by Lee, Tawnya
“Anna was a beautiful woman. She had long, black hair and bold green eyes. She was two hands taller than most women around her. It was hard not to notice her beauty. Anna was a mute, but she was also a witch. Many people thought she was simpleminded because she could not articulate her thoughts. But behind the veil of silence was a great mind.”
“Anna’s grandmother was also a Banba witch. Aithne was her name. She knew. She knew Anna was a witch, although Anna couldn’t talk. Even mute, Anna still had the sight. And the only time Anna spoke was when the sight overcame her. Very few witnessed it. Because of the times, Aithne made sure of it. Aithne believed the fever and coma-state was not a mere illness, but a sign that Anna was about to prophesy. With witch hunts underway in the country, she dared not allow Anna to go into trance when others were present. Under the pretense of Anna being ill, Aithne prevented everyone from having access to her. Everyone except me.”
“Aithne herself was an unusual woman. She could control insects, and lower animal life forms. Perhaps not so much as control as command them. She had a sort of energetic, telepathic ability to communicate her desires. And generally, they obeyed her will. As a young child, she made friends with a particular unkindess of ravens that roosted near her home. She would spend hours with the birds, feeding them and talking to them. Ravens are intelligent creatures even without being influenced by the likes of a witch such as Aithne. They recognize when someone is generous to them and share that knowledge with their kind. It was rumored the birds would even call her name as she passed by them. Queerer still, Aithne told me she devised her own hand signals for the birds. They responded to a thought or gesture, and even gestured back to her.”
“Aithne often ran errands for her father, a local pub owner. She would get meat or fish from the market for their patrons. Often, the birds would follow Aithne because they knew she would nip off bits of the meat to feed them. The ripper20 would slip her an extra bit of shad for the birds. He found it amusing and had a fondness for Aithne.”
“When she was 12 years old, a degenerate man named Oliver O’Malley would loiter outside the pub and watch her. She had not yet bloomed, was fairly tall for her age, and somewhat androgynous looking. This was just how Oliver liked them. Sick bastard, he was. One day, Aithne was playing outside the door, drawing stick figures in the dirt when her father called her. He asked her to walk to the ripper booth and fetch a daily serving of fish for the pub’s guests. Aithne jumped up and walked through the back alley to reach the market. Oliver had been watching her that day. He followed the little girl, and waited till she was some distance from the pub and other adults. What he didn’t know to look for were the Ravens. They also followed Aithne, and were circling the air as she walked. Oliver grabbed Aithne from behind, and clasped one hand around her mouth to keep her silent. She attempted to bite the man, at which point he threw her to the ground, raising his hand to slap her. Aithne looked toward the sky to see the Ravens flying toward her and Oliver. Without a word, she projected her fear and asked the birds to help and protect her.”
“The ravens flew down and started pecking Oliver, swooping and attacking him. The birds called to other ravens, and before long it was not three or four, but nearly thirty ravens coming to her aid. The birds overcame him, swooping and attacking. Aithne stood and watched Oliver as the birds pecked him to death. Just as he was lay in the final throes of death, she ran away to the market, fearful of getting caught. No one saw the attack, and Oliver was found later that day. Of course, no one suspected a little 12-year-old girl of setting birds to attack a man. In fact, cause of death stumped the local tipstaff.21 Oliver’s death was never solved. Because Ainthe and I had been friends most of her life, she confided this story to me.”
“Aithne knew of the Banba lineage, for it was taught from mother to daughter from the beginning. Aithne only had sons, and the gift skipped a generation to Anna. When Anna was born, Aithne immediately recognized the gift within her. She sensed her granddaughter was going to prophesy and called me to her.”
