Journey To The Rift (Coimirceoirí: Guardians of the Marked Ones)

by Cathi Shaw

Brijit stared straight ahead. She knew he was right, but she didn’t really want to talk about it. Especially not now as they were heading out on this journey.

  “Do you really think this is the best time?”

  Weylon’s calm exterior finally cracked a bit. “Perhaps not, but when is the best time? I’ve been trying to talk to you, but you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

  Brijit did not try to deny it. She had been avoiding him. But if there was any hope that Nestariel was wrong, that Grandmamma was still alive, then perhaps her grandmother could help explain what she had done to Weylon and how she had saved him.

  She pulled her mount closer to his horse and reached over, placing her hand on his strong forearm. She squeezed. His eyes met her own.

  “Please, can we talk about it once we get to my grandmother’s house? I just…” she looked ahead to where Nestariel was riding. “I promise I will tell you what happened there.”

  Weylon nodded and watched her face for a moment longer before looking ahead to the road. Brijit removed her hand.

  Then he smiled suddenly. “Don’t worry. I’m not mad at you. I just want to remember what happened. I only have fragments of memories, and I don’t know what is real and what isn’t.” He looked back at her and Brijit was surprised to see the warmth in his brown eyes. “I owe you my life, Brijit. I will always be grateful for that.”

  Her heart twisted, and as she looked down, guilt stabbed at her. Weylon had no idea the type of life she had consigned him to. And she wasn’t so sure he would be grateful when he found out precisely what she had done.

  Before she could dwell too long on her dark thoughts, he went on, “To be honest I don’t feel any different than I did before the attack. If anything, I feel more alive. But the Elders keep telling me that there is poison within me. That it’s impossible to eradicate it all.” He stopped talking for a moment. “The thing is, I don’t feel worse. In fact, I feel better than I ever have in my life. The world seems more vibrant. The air is fresher; the food is tastier…you’re prettier.”

  She looked at him quickly, heat filling her cheeks.

  “Especially when you blush,” he added with a grin, his tone teasing.

  Brijit looked ahead again, not knowing how to reply. She didn’t think Weylon would be so understanding when he learned the extent of what she had done to save him. She wondered just how much the Elders had told Weylon about what she’d done. She was sure it had only been the bare bones. There was no way he would be so understanding if he knew she had used magik to cure him. His next words surprised her.

  “I’ve been thinking about it more and more, and I can’t help wondering if they are wrong, Brijit.” He lowered his voice even though Nestariel was well behind them. “What if the Elders have made a mistake this time? They can’t possibly know everything that is going on. What if what you did actually cure me? It sure seems like that is what happened. I don’t feel like I’m poisoned.”

  Hope filled Brijit’s heart. Could it be possible that Weylon actually was better? She looked at him closely. He did look impossibly healthy and happy. His hair shone, his skin glowed and he exuded energy.

  “Do you think that’s possible?” she asked, her voice breathless.

  He shrugged. “Isn’t anything possible? They don’t know everything, Brijit, despite what they would have the Coimirceoirí believe.” His tone had taken on a bitter edge.

  Brijit thought about that for a moment. He was right. The Elders couldn’t know everything. She thought of Princess Neirdre and her insistence that she was giving birth to a girl-child even though Brijit’s dreams told her otherwise. If the Elders were wrong about that, it was possible that they were wrong about Weylon as well.

  “Brijit, I have seen no sign that I’m still infected with whatever poison that monster carried with it. You cured me. I’m certain of it.” Weylon’s tone was confident and sure.

  A bit of the weight fell from Brijit’s shoulders, and she smiled faintly at Weylon. If he felt that he was free of the evil, wasn’t that the clearest sign that he actually was getting better? Surely he would know if he was still touched by the darkness; he would feel it inside him, slowly growing. And if they were wrong about that then maybe Nestariel was wrong about her grandmother being dead. Hope sprang to life in her chest. If Grandmamma was fine, then it could be possible that the Elders and all their beliefs were just superstition that had no basis in truth. Weylon was right: the Elders didn’t know everything. And this time Brijit was sure they must have got it wrong.

