A Family Oath

by Auburn Tempest

  “Yikes.” Aiden raises his palms. “Kev, don’t run with knives. We’re waiting.”

  Calum shakes his head. “He probably zoomed through the streets to get here too.”

  I laugh. “Can you imagine that traffic stop? ‘You were going sixty in a forty, young man. What’s the hurry?’ ‘My boyfriend forgot his knives and is leaving for a big meeting.”

  They get a kick out of that.

  I catch sight of Janine standing on the balcony of her bedroom next door watching us. “Everyone wave to Janine and try not to look like we’re heading off to meet a league of empowered beings to discuss demon resurrection.”

  They get a kick out of that too.

  Kevin joins us with two impressive knife sheaths in hand. He takes a knee in front of me and hands Calum the second one. “Fi, let me finish off your outfit before you go. Cal, you do Emmet’s.”

  Kevin straps the thigh sheath around my good leg and straightens while Calum finishes hooking Emmet up. “Calum said you two don’t have close-range weapons, so I researched melee knives. These are supposed to be good.”

  “That’s so sweet, Kev.” I reach down to test where my palm falls in relation to the grip of the knife and wriggle the sheath a little toward the outside of my thigh.

  “I gotta keep my warriors well-equipped,” he says. “Oh, and Em, I’m working on a lot of really cool sharp and pointy weapons for your battle vest for you to defend with.”

  “You rock, Kev.” Emmet holds out his knuckles for a bump.

  I check my watch. “Yikes, okay, we gotta go. Thanks, Kev. I love the knife and the thought behind it.”

  * * *

  We get to the druid stones with two minutes to spare and not one other car in the parking lot. Calum, Dillan, and Emmet pile out of Dillan’s truck, and me, Da, Aiden, and Sloan climb out of my Hellcat. “Huh. So, either we’re being punked, it’s an ambush, or no one wanted to show up to our party.”

  Da rounds the hood and chuckles. “Or the meetin’ ran long, and they’ll transport here as a group in a minute.”

  “Yeah, it could be that too.”

  The seven of us climb the small incline to the grassy plateau that highlights the circle of seventeen stones.

  Seeing the replica of the sacred Drombeg Druid Stones raises the hair on my arms as it always does. It blew my mind the first time I saw it. The visual affected me down to a cellular level, but I felt and smelled the tainted stink of dark magic even then.

  “It’s a crime that they use it as a sacrificial site.”

  Da nods. “It is.”

  I reach up to the inscription on the left stone at the entrance of the circle and smile. “Hey, I can still read Celtic Britonnic.”

  “Still?” Calum asks.

  “Yeah, Fionn and I cast a spell back at Carlisle Castle so I could understand what people were saying around me.”

  “Well, fess up, sista,” Dillan says. “Let us all in on your little Fionn shortcut. Stop hoggin’ it.”

  I giggle. “I’ll try to remember. It was fifteen hundred years ago and all.”

  Sloan rolls his eyes. “Ye realize that joke has worn thin.”

  I stick my tongue out and try to remember. “Okay, plant your feet, connect with nature, and repeat after me.”

  Ancient tongues of pasts long gone,

  Fill the air like Babylon.

  Charm my ears and bless my words,

  To sing their tune like sweet songbirds.

  They all do, and a moment later, I know it worked because Emmet runs his fingers down the stone face on the left of the entrance. “While these stones bask in sun, trees will grow, and water will run.”

  “Yeah, that’s the good one,” I say. “The one I’m guessing Barghest messed with is the one on the right.”

  Da shifts over a couple of feet and frowns as he reads the text. “Marked by the past, ordained the exalter, magic released by death on the altar.”

  I crinkle my nose. “Yeah no, we need to fix that. Anyone have any ancient stone White-Out?”

  Sloan chuckles and moves to stand next to Da. He reaches up with his arm and slides his palm down the inscription of the stone. A golden glow ignites between his hand and the surface of the right rock, and as he lowers his hand, the words change. “How’s this?”

  Da reads the revision. “Marked by the past, ordained by nature, magic released through reverence of creature.”