“I arrived shortly after nightfall. The room was dark, lit only by candlelight. Aithne had been bathing Anna’s forehead with a wet washcloth to cool her brow. There was a faint scent of dust and sweat in the room. At this point, Anna had been comatose for fourteen days. I joined Aithne and sat beside Anna, watching. Her face was flush, and her eyes glazed. She stared at the wall, and a slight bit of drool pooled at the corner of her mouth. She looked but a shell of her former self. We sat for some time in this manner. I’d become entranced by the flickering shadows on the wall, when Anna sat straight up in bed. Her face took on a blue pallor, the veins in her forehead prominent. Her eyes, normally green, were embers of red.”
“‘Hear the word of the Morrigan. I have promised my beloved daughter Banba strong descendants, witch and blood fae, overcoming death and overcoming man. I have fashioned them after my own gifts. I do not neglect my own! In the shadows of their pain, I wait and will fashion one who who is both fae and witch. In this one, my glory will be revealed. When man flies around the world, and lives by seconds, she will be born. She is my chosen one to lead blood fae and witch. She will be marked at the back of her neck, kissed by the Morrigan. War will come. With every obstacle, she will be tested. Her choice will restore peace to her kind or death to all that is known.’”
“Anna slipped back into her coma-state, the fever raging inside her stronger still. Three days later, Anna died.”
“Moira, I have followed Anna’s descendants. I have watched for the one mentioned in Anna’s prophesy. I’ve made myself friendly with every witch with a modicum of strength. I looked for the mark and never found anyone matching the Morrigan’s words until you.”
Moira rubbed the back of her neck, thinking of her strawberry birthmark. For a while, she said nothing. She simply rubbed the spot, dropped her hand to her lap, and sat motionless.
“I need some time. The last few days have been hell. The shit you’re saying is intense. I don’t want to be alone, but damned if I know what it is I do want. And I’ve only had your blood, Breasal. Fuck it if it wasn’t great, but I need more. And the idea of killing another person... I don’t know, man. It’s too much.”
Moira’s voice trailed off. She stared at the rug under the coffee table. Everything was dirty, dusty. The smell of 30 years made its way to her nostrils.
“May I make a suggestion?” Breasal asked.
“Sure,” Moira said, shrugging her shoulders.
“Let me make arrangements for you. We will have someone come and clean this place and I’ll find a suitable nanny for your children. Then I can show you how to feed without killing.”
Moira nodded. She rubbed her temples, and exhaled deeply. “Okay.” She stood, shook her head, and left the room.
CHAPTER FOUR
We May All Be Dead
Having been a blood-drinker since the Iron Age of Pagan Celts, Breasal had millennia to perfect his powers. He could read minds and control humans. He could travel at the speed of light, his blood and immortality rendering time of little consequence. Within seconds, he found himself in Dublin. The fog and chill of the night was in complete contrast to the muggy, stifling, early-evening Arkansas air.
He stood outside The Gravediggers Bar in Glasnevin, catching his breath and adjusting to the change in clime. A lone man stood outside the pub, leaned up against the window smoking a cigarette. Breasal read the sign above the man’s head, “John Kavanaugh”. The man tipped his hat at Breasal. Breasal grinned and nodded, then walked inside and scanned the crowd. Clusters of people sat in tables along the counter and against the side wall. Behind the bar, a bartender was busy pulling a pint, a dirty white towel tucked in his back pocket. Toward the end of the bar huddled two men and a woman, laughing and singing, with pints of Guinness in their hands.
Breasal signaled telepathically, shooting his greeting through the air. In sync, they turned toward him and smiled. One man waved and gestured Breasal to join them.
Bre
asal smiled at the man and walked towards them. He shook the hand of the man that gestured. The man’s jet black hair was slicked back and gelled; his green eyes twinkled as he grinned at Breasal. The second man was shorter with sandy blonde hair. He grinned and deep dimples appeared in his cheeks, giving him a boyish, mischievous look.
“How’s she cutting, Breasal?”
“Ah, grand just grand!” Breasal slapped the man on the back, then leaned in closer.
“I’ve found her,” Breasal whispered.
The woman’s eyes widened. “Are ye sure?” she asked.
