at his red eyes. He was looking for a trace of magic, anything that would lead him to the Curse Eater. And it wasn’t that he couldn’t find any magic in the air—it was that he had found too much.

  Shades of blue and red and pink flitted through the air, through the walls of houses and over the fields. Wisps of energies invisible to all but him rose from the earth like ghostly, blooming flowers, invigorating his tired body to move forward, keep looking. He watched as colors clung to the people of Drakauragh as they carried about their daily chores and duties, taking just a little of the weariness from their eyes. It made him shiver to know such wonderful things existed, even when hardly anyone could see them.

  Sitting on a tangle of ley lines that rivaled the collection under Hunter’s Key, Drakauragh was filled to the brim with magic. It was no wonder people had been able to survive here, chosen to survive here, when monsters and circumstance had plagued them all the while. The magic in the air had probably once made the town of Drakauragh a thriving place, and even in these recent hard times they could cling to their lives here, hoping that a better era would be restored.