Descending

by C E Dimond

  He had full faith in this tale, in my abilities, in our blood. Though, something he said gave me pause.

  “All?” I asked, the last time I’d checked two people standing on top a hill, did not make a group.

  “You need me too.”

  Somehow in the midst of the story, of my father weaving this tale, I hadn’t noticed my sister approach.

  Her voice hit me first and then I turned, and my eyes searched the dimly lit hill until they found her.

  I felt it then, that feeling I’d only felt once before. That pain in the pit of my stomach that felt like someone had driven a knife through its walls and twisted it. My blue eyes were wide as everything flew through my mind. My mind played like a movie reel and I pieced together each and every moment of the past weeks we had spent together.

  My eyes glittered then, in the rising moonlight as tears began to form. My intuition had been wrong. I had placed my trust in her, only to have it torn to shreds.

  “So this is it.” I hardly recognized my own voice as my throat tightened, my body fighting to keep the tears at bay. “You were in on this whole kidnapping plan?”

  Given her fierce advocation for our father, it shouldn’t have been a shock, and yet, I still found a part of myself struggling to believe it.

  So much for the bond of sisters.

  In spite of everything we had been through together, she had betrayed me the moment he’d asked her to. Even though it sent a shock of pain through me, I had braced myself for this. In my mind I had always held on to this possibility. I had expected it even, but it would have been a lie to say it didn’t still hurt now that I was confronted with it.

  In spite of all my naysaying thoughts, I had started to trust her, my sister.

  “That’s a bit dramatic.” She countered and something in her voice almost sounded apologetic. “I wasn’t planning to kidnap you. I just didn’t think you’d listen unless we got you here first. Let’s not forget you came here willingly.”

  Even though I hated to admit it, especially now, she might have been right about that. I would not have gone with him to ignite the prophecy willingly, not without the pressing intrigue of this effort. However, without knowing his grand plan, I still had also gone along with my father with not so much as a fight. I may not have known where we were going, but I’d known he was taking me somewhere.

  I pressed my lips together tightly, my mind trying to form some sort of comeback and instead failing. There was no point in arguing about it now. They had done what they wanted and succeeded in getting me there. I was here now, and I had learned even more about the so-called prophecy I’d been tearing Dublin apart to discover.

  My curiosity had been my downfall, but perhaps the trip had been worth it, if not only to get more information.

  The only thing that surprised me, was that it was clear the others in the Coven had been wrong about it all along. The prophecy didn’t simply apply to me. In reality, it had applied, if anything to my mother, my parents, and now it applied to all of us.

  “Why do you need all of us? If it’s as simple as ‘blood of his blood’ then only one of us should have been sufficient. You should have been able to do this with Izzy years ago. Why did you need me?”

  If he already had Iseult on his side, which it was clear he did, then why did he go through all the trouble of trying to track me down? Why instigate this whole saga? If it was truly that simple, why tear me away from my perfectly normal life?

  I had so many questions and so far, very few answers.

  “It is so much more than that Finn. It goes beyond just needing someone in his bloodline. You only had one piece of the prophecy.” He admitted producing a page from his jacket pocket he unfolded what looked like a piece of parchment from one of the family books. “This piece details that you also need the blood of those who wronged him most, and who he wronged most.”

  “Well, unless you count the Coven back home, I haven’t wronged anyone lately.” Not that I recalled at least.

  “It’s Diarmuid and Gráinne,” Iseult explained, “He owes them a debt. Mom and Dad were their essence reincarnated.” Though that didn’t help me much, I wasn’t all that familiar with the story. With luck, she continued, “They betrayed the King, and he hunted them for it for years, and when the time came for them to face one another, Fionn let Diarmuid die when he could have saved him. It was said to be his greatest regret, so while he forgave them, he also needs their forgiveness. This is something he never received in his lifetime.”

  I gulped. This prophecy was only growing more complicated by the hour. Now, it was beginning to make a bit more sense why this prophecy had taken so long to come into fruition.

  They had been waiting centuries, not only for a descendent of the ancient King, but one that also carried the spirit of these two storybook lovers. Their story had begun to sound familiar as my sister had explained it, and it began to become clear that I did, in fact, know their story. However, I only knew their story on a very basic level. In fact, most of what I knew came from having watched the film Leap Year.

  That still counted right?

  “Okay, but that still doesn’t explain why you need both of us.” It didn’t sound, to me, like he needed us at all. He had needed Niamh, he had needed our mother. If this was true, and they had been the lovers reincarnated, the potential of fulfilling this prophecy should have ended when she’d died. Where did my sister and I fit into this?

  “Because together, the two of you can both make up her portion, and you have an equal mix of her, and I. The theory is that, in combination with my blood, it should ignite the spell.”

  So, two donors of Cavanaugh blood were better than one. It sounded like a last desperate attempt to make things work. To me, it sounded like he was taking a giant risk. He was banking on the hope that whatever essence of Diarmuid and Gráinne our parents had contained had been passed onto their daughters, to us.

  I stared at him, letting all of it sink in. I had so many more questions, how had they known it was them? Had they asked the others for help? Did anyone else know about the prophecy? These turned over in my head, but none escaped my lips.

