No Time to Cry (Nine While Nine Legacy Book 1)

by Stasia Morineaux

  The breeze turned into a strong wind, rushing through the trees, rattling the branches, whipping the leaves in the garden, spinning them around our legs. The caws of the crows grew louder and they began dipping down from their perches within the trees, circling downward closer to us.

  The look on Gideon’s faced turned from anger and desire to disbelief and uncertainty. I felt his grip loosening on my shoulders, his hands releasing me.

  Those words were bringing down the wind and the crows, pushing him from me, immobilizing him, so I could leave.

  I dared one look back at Gideon when I reached the sidewalk. The winds were mellowing, the crows soaring back up to their stations in the trees. He began moving towards me, but paused of his own resolve.

  His eyes narrowed slightly, and then widened a nearly imperceptible degree. His expression was one of bewilderment, and maybe some marvel tossed in the mix as well. He looked at me like I was something he didn’t recognize. Was it also somewhat displeased? No, that was the wrong word, but it was close. Not quite alarmed, but unsettled was pretty close too.

  I had surpassed his expectations, what they could do. That’s ‘how much more’ I was.

  ~ Chapter Thirty ~

  The trail from the large stone and wood cabin to the revelry area was lit with the amber and golden glow of little lanterns, they were strewn throughout the lower branches of the trees all along the wooded path on which we walked. They swayed in the gentle evening breeze, recalling to me the bobbing lights from my dreams.

  We could hear the party ahead already commencing, there was laughter and voices, chatting and the lovely, exhilarating music consisting of fiddles, drums, and pipes.

  The path ended at a huge circular clearing surrounded by forest, the meadow was filled with wooden tables, chairs, straw bales, blankets, cushions, and even some hammocks hung in a couple of the trees. The same amber lanterns hung from the branches here, as they had along the trail, and were scattered all about the celebration site. A large array of food and drink were arranged on the many tables.

  The moon was rising full again—the true full moon was out this night—and the sky was clear, dotted with myriad twinkling stars.

  All was centered around a huge bonfire. Scented smoke was rising forth from it, smelling of dried leaves, cedar, pine, clove, rosemary, mugwort, and sage. Large black stones made up the fire ring and I spotted piles of smaller grey stones on either side.

  “What are the rocks for?” I asked Michael.

  “It’s a tradition to write your name on a stone and toss it into the flames. The next day when the fire has burnt out, you retrieve your stone, the condition of the stone the next morning predicts what is in store for you in the coming year.”

  “Huh, neat.” I smiled.

  Michael’s accent was charming, as were those of the others. His seemed more British though. What was it about those damn accents anyway?

  “Ale, spiced cider, or elderberry wine?” A pretty girl asked as we approached one of the many tables offering up food and spirits. “Gale made the elderberry wine himself.” Her accent held more of a Scottish burr. “It’s wonderful.” She smiled at me.

  “I’ll try that then, please.” She handed me a goblet filled with a generous amount.

  “Blessed Deireadh an Samhraidh!” She exclaimed.

  “And to you too.” She wasn’t kidding; the wine was the best I’d ever had. It might very easily become my favorite. Michael took the one she presented to him.

  “Cheers,” he said, tapping his goblet against mine. The goblets were very much like the ones in my dream. I was beginning to notice many similarities this night.

  I let my eyes wander the meadow. It was wonderful. Something from a movie set, or a dream.

  Pumpkins and gourds, some carved and some waiting for a creative hand to find them, were set on tables and all along the perimeter of the party zone.

  We wandered around, sampling tidbits of delicious and aromatic food, liberating more wine from their bottles and into our goblets.

  There was a table with a girl reading Tarot cards and stones with carvings in them. “Ogham stones,” Michael informed me. “She casts them out and reads the spread, and the meanings carved into them.”

  “Maybe she can tell me more than Gideon has.” I joked…sort of.

  Michael looked at me thoughtfully, began to say something, hesitated before going on. “Well, you’ll be learning tonight.”

