Origins s-11

by Cate Tiernan

  I shook my head. “An arranged marriage?” How could it be? Why had he never told me? I pressed my hands to my hot cheeks. If Diarmuid was promised to another, we had no chance of being married.

  “Oh, Rose!” Kyra squeezed my arm. “Such dire news, and you with child...”

  It couldn’t be. My hands dropped to fists at my side, and for a moment I wanted to rush over and pummel him. Diarmuid was not the hero I had thought him to be. He had lied to me.

  But then, he’d faced overwhelming obstacles. Perhaps he’d been trying to protect me from this until he sorted it out? And if his parents had arranged the marriage, that meant he’d had no choice. “So he doesn’t love her,” I said, thinking aloud. “And of course, his parents would want him to marry within his clan. I’m sure it’s part of the reason they don’t want him to marry me.”

  “Not really,” Kyra said. “The girl’s name is Siobhan MacMahon, and she is not a Leapvaughn, but a Vykrothe.”

  “An arranged marriage to someone from another clan?” Anger rose in my throat, hot and painful. His parents thought it acceptable for him to marry outside his clan but not to marry me? Or was it that he could not marry a Wodebayne?

  “Falkner has the table loaded in the cart,” Kyra said. “He’s ready to leave.”

  “But I haven’t...” I glanced over at Diarmuid. Siobhan still hovered about him like a bee collecting nectar from a flower. It was hardly the time to march over and tell the boy I was going to bear his child.

  This meeting had not worked out the way I’d planned. Not at all.

  “Rose, you’re crying,” Kyra said gently.

  “No matter.” I swiped the tears out of my eyes with the backs of my hands. I needed to see him with her. I needed to see the enemy.

  I stared at the swan-necked girl who was fawning over Diarmuid. She was tall and lithe, with flaxen gold hair. Everything about her was the physical opposite of me.

  Diarmuid could not love one so unlike me. How could it be, Goddess? How was it possible that he could love another at all?

  “We’d better go,” Kyra said.

  I felt her clamp my arm and pull me away toward the cart, my eyes still on Diarmuid’s betrothed. How could he even think of marrying another?

  How could he?

  9. On the Making and Charming of Poppets

  I promised myself I would cry no more. Everyone knew too much sobbing could harm the child in a mother’s womb, and I was beginning to learn that tears were futile. I needed to do something to secure my baby’s happiness and health.

  It was time to use my powers.

  Why had I not thought of this before? I wondered as I steadfastly sewed and decorated my poppets, working a little each day and night. The course of my relationship with Diarmuid ran parallel to my magick. Had I not captivated him completely with the rose stone? And then, when I’d misplaced it, he had fallen away, never returning to our secret circle. It was so clear. I needed to enlist the Goddess’s help to get him back in my arms.

  I went through Ma’s cupboard of stones, searching for a gem to replace the rose stone. I weighed each stone in my palm and turned it about, hoping to feel a swell or glow of power, but nothing moved me. Perhaps a charm wasn’t the right thing anymore. Time for a spell.

  First I dedicated a candle to him, carving runes up the side that spelled his name. Although I had to hide the candle from Ma, I burned it whenever she went out, chanting to the Goddess to rekindle the love flame in this boy. And when the flame was doused, I censed my belly with the smoke, inviting my babe to feel my love for her father.

  While working candle magick, I also searched for a powerful love spell. Although Ma had instructed Kyra on the making of love dolls, I could not recall the details. Searching my mother’s Book of Shadows, I came across the spell. It was called simply Poppets.

  Thou must craft two poppets to represent the two lovers.

  What is done to the poppets shall be done to the lovers.

  Cut two pieces of cloth shaped like a man, then two shaped like a woman. While cutting the cloth, bring to mind the person it represents. If the ideal lover has long, flowing hair or a comely beard, so should the poppet. Thou must heed— the lover thou seekest is thine ideal mate, not a named lord or lady.

  Stuff the figure with herbs governed by Venus. Such herbs: verbena, feverfew, yarrow, motherwort, rosebuds, or damiana.

  ’Tis strong magick! Use only for a love that will have permanence, not for a mere dalliance.

