| Ciaran’s Book of Shadows: March 2, 1977 I dreamt of Ireland again. As always, the dream left me with a longing that makes no sense. It’s just an image, deceptively simple, innocent really: a small child’s dress of cream linen, blowing on a line against an open blue sky. Behind it the grass slopes up to the base of Slieve Corrofin, with the great rock at the peak in the shape of a lizard’s head. I remember the locals calling it the Ballynigel dragon, though I reckon that was more for the tourist than anything else. So why does Ballynigel still haunt my dreams? And what do I make of the fact that the dream returns when I am eighteen, two nights before I am to marry Grania? If, as we are taught, everything has meaning, then what does this mean? Am I being warned away from the marriage? No, that seems impossible. I’ve been dreaming of that dress since I was eight. Besides, Grania is three months pregnant with my child. And she’s a good match. Her family is one of the wealthiest in Liathach, our coven. More to the point, her mother is the high priestess of Liathach and has no other children, and Grania has no ambition to lead the coven herself. She’s happy to let me take that role, I’ve always known that one day Liathach would be mine to lead. Being Greer MacMuredach’s son-in-law will make the passing of power that much easier. Together Grania and I will raise a dynasty full of true Woodbane magick. -Neimhidh March 3, 1977 My wedding garments are laid out. The white robe embroidered in gold with the runes to summon power. The belt woven of gold and crimson threads. The groom’s wristbands, beaten gold set with rubies, that I inherit from Grania’s father. Everything is spelled with charms for strength and fertility, with protections against whatever might harm us, with blessings for wealth and long life. I wonder about love, though. Grania teases me, saying that nothing truly touches my heart, and maybe she’s right? I know I don’t love her, though I’m fond of her. Yet my mind lingers on last summer’s fling with that American Woodbane, Selene. Now, I know that wasn’t love, but Goddess, it was exciting, the most intense experience I’ve ever had. And that includes all the times I’ve been with Grania. Still, Grania is a pretty thing and very pliant. And she’s strong in her magick. Our children will be powerful, and that’s the most important thing. Power. Woodbane power. So why do I hesitate as I prepare for our wedding? And why do I keep dreaming of that damned white dress? -Neimhidh September 6, 1977 My son was born ten days ago, and I should be the proud, happy da. The boy is big and healthy- but Goddess, he’s a loud, needy little bugger and Grania’s still so fat. When will she get back to normal? And when will someone pay some bloody attention to me for a change? Tonight, after little Kyle screamed his lungs out for three solid hours (“Poor wee thing has colic,” Grania said, as if that made it bearable). I couldn’t take it anymore. I went out to the pub and had myself a few pints and a good sulk. On the way home a bony old cat dashed straight in front of me and I toppled onto someone’s rubbish left out for the trash man. I didn’t even think about it. I muttered a spell and blasted the damn cat. I couldn’t see it die, just heard its scream in the darkness. Now I feel a fool. I know better than to vent my spleen in such a childish way. -Neimhidh July 15, 1981 I write this on the ferry crossing the Irish Sea. I’m part of a delegation from Liathach, bound for western Ireland, to the very village where I was born, Ballynigel. We’re going, as clansmen, to pay a visit to the Belwicket coven. I don’t remember any of them at all. I’m very curious to see a Woodbane coven that forswore evil more than a hundred years ago. Bright magick and dark, the Woodbanes have never feared either. How Belwicket could have given up fully half of our ancient, essential powers, I can’t fathom. But that is what we’re going to observe. And we’ll see whether there is anything in Ballynigel strong enough to resist us. We can’t-won’t-risk opposition. If we find it... there has been talk of the dark wave. Mother stands near the bow with Greer, probably gossiping about the bairns. The two grannies are both mad for little Iona, and a sweet thing she is, though, every bit as much trouble as her brother, Kyle. I take it as a good sign that Greer invited me to be part of this mission. Finally she is admitting me to Liathach’s inner circle of leaders. Grania, of course, didn’t