  A group was playing music, sometimes accompanied by song, but mostly it was just the instruments playing softly in the background.

  We made our way back to the fire, where Michael’s friend Declan was standing, calling for his guest’s attention.

  “Everyone is here, let’s get this celebration rolling.” He grinned. I wondered briefly if he was Rúnaigh. “Welcome to our Deireadh an Samhraidh merriments. The dark winter half of the year commences on this Oíche Féile, Festival Night. Deireadh an Samhraidh, Summer’s End, is celebrated on October thirty-first, extending into the following day, our New Year. So will end our light half of the year and will begin our dark half.

  “Since the arrival of Na Síraide Cinn in this realm, thousands of years ago, a feast has been laid out for the Wandering Host on doorsteps and altars, set out in the fields and woods. Single candles would be lit and left in a window to help guide the Sióg and spirits to the homes of the faithful. Extra seats were set at the table and around the hearth for the ‘unseen’ guests. Apples were buried along roadsides and paths for the other Sióg.

  “This is a night of magic and chaos, be mindful where you wander, beware of the bedlam and mischief.

  “With that, please help yourself to the bounty before you; feast, drink, and make merry!”

  As Declan concluded his discourse, a rousing cheer went up, the music grew louder, and guests began to dance around the fire. Michael then told me Declan was an Airíoch Breathnadóir, a keeper of the records, a watcher of the Earthbound, human and Sióg alike. Interesting.

  Michael placed a cute little set of horns on my head, they were made of some kind of fired and glazed clay and painted a beautiful glittering blue, and had a lovely little spiraling twist to them. He strung feathers through my curls as well.

  “It’s tradition.” He laughed as he gave me a crooked grin. “Drink up.” He pushed my hand that held my drink to my lips, making me down the last of the wine.

  He took the cup and set it aside on a blanket spread on the ground, grabbed my hand, and dragged me out to join the others that were already dancing.

  He spun me around playfully. “Let’s dance!” He shouted over the din of laughter and song.

  And we did…for the longest time, with small breaks only taken for more cider or wine. I was happy, the happiest I’d been since all of this began. Actually, I don’t think I’d ever had so much fun. More than fun, this felt like home. I felt wild and free and soaring above all the muck that had been wearing me down, not for just these past weeks, but past years also.

  Something was in the air tonight—more than on any other Halloween of my life—was it because I was finally celebrating it the way it was meant to be?

  I looked all around me, and my dancing pace slowed just a bit, my eyes narrowed taking in those around me dancing, and roved across the others whom were peppered across the meadow, some just entering the woods. Some of them were kind of glowy.

  As I passed one girl—a shimmering girl—as I danced around the leaping flames, I heard her say as she smiled at me, “Welcome home.” But it was only in my head, her lips had not moved.

  “Michael?” I turned to him, grabbing his hand. “Why are some of us glowing?” I whispered in his ear and hauled him to a straw bale, plopping tiredly down on it to take a rest, and dragging him down to sit next to me. “Holy crow! Michael, some of them are glowing,” I said in a low voice.

  “Because some of them are us.” Was his answer. I looked at him perplexed. “Happy Oíche Féile!” He chuckled. “Let me fill you in a little mor
e since this is your first trip down this road.

  “Tonight is one of the two ‘spirit-nights’ each year, the other being Féadfaidh Lá, you’ve probably heard of Beltane?”

  I nodded, I had.

  “Well, there exists a Thin Veil between the realms and on this night the tedious laws of time and space are temporarily deferred, and it’s lifted. I’m sure you’ve heard that of Halloween, that ghosts can come back to visit?”

  I nodded again.

  “Well, so can the other kinds of spirits, nature spirits and such…and the Sióg.

  “We celebrate with feasting and dancing, as we’ve been doing tonight and for eons before. The lowering of that veil tonight provides extra power for interactions and communications, as well as divination.

