by Laney McMann
“Okay, Grandmother. I’ll draw Max’s. It’s my second favorite.”
She kissed my forehead. “Yes, child. I know it is.”
An intense burn trailed from my fingertips, up my arms, and over my shoulders, and as I opened my eyes, a familiar chilling heat seared across my collarbone. Intricate dark green designs, like carvings in my flesh, curled on the inside of both my wrists.
“My … Oghams.” Tears streamed from my eyes.
My grandmother smiled in a sad way. “You remember.”
“How could I have forgotten?”
She patted my hand, and handed me a small mirror.
The intricate dark green designs that adorned each wrist also stretched over the front of my shoulders, right below my collarbone. “Oh, my god.”
“You asked what I had done to you,” my grandmother said. “Here are your answers.”
Unable to tear my eyes away from the raised etching on my right wrist, I stared at the Arwen—Max’s element. Air. My second favorite Ogham as a little girl, after my Shield. Tears flooded my eyes. Why didn’t Max say anything? Remind me?
“After your father was killed, and your mother fled the Otherworld with you, she tried to remove your Oghams with the same potion that she was using to wash your memory.” My grandmother sighed. “Thankfully, her efforts did not work. The residuals of your Oghams remained. I knew they must be there, simply lying dormant. Otherwise, your fire would not have come to you when you called upon it. I was able to restore the Oghams. Reawaken them, as it were. Your mother’s decision to try to remove all ties binding you to MacKenzie could have cost you your life, I am afraid.”
Huh? “How?”
“When you were born, your mother refused to believe that you were one of the foretold Fire Born—even after she witnessed the Ancient’s Oghams on you at your birth.” My grandmother shook her head. “She believed it was some sort of dark magic that had fallen upon you,.and that you could not possibly be one of the true Ancient Fire Born of Legend. Of course, when I got word that another infant had been born only moments before you had, I knew.” She smiled. “MacKenzie was born sixteen minutes before you, and he held the same Oghams, exact matches to your own. Legend says only the foretold Twin Souls would inherit matching Oghams.”
I found it difficult to concentrate. My entire childhood came rushing back at me all at once—details I’d forgotten—a past I remembered in clips and bits of colors and sounds, nothing concrete.
“It was soon after that we, as a family, made the decision to create the Tie and attempt to stop the curse that had been placed upon you.”
I nodded, staring at my wrists. Max didn’t have his Oghams anymore, either. I would have noticed them if he had.
“The Fire Born have inherited symbolic Ogham etchings to protect and guide them since the beginning of time itself,” my grandmother continued, as though we were discussing what to make for lunch. “They are akin to birthmarks for your kind.” She reached for my hand and brought my attention back to her. “Your mother and I … well, you could say we have been at odds ever since.”
“Max doesn’t have his Oghams anymore, either—” I slowly outlined a miniature Tree of Life, encased within a circle on my left wrist. The Dara, I remembered. It’s burning heat cooled under my touch and seemed to lighten in color. “I would have noticed them. Probably remembered.”
“He does, child. In the same places as your own. The seals burn hot at birth and eventually fade to skin color when cool. Perhaps you did not notice because MacKenzie was not sure if he should show them to you. Perhaps he keeps them covered. Either way, the Oghams are still there, I assure you.” She scooted forward and touched the front of my right shoulder, just beneath my collarbone. “This is the Shield.” She smiled encouragingly. “It represents the element of fire. Your fire. Remember?”
I nodded in a weak way, finding my neck didn’t want to move properly. I’d been so proud of the Shield as a little girl. It had made me special—different—and although I never understood why, I’d loved it. The Ogham was a squared off circle—four rounded corners all weaving together in Celtic knots. Around the edge, the word ‘Fire’ was inscribed from the ancient Irish alphabet. It reminded me of the eternity bracelets that Max and I wore—no beginning and no end.
Touching the Ogham, raised grooves ran underneath my fingertips as if my flesh had been branded with an iron.
