With strong, sweeping movements she started fleshing out the image of her five year old little brother which was in her mind’s eye.
When she finally had a basic image of Rogan roughed out, she stopped. Promising herself she would return to finish it when her eyes were not so terribly tired and sleepy, she reverently turned back to the hope chest which had the other drawings of her family and the estate.
From her position squatting down beside the chest to spare her ribs, she noticed a small leather bag in the corner of the chest.
She pulled it out with a grunt, and inside she observed her collection of agates. Over the years she had recovered—some might say ‘discovered’—them from Brown Creek. Back when she had still been a youngling who believed in sugar fairies and a parent’s unconditional love, she had hunted for them in order to impress her mother.
She would neither keep them in her hope chest, nor would she give them to her sisters. Clutching them to her breast and promising to get rid of them at the first opportunity by casting them back in the creek, she carefully lay down in bed.
Before she knew it, she was asleep.
Chapter 8: A Great Deal of Pain
Being healed by a Witch is not as instant—or magical—as most people say. In fact, it hurts so bad that most people can hardly stand it. Most would agree it hurts worse even than the original injury, or all the pain a person has experienced up until that point all rolled into one.
So of course that was why Muirgheal, Falon’s former mother, and Christie, her sister, decided to sneak up on the injured young woman to start the spell while she was still asleep.
The first thing Falon knew about the whole affair was when she woke up screaming.
“Owe,” she shrieked as lightning lanced through her side and her rib bones felt like they were being crushed into bone shards and powder.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Christie scolded, even as she leaned over Falon’s legs to hold her down while Muirgheal performed a similar service on Falon’s side and shoulder, “there’s no need to be so overly dramatic,” the older sister continued in a firm, no nonsense voice. It was only now that she noticed the blood staining her older sister’s apron, and for a moment she feared it was her own. Then she remembered that the dead boar had been hung in their barn by Vance, and Krisy had probably been about the work of butchering the animal.
Falon was broken from her reverie when Muirgheal began using the serious magic and started pouring what that felt like liquid fire into the places her broken bones normally occupied. Ribs popped and ground together under the force of the Witch’s magic at work.
“Stop!” wailed Falon, the muscles constricting in her throat even as her voice began reaching up into octaves she never knew she could attain. Ending in an unholy shriek any banshee would be proud to call her own, every muscle in her body strained as is if trying to reach the ceiling.
“You’re killing her!” cried a concerned Christie, now that it was too late and the magic had a firm hold on both mother and daughter. Writhing in its terrible grip, Falon felt burning hot tendrils running up and down her left flank.
The magic felt as if were running from her feet all the way up to her head and then down again into the earth.
When Christie shouted and tried to grab her arm and jerk Falon away from Mama Muirgheal’s iron grip, it was as if icy cold hands had settled on her overheated skin, leaching away some of the excess magic.
“It will take more than this to kill my little Thorn—I have already seen to that,” Muirgheal said coldly. “Besides, you can’t summon a Witch and then stop her in the middle of a spell’s working just because you don’t like the way the magic works!” Falon watched with fear as Christie groaned and staggered back before slumping to the floor as if exhausted.
“Don’t-don’t,” Falon managed to half-choke, half gasp at Muirgheal even with the magic still coursing through her body, “hurt. Don’t hurt my…sister.” Falon’s head twisted to the side as her muscles tightened like cables.
“Her blood is too weak for this,” Mama Muirgheal said around gritted teeth, the force of the magic flowing through her making her normally strong features appear overly harsh, “Christie can’t channel this much power, she has more New Blood than Old within her, and knows better than to interfere with the deep magic.”
As if sensing Falon’s outrage, her Mother shook her head.
“It’s not her fault your Father prefers his wives from the New Blood settlers within our lands,” Muirgheal said bleakly, as if remembering the time when she was still Father’s wife, “five years I gave that man and he replaced me with Patience.” The bitterness in her voice was strong enough to cut the finest steel.
Falon tried to draw breath, but nothing happened.
“Don’t worry little Falon; your blood is strong enough to shield you from the deep magics of the earth,” Muirgheal said consolingly. Then she lifted a hand to brush away a stray lock of hair from Falon’s forehead, “When the power roils within you my dear, threatening to consume everything it touches, remember that your heritage comes from both myself and your half-blood father. You can survive this—you will survive this, I’m certain of it.”
She started to say more, but Falon’s vision tunneled into a grey circle of pain and she passed out.
When she woke up, Falon discovered she was back in her own bed, and more importantly she discovered that was still alive. Taking a deep, testing breath, she realized her ribs felt better. More than better, in fact; they felt almost as good as new.
Her unthinking grin wilted around the edges as she remembered the force of the magics her mother had poured through her body. Gulping reflexively, Falon prayed that she never had to go through that kind of experience ever again.
Rolling onto her side she pulled the blanket up over her head and shivered. A muscle in her left leg twitched and her whole left side felt sensitive and itchy. The sensation was no longer isolated to just her chest and ribs.