  “The Sióg become very active, some pulling pranks on unsuspecting, unbelieving humans, others just mingling amongst the humans. Because some that come through may not hold the best intentions, traveling after dark is not advised. Staying clear of the woods when alone is also urged.

  “Centuries ago, those not of the Old Ways wore disguises in order to fool the mischievous ones. That’s in part where the practice of costume wearing comes from.

  “Turnips and gourds were hollowed out and carved to look like spirits, to distract those that might cause mischief or hardship that night. As you can see, Declan has set some out for us to carve for fun, and pumpkins too, but they also serve a purpose, beyond merely decorating your front porch.”

  He studied my face, smiling, as I absorbed all he was telling me.

  A crash course in the true meaning of Halloween, which I would now forever refer to as Deireadh an Samhraidh.

  He kept bouncing between present tense and past tense. I guess because these things happened way-back-when…and still were happening now.

  Tonight, I could see them tonight? Any of the mythical creatures I’d only ever read about?

  “Bonfires are built, originally called bone-fires, for after feasting, the bones were thrown in the fire as offerings for healthy and ample livestock in the New Year. We also use the fires as a basic part of the cleansing of the old year and as a means to prepare for the coming new year. Unwanted habits that were desired to be ended were written down on a scrap of paper and cast into the flames. There are paper and pens on that table right over there, in case you’d like to partake of that tradition as well as the stone toss. Fires were also lit from the village bonfire to ensure harmony, and the ashes were spread over the harvested fields to protect and bless the land.”

  “Were you around back then? Were you…did you ever go to a celebration that was set up to honor you?”

  “Of course.”

  “”What year are we talking? Just for example.”

  He laughed a deep, warm laugh. “The 1600s held some very pleasurable gatherings.”

  I couldn’t even answer.

  He’d been dancing around the fire since at least 1600 and something?

  “We’re honored here now, and we pay tribute to those on the other side.”

  “So what is it with us all sporting these costumes, wasn’t that just for the non-believers, to scare away the spirits…and the Sióg? And what is the Sióg?”

  “First question…the Celts, who were of the Old Ways, wore costumes and danced around the bonfire to honor both the dead and the Sióg who were permitted to enter from the Other Realm, to welcome and guide them in this Realm. It was also a means to honor the Celtic Gods and Goddesses of the harvest, flocks, and fields. As was done all that long time ago, is still the way it’s done now. As we are celebrating tonight. Hence your makeshift costume. You won’t find any naughty nurses here or cowboys. We dress as wild things.”

  “And the Sióg?”

  “The Sióg are those that came forth from Tiarnas. Dominion. The Realm of Fae. Thousands upon thousands of years ago. They include all of the fantastical creatures you’ve ever read about, heard about, that you were told growing up were merely fairytales and make believe.”

  He held my face in his hands, stared into my eyes causing my stomach to flip. His eyes were burning with a fire I’d never seen in them.

  “They’ll be with us tonight. We are always here, the Rúnaigh, but tonight…the others will join us!” He drank down the last of his wine and reached for the bottle that had been left behind, refilling both of our goblets yet again, then tossing the empty bottle, crashing, into the flames.

  A resounding cheer rose up again.

  This was an entirely new side to the usual tranquil and composed Michael.

  A darker and more feral side.

  “To end the celebration each family would take a torch or burning ember from the sacred bonfire and return to their own home. One of us always brings an ember back to Elysium to relight the fire in our room. The home fires that had been extinguished during the day would be relit by the flame of the sacred bonfire to help protect the dwelling and its inhabitants during the coming winter. These fires were kept burning night and day during the next several months. You’ll see that Gideon—

  ~Gideon~

  A whisper through my head, my heart…

  —is quite vigilant in keeping our inglenook burning. It was believed that if a home lost its fire, tragedy and troubles would soon follow. Once the hearth fires were lit, the families would place food and drink outside their doors, before bedding down for the night. This was done to appease the Roaming Sióg who might play tricks on the family.”