  #

  Brijit’s hopes were dashed as soon as she saw her grandmother’s home, sitting dark and cold. A heavy foreboding filled her chest as as they approached the lifeless building that was once her home.

  Although she hadn’t been home more than five years, tears filled her eyes as she stepped over the threshold and felt the coldness in the house. She had no memory of the house ever feeling like this. Her grandmother’s cheery greeting was missing, the stove was empty and the fireplace was vacant and gray.

  Taking a deep breath, Brijit led Weylon and Nestariel into the small house.

  “Brijit, are you sure you don’t want to wait outside?” Weylon asked gently. “We don’t know what we will find.”

  “No. She is my grandmother; it is my responsibility to –” Brijit gasped suddenly as she saw her grandmother lying on the kitchen floor.

  “Grandmamma,” she cried as she rushed forward. Weylon reached for her but wasn’t fast enough to stop her.

  Her grandmother lay on her back, her lifeless eyes were wide open and staring up at the ceiling. But it was the expression of horror on her face that shook Brijit more than anything. Whatever had killed her grandmother had been terrifying. A sob slipped passed Brijit’s lips. “No, no, no,” she murmured as she knelt beside her grandmother’s body.

  Suddenly a low menacing growl filled the air. Weylon jerked Brijit away just as Rufus lunged at her, spitting.

  Before either of them could react, a dagger pinned the animal to the ground. Brijit looked up in horror to see Nestariel staring down at the still twitching body.

  “Why did you do that?” Weylon asked angrily.

  “Because the creature was obviously feral and infected.”

  “Not feral,” Brijit protested, tears choking her words. “That was Rufus, my grandmother’s cat.”

  Nestariel looked down at the body of the cat in doubt. “Are you certain?”

  Brijit looked at the dead animal. Rufus had been a black cat identical to this one, but his eyes had been green not bright red. Still, the telltale white stripe on his chest gave him away.

  “That’s definitely Rufus.” Brijit paused. Or it was what remained of Rufus. “He’s changed somehow.”

  “Infected by whatever killed your grandmother,” Nestariel noted.

  Dread filled Brijit’s chest as she looked at the twitching animal on the ground. It bore little resemblance to the house cat that loved to dig his claws playfully into her knee as he purred loudly enough to fill a room. This thing was grotesquely twisted, its dead eyes still holding the look of evil that permeated from it. It was eerily similar to the creature that had attacked Weylon in the dead wood.

  Was this what the evil did to living things it infected? Brijit shuddered as she thought of the poison that was still coursing through Weylon’s body. She looked over at him but he bore no resemblance to the creature on the floor. He stood and looked around the room, his hand on the hilt of his sword, clearly searching for any sign of what had done this to her grandmother and Rufus.

  Nestariel let out a dismissive grunt. “Whatever it was is long gone now,” she told him. “Such evil can’t linger in a town like this one. It is too full of the good, honest people of Five Corners. The evil of The Rift can’t survive far from its roots – it can only invade for a short time before it is dispersed. At least for the present time. I fear there will come a time when such evil will run free in Five Corners, but that time has not yet arrived.”


  “This is my fault,” Brijit whispered as tears filled her eyes. It was true. Nestariel had told her that when she used the magik in the dead wood, the evil had found the way to her grandmother.

  “You couldn’t have known, child,” the Elder woman said softly.

  Weylon rounded on the old woman. “Why would you say that? How could this have been Brijit’s fault? She wasn’t anywhere near here when this happened.”

  Nestariel gave Brijit a knowing looking and then pressed her lips together.

  Brijit looked up from her grandmother’s broken form on the floor and saw the confusion in Weylon eyes. “I know it’s hard to believe but it’s true, Weylon. This is my fault.”

  Weylon shook his head, still not understanding.