  Thou must thrice perform a love ritual over the poppets during the waxing moon.

  The spell was very specific and promised to be very powerful. And I would give it all the more power by making my doll look just like Diarmuid and embroidering his name upon it. My own brand of magick had worked well when charming the rose stone; I felt sure this would be even stronger.

  It took me days to construct the dolls, during which Ma noticed and encouraged my work. “You are seventeen years of age, Rose. Perhaps ’tis time for you to fall in love with a gentle witch.” She didn’t see the name I had stitched upon it, didn’t realize that I was making a Diarmuid poppet, designed to capture his love, and I didn’t dare tell her that I was working magick she considered to be dark. When the dolls were done, I had to wait for the waxing moon to begin the spell. I felt impatient, but I knew that the spell would have its full potency only if I followed the instructions.

  By the time I was ready to perform the spell for the third time, it was August and Lughnassadh preparations were upon us. During the weeks of preparing the dolls and consecrating them, I missed Diarmuid desperately. My only consolation was that we would have the rest of our lives together once we made it past this obstacle. I also noticed that the babe was growing, pushing at the swath of cloth I belted around my skirts. I had to adjust the girdle higher, which only seemed to accent the new lushness of my breasts. Perhaps this was the Goddess’s purpose in waiting—to give Diarmuid a visible sign of my love for him, the child within my womb.

  10. Lughnassadh

  Rising before dawn on the day of Lughnassadh, the celebration to honor the Sun God, I set off to my secret circle to complete the love spell. As I had done before, I placed the poppets facedown on the stone altar and consecrated the circle. I charged the girl poppet to be me, then picked up the boy, with feathery brown hair made of spun wool. Sprinkling it with salted water and censing it, I chanted: “This poppet is Diarmuid, my mùirn beatha dàn in every way. As Diarmuid lives, so lives this poppet. Aught that I do to it, I do to him.”

  I kissed the Diarmuid poppet, then put him back beside the other on the altar. Kneeling before them, I moved the two poppets closer to each other, touching, turning, pressing face-to-face. As I moved them, I pictured myself reaching out to Diarmuid, meeting him, touching him, kissing and holding him so close in my arms, I could taste the salt on his skin.

  When the poppets were face-to-face, I wrapped my red ribbon around them. “Now may the Goddess bind these two together, as I do bind them here,” I said. Around and around I circled them with ribbon, then tied it tightly so they would never, ever break apart. “Now they are forever one. May each truly become a part of the other. Separated, they shall seem incomplete. So mote it be!”

  I rested my athame over the bound puppets, asking the Goddess to lend Her power to this and all spells I cast. Then I wrapped the poppets in a clean white cloth. I would stow them in the rafters of the cottage so that no animal or human could meddle with my magick.

  After my task was done, I lifted my head to the bright midday sky. The heat was blistering hot today, casting a white glow across the land. Aye, ’twas the right day to honor the Sun God. I would go to Lillipool, but not until the sun had passed. ’Twas best not to make such a journey in the heat. Besides, of late my babe had drained me of strength. I no longer needed special herbs to calm my dizziness, but it seemed the babe wanted me to sleep the day away! I needed rest and a sip of cool tea.

  By late afternoon, when the air had cooled and
Ma was off preparing for the Lughnassadh celebration, I knew ’twas time to go. As I walked, I chanted bits and pieces of the love spell. “Now may the Goddess bind these two together, as I do bind them here. Separated they would seem incomplete...” The spell sustained me, and in no time the old mill of Lillipool loomed before me.

  Today I was not so lucky as to find him in the dusty marketplace. I knew his coven would also be preparing to celebrate the sun festival, but what were his assigned tasks? To mull the wine—or consecrate the circle? I wouldn’t dare go near another coven’s circle, not that I would be able to find it.

  Help me, Goddess, I prayed. Point me in the direction of my love.

  I circled the dismal marketplace, hoping for an answer. Diarmuid did not appear, but as I paced, I came across a red feather. It sat in the middle of the lane, alone and abandoned, and the sight of it reminded me of the red feathers twined with ivy that I had used for our celebration of midsummer night. I had twined ivy around the feathers—red for sexuality—and festooned them around our circle.

