Emily's House

by Natalie Wright

PART ONE

   

   

  The Order of Brighid

   

   

  “Possibility is the secret heart of time.”

  -Anam Ċara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom, by John O’Donohue

  Prologue

  The whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of that infernal machine. Its bellows pump up and down as black, tarry sludge is sucked up the tube and into the holding tank.

  She lies on the bed like a robot corpse, tubes and lines going in and out of her body. Her once rosy lips are pale, tinged slightly green. Her once vibrant emerald green eyes are closed, sunken into the eye sockets. Her once strong body lies still and shrunken. Only her hair looks the same, flowing like a red wave across the white shore of the pillow.

  Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

  I stand at the door and gingerly peek in. I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to see her like that. I don’t want the putrid odor of dying people stuck in my nostrils.

  I don’t want to go in, but I’m sucked into the room anyway. My legs feel powerless against the invisible force that draws me in. I flail my arms and try to command my body to obey me and run from the horrid scene.

  But I’m in the room anyway, drawing ever closer to the bed.

  Whoosh, whoosh.

  What is that tarry black stuff? Is it being sucked out of her body? Or put in?

  I’m close enough to touch her, but I don’t want to. The last time I touched her I saw a vision of her taking her last breath. The last time I touched her, I saw her die. I don’t want that to come true. And I don’t want to see her die again. The first time I saw her die I ran and ran, trying to escape the vision. I don’t want to touch anyone ever again.

  But my hand reaches anyway, a mind of its own. My mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out. My lips are locked open in a soundless “O.”

  My hand quivers as it reaches in slow motion toward the sleeping body that bears a resemblance to my mother. Is she still in there? Or has the cancer stolen the last of her?

  My fingertips shake as they touch her hand. The skin on her hand is as thin as an onionskin and shows the blue-red blood vessels beneath.

  As soon as my fingers touch her hand, her eyes pop open in a look of terror. Her mouth is open in a scream. But it’s not a human scream. It’s the loud whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of that tar-sucking machine.

  She sits up. The long, wavy red hair flying about her head is the same, but the face is no longer my mother. It looks at me with large, solid black eyes, devoid of light or emotion, staring out of a bare skull. Her hand is no longer covered in thin flesh but is instead the hand of a skeleton. The hand of bones grips me hard.

  I pull and pull to get free of the monster, but it has me. I’m caught in its grip.

  Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

  I finally wake, dripping in sweat. My mouth is still open in an “O,” the scream still caught in my throat.

  I awake once again from the same ghastly dream I’ve had for the last seven years, only to find myself in a house of nightmares.

  1. A RUN-IN WITH MURIEL THE MEAN

  It sucks to see your mom die twice.

  That’s what I was thinking while I walked home that day. The second day in my life that everything changed.

  The day started out normal enough. Getting a D on my math test. Trying not to trip over my own too-big-for-my-body flipper feet on my way to lunch. And getting handed a report card that felt like a bomb that was about to explode in my backpack.

  “Muriel the Mean is going to kill me,” I said to my best friends, Fanny and Jake. We ambled ever closer to my house of doom. My stomach knotted itself up, and the all-too-familiar feeling of dread took over as we got closer to my house.

  My house. Once it was filled with my mom’s laughter and singing. Her colorful paintings once decorated the walls.

  My house.

  It wasn’t really mine anymore. It was Muriel’s. And Aunt Muriel had filled the place with dove-grey walls and meanness and fear.

  My mom died when I was seven, and she took her laughter and her singing and her colorful paintings with her.

  She took something else too. Something that I’d kept secret, even from Fanny and Jake.

  For as long as I can remember, I could read her thoughts. It was like a radio station playing in my head. All I had to do was tune in my receiver, and there she was. The ‘Mom Station’. She could read my thoughts too. It seemed like the most normal thing ever. Mom let me know that it wasn’t normal and that it was best to keep it between us, so I did.

  The day she died, I held her hand as that horrible tar-sucking machine whooshed away. Then her station went off the air. I never heard it again.

  Inside my head, it was so quiet and lonely. I was seven years old, and it was the first time in my life that the only thoughts rolling around in there were my own.

  To make it all worse, my dad turned into a zombie and my Aunt Muriel came to live with us. Dad’s work at the university takes most of his time, so he thought my old widowed aunt (fourteen years older than my dad) could come live with us. “It’s a win-win,” he had said.

  Only it wasn’t a win for me. Muriel is meaner than a dog chained in the hot sun with a choke collar on. I’m not sure why she’s such a heinous person, but she is, so I call her ‘Muriel the Mean’.

  Seven years living with a zombie who used to be my father. Seven years of Muriel treating me like the bastard fourth cousin of a retarded rhino. I felt as if I was slipping away. I felt like if something didn’t change, I was going to disappear completely.

  “Maybe I should just keep walking,” I said. We were a couple of houses away from the sidewalk leading up to my front door. “You know, run away.”

  “You can’t do that,” said Jake. His voice sounded panicked. “I’d miss you too much. Besides, where would you go?”

  “Then tell me how I can deliver this to Muriel the Mean and not end up dead.”

  “Let me come in with you,” offered Fanny. “If she lays a hand on you, I’ll go banshee on her.”

  “Fanny, we’ve been over this before. I’d love to let you go gorilla on my Aunt Muriel, but I can’t let you do that. You have too much to lose.”

  She shut up about it. She knew I was right. Even though we were only freshmen, Fanny was a shoe-in for at least one sport scholarship, and we all knew it. Spending time in juvenile detention for beating up my aunt would waste that dream for her.

  “I don’t know Em, maybe you should just go with the direct approach. That’s usually best,” said Jake.

  “Best for what nub? Getting her butt kicked? No, I suggest the time proven method that has worked for generations of kids,” said Fanny.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Lie.”

  Fanny’s suggestion had considerable merit. Problem was we were at my house, and I had no lie in my head. I had planned no strategy for how to hide the incriminating paper in my backpack from Muriel.

  “I’ll see you guys later?” I asked.

  “Yep, and I’ll help you with your algebra homework,” said Jake.

  “And I’ll be over to keep Jake from boring you to death,” said Fanny. “We’ll meet at your tree later.”

  “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck, Em,” said Jake.

  “Hope you live to see me later,” Fanny joked as they both walked away.

  Fanny’s joke, like most humor, had a core of truth. Aunt Muriel wouldn’t actually kill me, but when displeased with me, which she was just about all of the time, she’d make my life miserable.

  I walked lightly across the creaky wooden porch of my house, trying not to make a sound. My hand hesitated on the door handle. Once I would have bounded in with laughter to a kaleidoscope of color. That day I crept with dread into a house of monochrome.

  I finally opened the door. Muriel waited for me just inside. Not a good sign.

  “Okay, let’s see it,” she said.

  “See what?”

&nb
sp; “Don’t be cute. You know what. Hand it over,” she snarled back.

  I dug in my backpack and brought out a wrinkled piece of paper. Muriel snatched it from my hand and pored over it. When she finally looked up, I thought for sure her eyes would incinerate me on the spot.

  “If you were smart you wouldn’t have come home with this. It appears that your grades do reflect the sum of your intelligence which, I’m sorry to say, is not a terribly large sum.”

  “Then I must get my intelligence from your side of the family,” I replied. I know. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Sometimes it’s like my mouth has its own brain and just shoots stuff out. Stuff likely to get me killed.

  Crack!

  I should have seen it coming. She hit me so hard I swear she made snot shoot out of my nose. My backpack fell, and stuff flew out all over the floor. Blood trickled from my nose over my upper lip. I didn’t want to cry in front of Muriel, but tears welled up in my eyes anyway.

  “Pick up this stuff,” she hissed.

  I bent down and shoved all my stuff back into my backpack. My nose bled so much that it dripped all over the wood floor in the entryway.

  “Now look at what you did! You clean that up and go to your room. I don’t want to see you until morning. And for God’s sake, stop sniveling.” Muriel turned and stomped out of the room.

  I wanted to run away. I wanted to run and run like I had that day back when I was seven. Run and run until I was far away from that house and Aunt Muriel and Zombie Man. Run until I fell over.

  But I didn’t run. Instead, I pulled it together enough to clean up the blood, snot and tears off the floor. I ran upstairs to my room, shut the door, and shoved wads of toilet paper up my nostrils to stop up the blood. I flopped down on my bed and I kept crying.

  It wasn’t the wailing or hiccupping to catch your breath kind of crying. That’s how it usually was for me. No, that day it was a long, slow, stream of hot tears kind of crying. And they weren’t all tears of sad. A lot of those tears were mad tears. Really mad tears.

  You probably think I was mad at Muriel. And I was a little. But mostly I was mad at my mom, Bridget.

  It had been seven years since she died, and I was furious at her. The more I cried the more I thought about how she had up and left me. And the more I thought about how she cut out on me, the madder I got. And the madder I got at her, the more I cried. I was starting to hate my mom as much as I hated Muriel.

  “Mom, why did you leave me?” I whispered to the emptiness around me.

  The silence of my room was suddenly filled with a low hissing sound.

  “Mom?”

  No answer, just a low hiss that sounded like steam coming through an old radiator. What the heck is that? I opened my window and listened. The hiss came from my old tree house, still perched in the large oak outside my window.

  I went to my bathroom and wiped the tear tracks from my face. My eyes were red and puffy and my face blotchy from crying. I pulled the wads of toilet paper out of my nose and put on a clean T-shirt. I went to my window, opened it up and eased out onto the large oak branch.

  I didn’t know it then, but scooting myself across that branch was the beginning of a long journey.

  2. EMILY’S VISITOR

  Before my dad became a zombie, he built a large tree house in an old oak in our backyard. Neither he nor Muriel bothered to tear it down so it remained wedged amongst the large branches of the old tree.

  My legs were still a little wobbly from my run in with Muriel, but I stayed low and climbed across the branches until I got to the tree house. The closer I got the louder the hissing noise.

  I sat on the limb at the opening to the tree house and looked in to see what was making the noise. The inside of the tiny house was dark and dusty. The only light came from the small opening that my body was blocking. I couldn’t see anything in there. I crawled inside. My five feet six frame barely fit through the hole that had been made for a small child. Once inside, I couldn’t stand up but had plenty of room to sit. I sat to the side and waited for my eyes adjust to the darkness.

  The hissing grew louder, and after a few minutes, I saw a faint light appear in the middle of the tree house. The light hovered in front of me. It started small like the light from a mini flashlight. It grew to the size of a softball and as it grew, it became brighter.

  I thought Aunt Muriel had knocked my head around good and that I had a concussion. Great, now I’m losing my hearing and seeing weird lights.

  I blinked my eyes, rubbed them and tipped my head and tapped the other side, like you do when you’re trying to get water out of your ears. Nope, didn’t work. I still heard the hissing sound and the light ball continued to grow. Soon it was about the size of a large dog. Then the hissing changed. It became a low, slow hum. The light got so bright I had to shade my eyes from it.