  I smile. “Much better. Nature and creature aren’t a slam dunk rhyme, but they are meaningful and close enough.”

  Sloan laughs. “It was a poem on the fly. I’ll work on it.”

  “No need.” Nikon joins us from within the circle. “It sets a good tone. I hereby lock it into place. From now on, these stones will be true druid stones and will only empower those who abide by the base tenets of your sect.”

  “Dude!” Emmet steps in for a fist-bump. “Point for the good guys.”

  I agree. That’s a huge win in my book. “That’s amazeballs. Suck it, Barghest.”

  Nikon blinks, and Calum and Aiden stiffen opposite me. I close my eyes and feel the warmth of heated gazes behind me. “They’re all standing right behind us, aren’t they?”

  “Yep.”

  Awesomesauce. I turn and face the hostile glares of the majority of close to forty people. I recognize most of them from the riverboat luncheon because they have the same looks of disdain on their faces.

  Some seem amused. Whether that’s because I stepped in it or because they agree, it’s hard to say.

  “Sorry. That was uncharitable. While I’m super pleased that no one can use this symbol of druid power and history in ways other than originally intended, I shouldn’t have made that personal by speaking out against Droghun and the practices of his necromancers.”

  “Druids.” Droghun steps to the front of the group. “We’re the recognized druids of this city.”

  “Not,” someone coughs from behind me.

  Oh, you gotta love Emmet.

  “Maybe when there was no true druid presence in the city you could get away with saying that, but not now. Druids are the keepers of nature—you sacrifice innocents. We are guardians of the fae—you captured and caged fae to siphon their life force. We are neutral to things like wealth and power and politics—you are driven by all three. You can tell yourselves you’re druids all you want, but you’re not.”

  “How long have you been a druid, little girl?”

  “Fionn marked me almost five months ago.”

  “Another thing you claim that can’t be proven. Anyone can get a tattoo.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re right. Anyone can be a poser. That’s why you have to look deeper.” I look at the peanut gallery and smile. “You see what I did there, right?”

  Garnet fights a smile and sobers, then drops his professional mask into place. “We catch your meaning, Lady Druid. So, what do you suggest we do to settle this feud?”

  “A test.” Nikon holds up his finger. “A traditional one-on-one test of druid skills to show us which one or both of them has the right to call themselves a druid.”

  I blink at Nikon and think at him, hoping he’s listening. Dude. What the hell?

  Come on, Red. You can take him. He’s an ass-kissing boot licker that got promoted because you offed his boss. I have faith in you.

  That’s nice—and thank you—but a couple of hours ago I was flat on my back being cleansed for dark magic poisoning. I’m barely standing upright.

  Shit. I didn’t know. Sorry.

  Not your fault.

  Dillan passes his hand over my face, and I jump. “Yo, Fi. Where’d you go there?”

  “Honestly, with her, you can never be sure,” Zxata says.

  I shake the distraction off. There’s no way I can back down now. I’m in it to win it. “I accept. When and where?”

  Please say next week, or maybe next month...

  “No time like the present,” High Priestess Drippy Face of the Witches says.

  Nice. I have
fans. “Sure. Now works too.”

  “Fiona.” Da scowls. I read his gaze, and I know he’s worried about my state of fitness too. Can’t be helped.

  “S’all good, Da. You can knock down a Cumhaill…”

  “…but ye can’t keep us down,” they all finish for me.

  I nod and gesture at the circle of the rings. “Okay, let the test be a true test of druid power and connection. Can someone dampen or eliminate access to all other types of magic?”

  “Done,” Nikon says. “Filters set. Druid magic only.”

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  Droghun frowns. “She can’t use her battle bear.”

  I shrug. “Technically, my connection to Killer Clawbearer is completely druid magic, and my connection with nature strengthens my bond, but if you’re scairt, I’ll agree.”

  I tap my chest. “Take a seat on the sidelines for this one, buddy.”

  Bruin bursts from my chest and roars on the wind as he circles the leaders of the other sects. As the wind builds around them and whips their hair and the collars of their jackets and cloaks, eyes widen.