“Is the Pope Catholic? Amn’t I just after seeing her? Can we go cemetery?” Breasal asked.
Green Eyes nodded. “And how would we have privacy otherwise?”
Together, the four vampires stepped out of the bar and into the street. They turned to their right and walked through a black metal gate, flanked by a concrete brick arches.
As they walked, mist slithered around their feet. Roughly one hundred feet into the cemetery grounds, they stopped. The woman sat on the ledge of a tombstone and crossed her legs.
Breasal turned toward her and said, “Seara, aren’t ye a site for sore eyes.”
She smiled. “Amn’t I always, Breasal? So tell us. We’re all wondering. Is this the one you’ve been watching? The girl from Arkansas?”
The green-eyed vampire, Dubhan, sat on a tombstone and gazed intently at Breasal.
“Have you turned her?” Dubhan asked. “Does she know?”
Breasal held up his hands, as if to fend off the questions. “C’mere till I tell ye! Yes, yes. She is the girl from Arkansas. There is no doubt she’s the Banba witch we’ve looked for. She has the mark. And yes, I’ve turned her.”
Seara uncrossed her legs and sat up straight. Each blood-drinker was curious and worried.
Liam, the shorter, blonde vampire asked, “But does she know? Were you loon enough to tell her?”
Breasal knew he was referring to the prophecy.
“And would I let her stumble along without realizing? But doesn’t she have no idea how powerful she really is? Hasn’t she only been turned a few days? How could she know it all?”
Breasal paused, then resumed. “I turned her on Imbolc. She knows most of the prophecy but not much else. She is still acclimating and learning. She’s learned she can read thoughts, but it’s not consistent yet. And she has the power to destroy small reptiles when she feels threatened. In time, she may hold enough power to do the same to man.”
Dubhan rested his chin in his hand as he listened to Breasal speak.
“What about her children?” Dubhan asked. The veins in his forehead began to strain, forming a dark, purplish upside-down V, as his eyebrows furrowed.
“Yes, well. Isn’t that the pickle? I’ve told her I’d arrange for a nanny to help care for her children and do those things during the day she can’t. I let her think she could stay in Arkansas. Couldn’t I not let her be too overwhelmed? Too much, within 48 hours to learn she is both witch and vampire! And then to tell her she is possibly the savior of our kind? I had to leave some things out. The Tribunal and the law of motherhood seemed best saved for later. If she thought there was an issue, or danger to her children, there is no telling what she would do. She may be a danger to us all!”
“Grand,” Liam said. “Don’t we need her on our side? To trust us? Too much too soon and well. . .” He motioned a slashing gesture across his neck.
Dubhan nodded. “Damn you, Breasal” he said. “What an eejit! When you mentioned last year she had children, I worried. But I never thought you’d be an ass enough to do it while they were still young. The Tribunal will never allow an fuilteach to raise mortal children. And damned if you won’t be in trouble as well.”
“Raise children? Of course she can’t!” said Seara. “Wouldn’t that be the death of us all? With the little buggers running around, wouldn’t they tell everyone our secrets in one breath? There’s good reason it’s against the law.”
“When I turned her, she thought she was protecting her boys. She thought I might attack them. I did it intentionally, mind you. I knew we needed a fierce, fearless woman to lead us. And what woman is more fearless than a mom protecting her young? It was a risk. I know. I used her fear for our cause, and in the end my strategy may prove true. Or, it may be the knife to our neck. For now, we have to be cautious. If we take the children from her it could turn her against us. She could run straight into the arms of the rebellion. We have to protect her from the Tribunal as well. The faster they hear of it, the faster we have to deal with the consequences.”
“Just grand,” said Liam. “You fecking muppet.22 Our emotions at the time we turn are the passions that guide us in immortality. Nothing like a mother bear time bomb to be our only hope. Isn’t that just what I hoped ye’d do?” Liam rolled his eyes, and shook his head.