  Suddenly, POP! The bright light disappeared, and the humming became low and soft, more of a droning background noise. I squinted my eyes to see through a misty, silvery fog. What’s there?

  I saw the outline of something. As my eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, the image became clearer. What I saw made me want to scream.

  I wanted to scream, but I didn’t. If I screamed Aunt Muriel would find me and I’d have more trouble. I thought about shimmying back across the tree branch and into my room. But something about the thing drew me in.

  Before me stood a small furry creature. It was about four feet tall but seemed fully-grown. Its head was doglike, with a dog nose and whiskers, but its ears were more like a wild boar. His eyes were the oddest thing about him. They were large and dark brown, almost black, but seemed to be stuck in a perpetually sad look, with bags and wrinkles underneath.

  The creature’s body was hairy all over like a dog, but he had hands like a man and wore clothes. He wore a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a brown tweed vest topped his dark brown wool flannel pants.

  I should have been scared. I mean an alien creature had just landed in my tree house. But I figured I was hallucinating. Aunt Muriel had whacked me hard. Anyway, his eyes were so warm and with his cute little tweed vest, he didn’t frighten me.

  “Can you see me, child of Brighid?” said the creature.

  “Yes, I … I see you, whatever you are,” I said.

  “I am Hindergog, Bard of the Order of Brighid, keeper of the tales of the High Priestess, servant to her majesty in the Netherworld,” he said.

  “Well, I guess that answers it.” After I said it, I realized my sarcasm. I enjoyed being a smart aleck to my aunt, even though I’d pay for it. But I immediately regretted being so smirky to the strange creature.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be sarcastic with you. My aunt always tells me that I have an awful mouth.”

  “There is nothing awful about you, daughter of Brighid. It is your lack of training that is awful,” he said.

  “Training?”

  “You have reached the age of fourteen Beltane fires, have you not?”

  “Well I don’t know anything about Beltane, but I’m fourteen years old.”

  “Then you are four years late for the start of your preparation. But there is no time to waste. We must start now. You are the last in the lineage of the Order of Brighid. You are the only one with the powers to defeat Dughall the Dark One, but you require training,” Hindergog said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And that is truly strange because you are a figment of my imagination and you’d think I’d know what my own imagination is talking about.”

  “Daughter of Brighid, I am not of your imagination.”

  “Then you are real?”

  “Real? What is real? In your world, you are all about this ‘real’. That is quite the wrong question you know.”

  “Now I’m getting really confused. Well, whether you’re real or not, you seem kind, and I could use a friend. So it’s nice to meet you Hindergog.” I reached my hand out to shake his.

  But when I
reached for his hand, my hand went right through him. He wasn’t flesh and blood after all.

  “So you are a figment. Too bad,” I said.

  “In my world, I am quite ‘real’ as you say. But I can only come to you in this form through the use of the Crystals of Alsted. I am, what in your world might be called a ‘hologram’,” said Hindergog. “A projection of sorts.”

  “Where is your body then?”

  “My body resides in another realm called the Netherworld. In your world, it is called another dimension. My body cannot travel to your realm without damage so I must meet with you this way.”

  “Are you serious? So you’re using some sort of cosmic telephone?”

  “I do not know this ‘telephone’ of which you speak. Please listen child of Brighid, as I do not have much time. It took what in your world would be several hundred years to collect the amount of crystals needed to project myself to you. I should have about one hour of your time, but no more. And I have much to tell you as you have had no prior education in these things.”

  I heard Jake and Fanny talking to each other down below. They were at our meeting place, the tree, just like we’d planned.

  “Wait a minute little dude,” I told Hindergog. I crawled on my knees over to the opening of the house. “Hey guys – up here,” I whispered to Jake and Fan. They both came over to the ladder that led up the tree.

  “What ‘ya doin’ up there?” asked Fanny.

  “You’ll find out in a minute. Get up here. But listen, when you get up here, don’t scream.”

  Jake and Fanny looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders but were totally silent as they climbed up. Jake came first. I could see his spiky blond hair and coke-bottle glasses when he reached the top. As soon as his eyes cleared the top rung, he gasped. He didn’t say a word and he didn’t scream, but it looked like he had stopped breathing.

  Fanny was right behind Jake, her dark curly hair contained under a ball cap. When she got to the top, she let out a soft cry of surprise but quickly caught herself and covered her mouth with her hand. She climbed in too and Jake was on one side of me and Fanny was on the other. All three of us sat silently and stared at the creature. When Hindergog broke the silence, all three of us jumped a little.

  “Daughter of Brighid, who are these others? This will not do. My message is for you alone.”

  “First of all, stop calling me Daughter of Brighid. My name is Emily, and if you want to talk to me, you can get my name right.”

  “Yes, as you wish, daughter of, I mean, Emily.”

  “Second, this is Jake, and this is Fanny. They are my two best friends and anything you want to say to me, you need to say to them, too.”

  “Oh, Mistress Emily, I do not have time to argue the point. This is likely to cause severe problems. But my time grows ever shorter and with so much to tell … ” His voice trailed off. He looked like he was thinking and he looked plenty worried.

  “So be it, they can stay. But listen well, all of you, as I have much to tell you.”

  “What is this thing and why is it here?” asked Jake.

  “His name is Hindergog,” I said. “And I have no idea what he is or why he’s here. He says he’s a holographic projection from another dimension.”

  “Shut up!” said Fanny.

  “Please hear me humans of fourteen Beltane fires,” Hindergog pled. “I will tell you all that you are required to know. And when I am done, the one who calls herself Emily must prepare for her journey to the Sacred Grove.”

  “Emily, you’re leaving?” asked Jake.

  “I wasn’t planning on it. I have no idea what the heck this little dude is talking about.”

  “I beg for your patience, Younglings,” Hindergog pled. “It is most urgent for all of you, and all in your world, that Emily, descendant of my Saorla, last High Priestess of the Order of Brighid, learn of her heritage and of her destiny.”

  “This sounds heavy, Em,” said Fanny.

  “What are you talking about Hindergog? What destiny?” I asked.

  “Miss Emily, you know of your unique abilities.”

  “What’s he talking about?” asked Jake.

  I felt squirmy. I didn’t say a word. Jake and Fanny stared at me, waiting for me to explain what the little alien guy was talking about.

  “Spill it, Adams,” commanded Fanny.

  “Look, it’s nothing spectacular or anything. It’s just that I have these visions. It’s like seeing the future.”

  “GET OUT!” shouted Fanny.

  “Shh, Muriel,” I warned as I put a finger to my lips.

  “But there is more to it than that young one, much more,” Hindergog said.

  “More? You can do more than see the future?” queried Jake.

  “Crapballs! I so didn’t want anyone to know this stuff.” I’d tried to weasel out of talking about it. The three of them stared at me in silence, and it was clear that Jake and Fanny weren’t going to let me off the hook without explaining about my strange abilities.

  “Alright, here’s the thing. When I was little I could hear what my mom was thinking, okay. It was like a radio station playing in my head. I only had that with her, and when she died, her radio station went off the air permanently. Now I don’t even get static.”

  “And?” Fanny asked.

  “And?”

  “You said you could see the future. What’s up with that?” asked Jake.

  “I don’t know. Look, I hate talking about this.”

  “Have you seen my future?” asked Fanny. “Am I like a famous sports figure?”

  “No, Fanny, I haven’t seen your future. I haven’t seen anyone’s future, not since … ”

  “Since what, Em?” asked Jake.

  “Since my mom died.”

  The crowded little house was silent. The only sound was the low drone of Hindergog’s cosmic telephone. Sometimes it seemed like it was more painful retelling the story of my mom’s death than it was going through it in the first place.

  “You saw your mom die?” asked Jake.

  “What do you think she saw nub, fluffy bunnies and flowers?” said Fanny.

  “Yes Jake, I had a vision. I saw my mom die. I was holding her hand one day and there it was, just like a movie in my mind’s eye. I saw her hooked up to machines and saw her eyes sunken into her drawn, pale face, and I saw her take her last breath. And when she died for real, it was exactly like the vision I’d seen.”

  “Good job Jake, making Emily go through that,” said Fanny. She rubbed my back as she glared at Jake.

  “It’s okay Fanny, really.”

  “Sorry Em, I didn’t mean to make you sad,” said Jake. “I’m thick I guess. You saw that one vision, and then it just stopped?”

  “Well, sort of. I started to have another vision. With Greta.”

  “Greta?” said Fanny. “What the heck?”

  “Remember my first day back to school after my mom died?”

  “Who could forget it? You ran out of the school like a maniac. I never did understand what that was about,” said Fanny.

  “Well it was about Greta. She came up to me and was saying she was sorry about my mom. Blah, blah, blah. She put her hand on my shoulder all sincere like. But that turned on my receptor, and I started to see a vision of the future. Greta’s future. I screamed for her to get her hand off me and I ran. I didn’t want to see what that movie was about. Bought myself a trip to the guidance counselor.”

  “That’s when Greta started calling you ‘Freak Girl’ and being mean to you,” said Fanny. The puzzle pieces were finally falling into place for her.

  “Yep.”

  “I guess you don’t rebuff Greta-the-Charming without consequences,” said Jake. “Now I get why you don’t play sports and try to avoid … ”

  “Being touched. Yeah, I don’t want to see anyone die.”

  “There is more Miss Emily, so much more,” said Hindergog.

  The little blabbermouth.

  “More than seeing
the future?” asked Jake.

  I didn’t want to say anymore. I’d already had to spill enough. But Fanny wasn’t going to let it go.

  “Out with it, Em,” demanded Fanny.

  “I can move things with my mind too,” I said.

  “You cannot!” said Jake.

  “Yep, I can.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said.

  “Show us, Em,” said Fanny excitedly.

  “I’m not a show dog.”

  “Oh, come on. Show us,” she whined.

  I hadn’t seen visions for a long time, but I continued to use my telekinesis, at least in the privacy of my room. I knew better than to let Muriel know about these ‘special abilities’ as Hindergog called them. The cat was out of the bag with Fanny and Jake. Why not show them so they stop bugging me about it?

  I stared at Jake’s backpack that he’d flung down. I concentrated on wanting the backpack, and it slowly raised then floated through the air right to me.

  Silence filled the space between us. My heart raced, and my palms started to sweat. This is it, the moment I’ve dreaded. Once Fanny and Jake knew my secret, they’d know for certain what a colossal freak I was. Their stunned silence and gaping mouths said it all.

  Finally, Jake broke the silence. “THAT WAS ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT! I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

  “Coolest-thing-ever! Do it again.” Fanny squealed like a little girl.

  “Younglings, we do not have time for Miss Emily to perform more demonstrations. My time is short, and I have much to tell. There is much for Miss Emily to learn before she begins the journey to her destiny.”