“Here …” My grandmother tapped my shoulder again. “… is where the Shield always lies—on the right shoulder. It protects from evil spirits and provides the bearer with the skills he or she may need in battle.”
“Battle?” I didn’t remember anything about the Shield being a battle Ogham. “So it will what? Teach me how to fight?”
She chuckled. “There is no teaching, child. Ogham Etchings are like codes. They embed into the body—into the blood, as it were. Each one reacts to its owner. There is no removing them. They are one with the bearer, and are permanent.” She hesitated. “When you react, the Ogham will react in kind. In this case, the Shield will lead you, should a fight be at hand. I believe it has already helped you once during the Fomore attack at MacKenzie’s house.” She raised an eyebrow.
The attack. The thought made me ill.
Her wrinkled fingertips flitted to my left shoulder. “Here is where the Triskele is placed—the oldest of symbols. It represents the circle of all life, renewal and healing.”
Staring at it, I nodded. Three spirals looped around one another, creating a circle, and the word ‘Water’ was engraved along its edge.
“It is water’s element, and will keep you ever changing and learning. And here on your inner right wrist lies the Arwen. This symbolizes balance. It will align the two opposing powers.” She offered a sad smile. “In this case, your power and MacKenzie’s. It signifies the element of air.”
The Arwen had three straight lines pointing outward, all connected at one end like an arrow. The symbol was incased in a circle with the word, ‘Air.’ Wrapping my hand around it, dizziness assaulted me. Max and I—the opposing powers. Something else no one told me.
Touching my left wrist, my grandmother said, “And here, the Dara. The Ogham of wisdom and strength. The earth’s element.”
I wanted to hug them all—as if they were cherished friends I’d lost. “Grandmother,” I said, still running my finger across Max’s symbol of air. “The Oghams are just … myths. Folklore. You told me they didn’t have any real power when I was little.” I stared up at her, and her eyes were full of tears. “All the fairytales about the Ancient’s Oghams were just … stories.”
“Nothing in your world is just a story, Kindred. What was I to tell you at such a young age? That you were one of the last of the Ancient Fire Born?” She smiled. “I did not want to scare you, but there were things I needed you to know. When your mother washed your memory, I thought everything was lost. Now, we must strengthen your knowledge and build it back up.”
I inhaled a breath. “Then tell me what really happened on the beach. After the Fomore attack at Max’s house.”
“All right.” She took in a deep breath. “When you and MacKenzie were attacked, I believe a breach in the Tie may have been made. Only time will tell if a true Tear exists.” She hesitated. “You were dying when we found you.” Her words lowered to a whisper. “I believe the disruption of your Oghams left you vulnerable and therefore easy prey for … certain types of magic.” She looked into my eyes. “Red magic.”
“Red?”
“The type of magic that can leave its victims in a volatile state. With the ability to do terrible harm. Red magic has been known to sever emotional bonds.”
“You mean Ties.” A chill ran down my spine.
“I do.” She inclined her head. “Kindred, I do not tell you these truths to frighten you. Quite the opposite. You need to be aware. The battles you will face, now more than ever, are something you must prepare yourself for. The Oghams will aid and protect you. They are imperative to your survi
val. Especially now that you—and your enemies, I am afraid—know who and what you are.” She tapped the stone she’d given me. “This is a part of you. I will keep it safe.” She slipped it back into its leather pouch and dropped it in her pocket.
“Grandmother—how do you know all of this? You aren’t an Ancient. Are you?”
“No, I am not. However, the Morrigan was my aunt, and the Tuatha Dé Danaan are descendants of the Ancients. Their blood runs through all of our veins. Many secrets have been passed down through our family. The Oghams are but one of them.” She patted my cheek with a gentle hand.
“Thank you. For finding me—giving me my Oghams back.”
“My Kindred, I love you so.” She kissed my forehead. “Now, please, for your grandmother, rest.”
“Wait.”
“Yes?” She hesitated.