want me to go. “You can’t leave me with two little ones to care for all on my own,” she kept telling me. But I can and I have. The dream is still with me, and I long to see Ballynigel again. -Neimhidh July 16, 1981 We’ve been in Ballynigel less than twenty-four hours, and everything has changed. I know now why I kept dreaming of this place, why I’ve felt drawn back here, as though there were an invisible string connecting it to my heart. I first saw Maeve Riordan yesterday. She was not among those who welcomed our boat. She was off gathering moss for a poultice and didn’t come back into the village until we were in a meeting with Belwicket’s elders. We were in the house of Mackenna, their high priestess, beginning to ask those questions whose answers would determine Belwicket’s fate, though they didn’t realize it, poor sods. And in walks Mackenna’s daughter, a girl of twenty-three with a mud-streaked skirt and a basket over flowing with drippy moss. I had the strangest sensation that I’d waited twenty-two years to see her. It was as though my life were slightly unreal until that moment. She seemed fey-a luminous creature- and at the same time utterly familiar, as if I’d known and loved her my whole life. Everything about Maeve enchants me. The light that dances in her eyes, the rhythm of her speech, the sound of her laughter, the grace of her hands, and, of course, the magick that sparkles around her. She has a great deal of raw power-as much as Selene, I think. Selene was a different package, though. She’d been honing her magick for years, had studied, sacrificed, undergone a Great Trial, even. In Maeve it’s simply a matter of her birthright. She takes it for granted, doesn’t yet realize how much power courses through her. Of course, there is the matter of Belwicket having forsworn the old Woodbane ways. Still, I’m certain we’ll get past that. She feels the same way about me that I do about her- I can see it in her eyes. I will show Maeve how to realize her true power . I’ll convince her that my way is the right one. So this is what love feels like, the love that last for all time. When it happens, there are no questions, no doubts. I know that now. And I know the dress on the line… it can only have been hers. -Neimhidh August 19, 1981 Maeve and I have pledged our souls to each other. We left the village just after dark and went out beneath the cliffs. She and I share an affinity for fire, so it was child’s play to kindle a raging bonfire with our minds- the concrete expression of all consuming nature of our love. Dancing and licking at the night like an animal, it was a thing of beauty, red and yellow and orange, with a dazzling white-blue heat at its heart. I am so happy, I am nearly delirious. At last I am finally alive. I even gave her the watch that Da gave to Ma, the one I’ve carried with me all these years. Funny that I never thought to give it to Grania. But then, I never loved Grania. There is only one more thing to do. I haven’t yet made love to Maeve, though Goddess knows, I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything on this earth. But I want no lies between us, so first I must tell her about Grania and the children. It will be difficult. But our love will get us through. I have no fear. Nothing can quench our fire. -Neimhidh August 20, 1981 This morning at dawn I took Maeve for a walk along the cliffs. We were both still floating on the joy of last night. Yet I knew I had to tell her. I expected it to shock, possibly hurt her. But I was certain she’d forgive me in the end. After all, we are mùirn beatha dàns. Maeve was going on about where we’d live. Much as she loves Ballynigel, she does not want to stay here her entire life; she wants to see the world, and I would love nothing more than to show it to her. But her happy ramblings were like blows to my heart. At last, when I could stand to wait no more, I told her, as gently as I could, that I was not yet free to travel with her, that I had a wife and two children in Scotland. At first she only looked at me in confusion. I repeated what I’d said, this time taking her hands in mine. Then her confusion was replaced by disbelief. She begged me weeping, to tell her it wasn’t true. But I couldn’t. I could not lie to her. I pulled her close to kiss away her tears. But she would have none of me. She yanked her hands from mine and stepped away. I pleaded with her to give me time, I told her I couldn’t afford to enrage Greer-not if I wanted to take her place. But