  “Why do I have to go on a journey, and to where? What destiny are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Miss Emily, there is an ancient evil set on a path that will lead to the destruction of your world. He lived in the time of your ancient ancestor, my mistress Saorla, the last High Priestess of the Order of Brighid. He is responsible for … ”

  Hindergog paused. His face looked pinched, and a tear was in his eye.

  “Go on, Hindergog. What was he responsible for?”

  “This dark one, Dughall, was responsible for the end of the Order of Brighid. He is in human form once again and we fear that if he succeeds with his plan, it will likely destroy your world.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you talking about? Is he, like, reincarnated? And destroy our world? How?” asked Jake.

  “I know you have many questions Younglings, and I will answer these questions by telling you a story. I am a bard and keeper of the sacred stories of the Order of Brighid. Please humans, rest easy as I tell you all that you need to know.”

  “I gotta' hear this,” said Fanny.

  “We’ll listen Hindergog,” I said.

  “Yeah, we got nothin’ better to do,” said Fanny.

  “Except algebra,” said Jake.

  “Shh,” Fanny and I both said at once.

  Hindergog took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment then opened them slowly.

  “Listen well Younglings as the tale I have to tell is an important one. The tale is of my most beloved mistress and of Miss Emily’s ancestor. Some of it will be difficult for me, as I must tell you of a terrific battle and of the tragedy that lead to the last days of the Order of Brighid. Please do not interrupt so that I may say all that must be said before my crystals run out.”

  The three of us settled in. Our eyes were on the hologram Hindergog as he began his story.

  3. SAORLA

  Like all Priestesses of the Order of Brighid before her, Saorla left her home when she was ten and entered the Sacred Grove. After much preparation, lessons and hard work, Saorla took her place as the High Priestess of the Order of Brighid.

  But it was a difficult time for the Order. Much change came to ancient Ireland, known in those times as Érie. Because it was an island and well protected by its fearsome Celtic warriors, the ancient ways survived on the Emerald Isle far longer than in most of Europe. But in Saorla’s time, powerful invaders came from the south with large armies and ships.

  More powerful than the soldiers and their weapons were the ways of thinking the newcomers brought with them. The strangers prayed to one male god rather than to the many gods both male and female of Saorla’s ancestors. The Druidic ways were being lost.

  The raiders wiped out whole villages. Those that survived adapted to the new ways in order to avoid scrutiny, ridicule or worse – death to them or their family.

  All over Ireland the old ways were forgotten. Priests replaced the Druids. Nuns replaced priestesses. Saorla’s Samhein became ‘All Hollow’s Eve.’ Alban Arthuan became the day of their god’s birth, Christmas. Imolc became the day of their god’s death and resurrection, Easter.

  “I didn’t know that those holidays existed before Christians,” interrupted Fanny.

  “Yes, most of what humans celebrate today existed in the ancient world. None of it is new. You just rename it from time to time. Now listen.”

  Saorla’s most crucial task as High Priestess was to protect the golden torc, an object imbued with immense power. Faerie hands forged the torc in the first days of the Order, in the time of the Great Pyramids. From the start, it was blessed with magickal power and wrapped while still warm around the upper arm of the first High Priestess of the Order. It was passed from High Priestess to High Priestess, each time imbued with the powerful energy of the wearer. Over the millennia, it became a most powerful object indeed.

  “Wait a minute. A ‘torc’? What’s that?” I asked Hindergog.

  “Ah, that is right. Humans no longer wear them. A torc is a piece of jewelry, usually worn around the neck but sometimes worn by warriors around their upper arms. The craftsman would twist many thin wires of precious metal around each other to form a ring that could be worn. The Torc of Brighid, worn by the High Priestess of the Order for millennia, was made of the purest gold.”

  Saorla’s other role as High Priestess was to be the highest-ranking advisor to the High King of Ireland. She used the sight to seek out visions that could alert the king to any plots against him or his lands.

  But by Saorla’s time, few knew that the Order of Brighid existed. The Order had been held secret by so many for so long in order to protect it that there were few to believe in it. In the minds of the common folk, the Order of Brighid and the Sacred Grove were considered myth.

  While Saorla was the highest and most trusted advisor to the King, Saorla’s most trusted advisor was Cathaír. Cathaír was the liaison between the High Priestess and the King. Cathaír was also charged with the duty to protect the Sacred Grove and the Order of Brighid from outsiders. Cathaír was, in fact, the only living human man to know of the exact location of the Sacred Grove.

  “You mean no men lived there at all?” asked Jake.

  “That is correct. And once a young girl was inducted into the Order, she never left the Sacred Grove again.”

  “So they were like nuns,” said Fanny.

  “Are you saying that Emily has to become a nun?” asked Jake.

  “Settle yourselves. Times, of course, are different now. The order no longer exists. Please listen as you learn what happened to my fair mistress Saorla.”

  One day, Saorla summoned Cathaír to her.

  “Cathaír, you must ride to the King at once. I have foreseen an army, large in numbers, and with a most fierce leader. They plan to invade our fair land in the coming months.”

  “I trust your vision my Priestess, but we have survived many invaders in the past. I will tell the High King, and he will raise his armies to protect our fair land.”

  “This invader is different, Cathaír. He is fork-tongued and will promise much to those who follow him. And I have foreseen a terrible plot against the King.”

  “Then I will ride to the King at once and tell him what you have foreseen.”

  “Cathaír, there is more. But this you must not tell the King.”

  “W
hat is it? What have you seen?”

  “I have seen a dark invader here, Cathaír. At the Sacred Grove.”

  “No, that is impossible. The protections are too strong. An army of men would never see the walls. Even if they did, the enchantments that have protected it for thousands of years will hold. And of course there is Lianhan Sídhe. She will not let any man enter. And if anyone did manage to find the gate, let alone get past Lianhan Sídhe, Madame Wong would dice them to pieces.”

  “I know that it seems impossible, Cathaír. I do not know how it will happen. I wish that I did. I only know what I saw. A dark haired man with a large army will enter through the gates of our beloved Grove.”

  “Your gift of sight is most powerful, your Highness, but I hope for the sake of our fair land that your vision has failed you this time.”

  “I do too, Cathaír. I do too.”

  That night Saorla took her usual evening stroll to the Moon Well to meditate and speak with the Goddess. As she looked into the Moon Well, she saw a vivid and violent scene. She wished with all her heart that she had not seen it. The second vision, from the sacred Moon Well itself, confirmed the first. There was no doubt of it. Her remaining days in the Sacred Grove were few.

  4. THE WEDDING

  Cathaír rode through the night to the walled city of the High King of Érie. He advised King Ruaidrí of all that Saorla had said, all except for her prediction of invaders at the Sacred Well. Cathaír told the High King of Saorla’s recommendation that the King raise his armies and arm all available men and women in the port cities to protect against the invaders.

  Ruaidrí scoffed at Cathaír’s news. “Lad, this land has lived in peace for many harvests. My lookouts know of no invaders on the shores of fair Érie. I’m afraid our Lady of the Well is replacing her vision with fear.” Ruaidrí raised a mug of mead to his lips.

  “Your Highness, the High Priestess’s vision has never failed you before. She implores you to take action to fortify the port cities. She has seen a large and fearsome army overtaking our land,” replied Cathaír.

  Ruaidrí drank more mead and thought for a few minutes. If the wise woman’s vision is true, mayhaps it is a warning from the Goddess herself, thought Ruaidrí. In order to appease the Christian bishops and local monks, Ruaidrí and his estate followed the Christian rites, eschewing the old ways. By decree, he had forbidden many of the ancient practices and approved of the renaming of others. Many of his people were devoted to the new religion. But many, like Ruaidrí himself, mouthed the words of the hymns and prayers, but in their heart, they longed for the Beltane fires.

  As he reflected, he thought that perhaps the Goddess was upset with him. Maybe he needed to appease her. He felt certain that an offering to the Goddess and a festival to honor her would put him again in good favor with the gods and goddesses of his homeland. Mayhaps the High Priestess’s vision does not portend of what is to come but is only a warning, Ruaidrí thought.

  At last Ruaidrí spoke. “What is called for is a great ceremony to appease the Goddess. We will perform a ban-feis. Now go, Cathaír, and tell the High Priestess to ready herself for the ritual.”

  “My King, I mean no disrespect, but as you know the Lady of the Well has taken sacred vows. She cannot attend a festival outside the walls of the Sacred Grove. Another priestess, one of high rank, must perform the ceremony instead.”

  “Cathaír, return at once to the Sacred Grove and give this message to the High Priestess. Let her know that her vows are of no consequence when the very soul of our fair land is at stake. We shall have the ban-feis at the next full moon, and I expect the High Priestess to perform the role of Goddess.” Ruaidrí dismissed Cathaír without another word.

  “What is a ban-feis?” asked Fanny.

  “The ban-feis is a ritual that had not been performed in many years. During the ban-feis, the kings, lords, ladies, knights and all of the people come together for bonfires and feasting, and the King is married to the Goddess,” answered Hindergog.

  “You mean a real Goddess existed, and the King married her?” asked Jake. “Okay this is starting to get too weird, even for me.”

  “There’s no ‘real’ goddess Jake,” I said.

  “There is indeed a Goddess, fair Emily. But for the ban-feis the King ritualistically married a priestess or druidess disguised as the Goddess, thus uniting the people with the forces of nature and the land,” said Hindergog. “Listen as I continue my tale.”

  The announcement of the ban-feis spread across the land. Those that still followed the old ways were excited and pleased that the King was making peace with the Goddess. Many who did not outwardly follow the old ways out of fear of scorn were secretly happy within their hearts too. The people missed the joyous feasts of old when the High King, as well as all regional kings and lords opened their larders. High born and peasants alike would feast and celebrate.

  The next full moon fell on Samhein itself, the New Year for those who followed the ancient ways. It was the end of October and the time when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest. The time when spirits and beings from other worlds are more easily seen in your world.

  Saorla had not left the Sacred Grove since she arrived all those years ago. While Cathaír was strongly against it, Saorla agreed with Ruaidrí that they were not in ordinary times.

  In Saorla’s heart, she also yearned to see the world outside the walls of the Sacred Grove. She had not attended festival since she was a child. Saorla was excited to see the famed festival fires, hear the thundering drums and feast on meat and game. As a Priestess, Saorla ate mainly fruits of the forest, bread, root vegetables and herbs and only occasional fish or fowl. She had not eaten game since she came to the Grove.

  For the ceremony, Saorla and her attending priestesses traveled four days to the north and east until they reached the ancient, sacred site. For countless generations, her people had gathered there for ritual around the central stone cairn. It was all but abandoned. Most no longer remembered who was buried in the tombs on top of the hill or why the ancient peoples had made the intricate carvings of swirls and circles in the large stones placed there. But the site still had a sacred energy about it that made all who gathered at the top of the hill fall into reverent silence.