  Nestariel looked at her grandmother’s body and then around the small cottage with the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling, the crystals on the table in the corner and the books of magik lining the walls. She strode over to the shelves that held the books and began to examine them. She looked over her shoulder to where Weylon was standing, a look of confusion on his face.

  “Brijit’s grandmother was more than a simple wise woman, Weylon. Look around this dwelling…what do you see?”

  It only took thirty seconds before Brijit saw the understanding dawn on Weylon’s face. He turned to Brijit.

  “What is she talking about?” She could see that he needed confirmation of what he already knew. Brijit remembered how he had reacted when he had seen the mark on Ana’s child.

  She bit her lip and said nothing. She knew she owed him an explanation, but she just couldn’t explain what had happened in the forest that day. She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes when he realized that she was the granddaughter of a Kurunii.

  “Brijit did what she had to in order to save your life, Weylon. She meant well.”

  He turned to Nestariel. “And what exactly did she have to do so save me, Nestariel?”

  Suddenly she felt Weylon’s hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him.

  “Brijit?” He sounded hurt and confused.

  Closing her eyes, Brijit weighed her options. Nestariel knew what she was and the chances were that the Elders also knew. Weylon deserved to know as well.

  She looked up and met his brown eyes. Swallowing Brijit said, “I am Kurunii as was my grandmother before me.”

  Weylon gasped and stepped away, his face filled with horror.

  “You mean you delve in…” his words trailed away as understanding dawned in his eyes. “What exactly did you do to save me, witch?”

  #

  Weylon built a pyre behind the house. His anger had threatened to bubble over after Brijit had admitted that she had used magik to save him. He had heard stories over the years of those who had been saved by such means. The stories never had happy endings.

  Despite his anger, he had seen the misery on Brijit’s pretty face and against his will he had felt a sense of pity toward her. But he still had to live with the choices she had made for him in that dark wood.

  He closed his eyes as he remembered the darkness that had pushed him down and threatened to consume him after he had been attacked. It was pure evil. Even now he could remember how desperately he had fought against it. And then there had been nothingness until he had awoken at Tèarmann.

  He still didn’t understand exactly what Brijit had done to him. He hadn’t waited around for an explanation after she confirmed that she had used witchcraft to save him. Witchcraft was also tainted with the dark. Whatever Brijit had done, Weylon knew that you couldn’t cast out one kind of evil with another. Regardless of what Brijit had hoped, she should have known this.

  The Kurunii were a dying breed in Five Corners. And he believed it was a good thing. Over the years, the women had steadfastly refused to work with Elders, Coimirceoirí, or the Draíodóir. They insisted that the work they did was different and sacred; that women had been wielding such magik for eons. But Weylon didn’t believe it. Where there were Kurunii there was always trouble.

  He was still overcome by the revelation that Brijit was of the ancient order of the Kurunii, the women who for millennium had been both feared and revered in the Five Corners. The sisterhood of witches. Why had she hidden it from him?

  Suddenly the fact that Brijit had been able to save him when by everyone’s account it should have been impossible made sense. But the Kurunii were known to delve deeply in the dark magik. While the women who were part of the order were generally good and helped those in Five Corners to live well, they also were not beyond engaging in the dark arts when they felt it was necessary. The only way Brijit could have saved him was to use magik.

  All at once his certainty that the Elders had been mistaken when they said he was infected with the dark wasn’t so strong. If Brijit had used dark magik to save him, then it was all too possible that Suiadan had been right and the evil that had infected him was not gone. What that meant for his future he didn’t know.

  But why did he feel so much better since the attack? It was as if the poison had given him strength and good health.

  To have been infected by the poison of The Rift was one thing but to have it eradicated by another black magik could not be good. And Brijit had done it without his permission. She had chosen for him.

  Anger started to bubble deep in his stomach. Finishing the pyre, he straightened and returned to the house to collect Brijit’s grandmother’s body. He ignored the tears and hurt on Brijit’s face. He would not let himself feel anything for her pain.