“What’s done is done,” Seara said. “We just have to deal with it. I hope you have a plan.”
Dubhan looked at Seara. “I think you should go back with Breasal. Earn her trust. Liam and I will feel out the Tribunal. We need to find out if they know. If they don’t, they will soon enough and will be taking action. We need to protect her from this for as long as possible. I might know of folks who can shield her and protect her boys should it come to it.”
“Who are you thinking of? Can they be trusted?” Seara asked.
“Yes. You know him. Sedric, clan of Brodie.”
Seara cocked her eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s safe?”
“It’s safe. The Clan Brodie’s curse has you worried? That is of no consequence to this.” said Dubhan.
“Maybe not, but the energy of the place. It’s not the place to bring a Banba witch to hide,” said Seara.
“They support the cause and will be willing to help should we need it. That’s enough for me,” Dubhan said.
Breasal looked at Dubhan. He raised an eyebrow. “What about this curse?”
Seara spoke. “Legend has it that one of the early Brodie chiefs was a devout religious man-- a flagellant. He strictly enforced mass and applied his own special brand of morality throughout his lands. He had fits of madness, believing voices were commanding him to kill people for various crimes. He would flog himself and require others to flog themselves until they were bloody. He made them soak rags with the blood from their floggings and present it as a sacrifice on the altar of the church. Those who wouldn’t do it he accused of making a pact with the devil and executed. One person he accused was an elderly woman, a peasant. He believed she was a witch. Some say he tricked her into confessing by promising her a new gown. I don’t believe it. Isn’t the thought of being beat to death enough to drive ya to confess? Regardless, the woman did, and he immediately carried her out and burnt her at the stake. As the story goes, while she burned she spoke a curse on his descendants, that no son born within the castle would inherit the land. From that point, any woman bearing a potential Brodie heir would leave the castle to give birth.”
Dubhan interrupted. “That’s about as true as a pig wearing a dress. If there ever was a curse it has no bearing on our situation now. She’s no relation anyhow. The girl will be protected. We can trust the Brodie blood fae to keep our confidence and not betray us, be she a witch or not.”
Breasal dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand.
“You’re planting seeds in a busted pot. I already know where we need to go.”
“You do, do you?” said Dubhan. “And where would that be?”
“Tyrie, Aberdeenshire in Scotland.”
“And what’s in Tyrie?”
“A church,” Breasal said.
“A church,” Dubhan repeated. “I’m thinking they may take issue to our sort, don’t ya think?”
“This particular area has a history. It’s rural. This specific church plays host to a monument. A stone. The Raven’s stone.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Seara. “I’ve heard of it. Pictish monument. Rather fascinating.”
“I’ll do it,” she said.
“Grand. Let’s be off. Dubhan and Liam, wish us luck!”
Dubhan placed his hand on Breasal’s shoulder, gripped it firmly and said, “For the cause.”
The other vampires replied in echo, “For the cause.”
Breasal and Seara locked arms and flew into the air, headed toward the hills of Arkansas.
Dubhan and Liam walked back out onto the street and gazed toward the direction their friends flew. They stood silent for several minutes, each lost in his own thoughts.
Liam spoke first. “Let’s hope she’s everything Breasal believes her to be.”
“Let’s hope,” replied Dubhan “And if our plan doesn’t work, we may all be dead within the year.”
“Ah sure, and iffen that’s so, let’s have one more jar, shall we?”
“Ah, Sure why not.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The Law of Motherhood
A wild onion smell clung to the afternoon air like sticky residue. Down the street, a lawnmower whirred a steady, comforting rhythm. Tall pine trees dotted the street, slicing the shade at odd intervals. Moira, sweaty from hopscotch, sat on the concrete and let a rare breeze caress her upturned face. She was blocks away from the city pool, but the day's heat carried its spell. Moira could smell chlorine and hear splashes and gleeful cries. Excited with the idea of promise, Moira jumped from the sidewalk and bounded up the stairs through the front door of her house.