  Saorla attended the ban-feis personifying the Goddess. To keep her identity secret, she wore a mask and an understated, long white tunic and cloak so that the torc around her arm was covered.

  Saorla and King Ruaidrí gathered on top of the hill known as Loughcrew along with the regional kings, their ladies and other noblemen and high born. The ceremony began at dusk on Samhein. The highest-ranking Druid Priest in the High King’s court performed the ban-feis ritual as the sun set over the Slieve na Caillaigh hills at Loughcrew.

  Around the bottom of the great hill, common folk from all around gathered, ready to join in the revelry of the sacred union. As the Druid Priest spoke the ritual words, Saorla’s attention wandered as she smelled the smoke from the large wood bonfires lit below and the scent of roasting meat. Saorla wondered if all weddings seemed to last so long for a bride.

  At last the Druid Priest announced the union was complete, and the High King, on behalf of all his people, was married to the Goddess and thus the land. The regional kings, lords, knights and their ladies cheered loudly. Their cheers were heard by the people gather below and led to a loud roar of hoots and hollers as all celebrated the union.

  The last part of the ritual required the High King and the ‘Goddess’ to consummate their marriage in a wedding bed. Ruaidrí and Saorla, still wearing the mask of the Goddess, were taken to what looked like a stone alter bed, draped for the ceremony with linens for privacy. The crowd sent up a riotous cheer as first Saorla then Ruaidrí entered through the drapes to their wedding bed.

  Once inside, the High King took Saorla’s hand and kissed it gently. “It is my highest honor to meet you at last, High Priestess,” he said. Saorla was frightened of what would come next as she had never been alon
e with a man in a bedchamber before. Ruaidrí was practiced in courtesies. But he was an old warrior, gruff and hardened by years of battle and war.

  Ruaidrí must have sensed her fear. “You need not worry, my Priestess. I have no desire to offend the Christian gods by taking the sacred virginity of the Goddess’s High Priestess of her most Sacred Grove. I would then offend all the gods while I’m trying to appease them.”

  Saorla was much relieved by Ruaidrí’s statement but tried not to show the King her relief. She bowed to the king in thanks. “I thank you, your Highness, for honoring my sacred vows. I am sure the Goddess is pleased with your offering to her, and your diplomacy has saved you from offense to the one God of the Christians as well.

  “But what should we do now, my king? The people expect the High King and Goddess to participate in the old rites and consecrate their marriage.”

  “We wait an appropriate amount of time. I will emerge from this bedchamber and look the part of the boastful stag. All will think that we have consummated our ‘vows’,” he replied. “You may remove your mask with me, High Priestess, if you would like. It is a warm evening and the mask is surely too warm on your fair face.”

  “No, my King, I must stay hidden, even with you.”

  “You are right, of course, of course. These are dangerous times, are they not?”

  “Yes, your Highness. Cathaír told you of my visions?”

  “Cathaír told me. Please forgive me, your Highness, but I cannot believe what you have seen. Your vision must surely be clouded or perhaps it was merely a warning from the Goddess. My men are the most loyal this fair land has ever seen. The people are more united now than in many harvests. I am not concerned of a plot against me, gentle woman.”

  “This makes me even more concerned my King. I know that your men are loyal and our land united. For now. But the invasion that is coming to Érie is different from those that came before. The leader of this army is dark, my King. He quests for power and his thirst is unquenchable. He will say and do anything to achieve his ends. He is without conscience my King. That makes him most dangerous.”

  “I am grateful for your fealty, High Priestess. And I will take your words to consideration. But this night, let us enjoy the feast and the fires of Samhein. Let us enjoy the beauty of our fair land and her people. I take my leave of you, your Highness. May the Goddess shine her light on you all of your days.” He bowed low and backed out of the drapes and into the night.

  Saorla, finally alone, removed her mask. The mask had made her hot and rivulets of sweat dripped from her temples. She knew that she should stay there and keep her identity secret. But the music was so enticing, the odor of roasted meat and smoke from the fires so delicious. She was practically salivating and her stomach growled with hunger. The low, thundering drums awakened in her desires that were animal and primeval. The night felt momentous and full of magickal power. It was a Samhein with a full moon, surely an omen of good fortune. The Goddess could not intend for her to sit alone and masked in a shrouded room rather than rejoice the life force of the Goddess.

  She tore off the white cloak and tunic. Underneath she wore a rough spun and undyed linen tunic like the peasants wore. The long sleeves covered the torc. No one knew what she looked like. She could pass for a peasant.

  I will. I will feast and dance.

  Saorla snuck out of the linen curtains at the back of the makeshift marriage bedchamber. There was no one around to see her. Everyone else had ventured down the hill to join the feasts and merriment in the valley below. Most of the revelers had a few mugs of mead in their bellies and no longer paid attention to the ‘wedding bed’.

  Saorla stepped gingerly down the steep hill. It was difficult walking as she had only the full moon to light the way. Saorla blended into the crowd easily, and as soon as she could, she grabbed a mug of mead and a leg of rabbit. She ate the meat quickly and savored its musky flavor. Saorla drank down the mug of mead in one long draught. She had never had mead and was surprised by the slight tingling sensation it left in her lips. Her head began to feel swoony. Saorla decided that it was not an altogether unpleasant feeling.

  She wandered away from the feasting tables toward the sound of the drums. Saorla watched the dancers for a few songs. When she felt confident that she knew the steps of the dance, she joined in. Between the mead, the power of the drums, and the spinning and twirling of the dance, she felt positively intoxicated.

  After she had danced a few songs, Saorla looked up to see that her dance partner was Cathaír. He swung her around and danced with her for the rest of the song. They both laughed, and Saorla felt light and free as they danced together. After several more dances, Saorla looked as if she would fall over from exhaustion. Cathaír steered her by her elbow away from the crowd.

  “What do you think you are doing, your Highness?” he whispered playfully into her ear.

  Saorla hiccupped and said, “Enjoying my wedding night, good sir.”

  Cathaír could not help but smile. He felt a warmth toward Saorla he had never felt before. There, in the glow of feast fires and away from the serious business of the Sacred Grove, he noticed for the first time how truly beautiful Saorla was. Her green eyes were two brilliant emeralds. Her lips were rosy pink and full. Her cheeks were flushed from the dance and the ale. Her hair, usually tightly plaited, was loose and flowing, full cascades of soft red flowing over her milky white shoulders.

  “Are you going to stand here and continue to scold me, or are you going to dance with me, Cathaír?” Saorla asked.

  He thought he should pick her up, carry her to her horse and escort her right back to the Sacred Grove. As her sworn protector and one of the holders of the secret of the Fires of Brighid, that was what he should do.

  But he was a man too, and would be a fool not to enjoy a night of dancing and laughter with Saorla. So he put out his arm for her and said, “May I have this dance?”

  She smiled mischievously and took his arm as they joined the others in a raucous dance. After a few more hours, Saorla said, “Ach, my feet! My poor soles are not used to all this dancing.”

  “Come then and let us rest,” Cathaír said. He took Saorla by the hand and they hiked the steep climb to the top of the sacred hill. It was late into the evening and they walked alone and unseen by the drunken crowd below. Saorla and Cathaír tucked back into the shrouded ‘wedding bed’.

  Inside, Saorla threw herself down on the large flat stone bed to rest. She was exhilarated and tired all at the same time. Cathaír stood nearby awkwardly, not knowing what to do next.

  “Come rest with me, Cathaír,” Saorla said. She motioned for him to lie next to her.

  Cathaír hesitated. He knew it was most improper for him to lie on a bed with Saorla. She was, after all, the High Priestess. But he was tired, and as there was no place to sit, he did as she suggested. As Cathaír lay next to Saorla, their hands gently touched.

  Although Saorla was tired, the mead had worn off, and her mind was clear, not foggy. She focused herself and knew in an instant that Cathaír was thinking of how much he loved Saorla. And how much he wanted to kiss her. Saorla’s cheeks flushed scarlet.

  Instead of speaking, she rolled over to look at Cathaír. Before he knew what was happening, Saorla gently kissed his lips. Cathaír’s brain told him that he should push her away, but the love pouring from her was too powerful a magnet. He kissed her back and gently wrapped his arms around her. Her body softened in his arms. She felt as if she would melt from the inside out. Her insides had turned to jelly.

  As their lips parted, Cathaír looked deeply into Saorla’s eyes. “I love you, Saorla,” he said.

  “I love you too, Cathaír.” They kissed again but more deeply. Their passion was ignited, and neither of them could stop the long embrace even if they wanted to. Cathaír and Saorla stayed together, wound tightly in each other’s arms until just before dawn.

  When they awoke, Saorla once again dressed as the Goddess, complete with mask. Cathaír s
lipped out without being seen but brought her horse around for her and escorted her back to the Sacred Grove.

  “You mean that they stayed the whole night together?” broke in Fanny.

  “Yes,” replied Hindergog.

  “Wait. If you know this you were spying on them,” I said.

  “Yeah, that’s gross man. You were spying on them while they were making out,” added Jake.

  “I cannot expect you human children to understand, but Saorla knew that I saw all of her life. There was nothing she hid from me. She wanted me to see her fall in love.”

  “So she and Cathaír were in love?” I asked.

  “Yes, very much in love,” replied Hindergog.

  “Hindergog, did they make love that night?” asked Fanny.

  “Yes, they did,” answered Hindergog.

  “Wow, that was totally against the rules, wasn’t it?” asked Jake.

  “Yes, young sir, it was. But for my fair Saorla, it was the loveliest night she knew in the whole of her life.”

  “You never told anyone, did you Hindergog?” I asked.

  “No, I did not,” replied Hindergog. “My dear mistress deserved to have that one secret. And I have never told anyone until now.”

  “But why tell us? I mean, it’s a beautiful story and all, but what does it have to do with danger to their world or with me?” I asked.

  “That is a fair question child so listen well as I continue. You will see why I chose to reveal this to you now,” Hindergog answered.

  5. CATHAÍR’S BAD NEWS

  A full twelve moons after the ban-feis, Cathaír rode hard and fast to the Sacred Grove to meet with my mistress. In those months, Saorla’s vision had proven true. Invaders entered upon the Emerald Isle. The army was large and their fighting tactics fierce. The King’s own armies and even the fearsome rogue bands of mercenaries had been unable to protect Ireland’s borders. Soon an army had surrounded the High King himself.

  Cathaír rode through the night from the Hill of Tara to the Sacred Grove and brought with him unwelcome news. As was custom, Saorla met with Cathaír in the Great Hall.

  “Saorla, it is with a heavy heart that I bring you news of a march coming toward your Sacred Grove as we speak. Their numbers are many, Saorla.”

  “I know, Cathaír, I know.”

