“You are not coming back?” Niamh asked with a frown.
“Well, I do hope to.” Her lips curved up slightly. “There’s the chance I might not. ‘Tis for the god and goddess to decide, eh?”
“Why?”
“The shadow of dark magic has fallen upon our family this night, bringing evil in its wake. I go to the circle to remove it from our midst.”
“I will come with you. I can help. You said I am strong.” Niamh tried to rise from the bed.
“You’ll do no such thing. I must go alone. ‘Tis the way of it. You must stay, to carry on in my stead if I do not return. Someone has to heal and protect the clan O’Floinn, aye?”
Niamh nodded her head slowly.
“Now, back to your dreams. Children of seven whole years need a great deal of dreamtime to grow big and strong.” She pulled the warm blanket over her granddaughter.
“I want you to come back, Maimeó,” Niamh’s voice was a soft whisper as she settled in her bed.
“I wish for it also, Niamh. Just know that if I do not return in the flesh, I shall be with you in spirit all your days.”
Satisfied, Niamh smiled. She couldn’t imagine life without her Maimeó.
“That’s my gariníon. Sleep now. Be strong. Remember sometimes we lose those we love, but they are always with us in our hearts.” Aoife kissed those golden curls again. In her heart, she feared it might be for the last time. She struggled with telling Niamh that her father was gone, but decided not to. She would learn of his death when the sun rose and the men of Clan O’Floinn carried his and his brothers’ bodies up the steep hill to Ardagh.
Niamh did fall asleep. Aoife did not feel bad about using her magic to help the child a wee bit. Niamh’s life had changed forever, and she would find out in the morn just how much. For tonight, she could have peaceful dreams.
When she woke that morn, it was to the wailing of her mother and other women coming from the room beyond the curtain where she slept.
“What has happened, Mamaí?” she asked as she ran into the room to see her grandfather surrounded by her aunts and mother.
Her grandfather lifted her into his arms and stroked her hair. “We have sad news, Niamh.”
“Is it Maimeó?”
He shook his head. “’Tis your Athair. He was killed in battle along with his brothers, your uncles.”
“All three? Were all of our men killed?” Niamh struggled to understand.
“No, not all, just my sons,” Bearach’s voice broke as he spoke.
“Did they battle?”
“Aye they had a skirmish.”
“I will see my Dadaí, please.”
Her mother, Caoimhe, wept harder. She managed to say, “No, my brave girl. You cannot.” She caressed her daughter’s cheek.
“I will Daideó. You will take me. Dadaí must have a blessing. It should be from me.”
Pride shone in Bearach’s eyes. “Give the news to the rest of your children, daughters. I will take young Niamh to see her father and uncles. She is right. They should have a blessing. She will be the Clan Healer someday and ‘tis her place to do it in the absence of Aoife the White.”
Bearach watched the little slip of a lass bless his sons. She did not cry. When her blessing was done, she kissed her two uncles upon the forehead and her father upon the lips. She caressed his face and told him not to worry, that she would take care of her mother and siblings.
Bearach knew his eyes had grown moist. When the child returned to him, she slid her tiny hand into his large one. Her little fingers curled around two of his. She looked up to him, her blue eyes brilliant. The rays of the morning sun beamed through one of the tall, narrow windows in the hall, illuminating the still bodies of his sons laid upon the large tables. Rage and a thirst for revenge bubbled up inside him. And also guilt. He should have never treated Ciaran as a son. He should have sent him away when his black-hearted mother died.
“I will take care of you and the Clan O’Floinn, Daideó. I am small, but I have learned much from my Maimeó.”
Bearach lifted the little wisp of a girl into his large muscled arms and brought her up so he could look into her shining eyes. “You are Niamh the White and the Brave. As I have said this day, so you shall be called. You’ve a quick mind and a strong heart. You have made me proud, Niamh, daughter of my beloved Daragh and the fair Caoimhe.”
It was then he noticed the symbol hanging around her neck.
“She gave you her symbol, little one?” His eyes narrowed.
