Dead Moon Awakens: A tale of Cherokee myth and Celtic magic (Mystic Gates)

by Teresa Joyce Jackson

  “What about those bushes over there,” Aishling said, pointing about twenty feet up a gently sloping hill.

  “It may not be enough cover,” Lance answered.

  She had reached her limit and needed rest. She no longer cared what anyone thought. “That’s enough cover. At Herald Home, we hid it in bushes that gave even less cover. I’ll do an enfolding enchantment and Morri can do her ant spell. No one will touch it.”

  “Ant spell?” Kelile said.

  “Aish!”

  “What’s an enfolding enchantment?” Lance asked.

  Though Aishling wanted to smooth over what she had just revealed, her brain was somewhere back in the river. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain later. It’s time you-uns trust me and Morri. No one found it before, and they won’t find it now.”

  Silence.

  “Okay, but you’re going to tell me later what you mean.” Lance huffed. “Let’s get our gear and stash the canoe.”

  The others watched while Aishling implemented her enfolding enchantment. Lance’s irritation bothered her until Kelile said, “What? Where’d it go?”

  Morrigan refused to do her spell until everyone had left her alone. When she joined them, they lumbered up a dirt road to a small, one room church. They tried the front door, and it was unlocked.

  Aishling sighed in relief when they settled on the floor in front of the first row pew.

  “What time is it?” Morrigan asked.

  “Just after three a.m.” Lance fished through the side pocket of his backpack and pulled out four candy bars. “Hopefully, we can rest here a bit before somebody comes. Be sure and take your shoes and socks off and let them dry. You want to keep your feet as dry as possible when we start hiking.” After handing each of them a candy bar, he shined the flashlight in Aishling’s eyes and said, “Okay, explain.”

  23

  She looked at Morrigan for clues on what to say, but Morrigan turned away.

  “Lance, man, let’s hold off on this little talk until later … much later. The only thang I wanna do right now—” he tore off his candy bar wrapper “—is eat this and check my eyelids.” He grinned, chomped, and then moaned. “Man, if my hand wasn’t throbbing, I’d be a happy camper.”

  Monday, April 29

  “What was that?” Lance woke Aishling out of a sound sleep.

  For several heartbeats, she didn’t know where she was. Was that a car door slamming? That simple sound jolted her into a state of alarm.

  “Everyone wake up. Get your shoes on. Get your stuff. Hurry!” Lance whispered.

  Aishling put her socks and shoes on, gathered her things and stood, ready to run. Shouts rang out from the front of the church. Was someone shouting for her and the others to come out with their hands up? She shook herself. No, she realized. A man and a woman were yelling at each other.

  Lance grabbed his things. “Okay, let’s sneak out that side door over there.”

  Aishling followed the others over to the side entrance of the church and waited as they snuck out the door. She gazed back at where they had rested and saw a wrapper. Gasping, she went back, picked it up, and checked to see if they had left any other evidence. She ran back to the door, her heart pounding. Don’t leave me.

  Lance came back in. He took her hand and silently closed the door, then guided her away, motioning for her to keep low and quiet.

  They hid behind several bushes.

  Moments later, Kelile peered around the bushes and whispered, “They’re getting in their car.”

  Morrigan moved next to him, peeking around the bushes too. “Stop!” she said as Kelile shoved her, making her lose her balance and fall backwards.

  “You were standing on my foot.”

  “Quiet!” Lance said.

  Aishling stiffened, listening. When a car engine started, she gobbled for air, realizing she’d been holding her breath.

  Lance gazed over the bushes. “They’re leaving.”

  As soon as the car was gone, he guided them to the first leg of their trek on foot—a dirt road that would lead them to the Appalachian Trail.

  Aishling mentally recited their route for today—Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Camp at Silerbald. She smiled, pleased by the way Lance and Kelile had seemingly dismissed their questions about what she and Morri had done last night. But when she glanced over at Morrigan, her smile evaporated. Morri wore the same frown she had had on her face an hour ago. Was she ready to give up and go back to Herald Home? Hopefully not.

