Origins s-11 Read online

  “There is a father for my child!” I insisted. “He is among us now.” I dared not name him, for fear that the crowd would turn on him, too. The answer had to come from him; Diarmuid had to be the one to stand up and lay claim to me as his future bride and mother of his child. By doing so he could turn this scandalous dilemma into something honorable in the eyes of the Christians, who at least believed in redemption.

  I glanced toward him, beseeching him, but he did not move. What was he waiting for? I need you — now! It’s time for you to save me. Denounce Siobhan’s lie. Claim me as your own true love and lover.

  “A father among us?” Reverend Winthrop said tartly. He glanced over his shoulders at the men in the crowd. “All right, then. Let the father of Rose MacEwan’s child step forward. What human among us has lain with this woman?”

  I looked at Diarmuid, begging him to act now.

  But he would not meet my glance. It was as if he were cast in stone, a useless pillar of rock.

  Please!I thought, beseeching him with every fiber of my being. Please. they’re going to kill me and our baby!

  But he did not move.

  “Oh, Goddess,” I mumbled under my breath. “Let it not be. He is choosing her! He is choosing her over me!”

  “Just as I suspected.” The reverend shook his head, eyeing me with mock sadness. “There is no father, is there?” His eyes glittered with malice.

  “There is!” I insisted.

  I wanted to protest, but my throat had gone dry.

  Going over to a horse trough, Reverend Winthrop pushed back the sleeves of his gown, making a show of washing his hands. “I wash my hands of the matter of your redemption. I do believe you are guilty as charged.”

  “Aye, she is guilty!” someone cried.

  “Guilty! Guilty!” The cry became a chant taken up by the villagers around me.

  I felt myself collapsing against the hitching post, my hands hugging my belly. I couldn’t let them hurt my babe. But how could I stop the swell of hatred that raged out of control?

  “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”

  Strong arms clamped around me. I felt myself being lifted, then dragged off through the crowd. Villagers stared at me, their eyes full of scorn or pity or curiosity. One woman snatched her children away and tucked them behind her skirts, as if I would harm them. How wrong she was. Didn’t she know I would defend any child, especially my own, to the ends of time?

  “Another useless Wodebayne to the gallows,” I heard a Vykrothe man mutter just loud enough for me to hear. “ ’Tis no loss for us.”

  Is that what all of this had boiled down to? Hatred and prejudice? I wondered, but my thoughts were clouded with pain and confusion.

  “At last she’ll be getting what she deserves,” said a familiar voice.

  I glanced up to see Siobhan sidling up to Diarmuid, a smug expression on her face. Beside her Diarmuid stood staring at the ground.

  Not man enough to defend me! I wanted to say, but the words were caught in the painful lump lodged in my throat.

  I dug my heels into the ground, making the guards halt for a moment. “Mark my words, Siobhan,” I told her, my voice cracking with emotion. “Your evil will come back to you threefold!”

  “Begone!” she said, waggling her fingers at me like a sprite. “You’ll not harm me again.”

  Without thought I was upon her, grabbing and scraping in an attempt to shatter her silly composure. I felt my nails dig into her skin, scratching the side of her cheek.

  “Aaah!” she yelped. “The witch has attacked me again!”

  The men quickly yanked me off her, but before they dragged me away, I had the satisfaction of seeing her sad little pout, along with a trickle of blood running down her graceful neck.

  That is the neck that should be snapped at the gallows! I wanted to scream. She had tried to kill my mother, had she not? The urge to send dealan-dé her way was strong, and it took all my restraint to control myself as the men took me off to my tiny prison.

  My cell was actually the springhouse behind a villager’s cottage. The roof was made of leaky straw thatching, but the mud-plastered stone walls prevented my escape. Tossed onto the dirt floor there, I curled into a ball and thought of Diarmuid, my heart truly breaking. What had happened to the power of our love?

  He had said that I was destined for great things—to become high priestess! And he knew the Goddess’s plan for our union—that together we could unite all the clans!

  But no. The path to redemption had been crossed by Siobhan, and Diarmuid had succumbed to her. He had failed me, failed us, failed our child.