  “You have seen the army coming?” asked Cathaír.

  “Yes, dear friend, remember I foresaw this over twelve moons ago.”

  “That is right. I tried to forget it.”

  “The visions are strong and keep me awake at night.”

  “Your priestesses are well trained and well armed. You have Madame Wong, an army in her own right. And of course there are the Fair Sídhe and Lianhan Sídhe to assist you. Your women warriors are fierce, Saorla, but I fear that even the famed women warriors of the Order of Brighid will not be able to fend off so many a number.”

  Saorla said nothing to this. Instead, she poured herself more tea. She so loved hot tea. I will miss tea and the company of my friends, Saorla thought.

  “Saorla, you look so sad suddenly.”

  “A moment of weakness.”

  “It is not weakness to feel. To be human. You know what is coming. Much blood will be shed. Many lives will be lost.”

  “Yes, Cathaír, and that is why I have no time for the human frailty of my emotions. My Order must be able to rely on my steady leadership.”

  “You are a strong leader, Saorla.”

  Saorla poured Cathaír a cup of tea as well.

  “There is more news too. This you may not know. There has been a great betrayal.”

  “A betrayal? Of whom?” asked Saorla.

  “Of High King Ruaidrí,” replied Cathaír.

  “Ah yes, the plot against him that I saw so many moons ago. But I have not seen a vision of this happening recently. How have I not seen this?” wondered Saorla aloud.

  “I suspect that magick is involved. It is Cormac, son of King Brion.”

  “Cormac. Yes, he has an axe to grind. He has always blamed Ruaidrí for his father’s death. So he is after revenge, is he?”

  “There is more. As you told me many months ago, the leader of this invasion is different from the ones before. He calls himself Dughall, and he is after more than just the typical spoils of war.”

  Saorla suddenly felt as though she would vomit. All at once a terrible vision came into her sight. It was a vision of a dark haired man with blazing brown eyes riding hard and fast right to the Sacred Grove.

  “He is on his way,” was all that she could whisper.

  “Then we do not have much time,” replied Cathaír.

  “But how does he know? How did he learn of our order and of the portal?”

  “That is what I was telling you. Cormac has betrayed King Ruaidrí and the Order. He saw his opportunity and sold us out to Dughall.”

  It was just as Cathaír said. Cormac’s father had lost the crown to Ruaidrí in a fierce battle. To assuage Cormac and his district, Ruaidrí had given Cormac a post as his second in command. Being so high placed within the kingdom, Cormac knew much – or had the opportunity to spy on much – of what happened in the King’s court, both public and private.

  Cormac, always intent on revenge, saw opportunity. He arranged a meeting with Dughall, as sadistic and power hungry of a human as ever there was. Cormac offered his services to Dughall.

  “I have no need of a spy,” replied Dughall in a low growl.

  “Then perhaps you require an assassin. I am extremely close to the High King,” offered Cormac in desperation.

  “What makes you think that I need you to take out Ruaidrí?”

  “There must be some assistance I can offer my liege.”

  “What do you know of the secret order of women guarding a well?”

  “Ah, it is women you are after sire,” laughed Cormac.

  When he looked at Dughall though he stopped laughing. Dughall’s jaw was set hard, and his dark eyes were unsmiling.

  “If you have no information about this secret order, I have no use for you,” Dughall said. He motioned for his guards to take Cormac.

  Cormac saw the writing on the wall. He thought fast.

  “I have information about the women of the well. I have information. I thought that you were in jest, my liege,” he stammered.

  “I do not jest,” Dughall replied.

  Dughall motioned his guards to halt. “You will tell me what you know and if you provide anything useful, I will spare your sorry life. For now.”

  Cormac told Dughall all that he knew. He told a tale of a secret order of all women, Priestesses, who lived in a walled compound surrounded by a grove of thick ash, thorn and oak. He told of how once a girl entered, she never left and inside learned the arts of magick and of war. Cormac told of the legend of a fierce woman warrior from China who taught the women in the Grove the ancient arts of eastern warfare but who was rumored to be over a thousand years old. Cormac told Dughall that legend had it that these Women of the Well were formidable warriors and much feared.

  “What of the Well?” hissed Dughall.

  “Yes, well, it is said that they guard a sacred well. It is said that the spring there has healing waters in it, maybe even the secret to everlasting life. Legend says that it is because of these waters that the old Chinese woman lives to this day.”

  “Healing waters? I have no need of elixirs or potions. Nothing else?” asked Dughall.

  Cormac remained silent as he searched his mind for any other legends he knew about the witches of the grove. Dughall let out a tired yawn. At last, Cormac blurted out, “Some say that inside the grove is a door to another world, a place some call Anwaan, the Netherworld. And it is said that the High Priestess wears a magickal torc and that with it, she alone can open the door between worlds. But this is all legend my liege. No one believes in magick or sacred groves anymore,” Cormac said.

  Dughall sat back in his chair and smiled. Cormac could see a twinkle in Dughall’s eyes. Cormac
was relieved that he said something that appeared to please Dughall. He may live to see another day.

  6. SORCHA

  Saorla knew that she had one day, perhaps two, before Dughall and his army attacked her beloved Grove. A thick copse of wood and brambles surrounded the grove on all sides making it inhospitable to most who traipsed around the wood. A high, stone wall protected the grove. But thorns and stone would not deter men like Dughall.

  For centuries, a powerful spell had hidden the wall from the view of all who passed. The spell could only be lifted by one who knew the proper incantation. Saorla lifted the spell briefly every time that Cathaír visited.

  Saorla and the Order of Brighid could also count on their allies. The spirits of the wood, known as the Fair Sídhe, would use their trickery and cunning to slow the progress of Dughall’s host. If the men got close to the wall, the powerful spirit that lived in the woods surrounding the grove, Lianhan Sídhe, would entrance and befuddle Dughall and his men. And if Dughall’s army somehow managed to make it into the grove itself, the ancient spirit warrior Madame Wong would protect the priestesses. Madame Wong was practically an army in her own right.

  But Saorla knew that an army of men determined to break down the walls could do so. No spell or the magick of forest folk could prevent it. She also knew that while the Priestesses of the order, the Fair Sídhe and Madame Wong would put up a fierce battle, twenty adult women, a handful of young girls, some faeries and a spirit warrior were no match for a whole army of men and horses.

  The largest threat was that Dughall knew of the torc and he believed in the portal. Saorla’s vision was clear. Dughall was after the torc and he wanted to enter the Netherworld. Saorla knew it was not for a good purpose.

  She summoned Cathaír to her chambers. I know what I must do. Propriety be damned, I must see him alone, thought Saorla.

  Saorla had her back to the door when Cathaír entered her small but warm and inviting cottage. Cathaír knew her so well, he felt Saorla’s worry and fear before she even turned to face him. Being alone, he did what he would never have done at any other time. Cathaír turned her to him and gathered her in his embrace. Tears welled in Saorla’s eyes as she returned Cathaír’s kiss.

  Cathaír wiped Saorla’s tears and held her hands in his. “My dearest love, do not cry.”

  “Cathaír, there is so much that I wanted to say to you, my Anam Ċara, my soul friend. But we do not have the luxury of time. There is something that you must do for me.”

  “Anything my love. You know I am your servant.”

  “You will protest this task and say that you cannot. But you must not argue with me. Remember that first and foremost I am High Priestess of the Order of Brighid. My duty is to protect the torc and the portal at all cost.”

  “Yes and my first duty is to protect you, your Highness.”

  “But you protect me in order to protect the torc, Cathaír. Remember that now as I ask this task of you.”

  “What task, dearest? You know I will give my life for you if you ask it.”

  “Not your life, Cathaír. You must live. You must survive and protect Sorcha. She is the most valuable life for you to protect now. You must complete this task for me then leave this grove, ride in stealth, cover your tracks well, and go to Sorcha.”

  “I cannot leave you, Saorla. Not now. You will need a strong warrior here.”

  “You must leave. Sorcha’s life is what you must protect. She needs you.”

  “Yes, Sorcha needs me. She needs us. We will both fight and defeat Dughall. Then we will retrieve Sorcha and live together as a family.”

  Saorla gently touched Cathaír’s face. “My dearest. My love,” she murmured as she kissed him again. Cathaír did not need the sight to see the resolve and sadness in Saorla’s eyes.

  “There are secrets of this place that even you do not know, Cathaír. Secrets that have been passed from the lips of one High Priestess to another. Secrets that now I and only I know. Secrets that must die with me.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Cathaír, see this golden torc around my arm?” Saorla held out her arm and the light glinted off of the shiny gold. “This is what Dughall is after. If he gets his hands on it, he will eventually figure out a way to decipher its magick and enter the portal.”

  Cathaír softly chuckled. “Is that what worries you, my love?” Cathaír pulled Saorla to him, and kissed her brow. “You need not worry of that love. I have seen men like this Dughall before. They are nothing more than a brute soldiers and killers. If he is like other leaders of armies from the south, he is too dense to understand how to use the old magick.”

  Saorla pushed herself out of Cathaír’s arms. “That is what I am telling you. Dughall is not like others. And he has help.”

  “Who besides you or a Priestess of the Sacred Grove could interpret the spells?” asked Cathaír.

  “The Moon Well has shown me the truth. Dughall has one of the Dark Sídhe with him, and he will soon meet Cian, an old druid who was once on his way to being High Druid but who is now a Dark Wizard.”

  “A Sídhe? Who? A pixie I bet. Those rotten little … ”

  “So you see, I must take drastic measures. With the help of Cian and a Dark Sídhe, Dughall may be able to find a way to enter the portal.”

  “What do you plan to do, Saorla?”

  “This you must help me with. I cannot do this alone. You must help me break the Triad of Brighid.”

  “I have never heard of the Triad of Brighid.”

  “I know, love. Only the High Priestess knows of the Triad of Brighid. I am breaking my most sacred vow by speaking of it out loud to you now. But the times require that some vows be broken.”

  Saorla turned her back to Cathaír and walked the few steps needed to stand at her window. It was a warm, spring day. She gazed out at the yellow jasmine that climbed the walls of her cottage and breathed deeply of its sweet scent. Is there anything more wonderful than the scent of the Earth? Saorla wondered.

  “Tell me, my love. Tell me of this triad.”

  Saorla did not leave the window but turned to face Cathaír. The morning sun illuminated her pale skin and the rays played upon her golden-red hair so that it looked as if it was touched by fire.

  “The torc is not the only magickal object that must be kept from Dughall. The Triad of Brighid creates the magick that has allowed this grove to stay hidden and that has kept the portal open all these centuries, even when the magick at Newgrange and at the great Glastonbury Tor has been lost.”

  “What is the Triad Saorla?”

  “The Triad of Brighid is as old as our people. The torc is one piece. The other is the Sacred Grove itself.”

  “What is the third piece?” he asked.