  Morrigan moaned. “I’m tired, Lance. Can’t we stop for a few minutes?”

  “Yeah, let’s take a quick break.” He led them off the dirt road to a clear patch of ground underneath a hazelnut tree.

  They ate their snacks in silence until Kelile said, “Okay, girls. What’s this thang about ant spells and chants—enchants … I think it’s time you two did some explaining.”

  Aishling choked on her candy. Kelile and Lance were staring at her. How could she tell them? She groped for the right words.

  “I knew you two were voodoo queens when that little incident happened with my eyes.” Kelile focused on Morrigan. “Come on, fess up.”

  “Why are you looking at me?” Morrigan said, shifting her eyes to the ground.

  “Come on, Aishling, you talk. That one over there ain’t gonna say nothin’. I’d rather hear from you, anyway. I think she’s the wicked witch of the West, and you’re the good witch of the East.” Kelile chuckled.

  “I am not wicked!” Morrigan stuck her tongue out at him.

  Kelile opened his mouth then shut it.

  “Well, I’ll talk about me and my mother.” Aishling had gathered enough courage to speak. But still, she couldn’t bring herself to look at Lance yet, afraid he wouldn’t talk to her ever again after this. “My mother is kind of like a wise woman.”

  “You mean witch,” Kelile said.

  “That’s what the word witch means, idiot,” Morrigan said, sticking her tongue out at him again.

  “Get that thang back in your mouth.”

  Aishling inhaled and exhaled. “Right. Ma’s Celtic, a Celtic witch, but she’s also part Cherokee. You could think of her as a medicine woman or healer.”

  Lance interrupted this time, “Wait, my mother was a medicine woman, and she taught me some Cherokee traditions. She never said anything about witches being medicine women. In fact, the Cherokees don’t like witches. They think they’re evil.”

  Aishling sank to the ground and her throat stung. How could she convince him that she wasn’t evil? She pressed on, “I know,” she stressed, “that Ma isn’t evil. And, there were Cherokee people that came to see her all the time.” She glanced at him, and he shook his head. “You can shake your head all you want, but it’s true. All kinds of people come to her for healing touch or soul recovery, or for her herbal remedies and dream prophecies. Everyone loves her, and she doesn’t do anything bad to anyone. In fact, she taught me to live by the Sacred Creed.”

  “What?” Kelile smirked. “Witches have a creed? What is it? Only do voodoo on Mondays? Or, just partially hurt someone, you know, make their eyes bleed, but don’t make them go blind?”

  “Shut up,” Morrigan said. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with here.”

  “Oh, is that another of your threats?”

  “Stop it, you two. Let Aishling finish,” Lance said.

  She glanced at each of them as she wondered why she hadn’t remembered the Creed before now. “We live by the Sacred Creed which is:

  “I may do as I want as I will as I feel, but may harm none—neither here and now, nor then and there, nor in the coming of time anew—for I am of it All as it All is of the One, and you are in me as I am in you. What I give to the world, be it kindness or pain—what I do with intent, be it harm or humane—will return to me with the force of three, be it three times the love or three times the pain.”

  “Wait, girl, say that again.” Kelile looked past her, squinting.

  At almost the sa
me moment, Lance said, “I know this.”

  “What do you mean?” Morrigan straightened up.

  “Repeat it, good witch.”

  She said it again. This time, the others gradually joined in with her. They knew it! It felt like worms were crawling up her back and neck, over her shoulders, and down her arms. She didn’t understand what had just happened. They knew the Sacred Creed. How? “How do you-uns know that?”

  Lance said, “My mother taught me that a long time ago.”

  Kelile shook his head and said, “This is creepin’ me out. As you said it, good witch, I had flashbacks of Mom teaching me that, too. This was before she got married to asshole.”

  “I remember my mother teaching me this a long time ago, too,” Morrigan said, wrapping her arms around her knees.

  “Well, what happened to you, voodoo queen? Did you conveniently forget when you made my eyes bleed?”

  “I”—Morrigan balked—“did not make your eyes bleed, slave boy, you did! The first page of my diary warns what will happen if you read it. You chose to read it anyway.”