  Oh, Goddess, how could he be so disloyal? Disappointment overwhelmed me as I fell into a dark state, my hand resting upon the child within my belly.

  13. A Spell for the Darkest Hour

  The creak of a door. A sliver of light.

  Someone was entering my chamber.

  “Hark!” he said, peering over the flame of the candle.

  I sat up on the dirt floor. “Diarmuid?” My head was clogged from sleep, but indeed it was him, coming into the cell.

  “Where are the guards?” I asked in surprise.

  “They are blind to me,” he said as the door creaked closed behind him. “I cast a see-me-not spell, rather successfully, I might add. And those bumblers are spelled deep asleep.”

  How could he joke at a time like this? I turned my face away, not willing to meet his eyes. “Have you come to gloat over my demise?” I asked.

  “Of course not. I’ve come to extract one last promise. I was pleased by the way you held your tongue today, not mentioning my name. I trust you’ll keep silent till the end.”

  I spun around to glare at him. “Silent!” I shouted. “Silence is the reason I am here! Why did you not answer my messages?” I stamped the ground with my foot. “Why did you not come forward to defend me and claim your child?”

  He lowered his chin, his blue eyes abrasive. “How am I to know the bairn is mine?”

  Furious, I took a swing at him, but he bobbed so that my fist caught only air. As I stumbled back, he caught my arms and held me in place. His eyes swept down my body to my breasts, my swollen belly. “And you thought I would claim your child?” he said with sudden disdain. “Knowing your wanton ways, you’ve probably bedded dozens like me.”

  His words infuriated me, but my fury was checked by my revelation. The man standing before me was not noble nor true nor even kind. And he had never been the sweet perfection I’d glimpsed under the Goddess’s sky.

  His pentagram dangled at his neck, glinting mockingly.

  Suddenly I wanted to scratch out his glittering eyes and smite the grin from his pretty face. I did not love this man. How had I ever loved one who so cagily used me, took of my body and my heart, then abandoned me for dead?

  “Get out!” I growled. I kicked at his legs, aiming high but just glancing off the top of his thigh.

  Still, it was enough to scare him off. He released my hands as he doubled over.

  Reaching out, I grabbed at his pentagram and pulled. He did not deserve to wear this! He did not deserve to pay homage to the Goddess! He made a little choking sound as it snapped off. With a feeling of righteousness I dropped the pentagram to the ground.

  Diarmuid rubbed his neck. “You’re rather feisty for a condemned woman,” he said. “And I should be the one throwing punches, what with the way you charmed me. I found the rose stone in your pocket. Powerful magick you make. ’Twas lovely while it lasted, but love soon fades to lust and needs. And my needs are well fulfilled by my own coven.”

  Fury burned inside me. “And Siobhan,” I said. “You have lain with her because. because ’tis the easiest path to take.”

  He shrugged. “A man has certain obligations to his clan, and to marry a Wodebayne, I would have been falling short of everyone’s expectations. You truly caught my eye. Even when Siobhan undid the power of your charmed stone, my desire to take you did not abate. Even now. I long to hold you one last time
...” He reached for me hungrily.

  “In a pig’s eye!” I shouted, pushing him away. “Begone from here, Diarmuid! For our passion was not about lust nor favor! Did you not stand in the circle with me and summon the Goddess? Did we not pledge our love under her sky and promise to—”

  “A witch says many things, chants many things,” he said. “Often we say words we do not comprehend. ’Tis part of the—”

  “I knew what I was saying!” Hatred swelled within me as all illusions of beauty and goodness melted away from him, revealing a diabolical monster. I pointed to the door. “Begone from here before I have at you, for I swear, I will tear the hair from your lovely head.”

  “Don’t you threaten me, Rose!” Diarmuid lunged at me, backing me against the wall. “For despite your powers with the Goddess, I have the physical power to overcome you, and aye, I am stirring at the very touch of you, wench!” His eyes sparkled deviously. I felt stunned, unable to move. Was it possible that this boy—this boy I had seen as the answer to all of my prayers—would ravish me by force?

  I struggled to get away, but he only tightened his grip.