  He hoisted the dead woman in his arms and tried to forget that the woman he was carrying to the pyre had once been a Kurunii, a powerful one if she’d been able to somehow help Brijit wield magik from Jirgen Forest. Weylon shook his head as he placed her body on top of the wood he had collected. Burning her body was the only way to eradicate her evil from Five Corners.

  Although that evil clearly still lingered in her granddaughter. And now, perhaps, it also lingered in him.

  Nestariel and Brijit had followed him to the pyre. The Elder tossed the body of the small black cat onto the wood as well. Weylon met her gaze, but she just raised her eyebrows at him and then instructed him to light the pyre.

  “We must burn the bodies to cleanse this area,” she told them.

  Weylon eagerly lit the pyre. He heard Brijit sob and resisted the urge to go to her. He would not look at her. He would not feel sorry for her. He would not forgive her.

  Except every time he heard one of her sobs, it felt like a piece of his soul was tearing. Despite everything that had been revealed on this trip, the fact remained that Brijit had lost her only surviving relative, and she was clearly distraught. Even with all he had learned about her origins, Weylon couldn’t help feel her pain as if it were his own. Brijit was still Brijit, and she was hurting. He wanted to go to her but something deep inside held him back.

  The flames rose up, consuming the wood and inching closer and closer to her grandmother’s body. Brijit turned away and shook her head. “I can’t watch this,” she whispered.

  Nestariel stepped forward. “Come with me, Brijit. Weylon, see that the ashes are buried.”

  He nodded and watched them go back to the house.

  He looked back at the flames that were now licking at her grandmother’s black dress. Drawn by a fascination he could not explain, he crept closer to the fire. In a burst of hot energy, the grandmother’s body was suddenly engulfed in white flames that had him stepping back a foot. As he continued to watch the fire, the body of the cat rolled off the pyre. And landed near his feet.

  Take it, a dark voice whispered.

  Weylon jerked and looked around, but he was alone. He shook his head, sure he must be imagining things. He looked back to where the dead animal lay on the ground.

  Take it. You know you want it, the voice urged again. Yes, feast on it.

  Without conscious thought Weylon found himself bending down to examine the remains of the dead cat. He should have
just thrown it back on the pyre, but the voices were calling to him.

  Taste it! Take it! You want it. You need it. The whisperings were dark and hungry, growing louder by the moment.

  He glanced to the house and saw no sign of Nestariel or Brijit. Taste the power of it! It is yours. You know it is!

  Suddenly lunging forward, Weylon pulled the cat’s body from the ground and sank his teeth into it, sucking hard. The metallic, salty blood whetted his appetite and he drank deeply, feeling a surge of power and energy jolt through him.

  All at once, Weylon pulled away and looked at the blood dripping on his hands. The whisperings in his head were gone. As horror filled him, he threw the cat’s body back onto the pyre and ran down the hill to a small pond just out of sight of the house. He doused his head and hands in the water. Gagging, Weylon pulled his head out of the water and stared at his fractured reflection.

  What was happening to him?

  Chapter Fourteen

  They stayed at Brijit’s grandmother’s house for two more days. Nestariel wanted to pack up all Grandmamma’s books and scrolls. She sent Weylon into town to find a wagon and horse they could buy to transport the things back to Tèarmann.

  Brijit spent the time going through the rest of her grandmother’s belongings. Most of the things her grandmother had kept were practical. Beyond the copious scrolls and books that Nestariel insisted on taking, her grandmother had kept few personal things.

  Brijit packed up the meager supply of food and clothing, and donated them to needy townsfolk in Evendel. Nestariel suggested that she not empty and sell the house but pack it up tight.

  “You never know when you may have need of the dwelling, my dear.”

  Brijit didn’t think she would ever have need of her grandmother’s home. As Coimirceoirí she was destined to spend the rest of her days with the Elders. She didn’t see how the house in Evendel would ever be useful to her.

  “We never know what will happen in the future,” Nestariel said softly, and something in her tone made Brijit agree with her. At least for now. She could always sell the house in the future. As a chosen Coimirceoirí she had little need for money anyway.