I swore I’d leave the lot of them as soon as I could. She cut me off. “You will not leave your wife and children,” she said, the anguish in her eyes turning to fire. “First you betray me with lies. Now you want to destroy a family as well?” Then she told me to leave her, to get away. I couldn’t believe she was serious, I argued, cajoled, begged. I told her to take time to consider. I said in a gentle way to go forward together, that, of course, I would provide for my family. But no matter what I said, I could not dissuade her. She who had been so soft, so yielding, was suddenly like iron. My soul is shattered. Tomorrow I return I return to Scotland. -Neimhidh August 27, 1981 I’ve been in Scotland almost a week now. And a bleak, colorless landscape it is. Was I ever happy here? Grania met me at the door with bawling babies clinging to her skirts and a list of complaints. It had been poring for ten days straight, and the thatching on the roof was leaking, making the entire house reek of mildew. Oh, and little Iona was cutting a tooth and couldn’t I make a tincture for the pain? It’s a wonder she didn’t ask me to stop the rains. The thing is, Grania’s not without power of her own. Before the babies came, she was a promising witch. But now she’s the martyr, and it’s all up to me. I wasn’t home half an hour before I left for the pub, and I’ve spent most of my time there ever since, I can’t face my own home. Can’t face life without Maeve. Last night was the worst yet. The little ones both had a bug. Kyle was feverish. Iona couldn’t keep down anything she ate. With Greer still in Ballynigel, I was called on to lead a circle. I came back to find Grania shrieking like a harpy. How could I have left her with two sick kids? Didn’t I care about my own children? I didn’t have it in me to lie. “No.” I told her. “Nor do I care for you, you fat cow.” She struck me then, and I nearly struck her back, instead I told her she was a shrew and a chore just to look at. Made her cry, which of course drove me even further round the bend. Finally I took her to bed just to get her to stop the waterworks. It was awful. All I wanted was Maeve in my arms. Today Grania’s playing the victim for all it’s worth, and I find myself wishing I could stop her pathetic whining once and for all. It would cost me the coven, though. She’s still Greers daughter. With a certain inherited position here, no matter how undeserved. I have so much rage in me that everything I see in enclosed in an aura of flaming red. I am furious with Maeve for her self righteous rejection of me. Furious with myself for marrying Grania, when I should have known Maeve was out there, waiting for me. And furious with Grania for having the wretched luck to be who she is. She just came in to tell me that she already feels a child stirring within her from last night’s mockery of lovemaking. “It will be a boy,” she said, a sickly hope on her face. “What shall we name him?” “We shall call him Killian,” I answered. It means strife. -Neimhidh November 11, 1981 I though it would get easier. Isn’t time suppose to heal all wounds? And if not time, what about the healing rituals our clan has used for hundreds of years? Why is it that I see Maeve’s face when I wake and when I sleep and when I lie in bed with Grania? Maeve, behind every door, around every corner, in every invocation to the Goddess? There is no longer any joy for me in the world. Even my own children cannot hold my interest or attention, and that’s probably a kindness. If I really let myself see them, I see them as things that made Maeve reject me. If not for them, she and I would be together now. I can’t forget her. And I can’t have her. And the rage does not ebb. It’s funny. Fat, old Greer, of all people, was the one who saw what was happening. She didn’t mince words. “Your soul is sickening and your heart shriveling,” she told me. “There’s a black, twisted thing inside you. So use it, boy.” At first I was so out of my mind with pain, I didn’t understand what she meant. It was not hard to figure out, though. Who better to call on dark magick than one whose own soul has sunk into darkness? -Neimhidh December 14, 1981 Greer has been dead a month now of a heart attack, and if anyone suspects that I helped to hasten her death, they dare not accuse me. Liathach is mine now. Andarra, Grania’s father, doesn’t quite understand that. He’s still grieving. He came to tonight’s circle and chanted the opening invocation to the Goddess and the God. His eyes