  Very dramatic, buddy.

  You like that? I thought it added a bit of flair.

  Sure did. Thanks for being you.

  Garnet clears his throat and raises his hand in a circular swoop of our surroundings. “All right, everyone staying to stand witness, move to the outer edges of the clearing. The battle area is anything within the circle of the stones. Winner will be determined by boundary, a clear winner, or death.”

  I blink. “Seriously?’

  “Are you scairt, little girl?” Droghun taunts.

  “No. I didn’t realize the marking system of this test includes death.”

  Everyone moves out. My family members each meet my gaze and smile at me or raise their chins in the universal signal of “hey, you got this.”

  I take off my vest and hand it to Sloan.

  He grips my elbow and the moment he makes contact, a rush of healing strength and druid energy feeds my cells. “Only druid power, right?”

  “You’re adorable.”

  “Glad you finally realized it.”

  When he recedes, only Droghun and I are left circling the center of the clearing. “What are the combat rules?”

  “No rules,” Droghun snaps. “She professes to be the chosen one. If she’s the messiah of the Ancient Order of Druids, I want her to prove it.”

  Aiden laughs. “If that’s all you want, trust us, her spear is longer and stronger than yours. And when I say spear… Did you see what I did there?”

  I try not to laugh, but yeah, that was funny, and the look on Droghun’s face is even better.

  “Enough,” Drippy-faced lady snaps. “Engage, or we leave.”

  Fine. Whatevs.

  I call my body armor and watch as Droghun’s pupils lock onto the veining of the tattoos. Yeah, it’s not pretty, but it’s hella effective.

  Stretching my druid muscles, I reach out to draw power through my connection. The ambient magic in the air is strong since we released it, and it feeds my power.

  Bestial Strength. Feline Finesse.

  I feel the inking spells on my flesh ignite as my casting takes hold. How cool is it that I didn’t even need to say that out loud and tip Droghun off to my plans?

  The first strike comes fast from the side. A sinkhole opens up under my right heel, and I dive out of the way. With the dexterity of a feline and the strength of a great beast, I launch into a backward somersault and land in a three-point superhero pose with one knee and one fist buried in the ground.

  The crowd goes wild… Well, at least my brothers do.

  And, if any of the other stuffed shirts knew anything about being a cool superhero, they would’ve liked it too.

  Obvi, it’s over their heads.

  I get my head back in the game when Droghun opens his palm, and a staff appears in his hand.

  I do the same and Birga appears in mine.

  We connect a few times, striking and blocking, setting up our stances, and getting a feel for one another. His first swing is an obvious over-extension meant to draw me off balance.

  I don’t take the bait. Instead, I sweep his heel and knock him off balance. In all the hand-to-hand hours I’ve practiced with Granda, Sloan, Da, and the boys, the key is not to commit too much too soon.

  I’m happy feeling out Droghun to see what he can do and he seems to be getting pissed about it.

  “You’re afraid of me,” he growls while charging in for a closer pass. “They all see it.”

  I chuckle and stop his attempt to throw up a stone wall. When the ground rumbles beneath my badass boots, I release the soil and stone from his call.

  He grunts and comes at me while swinging his staff.

  He lands a few hits, but I barely feel them and my connection with the stones and the forest beyond pulses in my blood. Da’s rule about perfect practice making perfect has never hit so close to home.

  My father is a druid phenom with a staff. While Droghun is good, he’s no Niall Cumhaill.

  I hold my own in the battle and meet his attacks with equal and opposite force. While he’s strongly offensive, I simply counter each challenge and end his strikes.

  “Fight me, bitch.”

  I chuckle again while feeling the electricity in the air build. It may be a bright, clear, autumn day, but I sense the potential of power in the ozone. “Sticks and stones, dickwad. Remember, you’re not supposed to call me that anymore or my big brothers will come after you.”

  I wear on him with taunts and strategy, meeting his advances, negating his strikes. Eventually, I position myself so he turns from the forest at the far end of the stones.

