by Nora Roberts
“And my baby. Don’t fear.”
Her eyes shone with tears, but Teagan watched her mother solemnly as she held out her hand.
“Three drops from thee, three drops from me, with the horse as your guide, the magicks ride.”
She mixed the blood, kissed Teagan’s little hand. “There now, that’s done.”
She lifted the cauldron, slid the vials into the pouch at her waist. “Bring the rest. This is best done outside.”
She chose her spot, on the hard ground with snow lumped in the cool shadows of the trees.
“Should we get firewood?” Eamon asked her.
“Not for this. Stand here, together.” She moved beyond them, called on the goddess, on the earth, the wind, the water and the fire. And cast the circle. The low flame bubbled over the ground, rounded until end met end. And inside, warmth rose like spring.
“This is protection and respect. Evil cannot come within, dark cannot defeat the light. And what is done within the circle is done for good, is done for love.
“First the water, of sea, of sky.” She cupped her hands, opened them over the cauldron, water blue as a sun-kissed lake poured out, poured in. “And the earth, our land, our hearts.”
She flicked one hand, then the other, and rich brown earth spilled into the cauldron. “And the air, song of the wind, breath of body.” She opened her arms, and blew. And like music, the air swept in with earth and water.
“Now the fire, flame and heat, the beginning, the ending.”
She glowed, the air around her simmering, her eyes burning blue as she threw her arms up, cast her hands down.
Fire erupted in the cauldron, shooting flame, dancing sparks.
“These your father gave to me. They are a sign of his love, a sign of mine. You are, all three, of that love.”
She cast the three copper bracelets into the flame, and circling it, added fur and hair and feather, added blood.
“The goddess gifts to me the power so I stand in this place, in this hour. I cast the charm, protect from harm my children three and all that comes from them, from me. The horse, the hawk, the hound, by blood they are ever bound to shield to serve from life to life in joy, in sorrow, in health, in strife.
“In earth, in air, in flame, in sea. As I will, so mote it be.”
Sorcha lifted her arms high, turned her face to the sky.
The fire shot up in a tower, red and gold, wild blue in its core as it spun and twisted into the cold winter sky.
The earth shook. The icy water in the stream went to roaring. And the wind howled like a wolf on the hunt.
Then it stilled, it died, and there were just three children, hand gripping hand, watching their mother—pale as snow now—sway.
Sorcha shook her head as Brannaugh started toward her. “Not yet. Magick is work. It gives, and it takes. It must be finished.” She reached in the cauldron, drew out three copper amulets. “To Brannaugh the hound, to Eamon the hawk, to Teagan the horse.” She slipped an amulet over each child’s head. “These are your signs and your shields. They protect you. You must keep them with you always. Always. He cannot touch what you are if you have your shield, if you believe its power, believe in mine and your own. One day you will pass this to one who comes from you. You’ll know which. You’ll tell your children the story and sing the old songs. You’ll take the gift, and give the gift.”
Teagan admired hers, smiled as she turned the small oval in the sunlight. “It’s pretty. It looks like Alastar.”
“It’s of him, and of you, and of me and your father, of your brother and your sister. And why shouldn’t it be pretty?” She lowered to kiss Teagan’s cheek. “I have such pretty children.”
She could barely stand, and had to bite back a moan as Brannaugh helped her to her feet. “I must close the circle. We must take everything inside now.”
“We’ll help you,” Eamon said, and took his mother’s hand.
With her children, she closed the circle, let them carry the tools into the house.
“You need to rest, sit by the fire.” Brannaugh pulled her mother to the chair. “I’ll fix you a potion.”
“Aye, and a strong one. Show your brother and sister how it’s done.”
She smiled when Teagan wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, when Eamon spread a blanket over her lap. But when she started to reach for the cup Brannaugh brought, her daughter held it back. Then squeezed at the flesh around the cut on her hand until three drops of blood plopped into the cup.
“Blood is life.”
Sorcha sighed. “It is, aye. It is. Thank you.”
She drank the potion, and slept.
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