filled with confusion when I thanked him for it and took over. I had to. He wanted to spend the entire night sending on Greer’s soul, which I believe we took care of immediately after her death. She had so many dealings with the taibhs, the dark spirits. Doesn’t he know they came for her in the end? It’s almost Yule, the time of the return of the God, an appropriate time for me to take over Liathach. Greer was a power, I’ll grant, but she wasn’t bold enough. She was always worrying about the council. It’s time to turn the tables. Now Liathach will come into it’s own, and the council will fear us. -Neimhidh Samhain, 1983 The rumors are true. She lives. Ballynigel was razed to the ground by the dark wave, yet Maeve Riordan and that fawning blue-eyed half-wit, Angus Bramson, managed to survive. Goddess, I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve wished them both dead and in everlasting torment. Especially her. In the space of two enchanted weeks she opened my heart and destroyed my entire life. My marriage became a hollow sham, my home a prison. Grania hates me. The children….well, they respect my power, at least. I’m leaving Scotland, leaving Liathach. The coven has grown in strength and magick as never before. We took part in the destruction of Crossbrig, which gained Liathach their much coveted Wyndenkell spell books. But the Liathach witches are weak, fearful. They’ve been ruled too long by Grania’s family. They think I’ve led them into danger. They want to retreat. Well, let them. But I won’t be a part of it. I don’t care about leaving Liathach. I should have done it years ago. All that matters is that I find Maeve. She has done the impossible. She survived the dark wave. I’ve scryed, and I’ve seen her. I know that she still holds me in her heart, that we are still meant to be together. I can’t live without her another day. Now I must find her. The only question is whether it will be to tell her how much I love her…or to kill her. -Neimhidh February 28, 1984 The beginning of spring is a time to sow the seeds of dreams for the coming year. Here in a tiny village called Meshomah Falls. I am a boy again, full of fantasies and dreams, eager to welcome the promise of spring. I found her. Today Maeve and I saw each other for the first time since I left Ballynigel. I knew in that instant that she still loved me. That nothing had changed, that it had all been worth the wait. Goddess, I see the universe every time I gaze into her eyes. We waited until evening, for she insisted on making some excuse to poor, pathetic Angus. Then she led me out beyond the town, through a narrow band of woods, across a meadow, and up a hill to a field. “No one will see us here,” she said. “Of course not. One of us will work a spell of invisibility,” I said. That was when Maeve told me she’d given up her magick. I couldn’t believe it. Ever since she left Ireland, she’s led a half life, her senses shut down, a prisoner of her own terror. “You never have to fear again,” I told her. Bit by bit I coaxed her to open. Oh, the joy that was in her eyes as she let herself sense the seeds in the earth beneath us, the tender green shoots waiting to break the surface. Then she opened herself to the skies, the stars, the pull of the incandescent spring moon, and we gave ourselves to pleasure and to each other. Goddess, I have finally known true joy. All the pain I have gone through, it was all worth it for this. -Neimhidh February 29, 1984 The light of day dawns…and with it love dies. Maeve woke in my arms. Morning dew glistened on her skin. I pulled a bit of straw from her hair and told her how beautiful she was. “No, Ciaran!” She scrambled to her feet. “This can’t be. I’ve made my life with Angus, and you have a wife and children-” “Forget my wife and children. I’ve left them. And damn Angus!” I cried. “I’m tired of things coming between what we know is meant to be. We are Mùirn beatha dàns. We are meant to be together.” But she wouldn’t hear of it. She went on and on, scourging herself with guilt. Angus had been so good to her, so patient and kind. How could she hurt him this way? What we were doing was wrong, immoral, a betrayal of the worst kind. “What about betraying our love?” I asked. “You’ve been perfectly willing to do that these last three years.” I explained that I’d given up my life in Scotland. My family, my coven, they were no longer a part of me. I was here in America prepared to start my life over with her. What more could she want from me? “I