  “The High Priestess of the Order of Brighid,” replied Saorla.

  Cathaír’s face turned ashen.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The life force of the High Priestess forms the third and final link of the Triad. Once Dectire ordained me High Priestess, my life force was fused to the torc and to the Sacred Well to form the Triad. It is a great circle, Cathaír. All three must exist together to keep the magick of the Sacred Grove of Brighid alive. That is why a new High Priestess is always ordained prior to the death of the former High Priestess. The life force is constant and eternal, just as the water springs from the well and the fires of the sun burn, the triad keeps the Sacred Grove protected and the portal open.”

  “If you die, the spell is broken because there is no other High Priestess.”

  “Yes. Sorcha would likely have been the next High Priestess and when ordained, her life force would fuse with this place, and the Triad would be unbroken.”

  “But now we cannot wait for Sorcha, can we?” Tears welled in Cathaír’s eyes.

  “No, Cathaír, we cannot. I must depart this place and time. With my death and the removal of the torc to a place well hidden, the Triad will be broken. The portal will close and the Sacred Grove will become
simply an ordinary grove of old trees. But the Netherworld will be protected from Dughall. He must not be allowed to enter the portal, Cathaír.”

  Cathaír dropped his head and cried openly. Fat tears flowed down his cheeks and wet his beard.

  “You said you had a task for me. Please do not ask me to take your life, my love. That is something I cannot do for you.”

  “I would not ask that of you, dearest. Besides, the torc will not release from me if another takes my life. I must summon the courage to drain my own life force.” Tears streamed down Saorla’s face as well.

  “But you must protect the torc, Cathaír. You must ensure that the torc will never be found by Dughall or anyone else except a Priestess of the Order of Brighid.”

  Cathaír’s body was wracked with grief. Through his tears, Cathaír said, “I will perform that task for you Saorla. I will do everything in my power to ensure no one finds it.”

  With a sigh of relief, Saorla replied, “Good. And once you complete that mission, you must go to Sorcha. Promise me, Cathaír. Promise me that you will protect Sorcha.”

  “I will my love. I pledge that to you. I am in service to you, Saorla, my High Priestess.”

  Cathaír spent the rest of the day and the night with Saorla. Neither cared that it was forbidden for a Priestess to be alone with a man. They no longer worried of what anyone would say or do. Saorla cherished her last night to love Cathaír and share a quiet reverence for life.

  7. THE ORDER OF BRIGHID

  Dawn had not yet broken when the bell at the Great Hall rang again and again. The bell usually rang only for noon and evening meals. It was the signal that all should gather at the Great Hall. The air of the Sacred Grove was filled with tension as all in the Grove knew that the ringing of the bells meant trouble.

  The Younglings nervously whispered to each other “What’s going on?” and “Do you know what’s happening?” They did not know why they had been summoned to the Great Hall before sunrise.

  Saorla stood serenely in front of her chair at the head of the Great Hall and waited for all to filter in. She was dressed in her best white linen tunic and had a purple cape fastened about her shoulders with a large jeweled brooch. Her hair was tightly plaited and woven with small jewels. When they saw Saorla standing straight and solemn, bedecked in her best ritual finery, they fell quiet and took their seats. After a long silence, Saorla spoke.

  “My sisters, you know that significant change is upon us. Since the beginning of the Order many moons ago, armies have come to our fair land to take what is not theirs. Our people have fought off these invaders time and again.” Saorla paused and sat in her chair.

  “Many of you have had visions and know that this time, it is different.”

  Saorla looked out and saw many of the priestesses nodding their heads. Their look of worry and fear meant that they too had seen the foretelling of the end of their world.

  “Our High King is dead, and as I speak to you, there is an army advancing on this very Grove.” Several novices and even a few priestesses let out audible gasps.

  The priestess Coventina said, “But we are protected here. The spells and enchantments are strong. And we have powerful allies in the Lianhan Sídhe and Madame Wong.”

  “True, Coventina. These protections have served us well for centuries. But as we speak, a dark one comes to our Grove. He intends to gain use of the magick of Brighid for his own evil purpose. And he is being helped by a traitor of the High King, by one of our former brothers and by at least one of the Dark Sídhe.”

  The women whispered in disbelief. Saorla continued.

  “We have not much time my sisters so listen well to my words. We are the last of our kind and all that stands between this dark force and the Sacred Well. All of your preparation and training have been for a day such as this. You will need to draw on your skills of war as well as your magick craft.” Saorla paused and breathed deeply. I must inspire them and help them move past their fear.

  “Each of you has a singular gift, something that you do better than anyone else. Use your gift in service to your sisters, in service to our noble land, and in service to the Goddess herself.” Saorla could see the priestesses sit a taller and felt their fear dissipate, replaced by pride and determination.

  “Within one more rotation, you will fight the greatest battle this Grove has ever seen. You will fight for your life and for the soul of Ireland. These invaders have never seen women warriors before. They will underestimate you. Use that to your advantage.

  “I will hold council with our allies the Fair Sídhe and request their aid in our time of need. The elder Priestesses and Madame Wong have instructions from me for your preparations and battle strategy. Do exactly as they ask of you.”

  Saorla looked out on the faces of the Priestesses of the Order of Brighid and knew that it may be the last time she would see many of them. As she glanced down at the younglings in the first row, she felt a tear come to her eye. Am I doing the right thing? Shouldn’t I be by their side and fight with them? The thought of her sisters shedding their blood in battle made her shiver despite the warmth of the dawning day.

  She took a deep breath and suppressed her tears. She knew sure of what she had to do. This is no time to question the deep knowing within.

  “My sisters, I love you all. Remember, you are the embodiment of the Goddess herself. Let the Goddess flow through you. May your sword be true, your shield strong, your breath steady and may the Light of the Goddess be with you always.” With that, she put her hands in prayer position by her heart and bowed to her sisters. They bowed to her as well as she walked forward to bestow on each the blessing of the Moon. After she had blessed the last priestess, she walked out of the Great Hall for the last time, her purple cloak billowing behind her.

  8. THE DARK ONE COMES

  Hours after Cormac betrayed the most sacred secrets of Ireland, Dughall ordered his men to assassinate Ruaidrí, the last High King of Ireland. Dughall’s official mission given to him by the Emperor was complete. Dughall had absolute control of the Emerald Isle.

  But for Dughall, control over an island overrun with barbarians was not enough. He had his sights on something far greater. The next morning, Dughall put his highest commander in charge of Érie, and he set off with his best army to the south and west to search for the Sacred Grove of Brighid. At nightfall, Dughall ordered camp and went to his tent to eat alone.

  As Dughall chewed his bread, he heard a slight rustling sound behind him. Within seconds, he was on his feet, turned around and had pulled his sword from its sheath. His men knew better than to enter his tent without permission.

  In the darkness he saw a small figure appear. Is this a child in my camp? Child or no, I will kill anyone who dare enter my private tent.

  But it was not a child. Standing before Dughall was a creature that had been relegated to legend. Dughall stood aghast and stared at a pixie.

  Dughall could not believe in his own sight. He had heard the Celt peasants talk of forest folk and faeries, but he did not believe in it. Dughall thought it was just the talk of imbecile pagans.

  Here it was though, standing no more than two feet high and extremely slight of build. Her ears came to a point, and her skin was as white and luminous as marble. Her wings were like those of a dragonfly. They were thin as onionskin, shiny, and iridescent. They changed colors depending on the light and her mood. The pixie’s eyes were overly large for her small face and dark as coal with no color visible at all. The overall impression was frightening despite her diminutive stature.

  The sprite said nothing but bowed slightly. In a small voice that Dughall had to strain a bit to hear, she said, “I am Macha, of the Dark Sídhe. I come to offer my assistance to the one who has slain the last High King of Érie.”

  Dughall was speechless. At last he said, “Why would you offer to help me? You are a faerie, and I seek to take over your country. Why help me in this plot?”

  “There are many Sídhe in this fair land. So
me are what the humans call ‘Fair Sídhe’. Others are ‘Dark Sídhe’, like myself. Before humans came, we were in all corners of this isle. We of the Dark Sídhe have never forgiven the humans for taking our lands from us and driving us to the knolls, mounds, trees, and underground.”

  “Why do you think I would be different? I can tell you that I detest most humans, and I am not inclined to enjoy the company of bestial creatures any better. Your high pitched voice is already grating me.” Dughall eyed his sword as he considered wielding it.

  “We believe that you will treat us differently because we have something that you need.” Macha’s voice was steady and without a hint of fear.

  Dughall stopped eyeing his sword for the moment. “Tell me why I should not swat you down here and now.”

  “We know why you are here and that your task is not yet complete,” Macha said.

  Dughall raised his dark eyebrows. “What task is that?”

  “You seek the golden ring, the torc of the Order of Brighid.”

  She had his complete attention. Dughall’s sword dropped to his side. “Continue.”

  “You seek the power that lies within the Grove. But there are potent spells and enchantments that protect the Grove. Despite these, you may break through. You have men to spare. But the Order also has allies such as the Fair Sídhe. Their magick is formidable, and they are loyal to the High Priestess and the goddess. You will need our assistance to even find the Grove, and once there, you will need our help to get inside.”

  “Let us assume that you are correct and that I, Dughall, High King of Érie, needs you. What do you and your kind want in return?”

  “The Dark Sídhe will be your allies and protect you and your lands from your enemies. In exchange, we will be equal to the humans that live here and have our own lands.”

  Dughall thought for a moment and again eyed his sword. He did not know if he could trust the creature. Perhaps it has been sent by the High Priestess as a decoy.

  On the other hand, Macha confirmed what Cormac had told him. And if it was true, the force of his armies may not be enough to obtain the object of his desire. I may need the magick of this detestable creature if I am to succeed in my mission.

  “You may join me in this quest,” he said finally. “But know this Macha. If you or any of your kind betrays me, you will not need to bother with running to the mounds or forests. Your faerie blood will trickle into the roots of your beloved trees, and it will be the end of your kind.”

  Macha simply nodded her head in understanding and took leave of Dughall as quickly as she came. Where she went he did not know and truly did not care. I may keep my word to her or I may not. It would depend on his mood.

  Dughall lay on his bed of blankets and lamb’s wool and grinned widely. He could scarcely believe his unexpected luck. This is going better than I had planned. It is a sign of approval from the divine that my purpose is noble indeed. It will not be long now and I will hold in my hands the key to my deepest desire.

  9. MARCH TO THE SACRED GROVE

  Despite the fact that Saorla redoubled all of the spells and enchantments protecting the location of the Sacred Grove, with the help of Macha and the other Dark Sídhe, Dughall was able to find it.