Niamh nodded. “Last night. I waked when she did it. We talked. She told me she went to the circle to remove the shadows of dark magic that have fallen over the O’Floinn.”
“She did. Aye,” Bearach’s tone was somber; his eyes were dark with his grief.
“It must have been the dark magic that killed my father and uncles. I must go to the circle too. She will need my strength. I am young, but my magic is strong.”
He shook his head. “No, gariníon! She decreed that what must be done is to be done by her hand, alone. She would not even let me go with her. Her two trusted guards have escorted her. You will stay with me.” He closed his eyes when his brave, little granddaughter wrapped her thin arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely.
It was an hour later when she heard the men in the hall telling the tale of the death of Bearach’s brave and loyal sons. It was Ciaran, the dark one, son of the first wife of her grandfather, who had killed her father and uncles. While they skirmished with the O’Conaills, and her brave father and uncles were focused upon the enemy, Ciaran came from behind them in their own ranks, like a coward, and killed them. Niamh’s father had been stabbed in the back.
Bearach had adopted Ciaran when he married his mother long ago. Niamh knew Ciaran had dark magic inside him, for she had felt it when he was near. Her grandmother, Aoife, and her mother had told her it was so. Niamh knew she must go to her grandmother. She needed the strongest of magics to defeat the darkness of Ciaran. Aoife did not have her symbol any longer, Niamh did. There was power in the symbol. She could feel it pulsing in the disk.
When she made the decision to go, she felt the talisman vibrate with energy. Niamh the White and the Brave, walked out of the keep unnoticed. She left the gray stone castle behind and walked down the tall, steep hill to the road. She knew the way to the circle well, for she had accompanied her grandmother for the solstices, her first time being two summers ago.
Darkness threatened to blanket the land when Niamh arrived in the valley of the stone circle. In the distance, she could see Aoife at the fulacht fiadh, the ancient cooking site, used by the ancestors. As the air grew chill with the coming of night, Niamh could see the steam rising from the trough. A small cauldron bubbled on the fire pit not far from it.
Grandmother meant to do some serious magic if she had the water in the trough boiling. It would have taken her all afternoon to heat enough stones and move them, red hot, into the trough. Another cauldron, a larger one, hung suspended by Aoife’s own magic, over the long, narrow stone trough where water boiled over the glowing, red rocks.
As Niamh drew closer, she heard some of the words Aoife spoke. She was drawing the Dark One to the circle with a spell.
Niamh nearly called out to her, to let her know she had come to help when she felt the dark, dense energy blow into the valley with the wind. She quickly hid behind a stone and watched as the dark horse and rider approached the circle.
“I am here, Crone! You had best get down on bended knee and swear fealty to me, for by nightfall tomorrow eve, I will be the new Chief of Ardagh.”
“Snow and ice would cool the bowels of hell before I would bend to you, Ciaran of the Dark.”
“Then, there will be snow and ice chilling your old bones soon, Crone. You will bend, or join your sons and husband in their fiery pit in Hell! Bearach is next you know. He’ll come to me to avenge the deaths of his sons. I’ll be ready.” He threw back his head and laughed.
His threats chilled Niamh�
��s blood.
“Come into my circle if you dare and try to end me, dark coward. I assure you I shall never bend to you, nor give my fealty to the likes of you.” Aoife threw something into the cauldron, still suspended by magic above the trough.
Red, black and white mist rose quickly and curled into the air above the large vessel. The colored mist grew thick and hovered in the area of verdant land that cradled the circle and ancient cook place. The wind had died. The air was now still. Bands of red, black, and gray curling smoke continued to curl up from the cauldron and hung thick and opaque in the valley. Niamh could see her grandmother’s outline disappear into the protection of the stone circle. The mist followed her. The circle filled with the odd colored smoke.
“You think colored fog scares me, old woman? Ha! A simple magician’s trick.” Ciaran whipped his large stallion across the flank and charged toward the circle. He dismounted and entered the circle of stones. His horse moved away. Ciaran wavered inside the circle, looking unsure for a few long moments, his eyes wide. He lifted his hands and looked at them, then watched as the ropes of mist circled around him like serpents and continued to move along with the energy current.