  Stillness smothered Aishling. She hadn’t thought about the Creed since before her mother had disappeared. Had she now found a piece of herself?

  Kelile interrupted her thoughts. “I just remembered some other things I haven’t thought about since Mom married him. She used to tell me stories about a Celtic god, Manannan, who she named me after.”

  “Named you after.” Morrigan sneered.

  “That’s right, voodoo queen, it’s my middle name.” He grinned. “Man, this dude could shapeshift into birds. And he had these magical weapons, like a sword that always hit its target and armor that couldn’t be penetrated. He also had a cloak that made him invisible.” He chuckled. “When Mom told me this story once, she said that she’d hidden these weapons in a safe place; and when the time was right, she’d give them to me.” He glanced at Morrigan. “Don’t you be lookin’ at me in that tone of voice.”

  “Manannan was the son of Lir, god of the sea.” Lance smiled at Kelile. “Hey, you’re my son. You have to do whatever I tell you.”

  “Are you makin’ fun of me, man?”

  “No, I’m telling you the myth. My mother was Cherokee and Irish. When I was younger, she told me a few Celtic myths, too. My initials spell Lir. In the myth, Manannan was the son of Lir. Mom would talk about Lir, and Manannan, Cerridwen—which was her middle name—Brigit, and—”

  “Brigit?” Aishling said.

  “Yes.”

  “My mother’s middle name is Brigit.”

  “What was that?” Morrigan’s whisper bit through the conversation. “Listen.”

  Aishling heard it then. She looked around, searching for the source of the noise—a rooting sound, like something chewing and moving through the brush. She caught sight of bushes swaying behind Lance and Kelile. Placing her left forefinger on her lips, she slowly rose but dropped to her knees again.

  Stunned, she could only form the word with her mouth, “Bear!”

  Return to Beginning

  when time’s flower blossoms,

  24

  “Cast the caim.”

  As quickly as Aishling had panicked, she calmed, responding automatically to the whispered words.

  While breathing deeply, she raised her left arm and rotated it clockwise over her head, using her fingers to draw an imaginary boundary around them.

  Simultaneously, she whispered, “Mother Goddess, let nothing harmful penetrate the barrier I now draw.” She completed her first rotation and continued around in the same manner. “Keep us safe within this circle from all that can harm us.”

  After completing the second circle, she rotated her arm once more. “The first creates the boundary. The second binds our safety. The third seals this spell. As I say, as I will, so mote it be.” She finished making the last circle and stating her incantation at the same time.

  She had blocked everything else out of her thoughts—only seeing the boundary within her mind’s eye, only hearing the intentions she whispered. Now, she noticed the others were stock-still.

  A black bear the size of a cow lumbered closer. It stopped at the perimeter of Aishling’s safety circle, closest to Morrigan.

  Lance squinted at Morrigan, mouthing the words, “Don’t move.”

  Though remaining steadfast, Morrigan whimpered once and then puckered her lips.

  Aishling struggled with holding her intentions of safety as the bear lingered, sniffing. Did it sense they were there? Did it smell them? Did it hear them? See them? She squeezed her eyes shut. Stop! Only see us safe!

  Her eyes burst open when the bear snorted.

  After several terrifying seconds, it lowered its head to the ground and strolled on behind her, beyond her vision. She looked at Lance, who continued watching it. They sat frozen as statues for countless minutes until he whispered, “Okay.”

  Aishling gulped for air.

  Kelile grabbed his chest and leaned forward, breathing loudly. When he sat up again, he said, “What did you just do, good witch?”

  “I placed us in a caim, a circle of protection. I can’t believe I remembered it. I haven’t thought about that either until now. Morri, did your mother teach you that?”

  “No.” She grimaced. “Why didn’t you use a stabbing spell? That would’ve gotten rid of it much quicker.” Morrigan gazed behind her, rubbing her arms.

  “Oho, wicked witch of the West. What about the Creed—may harm none?”

  “Oh, shut up!”

  “We’ve got to go.” Lance stood, shaking his shoulders and neck. “We don’t want to be walking at night. Come on.”