  Now this feather pointed down a lane. Was it pointing me toward my love?

  I believed it to be so. Making haste, I followed the lane, which led past the church and quaint cottages to the countryside. My eyes followed the dark green patches of grass to a small hollow where a figure lay sleeping in the shade.

  Diarmuid.

  He was probably supposed to be tending sheep, though this summer heat would drive any lad to napping. I ventured off the road and crossed to him, my shoes whispering in the crisp grass. Although I did not call out to him, he stirred with my approach, rubbing his eyes. He turned toward me, saw me, then bolted upright.

  “What vision is this?” he gasped. “Has the Goddess herself descended, or am I but asleep and dreaming of love?”

  My heart melted. He was still the same Diarmuid, a poet and a tease.

  “I have come to reclaim you,” I said firmly.

  He took my hand and lifted it to his lips. “You will always have my heart, Rose.”

  “I want more,” I said, thrilled by the spark of his lips upon my hand. “We summoned the Goddess to bless our union, and she did. She looks down upon us with favor, yet you allow another to become your betrothed?”

  He stared at the ground. “ ’Twas not my doing, Rose.”

  “Do you not remember your last words to me? That we were to be married forthwith?”

  “I do,” he said sheepishly. “But ’tis not so simple a matter.”

  “Aye, there are complications, but I have come to help you through them.”

  His blue eyes sparkled with regret. “I’m afraid you can’t help, Rose. No one can help me. I have learned that a man cannot cross his elders or defy his clan. I need the approval of my coven, and they have vowed not to give it.”

  “Aye, I face the same challenges,” I said, thinking of my ma and the coveners who wanted to rail against rival clans. “But this is no surprise, Diarmuid. We talked of it often. ’Twill not be easy, but you must remain steadfast and strong, lower your head and charge, like the ram in yonder field.”

  “Would that I were a ram, destined to chew grass and laze in the sun.” He reached for his throat and nervously squeezed the pentagram concealed by his shirt. “Instead, I am a marriageable lad, a property of my parents dangled like a carrot before a horse.”

  “Tell me you don’t love her,” I said.

  “She has her fair attractions,” he said, cutting me.

  My knees nearly buckled beneath me. Was this my love, the one who had pledged his love in the Goddess’s circle? He had promised to love me and only me. He was supposed to see only my charms.

  Did he kiss her the way he had kissed me? Did he touch her and. oh, excruciating torture! I could not think of such things now. Think of the spell, I told myself. Your reason for being here—your baby.

  “But mostly, it is the ease with which my life will progress if I take her hand.”

  His words gave me some relief. I realized it was time to tell him. “Yet I offer not a life of ease, but a sign of our bond.” Boldly I took his hand and placed it on my belly. “There is a child within, Diarmuid. Do you feel it stirring?”

  He gasped, stepping closer to me. There was power in his touch, magnified all the more by the glow of the child growing inside me.

  “The Goddess has given us a babe, a sign of our union. ’Twill be the child that unites the Wodebaynes and the Leapvaughns. Perhaps our child will unite all clans. Oh, Diarmuid, this is how the Goddess intended it. Could you deny such a powerful destiny?”

  “I could not,” he gasped. “I will not.” His face softened as he stroked my belly. “A man does not abandon his child, no matter what the obstacles.”

  My spirits lifted. He understood. He knew that our baby was a sign from the Goddess.

  “We must marry now—today!” he said, pulling me into his arms for a kiss. Then he pulled away and dropped to his knees to kiss my belly. “My child. Goddess be praised!” He kissed the baby over and over again.

  I smiled. “How would you marry? In a church? Or do you think one of our covens would add a highly unusual handfasting to the Lughnassadh rites?”

  “We’ll do it any way we can,” he insisted. “Mayhap your village is best, away from Siobhan and my family. We’ll go to the Presbyterian reverend first—tonight. Surely he will help us.”

  My heart lifted. Diarmuid was coming home with me. We would be together—married!