She saw him snicker before the mist seemed to encase him and he disappeared from her sight. Niamh wondered was it the heightened energy of the circle that took him off guard when he first stepped into the circle, or was it the colored mist?
She rose and carefully made her way toward the perimeter of the circle after the dark one entered. She desperately tried to search for her beloved grandmother through the smoky fog. She crossed beyond the border into the thick, swirling mist. It moved around her, but never touched her as it had Ciaran. Energy crackled, spiraling around her as she walked. The stone circle was alive with power and energy this night. There was a strong pulse emanating from the earth encompassed by the boundary of ancient stones.
She could hear the lilt of Aoife’s voice as she chanted a spell, but in the thick bands of churning black, red, and gray fog, Niamh had no sense of direction. At times, she could not make out the words her grandmother spoke, or guess from which direction they came. The mist seemed to distort the sound. She was unsure where she was inside the circle. At last, it sounded as if she might be near her grandmother.
“Ciaran O’Sullivan, the dark one! The death of my three strong and loyal sons, Daragh, Lonán, and Ceallach, will be avenged this night. You will pay for taking the life of such good, decent men. Brave, strong, and true they were. Of the Light they were, and ever will be.”
It was then the mist cleared somewhat within the circle’s center and Niamh could now see her white-haired granny.
When she saw the face of Ciaran appear behind Aoife, she shrieked, “Maimeó! He’s behind you!”
Niamh watched her grandmother turn toward the dark one. The crystal in her staff glowed and fired into a brilliant white flame that cast light throughout the circle.
Suddenly, the crystal dimmed, the mist thinned as lightning split the sky. The fog began to disperse from within the pulsing stones, and Niamh saw the bloodied end of a spear exiting her grandmother’s back. She screamed.
“Niamh, Go!” Aoife shouted. She motioned to her two O’Floinn guards outside the circle who had escorted her. They had been ordered to remain outside the stones. “Take my granddaughter from the circle at once!”
Aoife the White turned her attention back to Ciaran after seeing her most faithful guard enter the circle and run toward her granddaughter.
“As the Guardians, my ancestors, the god and goddess, are my witnesses this night, you are cursed, Ciaran O’Sullivan, to live the rest of your days running, hiding, living as an outcast, until three sons of the three murdered sons of Aoife the White and Bearach of Ardagh, and daughters from the blood of their widowed wives avenge them.” Her staff struck the ground and the white flame grew into an intense white beam once again. She leaned heavily upon the staff.
Donal O’Floinn pulled Niamh from the circle. She struggled to break Donal’s hold and return to her wounded grandmother. Strong arms held her where she was.
“Why won’t you help her? My Maimeó?” she asked him.
“I cannot, child. I swore to Bearach to serve his Lady, and have this night sworn to Aoife the White to leave her in the circle with the dark O’Sullivan until the magic was cast. ‘Tis my duty to obey them.”
The sound of her grandmother’s voice drew her attention.
“My husband gave you quarter and shelter, and raised you among his own sons after your dark mother ended her life. This is how you repay him his kindness, murdering his good and loyal sons. Strong and true they were! They called you brother. You have long coveted the wife of my Daragh. Do you truly think she would have you now after murdering the man she loved?” Aoife spit upon him.
Ciaran’s face twisted with rage. He slapped her hard. “She will be mine, hag.”
Again, Niamh tried to break free but the O’Floinn guard held her tightly to him and clamped his hand over her mouth. “Quiet, Niamh! There’s strong magic at work this night.”
Niamh noticed the bands of red, black, and gray fog had formed into something resembling thin ropes that pulsed with power. The colored ropes traveled the current that ringed the circle. The energy bands began to move faster. She could hear the low hum of it, whether in her ears or mind, she couldn’t say.
“You will live a life of unhappiness, lonely, never happy, never knowing the love of the family you betrayed, until the day three sons of my sons, and three daughters of the blood of their wives avenge the deaths of Daragh, Lonán, and Ceallach. As I have said, so it is!” Aoife slammed the butt of her staff to the ground three times. The thick, crystal point glowed white then grew to a fiery brightness. The beams of light engulfed Ciaran then spread to fill the circle.