  “Okay.” Aishling smiled at him, but he ignored her. Her smile turned into a pained expression. Was he mad at her again? Did he think she was evil? Didn’t he realize her safety circle had protected them?

  They had been hiking on the same deserted, dirt road at a brisk pace. Now tired and hungry again, Aishling paused and reached into her backpack for one of her snacks. Not being used to carrying that much weight, her shoulders and neck ached. Her feet hurt, too. Lance glanced around at her and stopped.

  “Everyone should eat a snack,” he said, setting his backpack on the ground. “Drink some water, too. Conserve it, though. We won’t be able to purify any more until tonight at the shelter.”

  “Hey, man,” Kelile said.

  “Yeah?”

  “My hand is really throbbing. I think it’s swollen.”

  “Let me see.”

  Aishling caught up with them.

  His hand was swollen and red around the bite.

  “It doesn’t look too bad.” Lance released Kelile’s hand. “If it had been a poisonous bite, your whole arm would have probably been swollen and had red blotches, or something like that.”

  “Or … I’d be dead.” Kelile worked his hand into a fist then opened it again. “Still hurts, man.”

  Aishling moved close to him, thrust ahead by another memory blossoming within her.

  “Whoa, girl, you’re a little too close. Back off.”

  “Kelile, if you would let me, I could help you,” she said as she backed away.

  “Just how are you gonna help me, good witch?” He smiled.

  “Well, I could give you healing energy so your body can heal the bite.”

  “How you gonna do that?”

  She took off her backpack and vigorously rubbed her hands together. “I can—”

  “Hey, I don’t like the looks of that.”

  “Kelile,” Lance said, placing his right hand over her hands, holding them still. “I do know about this. My mother used to do this. Sometimes, people came to our house asking for her healing touch. If Aishling knows how to do this, it might help you feel better.”

  Like a rush of wind, the tingling moved from where he touched her hands through the rest of her body, encouraging her even more.

  He dropped his hand from hers.

  “Was your mother a witch?” Kelile squeaked.

&nbs
p; “No! She was a healer, a medicine woman.” Lance frowned then stared at the ground.

  Morrigan moved closer, touching Lance’s arm with her fingers. “So, you do understand about us?”

  He pulled his arm away. “I don’t understand anything about you, about witchcraft. I don’t want to, either.” He glared, first at Morrigan, then Aishling. “But I do know there are healers around, medicine men and women. My mother was one.”

  “Okay, man. If you say so.” Kelile looked at his hand first, then sandwiched it between Aishling’s hands.

  Letting her intuition and memory guide her, she closed her eyes and searched for the vision her mother had taught her to concentrate on—a bright golden light. Once she connected with the light, she opened her senses further, allowing the light to flow from the heavens into the top of her head. With her inner sight, she envisioned the healing energy streaming through her neck, her shoulders, her arms, and out her hands. As the light swirled through her hands, she directed it into Kelile’s hand, silently chanting, “I am a channel for the healing light of love.”

  Moments later, Kelile said, “Wow, your hands are hot!”

  She didn’t respond, but kept her intentions focused until she sensed the energies cooling, and then she let go.

  He grinned at her while opening and closing his hand. “This is unreal! It doesn’t hurt anymore.” Glancing from her to Lance to Morrigan and back to her, he said, “I don’t believe this. All this voodoo, hocus-pocus stuff is weirdin' me out.”

  “There’s gratitude for you.” Morrigan huffed and stalked away.

  Aishling shrugged, picked up her backpack, and followed her.

  Kelile caught up and grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Hey, good witch, I’m not being ungrateful. I don’t understand that stuff. But it does feel better. Thank you. I mean it.”

  25

  They continued along the dirt road, Aishling in a contemplative silence. She was now reviewing the memories, or the pieces of her soul, she had collected since leaving Herald Home—how to move the storm, the Sacred Creed, the caim, the healing ritual. It seemed the further away she moved from Herald Home, the more she became of herself, the more flowers she collected in her heart-shaped basket, as in her dream.