She pulled up her shirt examined herself to make sure everything was still present and accounted for. More importantly, she was checking to make absolutely sure her ribs really were healed. Prodding her ribs with a finger, all she felt was a dull ache, where before there had been nothing but intense pain.
Sighing with relief, she was just about to drop the edge of her tunic when she observed a number of little red welts running up and down the left side of her body. Blue veins also stood out much more prominently than before. Looking at her right side, there were none of the welts or distended veins.
“Mama Muirgheal, what did you do?” she whispered to no one in particular.
The door of her room slowly creaked open and she lifted one small corner of the blanket up far enough to see who it was.
A small head peaked inside her room and spotted her hiding in bed. “Hi Falon, why are you hiding,” Rogan grinned his freckled face, dark black hair and exceptionally pale skin a striking contrast to other little boys, “I’ll tell Christie you’re awake!”
“Wait,” Falon said as he started to close the door.
Her five year old little brother smiled mischievously before slamming the door shut.
“Christie! Kaitlin,” he yelled, his voice slightly muffled by the door, “Falon’s awake!”
“Get back here you little snitch,” Falon shouted through the door.
Rogan laughed, and she could hear the pounding of small feet as he ran away from her door at top speed.
A moment later her door slammed against the wall from being flung open so hard.
“Fal, I thought we’d lost you.” Christie ran over and threw her arms around Falon. Kaitlin came in close behind their older sister and also threw her arms around her.
“You’re smothering me,” Falon’s voice was muffled by an elbow.
Christie pulled back until she was an arm’s length away. “Are you really okay? Say you’re okay, Fal,” she said worriedly.
“I’m good, Krisy. Now get off,” Falon replied, hal
f laughing and half serious from the way she was being smothered. Then a trio of human projectiles ran into the room and jumped on her bed. And because it was a small bed, they landed directly on top of her.
“Oof,” she gasped from the weight of three small children landing on her in rapid succession.
“Falon’s okay,” a pair of girly voices said in a sing song tone, and Rogan was quick to join them as they repeated the words again and again, making a little song out of it.
For a moment it was nice to have her siblings in bed with her. It was suffocating, but after everything she had been through recently—getting beat up by the boar, learning about the Levy, and then the healing spell Mama Muirgheal used on her.—it was nice to know that she was well loved.
Then the little ones started wriggling around trying to tickle one another, and she went from feeling loved to feeling squished.
“Get off me, you little monsters,” she gasped when a random foot kicked her full force in the side—the same side that had just been healed. The last thing she wanted was another repeat of last night any time soon.
Christie and Kaitlin both remembered their dignity and stood up, but the little ones were too busy shrieking and tunneling under the blankets to care.
“Sinead,” Falon growled, using her fingers to great effect as she ruthlessly searched out armpits and clavicles, “I expect this sort of thing from Blair and Rogan, but you’re almost eight years old!”
“Not fair, Falon,” Sinead shrieked as the other two piled on grabbing her feet, and tickling for all they were worth.
“Alright, enough you three,” Christie barked, clearly trying for a stern voice but the laugh lurking just beneath the surface undercut her attempt at authority.
The younger children grinned at her.
“Come on you lot,” Kaitlin said affecting the brogue of a crusty old sea dog. Both the sea and her sailors were things the girls had only ever read about and not actually experienced. The closest they had ever come was using the row boat in the local watering hole.
“No,” the Children chorused.
“Please?” begged Rogan.
“Shiver me timbers, but if you don’t come with me quick, someone’s liable to swipe all the honey bread,” the accent their twelve year old sister Kaitlin affected had, by this point, grown so thick that this combined with the way she was struggled to keep her voice pitched an octave lower than she normally spoke, and it made the whole thing come across as completely hilarious.
Falon struggled to contain herself as the three youngest gave her a look before scrambling off the bed and ran out the door, in hot pursuit the elusive honey bread. Singing and dancing quickly broke out in the hallway leading to the kitchen.
“Tee-hee, tee-hee, a pirate shall I be,” the pack of honey-bread seekers sang out of unison and off key, as they pounded down the hall in pursuit of Kaitlin and the ‘treasure’ buried in the cold box.
Chapter 9: A Heart to Heart
The mirth and merriment of the others continued to drift into the room from the rest of the house, and Falon and Christie shared a mutual look of happiness.
“Thank Mama Patience, gods rest her soul, for those bee hives,” Christie said a hint of a smile still on her face as she looked out the door in the direction of the younger brother and sisters.
“Amen to that,” Falon agreed, wistful for the days when she was one of the ones running around the house without a care in the world.
The moment of reflection stretched on, and then as things have a tendency to do, it eventually came to an end.
“I’m really sorry, Fal. I had no idea a Muirgheal’s healing was going to be so difficult,” Christie said, her face clouding.
Falon’s face also clouded, “It’s not something I plan to think on often,” she said tightly.
“I blame myself,” Christie closed her eyes.
“You should,” Falon said flatly.
Christie’s eyes popped back open. “You don’t have to be so rude about it,” she glared.