  There were several skirmishes along the way between the Fair Sídhe and the Dark Sídhe. Dughall and his men stood almost speechless as small, brightly dressed faeries flew out of trees, mounds and woods, their wings glistening in the sun, and attacked the Dark Sídhe that were traveling with Dughall and his men. The Dark Sídhe, full of pent up venom and anger, dispatched their attackers quickly and with ease. After a few hours, there were no more surprise attacks by the Fair Sídhe, who apparently decided to give up rather than be exterminated.

  At the suggestion of Macha, Dughall ordered two of his men to go forward as scouts as the rest pulled back. After two hours, one of the soldiers stumbled back to camp while the other soldier was nowhere to be found.

  “What happened?” Dughall asked the hapless man.

  The soldier stared vacantly and said over and over, “I am your servant, my love.”

  Dughall quickly lost patience with the man who had clearly lost his mind. He paced the floor and tired of hearing the soldier prattle on and on, he pulled his sword and in one swift stroke, cut off the man’s head.

  “Now he will stop with his incessant, mindless chatter,” he said. The soldier’s head rolled a few yards and came to a stop just a few feet in front of Dughall.

  “Sire,” Macha said in her soft but brittle voice. “He has been kissed by the Lianhan Sídhe, Sire,” she said.

  “Explain, creature,” Dughall barked.

  “She is a powerful spirit. Lianhan Sídhe is quite beautiful to human men and irresistible. She lures men to her then kisses them. But her kiss removes most of their life essence, and they become addle brained or kill themselves.”

  “So this hapless soul was already dead,” Dughall said flatly as he nudged the lifeless head lying on the ground with his toe. “This is all very interesting, Macha, but how can we defeat this creature?”

  “I do not know, Sire,” replied Macha.

  Dughall spun toward her, his eyes ablaze with fury. “You drag me all the way out into this wood claiming you can gain entry to the Grove, and now you tell me that you do not know how to defeat the creature that stands in my way?” Dughall bellowed.

  “Sire, no one that has ever seen the Lianhan Sídhe has been able to say what they saw. No one knows exactly how she holds sway over men. We must send another scout, but this time, be close enough to see what happens,” offered Macha.

  Dughall’s face softened ever so slightly. “You mean send another of my men as bait, is that what you are suggesting?” asked Dughall.

  “Well, yes, Sire. I think it is the only way,” answered Macha.

  “Yes, Macha, I think you are right. You are a detestable little creature. So devoid of feelings for human life. I do believe I am starting to like you.”

  Dughall’s compliment made Macha’s skin brighten and her wings became an iridescent coral color. Together, Macha and Dughall made a plan to find at last the secret of the power of the Lianhan Sídhe.

  10. LIANHAN SÍDHE

  Dughall and Macha were in position. They followed a safe distance behind the soldier who they tapped to be the scout then scampered to the top of a small hill where they would have a view. The poor soldier had seen his mate come back from the last scouting trip addle minded and knew that the other had not been seen again. His legs quaked as he entered the area around the Sacred Grove.

  If a person was observant, they could notice that when one got close to the entry of the Grove, all was still. There was no breeze and no birds chirped. The winds were calm. There was no movement at all. As the soldier approached, the stillness made him quake even more. The preternatural quiet made the area around the Grove eerie. The eerie quiet made most who experienced it flee in fright.

  As the scout wandered the perimeter of the wall, he felt a slight breeze and a chill come over him. He turned and saw before him the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  Her hair fell around her shoulders in waves of gold. Her eyes were the brightest blue, like two radiant sapphires. Her full, rosy lips were parted slightly. But it was perhaps her skin that was the most striking. Pale and luminescent, it almost glowed. The soldier was so immediately enthralled with her beauty that he did not notice that she was, in fact, hovering before him, held aloft by her large faerie wings.

  Dughall and Macha watched the whole scene from afar. They saw the soldier immediately enraptured by the beautiful creature. They watched as the scout moved closer, a wide smile on his lips. He held out his hands to her, and she held out her hands to him. They heard music. It was faint at first, but grew louder. It was singing. The Lianhan Sídhe sang to the soldier, and it was the song that lured him ever closer to her.

  Macha turned her small head to Dughall and said, “Do not listen to her song. Muffle the sound so you can
not hear her.”

  Dughall did as she said and wrapped a cloth from his saddlebag around his ears. He could see the Lianhan Sídhe but could not hear her beautiful song.

  What he saw was totally unexpected. The Lianhan Sídhe smiled in a most beguiling way and continued to sing her song and lure the man closer. At last, their hands touched. She bent to kiss him, and he offered his lips to her. As soon as their lips touched, Dughall saw the man’s body go rigid, and for a split second, he opened his eyes wide in terror.

  The Lianhan Sídhe was no longer the beauty that had lured him to her. Her eyes had gone from beautiful sapphires to red as flame. Her fingers ended in sharp talons rather than neatly trimmed nails. Her wings, seconds ago light and glittery, were the scaly wings of a dragon. Her body and face, previously all light and luminous, were covered in reptilian scales. Her lovely blue billowy dress was replaced with rags.

  As she drained the life force from the man, his eyes became vacant. The Lianhan Sídhe’s beautiful song was replaced with a loud cackling. The life force of the man seemed to have made her even larger and more powerful. As quickly as she had appeared she disappeared with a loud crack as she flapped her large dragon wings and disappeared into the waning light of day.

  Dughall and Macha stared in wonder at the spot where the Lianhan Sídhe had just been. It was Macha who broke the silence.

  “You know Sire, legend says that if a man can resist her kiss, that she is defeated and doomed to wander the earth as a ghost for a thousand years, unable to take any more victims.”

  “You mean, if I can resist her … ”

  “If you can resist her, you will defeat her. She will be powerless,” Macha replied.

  Dughall’s lips curled into a sneer. He had discovered the secret of the Lianhan Sídhe, a secret unknown to any man in history until now. I will defeat he and rob her of her power. No faerie harlot will stand between me and that which I most desire.

  “You know Sire, that ordinary cloth will not be enough when you get close to her. Her song will pierce right through it,” said Macha.

  Dughall had not thought of that. He would need something stronger.

  “Do you have magick that will protect me?” he asked.

  “No Sire, but I know of one who does,” Macha answered.

  Macha summoned Cian, a Dark Wizard. She told Cian that Dughall needed a potion that would render his ears useless for a time.

  Cian eyed both Macha and Dughall warily. “I owe you nothing, Macha. Why should I do this for you or for this one?” he said as he gestured toward Dughall.

  At that Dughall quickly grabbed the old wizard and put his sword to the man’s throat. “This, my dear man, is why you should help me,” Dughall hissed.

  “Ah, you are all about might then. You fighting men. You think that piece of metal makes you superior,” the wizard replied.

  “Who is in a position to die now, old man? You will help me, or I’ll run you through.”

  The wizard had been caught off guard and was not in a position to use his magick to defend himself. He found himself with no choice but to give in to Dughall’s demands.

  “It appears I have no choice but to aid you, oh dark one,” Cian croaked. Dughall released Cian and the old wizard stumbled. “I will need time to gather the proper ingredients.” Cian rubbed his throat where Dughall’s sword had been.

  “It grows dark. You shall have the evening, but no more. I want your potion at first dawn old man.”

  Cian went into the thick woods that surrounded their camp and worked feverishly through the night with only the light of a torch to help him find the forest herbs and fungus that he needed for his potion. By dawn, the potion was ready for Dughall.

  “Here it is, as you demanded.” Cian handed the tankard to Dughall. “Drink all of this and you will not have use of your hearing.”

  “I will not be able to hear anything, old man?” asked Dughall.

  “You will not be able to hear the loudest thunder,” replied Cian.

  “And it is only temporary?”

  “It will wear off after a few hours,” said Cian.

  Dughall took the cup and drank the potion down quickly. Midway through he gagged from the vile taste, but he forced himself to choke down the viscous draught. No sooner than he had swallowed the last of it, he was overcome with excruciating pain in his ears. His heart pumped faster and he heard the sound of his blood rushing through his veins. Dughall held his ears, fell to the ground and writhed in pain.

  “I will kill you, old man.” Dughall’s voice was choked by his pain as he held his ears. He would have surely cut the dark wizard down if he had been able to get to his sword. But soon the agony began to subside, and as it did, he realized that he could not hear. He clapped, he spoke and let out a loud yell but could hear nothing. He smiled wide, a most unsettling sight.

  “My hearing will return?” asked Dughall. The old wizard nodded.

  Macha accompanied Dughall to their spot within sight of the Grove. Cian stayed behind at camp as being a human man, he was susceptible to the Lianhan Sídhe’s song.

  As Dughall approached, he felt the same stillness that the soldier had felt followed by the same slight breeze and sudden chill in the air. Then she appeared. Even more beautiful up close. He felt drawn to her even though he could not hear her song. For a brief moment, Dughall was worried. It was an uncommon emotion for Dughall. Though I hear not, I am drawn to her. Macha, you imbecile! I have been tricked.

  But as Dughall drew closer, he saw that her while the faerie’s lips moved, he could not hear her song. Her beauty drew him to her, and he wanted to kiss her lips, but he kept his wits about him. He knew that giving into one desire would doom his quest so he resisted her. Just as she bent closer with the softest rose petal lips to kiss him, Dughall shouted at the Lianhan Sídhe, “I rebuke thee! You do not charm me, devil woman. Be off with you.”

  Just as her lips were about to meet his, she heard Dughall’s words and her beautiful visage changed instantly. Her eyes were again as red as flame, her hands talons, and her wings like a dragon’s. She screeched loud and piercing for just a moment then fell silent. She was still visible but became as a ghost, there but barely. Her ghostlike image wandered off into the wood, her face sallow and her mouth open as if in a scream.

  Dughall still could not hear so he did not know that no sound came from her horrible open mouth. But he knew that he had defeated Lianhan Sídhe and that she would no longer stand between him and the torc.

  11. BATTLE FOR THE SACRED GROVE

  “Now what, Macha?” asked Dughall.

  “We must find the gate,” she replied.

  “There is nothing here but vines and trees,” replied one of the soldiers.

  “It is an enchantment, you imbecile,” sneered Dughall. “All of you, earn your keep and hack away these plants,” he barked.

  “I would not do that if I were you,” interrupted Macha.

  “And pray tell, why not dear Macha?” asked Dughall.

  “Because those vines and trees are not ordinary.”

  “Yes, yes, they are under a spell. I know. So we will break that spell,” said Dughall.

  “It is not just a spell. The vines and trees are enchanted and in service to the Sacred Grove. They will defend themselves. You cannot break the spell by cutting them,” said Macha.

  “Macha, I have over one hundred men here with axes, maces, swords and hatchets. The magick of the sisters of this grove is no match for the magick of steel. You heard me. CUT!”

  The soldiers hesitated. After seeing one of their own come back from the Lianhan Sídhe addle minded, most of them had become believers of the magick of the Sacred Grove. But their fear of Dughall was greater than their fear of the magick, so they began to hack away at the vines and trees thickly covering all of the walls and gate to the Sacred Grove.