“I do not fear a dead woman, Crone!” Ciaran threw back his head and laughed.
Aoife raised her chin from her chest. Niamh watched as she raised her hand. She saw a flash of silver as her grandmother brought her dagger down into Ciaran’s shoulder.
He screamed. In truth, it was more like a howl.
He struck Aoife again and roughly tore his spear from her body. Aoife crumpled to the ground.
Tears stung Niamh’s eyes.
“Poison me, will you, old woman? For that, I’m going to kill every last O’Floinn and I’ll have the fair Caoimhe. I’ll have her daughter and all the daughters after, if there are any, even if they are mine! They will all die. There will be no sons of your blood to live. The bloodline of the O’Floinns of Ardagh has ended. I swear to you this night, the O’Floinns are finished. I’ll kill them, the boy babes first! Then every last one of them, just to spite you. To make you roll in your grave.”
“You can’t kill any more of mine on the Earth in this time; they are protected by the strongest of magics. I have seen to it. The power of Light is stronger than that of the Dark. You will be destroyed, dark one, at their hands, or by those of their blood.” Aoife coughed.
Niamh heard Aoife’s words despite the weakness with which she spoke them.
“One last thing, Ciaran. I beg mercy for…”
“Speak up, Crone, I can’t hear you,” he sneered in a sarcastic tone.
“Grant mercy for…” she coughed.
Ciaran bent over to pick up her crystal-topped staff. He ripped the crystal from its bindings. The light in the stone faded until the stone went dark as the night.
Bent over her, he flashed a sardonic smile as he asked, “Mercy for?” He peered down at her pale form. Her life blood flowed freely from her body. He gave her a victorious smile. “Can’t speak, Aoife the White?” he leered.
Niamh saw a burst of magic flicker, sparkles of blue and white winked in the night as Aoife raised her hand, opened it, and thrust something that sparkled like pinpoints of brilliant light then turned dark and black as it landed upon Ciaran’s face. Whatever it was, it clung to his skin, burned him, for he covered his face with his hands and he let go a scream
of agony.
He ran toward the water trough, but Aoife’s water still boiled within. He growled his displeasure when he saw the steam rising above the red, glowing rocks. Using Aoife’s staff to lean on, he made his way past the cook place and knelt down in the damp grass, using the moisture on the tender green blades to wash his face. He rose, bellowing in anger, throwing Aoife’s staff behind him as the two O’Flynn guards rushed him. He clumsily mounted his dark steed. Bent over, with one hand clutching his face, Ciaran emitted one last angry growl then galloped away.
Niamh ran to the still form of her grandmother in the center of the circle and knelt beside her as the ropes of red, gray, and white mist thinned and disappeared. There was so much blood.
“Maimeó!”
“Niamh. You must go home, child,” her voice was a whisper.
Her grandmother’s breathing was labored. Her skin looked ashen.
“No! I will take you home. I will heal you. I am strong, you have said so.”
Aoife coughed. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. “I’m not quite up to travel, yet, child.” She managed a weak smile. “Let me rest a bit, aye? Tell your grandfather that I love him today as much as I did the day we wed. I entrust the care of our beloved grandchildren and daughters by marriage to his care. Take the cord from around my neck, Niamh.”
Niamh gently lifted her grandmother’s white head, cringing when Aoife winced with the pain the movement brought to her.
“Do it,” Aoife commanded.
She removed a cord from which hung a long, slender, water-clear, crystal point. “That’s for your grandfather, my protection for him, and our clan. And this,” Aoife whispered as she reached with trembling fingers for the bronze triskele hanging from Niamh’s neck. Her hand grasped and encircled the bronze medallion. It was her symbol, now it belonged to Niamh. She tightened her hold on the medallion as she whispered, “This is what I have left in me for you, to protect you, so that you may protect the others. I give you my power. It is yours now. I am proud of you, my bright little star, so brave you are.”
Decker's Fate (The Decker Brothers Trilogy Book 1) Page 35