  “After that we’ll arrange a handfasting,” he went on. “No one dare deny us once we’re together. I must first run home for a few belongings, then I shall meet you.” He glanced up, gauging the position of the sun. “Let us meet at our circle in the woods before the sun sets.”

  I put my hand in his hair, loving the feel of it. “Would that we could travel together.”

  “Aye, but your presence would raise too much of a stir at my cottage right now. We’ll meet in the woods at our circle before sunset.” He stood up and kissed me again. “Oh, Rose, you are the world to me. After today we shall never be separated again.”

  “Never,” I said, thinking of the words of the love spell. “Never.”

  The journey back to my own woods was cooled by afternoon breezes and dreams of lingering in Diarmuid’s arms. On the way I stopped at the brook for a drink of water, then headed off to prepare the circle for our formal reunion. I swept the circle, then decided to rest on the moss for a while, as the long journeys had taken their toll on my strength. I sat there chanting from the love spell and picturing Diarmuid in my bed each morning when I arose. Where would we live? Perhaps Ma would have us once she got over her initial anger. Besides, she would want to be near the babe, to help nurse her, then to teach her the ways of the Goddess as she grew older. Listening to the sounds of the woods—to the trill of birds and the rustle of wind in the trees—I dozed off.

  When I awoke, it was dark but for the sickly glow of a yellow moon.

  Where was Diarmuid? I sat up suddenly, and my sacred place seemed like a strange wilderness. My life force hammered in my chest as reality hit me.

  He was not here. Was he coming?

  What had happened? “Oh, Goddess, keep and protect him,” I whispered, sure that something dreadful had happened to him. There could be no other explanation. I had seen the determination in his eyes, I had felt his commitment. Nothing could stay him from me. Nothing but. something terrible and evil.

  I stood up, brushing dust and seeds from my hair. I would return to Diarmuid’s village. I had surely missed the coven circle, but I planned to miss many more in my life with Diarmuid. Who knew where our adventures would take us? And right now he needed me. I had to go to him.

  Darkness closed in around me as I crept through the woods, following my familiar landmarks to the road. I started on my way, wending over a rise. Glancing up, I saw a girl my own age approaching.

  Swanlike neck. Flaxen hair.

  Siobhan MacMahon.

  I was gripped by hatred for he
r—everything about her, from her sun-kissed hair to her long, graceful neck. But as she caught sight of me, I realized that perhaps I was being unfair. Perhaps, in Diarmuid’s troubles, he had sent her to come for me. Perhaps she was the messenger of my love. I stepped toward her, eager for news.

  “Hark!” I called out to her. “Have you come in search of me, Rose MacEwan?”

  “Aye.” She drew close, a sourness pinching her mouth. “I have come in search of Diarmuid’s harlot.”

  I felt stung.

  “I have just come from him, the poor lad,” she said. “He was about to ruin his life by running off with a woman who could satisfy only his base desires. A Wodebayne! Such foolishness. I stopped him in the nick of time.”

  “How did you stop him?” I asked, afraid of the harm she might have done to him. “Did you hurt him?”

  “ ’Twas not necessary. I needed only to sate his desires to remind him of his attraction to me. He’s fine. Sleeping like a babe, if you must know.”

  I felt my hands clenching into fists at the implications. Had she lain with him? I could not believe it to be true. He had sworn to be my first and last love and I his. “I don’t believe you,” I said. “I do not believe a word you are saying.”

  “Aye, but then, you Wodebaynes aren’t bright, are you? That’s what I told him. Why throw away a beautiful life with me so that you can waste away with a savage, uneducated Wodebayne?”

  “Perhaps he does not want to be counted among warmongers like the Vykrothes?” I jabbed.

  She cocked her head, as if weary. “He is perfectly fine with my clan. That’s part of his problem. Diarmuid gets on with everyone. At least, every lass. I guess you might call it the charm of the Leapvaughns. They do like to trick us. You are not his first little mistake, you know. He has had others before you.” She folded her arms contentedly. “But he always comes back to me.”

  A mistake? A trick? Her words darted through the air like arrows. I sized her up. If I were to battle her, I felt, I would win, and the temptation to cast her to the ground was irresistible.