“What’s this one?” I pointed to a spot on the inside of my elbow. A small—tiny, really—etching specked my arm like a freckle.
“This is an Ogham that I have used to help keep you safe …” She sighed. “… from yourself.”
“What? What do you mean?” The tiny Ogham didn’t look like much at first, but as I focused on it, I realized it was a miniature open blue eye.
“The Evil Eye,” she said. “It will … hinder your ability to shift into the Raven.” She held my gaze with her own. “As I said before, the creature is not your ally.”
I wanted to argue, but beside being overwhelmed and exhausted, I knew it would do no good. She was right. Under the influence of the Raven, my thoughts were not wholly my own—something I didn’t want her to know—something I’d been afraid to admit to myself, so I only looked at the little blue eye staring back at me. It was a deep sea-color, almost black on the outer edges, with lighter blues feeding into the wide iris.
“It will also impede your ability to traverse.”
“Grandmother, no. That’s not fair.”
“Yes, Kindred. You have been through quite a traumatic event. Several, to be exact. You need time to recover. And I cannot have you spinning or flying off in search of MacKenzie.”
“But—”
She held up a wrinkled hand. “No buts.”
8
A flash of silver shined through the darkness, the haze of moonlight gleaming off rugged stone walls, and reflective drops of liquid glinted from somewhere above my head. I tried to see, widen my eyes, but only darkness pressed in around me. Pushing to my feet, a sweet, sickly smell caused me to gag—something dead, rotten—spoiled, and the sound of a continuous drip ricocheted from somewhere. Looking down, I eyed warm liquid flowing over my hand, and someone’s laughter broke the silence. Chills ran up my spine, as I turned around.
My gaze lifted again, searching the ceiling that I could barely see. Something splatted against my cheek, my chest. Blood.
I stifled a scream.
Like glue had sealed my eyelids shut, I had to pry them open, surprised I’d fallen asleep without remembering. A milky film coated my sight, and the familiar outline of the Underground’s ceiling came into blurry view. Raising my hands in front of my face, I was relieved to find them clean. No blood.
Dragging myself up to sit, I pushed to stand from the bed, and stumbled out the door, down the hallway, and toward my grandmother’s palatial Underground great room, hoping to find her.
“I do not understand,” I overheard my mother say in a harsh whisper. “We always assumed that as long as a Light Bearer shined, our people would remain safe. I have never heard of one to lose their strength.”
“That seems to be our misreading,” my grandmother answered her. “Teine is not well. Something pulls at her. I see it.” Her tone was anxious. “I had hoped the renewal of her Ogham Etchings would act as a counterweight, but now I am no longer sure.”
“What of my Light? I hold no power?” my mother asked. “It makes no sense.”
They both fell silent as I entered from the hallway, and my mother raised her chin, proud and bold. The ocean stretched out behind her through a massive rectangular window. All shades of blue and green water reflected the bright sunlight like jewels, salt-sea air flooding the open space, and clearing my head.
“What’s going on? Something’s still wrong with me? The Oghams aren’t working?”
My grandmother sat in an ornate wooden chair—each leg ending in a carved taloned foot. “We are not sure, Kindred. It seems the protective field you have been wielding over the World of Light has been violated. The Realm is suffering. Beyond that, we do not know what the repercussion will be, if any. And no, you are not well. Perhaps the Oghams simply need more time. I am unaware of anyone having them … tampered with and then replaced.” She folded her aged hands in her lap. “If I may ask a simple question. Forgive your grandmother, but … how do you feel about MacKenzie?”
My brow crunched. “How do I feel about him?” I glanced at my mother, extremely uncomfortable with the question.
“Yes.” My grandmother raised her eyebrows in an expectant way, a pleasant smile playing on her mouth.
I glanced at my mother again, and looked away, finding it hard to speak.
“Kindred?”
“I love him.”
My grandmother’s smile widened. “Yes. Of course you do.” She nodded in that self-assured way. “Of course.”