can’t live with you and live with myself,” she said. She fled the field like a frightened rabbit, she who was once destined to be high priestess of Belwicket. “Well, I can’t watch you live with Angus,” I shouted at her fleeing form. So tell me, Maeve, now that you’ve chosen a course I can’t forgive, what is the value of your life? -Neimhidh May 25, 1985 I tried to forget her, I swear it. I returned to Scotland. Had another go with Grania and the little ones, every bit as miserable as the other times. Killian is an interesting one, though. He has more innate power than Kyle and Iona combined. He could be a real find. Still, I can’t share a roof with any of them, not when it’s Maeve I ache for. She’s a craving in my heart, a sickness in my blood. I wake and fall asleep to her memory. I love her as much as I hate her. She is with me every minute. But the truth is, she remains with Angus, damn her. Time and again I’ve tried to persuade her to leave the worthless fool. And time and again she refuses. I wonder sometimes what would be if she gave me a chance, if she saw who it is I’ve become in these years since she first rejected me. The heart she would not accept from me, I gave to the darkness. My power has grown beyond what I ever believed possible. I have served the darkness well, and it me. There is nothing on this earth that frightens me and very little that can stand against me. Would the good witch of Belwicket be able to accept that? I must believe that our love would open her to her own true Woodbane nature and that she would revel in it as I do. Meanwhile my love for her only grows. It never seems to diminish, no matter how I distract myself. I’ve tried everything, even stooping to childish tricks. I’ve left anonymous threatening sigils around their house. I’ve even hung a dead cat from their porch rail. Goddess, it’s sickening, juvenile stuff, but I am a man possessed. What shall I do? What can I do? -Neimhidh June 1985 I am back in Meshomah Falls now so I can put an end to it once and for all. There will be no more fevers, no more senseless cravings. No more pining for a woman who won’t have me. I’m choosing my own peace of mind over all else. Giving in to the inevitable. If she wants Angus so badly, let her have him for eternity. Let them both die. I’ve found the perfect place for it, an isolated barn on an abandoned farm about five miles from their house. The means will be Maeve’s own element, fire. It seems the only fitting thing. A fire to quench the fire that’s been burning in my heart since the day I first saw her. Fire to fire and ashes to ashes. It will soon be done. I’ve already closed my heart to love. From this day on I give myself wholly to the darkness. -Neimhidh That lying, manipulative wench Selene! She knew this girl was Maeve’s daughter and she never told me! What other secrets did she keep from me? Maeve’s daughter! You wouldn’t know it from the girl’s looks. She doesn’t have Maeve’s delicate, pretty face, the sprinkling of freckles across her nose, the soft waves of reddish-brown hair. All she has of Maeve is her power. Though there’s something about her eyes that’s damnably familiar. How did Maeve and Angus manage to spawn that one without my ever knowing? And how the bloody hell did she find out what happened at the end? Even those who knew Maeve didn’t know that we were mùirn beatha dàns, and no one, save Maeve and Angus, knew about how the fire started. All witnesses are dead. Selene couldn’t have told her. Selene knew nothing of what was between me and Maeve. Or…did she? I’ve never been sure just what Selene did and didn’t know. All of which raises the question: What else is there that Selene didn’t tell me about this girl? My thoughts are heaving like the sea. There’s something at the edge of my mind, a disturbing presence on the edge of consciousness. It had a truth to show me. Damn it. What is it? What is it? Well, I’ll drink a toast to you, Maeve Riordan. You pulled one over on me from beyond the grave. You were so young and beautiful when you died. I dare say you wouldn’t find me attractive now. My own reflection stares back at me from this silver goblet, distorted, gruesome. How did I ever get such a beauty to love me, even for a night? Look at my eyes, two dark muddy slashes unlike anyone else’s…except this girl’s. What do you think, Maeve? You know me better than most, so answer the question that looms before me: Can I destroy our daughter? |
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