“How would you like to wake up from a sound sleep to something like that!?” Falon snapped, matching her glare for glare.
The wind seemed to go out her Christie’s big sisterly sails, and her bossy, ‘I always know best because I’m the oldest’ attitude suddenly deflated. “You’re right,” Christie admitted quietly.
Falon’s jaw dropped. It was almost impossible to get Christie admit to being wrong. To hear those words after less than a minute meant that her older sister had been genuinely worried.
“It’s okay,” Falon grumped, even though it really wasn’t. But she loved her sister and even though it had been a very traumatic experience, she knew that Christie had only had Falon’s best interests at heart.
“Thanks, Fal,” Christie said in a soft, vulnerable voice.
“Although you should have had Muirgheal try her magic on Papa first,” Falon said, more to distract her big sister than because she thought it was a great idea. She couldn’t think it was a great idea, not after her own experience with the healing spell, but at least it was better than letting Papa just die.
Christie looked at her sharply and took a deep breath only to let it trickle out slowly. “She checked on him,” Christie said after a moment, this time in a normal voice.
“And?” Falon demanded eagerly, hoping that something had changed since the last time they had managed to beg Muirgheal to examine their papa.
“No change, if anything he’s worse,” Christie reported bleakly, “Mama Muirgheal says that if she tried to run that much magic through his body, in his current condition…” her voice trailed off sadly.
“What is it? What did she say,” Falon asked tightly, not wanting to hear another word about her mother after last night but even more eager to help papa. She realized they were grasping at straws, but what else could they do?
“She said that much magic would almost certainly cause him to take root,” Christie replied, looking as if she were about to cry.
Falon stared at her and then got up to give her a hug. For a long moment they just held one another. They were the oldest siblings left in the house, and in that moment they felt the full weight of the whole family resting on their shoulders.
“We can do it, Christie. We just have to stick together,” Falon said with a confidence she did not truly feel.
“I hope you’re right, Fal,” Christie said giving her one last squeeze before stepping back.
“Of course I am,” Falon said with a crooked smile, “us Rankin girls can do anything we set our minds to.”
Christie smiled sickly before straightening her big sister mask once more firmly back in place. “Lunch will be ready anytime, little sister,” Christie said briskly, “I’ll have Kaitlin bring up a basin of hot water we’ve kept on the stove for when you woke up, so you can wash. Come down to eat when you’re done.”
“Thanks, Krisy,” Falon nodded.
Christie’s nose wrinkled. “Make sure you send those old clothes down for a good wash,” her older sister scolded.
Falon forcibly suppressed the urge to snap at her sister. Taking a pair of deep, calming breaths, she lowered her head. She glared at her big sister through the short bangs of hair across her eyes. “I think I’ll go see Papa, after I clean up,” she said shortly.
Christie bit her lip, no doubt keeping back any number of big sisterly comments from spewing out. “Just make sure you come down before the food gets cold. Kaitlin and I’ve been working on it for over an hour,” she said finally.
“Thanks, Krisy,” Falon replied, her face lighting up.
Christie hesitated and then sighed, “You can really be a handful when you set your mind to it, I just want you to remember we love you anyway, Falon,” she said, sounding exasperated before turning on her heel and left the room.
Wondering what that was all about, Falon stared through her doorway perplexed, before shaking her head. After closing the door she turned back to retrieve a tunic, trousers and soft leather boot
s. Stripping off yesterday’s clothing, she wrinkled her nose at the stench.
Dried blood, mud and caked-on pig dung didn’t make for the most wonderful of smells. Gagging at the smell, she dropped them into a wicker basket for her sisters to wash later. Not having to wash her own clothes was one of the few blessings of the whole ‘brothering’ business. Her face darkened as she started to mentally recall some of the less pleasing aspects, then she shook herself forcefully.
Taking herself to task, Falon found herself fiercely determined not to ruin a perfectly good day. Today she would focus only on positive things and avoid being dragged into a cloud of doom and gloom. There would be time enough for that later.
Hearing her brother and little sisters running up and down the hall actually did more to dispel her moodiness than any amount of mental scolding, and with a grateful smile she cracked open her door and pushed the wicker basket outside for one of her sisters to retrieve.
Yes, she decided, if there is one good part of pretending to be a brother, it’s not having to do your own laundry. Grinning and whistling at her good fortune, she received the pitcher of hot and cold water from Kaitlin with good grace and a smile on her face, and then proceeded to wash up in her room.
Still feeling a bit of last night’s magic sinking through her veins, Falon felt better than she had in two week. Picking up her tunic and trousers, she hesitated.
Placing the tunic in front of her and holding it just under her neck, she looked down to check how she looked. Shaking her head in disapproval, she went and retrieved two more tunics and her other set of trousers. Settling on the right trousers was easy, and she quickly discarded the pair with a heavily patched hole in the knee. The tunics, on the other hand, took some time because if she was going to see Papa today, she wanted everything just so.
The Boar Knife (Rise of the Witch Guard) Page 6