  “Serena?” Serena danced into my line of vision with Liam. What the…Serena was Rúnaigh? I turned my befuddled gaze to Michael. “Serena?”

  He shrugged. “She’s Taiscélaid, a seer. She can read the Ogham stones and the Tarot, just like the girl at the table we met earlier.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded.

  “Wow…doesn’t that figure? Huh…”

  “Hey there, here ya go…you look like you could use a refill.” A good looking, glowy-type young man handed me another bottle of wine.

  “Thanks,” I said weakly. I downed my entire goblet at once and handing the new bottle to Michael, allowed him to fill it back up.

  This wine made my head spinny in the loveliest way. Wait…what had he said about Sióg and the Rúnaigh…were we Sióg not human? I heard bagpipes join in the musical talents on the other side of the bonfire. The sound made my blood thrill.

  “So with this, let us write our names upon a stone and toss it into the flames, let us feast and drink and dance more!”

  I wondered how much of this I would remember tomorrow.

  A few songs later found us camped out near the fire, nibbling small cakes and washing them down with spiced cider. Liam, Serena and Erin had joined us. We were all slightly tipsy—do guys get tipsy or just girls? We were sprawled casually across a blanket, joking and talking and laughing.

  “I spent all of my life, really, I’m so not exaggerating, like, all my life—

  “When you drink your California accent comes out quite strong.” Liam chortled.

  “Shut up!” I smacked at him, giggling, “And when you’re pissed off you sound really feckin’ Irish.” I laughed more, and fell into Serena. Holy crow. I sat up suddenly, turning to her. “You! You’re Rúnaigh! And I can’t even pronounce what you are.” I stared at her, her outline was aglow.

  “I’m Taiscélaid,” She giggled.

  “Oh my gods, were you going to tell me?”

  “I figured I’d save it for tonight.”

  I just contemplated her for a stretched out moment, in which I could feel all four sets of their eyes on me, waiting. I shrugged, what the heck…why not. “Okay, why not?”

  They all chuckled.

  “Anyway…I was nine and I remember sitting in my window on summer nights searching out into the night, because I could feel something, that there was something more, things out there that would make sense to me, that no one else could believe in. And waiting…for him.” I drank my cider.

  “Wait for him to walk up
my street, appear under my window, explain it all to me, tell me it was all true. I’d sit there until I got too sleepy, or I’d just go to sleep right there with my head on the window sill. I never knew who, just that there was someone—someone meant to be found—to be with me.

  “My teenage years, and on, everywhere I went, I was searching faces—eyes—for him. I didn’t have any particular features in mind. I just knew there’d be something about the eyes…and a feeling…or something…intangible, that would emanate from that person. I blame all my failed relationships on him.” I nodded, laughing softly. “All my life—and now that I’m dead—

  “Undead-ish,” Liam interjected.

  “Whatever,” I continued, rolling my eyes at him. “Now that I’m dead…or not so dead, I find it. Him. But I can’t have him. He’s taboo. He’s gotta be taboo. And unreachable. And he’s so amazing and so not who I would have expected. He can be so cold and detached… and inflexible. But…” I shook my head. “His eyes, they glimmer, there’s a light in the depths of that deep, deep blue.”

  I smiled to myself and grew warm at the thought of him, the image of my kissing him, him kissing me. “It sucks, and it’s so sad.” I drank more of my cider.

  “All I want to do is do a good job, not screw it up. And make him happy, see him smile at me, really smile. I love his smile. Not that patronizing or… authoritative one that doesn’t touch his eyes, but the one where it’s almost as if he’s going to burst out laughing. Oh and if could just stop being a disappointment to him, or whatever it is I do to constantly piss him off.”

  “Who are we talking about now?” Liam asked hesitantly. “I’m getting confused.”

  “What?” His question pulled my elderberry and cider soaked mind back from my reverie.

  “You were talking about true love—fated love—and I swear it sounds like you’re referring to Gideon.” He gave me his knowing, conspiratorial grin.