  At first it seemed to work. The vines were dispatched and fell to the ground. But within seconds, the vines not only regrew themselves but also beca
me even thicker. The trees, too, seemed to grow larger. Before they saw it coming, vines wrapped themselves around the men, axes and hatchets and all. Within minutes, all of the soldiers near the thicket were totally engulfed, swallowed alive by the living thicket. Their screams were loud and agonizing, all sounding at the same time. Even Macha covered her ears.

  As their screams faded, the vines and trees returned to normal. The remaining soldiers stood still in their tracks, dumbfounded by what had just happened.

  Dughall was beyond angry.

  “Okay Macha, we will do it your way. What magick do you suggest we use to get through these evil branches?” asked Dughall.

  “We need a spell to break the spell,” she said.

  “And so say it. Say the spell,” Dughall hissed.

  “I do not know the spell,” Macha replied.

  Dughall’s hand moved to his sword, and he was just about to slice the little faerie in half when the Dark Wizard stepped forward. “I can recite the spell,” he said. “But it will take time to gather the information needed to determine the right spell.”

  “You have five minutes,” snarled Dughall.

  Cian walked the perimeter of the thicket. He picked up leaves that had fallen and rubbed them between his fingers and tasted them. He held them to his ears. He stood quietly along the perimeter with his eyes closed for several minutes.

  Dughall’s patience was at its end. “Your time is up old man. Say a spell now or so help me, I will run you through.”

  “If you live a thousand lifetimes, it will not be long enough for you to learn patience, Dughall,” Cian replied. The old man closed his eyes, circled his arms wide and held them above him as he cited the incantation.

   

  “Holy Hawthorne, oak and ash,

  twisted and gnarled, wound tight.

  Pray let these servants of Brighid pass,

  through this gate to the Sacred Grove,

  there to do her bidding.

  In honor always to the Goddess,

  blessed be the keepers of her Flame.”

   

  At first there was no change. The air remained still. There was no sound of bird or bee, just the occasional snort of the horses.

  Then a subtle change. The vines thinned. The trees moved farther apart. The thicket weakened.

  There. Just a peek at first. Stones. Large stone walls came into view. Finally, a large wooden gate. The Sacred Grove of the Order of Brighid, visible for the first time to outsiders.

  Dughall’s face curled into a sneer, the closest his face ever got to happiness. Even Dughall was impressed with the magick that had protected the Grove for over a thousand years. The so-called magick of these women is no match for my superior intelligence and desire to have what lay inside these walls.

  Dughall gave the order. “Tear down that gate!” he bellowed.

  The men at once took their axes and hatchets and hacked away at the gate. In a matter of minutes, they had torn down the gate and funneled into the Grove on foot and horseback.

  Dughall mounted his horse and sauntered into the Grove. Even he had to stop for a moment and admire its beauty. The light was softer inside, especially as compared to the dark and harsh light of the thicket outside the walls. Inside the Grove, it was peaceful. There was only the sound of the wind through the trees, a distant babbling brook and the occasional cricket or birdsong.

  But most lovely was the smell. The wind wafted the most delicious odor of fruit blossoms through the air. For Dughall, it called to mind happy memories from the homeland of his childhood. He was momentarily lost in his thoughts when Cormac interrupted.

  “Sire, we are inside the gate.”

  “I know that you idiot,” Dughall growled back.

  “What is your next order, Sire?” Cormac asked.

  Dughall gathered himself. “Tell your soldiers to round up every person in this place, but ensure that they do not kill anyone. I need them all alive. For now. Go!”

  The soldiers spread out and ransacked every building they found as they searched for the inhabitants of the lovely Grove. They searched the entire front half of the Grove and found not a single person. Dughall was frustrated and considered ordering them to torch the place when he heard a call.

  “Sire, over here!”

  The call came from the large building at the back and center of the Grove. As he entered he saw the priestesses in a tight circle in the center of the building. They were dressed in ordinary linen tunics tied around the waist with a thin cord.

  “Do not kill any of them,” Dughall ordered. “Find the one with the gold torc around her upper arm. Bring that one to me. After you find her, kill the rest.”

  At that moment, the women untied their sashes and ripped off their tunics. Underneath all were dressed in their battle clothes. Leather breeches with a dagger strapped to each thigh. A strong leather harness slung around their shoulders armed with hatches, maces, swords and Chinese blades. The priestesses quickly put on the helmets that they had hidden behind their backs. They armed themselves and readied for battle so quickly the soldiers were frozen in fear.

  Dughall was incensed at the sight. Each woman wore the same item around her right arm. All of them wore a torc. How would he tell which one was the magickal torc? He was ready to order the soldiers to kill them all, but Macha flew close to his ear and interrupted his thoughts.

  “It is a ruse, Sire,” she whispered.

  “Ruse? What do you mean?”

  “She is not here. The true Torc of Brighid is with her somewhere else.”

  It took a few seconds for Macha’s words to sink in. Look for her somewhere else.

  “Yes. Macha, Cormac, and the old man. You three are with me.” Dughall turned to leave the Great Hall with Macha flitting lightly on the air beside him.

  “Sire,” a soldier called. “What do we do here?”

  “Kill them all,” he replied.

  As soon as Dughall left the Great Hall, the women warriors spread out and Madame Wong flew from the center. She was a jumping, bouncing, flying ball of sword and dagger. She slashed and thrust her sword so quickly that any soldier in her path fell to his death before he could be sure of what had hit him.

  The most trained and skilled women warriors flanked the outside of their circle, wielding their arms with grace and power. Intermixed with the Priestesses were many faeries, armed with bow and arrow and slingshots. And in the center of the circle were the younglings, well protected by their older sisters, the Fair Sídhe and Madame Wong. The younglings did their part by chanting their most powerful protective spells.

  As soldiers began to fall in heaps, the remaining men got over their initial shock at the sight of the women warriors appearing out of what looked like a throng of devout priestesses. They had to contend not only with four foot tall Madame Wong slicing and dicing, but also the keen aim of the faeries’ bow and arrows.

  They squared off, each soldier battling a woman warrior. More soldiers fell than women warriors but still, as the battle waged on, the Order of Brighid too shed much blood.

  In the midst of the fighting, the sound of their groans and shouts of pain came a loud and horrible screeching. For a moment, the battle stopped as all heard what sounded like metal scraping on metal while an injured cat howls.

  Those fighting for the Order of Brighid knew instantly what made the awful noise. Bian Sídhe. And in an instant they also knew the reason for the Bian Sídhe’s cry. One of the ancient blood of Ireland had fallen.

  12. SAORLA AT THE WELL

  After Saorla had given her last blessing in the Great Hall, she met with the Fair Sídhe to confer on battle strategy. She reinforced the incantations and spells that protected the Grove. After she had strengthened all protection spells, she went to the Sacred Well and spent the rest of the morning in silent prayer and meditation.

  At the appointed time, Cathaír silently appeared at the Well. They looked into each other’s eyes and without words spoke to each other all of the lov
e they felt for each other.

  As they heard the soldiers breaking down the gate of the Sacred Grove, they knew the time had come. They could wait no longer.

  Saorla pulled her small, jeweled dagger from her cloak and without a single word, plunged it deep into her belly. Crimson liquid bloomed on the front of her white linen tunic as blood poured from the self-inflicted wound. Within a few minutes, all color had drained from her face. Cathaír caught her in his arms as her body began to fall. He gently lowered her to the ground and rested her head on his thigh.

  They said not a word. Cathaír simply stroked her lovely red locks and forced a wan smile to his lips as he looked into the emerald pools of her eyes. He pulled Saorla to him, bent his head, and touched his warm lips to her cool ones.

  As the life drained from Saorla’s body, the spells and enchantments that protected the Grove faded too. Even the light began to change. It lost its soft quality and matched the harshness of the woods that surrounded the Sacred Grove. The air became cooler and the sun faded behind the gathering clouds.

  The silence of the moment was broken as Saorla whispered her last word. “Sorcha.”

  As the last breath passed from her lips, the golden torc loosened its grip around her arm and fell gently to the ground. Cathaír wanted to stay, to hold her and continue to stroke her hair. He wanted to plunge her dagger into his own chest to stop the ache that weighed heavy in his heart.

  But he had made a sacred vow to his beloved. He knew what he must do.

  He picked up the torc, still warm from her body, wrapped it in a linen cloth and hid it deep in the pocket inside his cloak. Cathaír gently lowered Saorla’s head to the ground, kissed her cold lips one last time then ran.

  He ran as fast as he could run. He ran to the edge of the Grove, away from the Great Hall and the soldiers and Dughall. He ran and ran until he reached the edge of the Grove. He stopped to recite the spell required to lift the enchantment so he could get out of the tangle of vines and branches. But before he could recite the spell, he realized he didn’t need it anymore. After Saorla had departed, enchantments no longer protected the Grove.

  Cathaír stepped out of the Grove and into a new world. It was a frightening world to Cathaír where there was no longer a link between his human world and the world of magick. The light was harsher, the air more acidic. Maybe it was, or maybe it was just his sorrow and anger that made the air he breathed taste like a bitter poison. He pulled his cloak over his head and tread out of that grove, never to return.

  He slipped easily through the tangle of vines. He found his horse where he had left it. Cathaír rode as fast as his steed could take him. The wind whipped his hair and vines and branches cut his hands and face as he rode through the tangle.

  As Cathaír rode, he heard the mournful cry of the Bian Sídhe. Her hideous screech cut through the air surrounding the Grove. Her cries only made him ride faster, away from the dead body of his love. Away from the woman that was the embodiment of the goddess on Earth. Away from the fallen Sacred Grove of Brighid.

  He rode with a single-minded purpose. He must go to Sorcha.

  13. THE END OF THE ORDER OF BRIGHID

  “Saorla killed herself?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Hindergog said.

  “But she should have fought,” said Fanny. “She gave up. If she and Cathaír had fought too, they could have whipped Dughall’s butt.”

  “My mistress was a formidable warrior, and she might have ‘whipped his butt’ as you say, lass, but she could not take the chance. If there was any possibility that Dughall could lay his hands on the torc in the Sacred Grove … well, it was just too dangerous to risk.”

  “Why?” asked Jake. “What would happen if Dughall had been successful?”

  “Mysteries are revealed in the Netherworld. Some things are best kept a mystery.”

  “But you want me to go there. If some things are best left to mystery, why send me there?”

  “You must go, my young mistress, so that you can prevent Dughall from learning the secrets of the Netherworld. ”

  “Are you saying Dughall would use the information for evil, not good?” Fanny asked.

  “Evil is all that Dughall knows,” replied Hindergog. “Now young ones, my story is almost complete. Stay quiet while I finish the tale of Saorla and the Order of Brighid.”