  Call me petty, but the irony of my first true offensive move is genius and sweet revenge. As I swing Birga in a deadly arc toward his face, my Creeping Vine spell wraps around his ankles.

  I squeeze my hold on the living ropes coming from the forest and tighten their grip. Droghun realizes too late that my overt offensive was the distraction. The vines have a hold on him and are dragging him faster and faster toward the trees.

  With Birga poised, I jab the earth by his face and ribs and arms as he flails. I intentionally miss, making him look foolish. With a parry of my spear, I spin Birga in the air and butt-end him once in the gut to make my point.

  When he tried to drag me into the forest in Ireland last month, he was a coward and hid.

  I beat him then, and I’ll beat him now.

  His staff cracks me one in the shoulder, but it bounces off my hardened flesh. The only damage it does is to flick my hair so I look a little like an eighties Pat Benatar video.

  Droghun twists and curses as the vines pull him closer to the boundaries of our battle. He fights them off with some efficiency, but nature’s response to him is slow and unsure. Nature magic doesn’t trust him.

  By the time he reaches the ring of the stones, he flips to his knees and manages to get himself free.

  I’m sweaty and a little breathless, but I’m used to fighting my brothers two and three at a time. Fighting one opponent that isn’t on the best of terms with druid power is a workout but not a threat.

  “Accept it, Droghun.” I give him the chance to save face. “Barghest lost its way from what the druid sect is all about.”

  “You impudent little bitch.”

  “Seriously? I was trying to be nice.” I swing Birga in a wild circle over my head and call all the wind and animals I can. The gale of autumn bite whistles through the clearing as a forest flash mob surprises Droghun.

  They grab hold of him and drag him out of the stones.

  “Out of bounds, asshole. I win.”

  I release my hold on the weather and send my thanks to the creatures of the forest: the deer, the bear, the raccoons, and squirrels, and skunk. “I am in your debt, my friends.”

  Droghun is still struggling to untangle himself when I release my call on Birga and my armor to return to the Guild Governors. I’m halfway
back to the crowd when—

  “On yer back,” Da shouts.

  I drop and roll to the side, unsure what Droghun has in store, but I don’t care. I won fair and square.

  Cheating is a bitch move.

  I’m still connected with my natural surroundings when my temper flares and calls the fury of lighting to the ground. I grip a fist in the air and throw it at where Droghun stands, eyes wide.

  The strike is swift, and the crack hits at the same time he drops to the ground and covers his head.

  I don’t fry him. I don’t need to. The point was to prove who had a better command of nature magic and who had the right to claim themself a druid.

  That would be me.

  I feel Fionn in me. I feel him in the air around me. When I turn back to my family, I see him standing with them clapping. I think it’s the stones that allow him to appear. Something about the magic of the stones, anyway.

  When I join them, Fionn bows his head. “A class all yer own, a leanbh. Well done.”

  “Thanks, oul man.” I rejoin the group. “Da, Aiden, Calum, Dillan, Emmet, and Sloan, this is Fionn mac Cumhaill. Fionn, this is my family—your family too, I guess.”

  I swear the six of them look like they might stroke out.

  Fionn eyes Sloan up and down and nods. “And is this yer man? The one ye told me ye have yer eye on?”

  “Seriously? You’re bringing that up now?”

  “I’m glad he did.” Sloan grins. “What did she say about me, I wonder?”

  Fionn looks off to the side and smiles. “A brawny male with shoulders as broad as a door and muscles that rise like the rolling Irish hills. He’s a warrior, fiercely loyal to his cause, and wildly protective of those he loves.”

  My cheeks flame hot, and I smack Fionn’s shoulder. “You took that completely out of context, and you know it. I was scaring off a flutist by spinning a yarn.”

  “Ye never mentioned a flirtin’ flutist in yer recount of yer castle adventures.” Da obviously enjoys my public mortification.

  “Why is everyone so interested in my love life?”

  Fionn chuckles. “I don’t get to come and go as I please, ye know? An oul man gets to make sure his heir apparent is in good hands and good company.”