  “I will have you, Rose, for who will stop me? You are locked in prison, completely alone. Do you think the guards will answer your cries? The pleas of a witch sentenced to die?” He pressed his hips against me, pushing me into the cold stone wall.

  I felt sickened by his touch, furious at his determination to overcome me. And I had loved him! How had I ever loved this cruel, conniving beast? Feeling it was hopeless to fight him, I collapsed against the wall. He was stronger than I. I knew I had to summon magick, but my mind was wild and scattered.

  Seeing me relax, he released my hands and lifted my skirts. “Come on, Rose,” he said, fingering my thighs. “I shall make it painful if you fight me.”

  Seizing the freedom of my hands, I grasped his face and pressed my nails in, hoping to scratch his pretty blue eyes out. “Aye, then let’s make it painful!”

  He gasped as my fingers penetrated his skin. His hands quickly encircled my wrists and pried me off, but not before I’d managed to scratch his cheeks. “Are you mad?”

  “So they say!” I wrenched my hands free of him and backed away, rubbing my wrists. “But I’ll not spend my last night on earth being defiled by the lust of a lying coward.”

  He pressed his fingers to his cheek and saw the crimson smear there. “You drew blood,” he said in horror. For a moment I thought he would weep with despair.

  Focusing my mind, I held up my hands to ward him off. “Next time I’ll use dealan-dé,” I told him. “And if I had an athame, I would plunge it right through your festering heart.”

  Holding a hand against his cheek, he sucked in his breath. “I cannot wait till the morrow.” His face was hollow and angular in the candlelight, a hideous, hateful specter. “I will relish the moment of your death.”

  Before I could respond, he fled from the cell, leaving only a lit candle behind.

  A lit candle. Fire of the Goddess.

  Diarmuid had left behind the one element I needed to balance out my circle. I had earth, wind, water, air. and now, despite all the attempts of the guards to keep it away from me, I had fire.

  My fists clenched, I stared at the flame as fury raged within me. I burned for all the Wodebaynes who had suffered injustice at the hands of rival witches. Fire raged within me for Diarmuid—not the fires of passion, but the fires of hatred and fury. I burned with vengeance for Siobhan, who had stolen my place as Diarmuid’s wife and sentenced me to death, who had tried to take my mother’s life, too. And above all I was afire with love and sorrow for the babe in my belly, the child who had been condemned before she’d had a chance to take her first breath.

  Sweat beaded on my forehead and dripped down my neck. What was happening? Pressing my hands to my cheeks, I found that my skin was sizzling hot to the touch, feverish despite the cool night air.

  A fire raged within me, a fire from the Goddess, and I realized she was summoning me to a mystickal destiny. What? I asked. Where shall I go? Which way to turn? I felt pent up and trapped, unable to commune with her. I needed to see the moon.

  Glancing up at the thatched roof, I realized that I could probably reach it with the help of the one chair in my prison. I pulled the chair to the highest spot and climbed up. Aye, my fingertips pressed against the thatching. I pulled at the straw, tugging it loose. I would claw and scrape until my fingers bled if it meant reaching out to the Goddess on my last night upon this earth.

  As I plucked at the straw, I thought of my purpose. I could not see my way to escape from my death or to save my child. But what of my legacy. my destiny before the Goddess? Would I be known only as a young witch who had feuded with a Vykrothe girl?

  I recalled what my mother had said about Da, about his feud with the Vykrothes. Now, so many years later, I had become entangled with the same clan. Was that part of the Goddess’s plan? Perhaps my very purpose was to dismantle the Vykrothes’ power once and for all. I could not actively go after Siobhan, but I could place a curse upon her from behind these prison walls. One last spell, one final wave of revenge before she had me killed.

  Bit by bit, the straw tumbled down to the earth. Then I yanked on a thick piece, and a fat section of thatching fell to the floor of the stone hut, making a crumbling sound that might have been heard by the guard if he had not been still asleep and snoring thanks to Diarmuid’s spell. When the dust cleared, I was gazing upon a dark patch of sky with a virgin crescent moon.

  I came down from the chair and stood, arms up, in the sliver of pale moonlight. ’Twas but a dim patch, but I could feel its power lifting me to the sky. I no longer felt trapped. I was communing with the Goddess, opening myself up to my own destiny.