My mother let out a low, exaggerated sigh. “This proves nothing.”
“On the contrary, Daughter. It proves many things. And is a good sign.”
“Tell me how to get into the Underworld,” I blurted out, looking between the two of them clearly arguing over something I cared little about.
“Kindred.” My grandmother sighed. “I wish it were that simple, but it is not. The doorway into that world is heavily guarded, and no one of our realm knows where it is. Furthermore, the Fomore would likely kill you before you had a chance to enter.”
“Not if they don’t see me.”
“No. Kindred, you cannot shift.” She thrust her hands through the air. “As I continue to say, you cannot ally yourself with the Raven. The Evil Eye Ogham I placed on your arm forbids it. Put the thought out of your mind. We do not need to add to the darkness I already see in your eyes.”
“I can’t just stay here—doing nothing.” I tried to keep the anger out of my tone.
“I agree.” She inclined her head. “We have made a decision, collectively, as it were.” She glanced toward my mother, and my aunt, who’d suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway.
I waited, eyeing each of them in turn.
Flidais stepped forward and sat down in an armchair nearest my mother, who said, "The ballet workshop you applied to in February has accepted your application to study for the summer. Classes begin in two days."
“What …” The information hit me like a slap. I’d forgotten all about the workshop, having applied weeks before Max showed back up in my life. Everything had changed since then so drastically it seemed like someone else’s life—not mine.
“We feel it is best you attend.” My mother’s words were short and stern.
I shook my head, stuck somewhere between shock and denial. “No.” I’d worked my butt off to get that spot—dreamed about going to the workshop for the summer. “I can’t go. I won’t go.”
My aunt inclined her head toward my mother. “I warned you this would not go over well.”
“It is for your safety, Teine.” My mother shot my aunt a glare. “And not up for discussion.”
“You’re serious?” I almost laughed, glancing at the women in the room—the matriarchs of the family, all sitting tall and stoic like the Queens they were. The women who I knew were not used to being told no. “You are. You want me to go off to dance? Live in some dorm room like nothing is happening?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Besides the fact that I just got my life back,” I glared at my mother, “I am not going to a dance workshop with these lines crawling all over me.” I held my wrists up, writhing with green symbols. “Not to mention, I am not leaving period
while Max is being held prisoner, being tortured—dead, for all we know—in the Shadow Realm!”
“Teine that is enough!” My mother’s face was blotted red. “You are going.”
“Grandmother?”
Her hands twisted in her lap. “Kindred, for once, I must agree with your mother. I do not question your intent to help, or your ability, but the risk is far too great. Your anger, if provoked, is an even greater risk. The workshop will be a good distraction, and you will be safe there. We will find MacKenzie. The Guard will begin the search with Justice at their lead.”
My eyes narrowed. “Justice? Justice is going, and I’m not?” I threw my hands out to the sides.
“Child, Justice is not like you. He is well aware of what he might face. He is simply better equipped to handle this situation. We cannot risk your life. It is not sensible.”
“But you can risk his? He came here to find me! To help me!”
“I came to make sure you were protected,” Justice called out behind me, casually walking down the hallway in worn-out jeans and a flannel shirt, his brown hair a disheveled mess. “Max would—” He hesitated. “You don’t know him like I do, Layla. I owe him your safety.”
“Kindred, Justice will be helping you. He will be helping all of us. He is one of the The Fallen, and much older than you may be aware. This is his choice. MacKenzie is like a brother to him.”
“And I’m … what? My relationship with Max doesn’t matter, but Justice’s does?”
“Enough.” My mother remained rigid. “Your relationship with MacKenzie is precisely the reason you are not safe. Precisely the reason we are in this situation to begin with!”
“Well … I would not go that far.” My grandmother’s white eyes shifted toward my mother, and her mouth quirked slightly.
My mother rolled her eyes.
I glared between the two of them. “I’ll still take the risk. Justice may owe Max my safety, but I owe Max his. He’s been protecting me for years. I have to go, too.”