  The air seemed to crackle with magick as I held my hands open to the Goddess. “Show me the tools and how to use them,” I begged.

  In the candlelight the tips of my fingernails seemed black. Examining them, I realized it was blood. Blood and skin scraped from Siobhan and Diarmuid. ’Twas a powerful beginning, to have a piece of their body to place upon my makeshift altar. I scraped the dried crust from under my nails and placed it carefully on a clean tin plate left to me by the guards.

  Staring at the scraps of Diarmuid and Siobhan, I began to feel the way clearly. ’Twas the Goddess’s will, this spell, and she lit my path.

  “Sweep the circle,”came the Goddess’s voice. Or was I remembering Ma’s voice from one of the coven circles? “Sweep… sweep,” it called out to me, stirring my powers.

  I gathered straw from my sleeping pallet and wove it into a small broom, which I used to sweep a circle inside the springhouse. Then I lit my makeshift broom afire and swept my circle with flames. The smoke burned my throat, but I breathed it gladly, wanting to cense my hair and skin with this powerful spell. Finally I left the broom to burn in the center and turned to the candle.

  Carefully, so as not to extinguish the flame, I carved runes into the single candle that Diarmuid had brought. I spelled out the Vykrothe name, then wrote the runes for death beside it. Then I added runes for Diarmuid’s name, for truly he deserved the wrath of the Goddess for his betrayal of Her, his betrayal of me and my child.

  As I set the candle down, I noticed Diarmuid’s pentagram on the ground. I picked up the gold coin and blew off the dust. ’Twould make a fine brand upon my body. If I was to go to the gallows, I would want to have the mark of the Goddess upon me and my child.

  I built up the center fire with twigs and straw of the thatching. Blowing on the flames until the embers glowed, I knew what I had to do.

  A spell to put an end to treachery.

  A spell to destroy Siobhan and Diarmuid. To punish their evil. Mayhap this was the Goddess’s will for me—my destiny.

  A spell to set the balance among the clans aright once again.

  Casting Diarmuid’s pentagram into the flames, I felt the fever within me rise. Gasping, I threw back my head and cast my eyes upon the crescent in th
e sky. The fire within me was raging, my skin dripping, my cheeks burning. I slipped off my gown and stood naked in the square of light.

  “I draw the power of generations of Wodebaynes into myself, merging with her power, the pure essence of the Goddess.”

  Gazing down into the crusty blood, I said: “I have cast this circle to perform the act of vengeance that the Vykrothes have truly earned. I place a curse upon their feet, that they may stumble along the path of light and fall into darkness. Cursed be their wombs, that they shall fail to produce new offspring. Cursed be their warmongering hearts, that they will no longer beat steady and true. Cursed be their sight, that they shall never again see through the Goddess’s veil to her true beauty.”

  Holding the tin of blood over the flame, I charged it with fire, saying: “As Siobhan lit a fire of hatred in this world, so shall her blood boil. Send her own malice, greed, and wickedness back to her—threefold!” I tossed the dried blood into the fire, and a sizzling sound issued forth. I imagined leagues of taibhs — a huge wave of them—rising up and sweeping over Siobhan’s pretty flaxen head. Black droplets of pain rained down upon Diarmuid, staining his sparkling blue eyes, burning his hair, sinking into his lovely cheeks. The black spells danced over them, blocking out all light until their bodies were a dissolving mass of darkness.

  “This offering is for you, Goddess,” I said. “Cast your hatred upon the head of Siobhan and her Vykrothe family. Cast darkness upon Diarmuid and his cruel family. And if you have no evil to send, I summon the fallen angels, arbiters of evil! Use my powers to mete out this justice!”

  The powers of darkness swirled around me. I felt buffeted by smoky darkness, mired in the pain and suffering that I was sending from my heart to the hearts of mine enemies.

  Using a thick piece of straw, I fished Diarmuid’s pentagram out of the fire. I thought of the way Diarmuid had drawn pentagrams in the air. the foolish boy. His magick was so weak!

  The pentagram had turned black with heat, but I reached for it. ’Twas time to brand myself to the ways of the Goddess, despite the pain.