  I was about to speak when I opened my mouth and my body froze as the little memories of the story ignited in my brain. I had stopped breathing, my breath, along with my words caught.

  My dreams, the man and woman… they weren’t just figments of my imagination, they were them; Diarmuid and Gráinne. Had my powers been warning me? Or had they been telling me I needed to do this?

  I had been witnessing their journey all along. Not just in my sleep, but in the Crypt too, when I’d touched the walls of the ancient Church.

  Maybe, just maybe, Cormac was actually right.

  I looked between them, my sister and father while I considered the possibility. Was he right? Was this truly my destiny?

  Then, my gaze turned to the giant rock. I still didn’t know what was going to happen, but I had this undeniable urge to go ahead with it. Could my initial conceptions of them have been so wrong? Or was what he said true, and the Coven had been misleading me about him all along.

  I knew that I had too many doubts to deny him, and yet still too many to move forward.

  I was stuck in the middle, torn between two decisions.

  If I was going to move forward with this, I needed to know why he felt like he needed to do it.

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked my voice soft, drifting toward him with the misty breeze that had setting in around us. “Ultimate power? World domination?”

  My question just wanted to get down to the very core of his desires. Was he truly the villain of my story?

  “World- no!” He seemed genuinely aghast and I could hear my sister snicker in amusement from behind me. “Finn, I’m doing this to protect you! Everything that has happened, everything that your Coven believes I have done to you, to them, it isn’t true. I have been running from the only home I’ve ever known, because of what they believe I’ve done, not for w
hat I’ve ever actually accomplished.”

  His words traveled through me, taking what doubts I had already cultivated and igniting them to burn deeper.

  “You are not safe, and if this, giving us our full power will make sure that we can protect the both of you, then it’s worth it. Protecting you both has been all I’ve ever wanted. It’s why I’ve done everything I have. It’s why I cast those spells on you. You needed to be protected. Your mother knew that she and I simply disagreed on how.”

  Or who we need to be protected from, I thought to myself.

  When he mentioned spells, I was pulled back to something I had tried to push aside. In fact, I had nearly forgotten about the trauma of Boston, the leprechauns, the little men.

  Looking back now, I realized, since arriving on The Island, they had left me alone. They hadn’t followed me; they hadn’t tried to pull me into any bodies of water. Of course, I’d also been avoiding bodies of water since the incident. But maybe it had been something more than that. Maybe, I’d been left alone due to his presence, or maybe it was something else entirely.

  I searched his face, letting my eyes scan each feature to find some hint of a lie, but I didn’t find any. Turning to my sister, I did the same to her, and she looked just as determined, just as sure of what he was telling us. I was holding on so tight to the belief that he had brainwashed her. Now, I could see that what he was telling us, was what he truly believed. He wasn’t lying, or at least, he didn’t think he was.

  I pulled my lips in tightly and took a deep breath before I nodded.

  “I’ll do it.”

  The softness of my voice had faded and been replaced with a strong sound of determination.

  Taking a step towards the rock, I placed my hand against it feeling the flow of energy it was emitting. At least, part of this story rang true, this was no simple stone, it was, without a doubt, magic.

  18

  Standing there with my forgotten family, it truly dawned on me how much I missed home. Not Broadhaven, but Port Moyle. The tiny town I’d been desperate to escape. Now, it felt like the only place in the world I wanted to be.

  Instead, I was standing at the foot of an ancient monument, on the other side of the ocean.

  Now, having agreed to accept this power, accept the prophecy, I felt ready to fall into an emotional spiral. I had played the moments over in my head when crafting my plan, and none of those mockups had ever included this. I believed him, and I was doing this, accepting it willingly, with no bad intentions.

  Patrick O’Neill’s stern gaze and lecturing words were repeating in my mind now, instead of my father’s. I knew that Patrick would believe I was about to betray everything they stood for. He’d tell me I was throwing away all that I’d learned at Broadhaven. I had believed them all so fervently then, but I could not deny the fact that at this moment, this decision was what felt right to me. Instinct had gotten me this far.

  I still had no delusions about the complicated relationships I was dealing with. My acceptance of this fate didn‘t mean I was placing my full trust in them. My trust still had to be earned, I wouldn‘t make the mistake of giving it so freely again. Cormac, Iseult and I had so much more to figure out. After this moment passed, our problems wouldn‘t be solved, they’d only be just beginning. I wasn’t jumping in blind with both arms open, ready to play happy family.

  I didn’t quite know where we stood, but I knew that he needed me to do this for him. I truly did not believe, at that moment, Cormac had any malicious intent. When he said he wanted to protect us, that was the one thing I’d heard him say so far that I believed to be one hundred percent true.

  I believed him because I knew the feeling. It was the reason I’d left so abruptly. I needed to protect the others. I especially needed to protect them now, if there was truly an external threat to our Coven that was not my own father. It really was just that simple.

  I needed to do this. If he was right about everything, the moment we released this power, accepting it would make me stronger. If I was stronger, I could keep them safe from the real threat.

  “Hold on.” My father’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I turned my gaze toward him. His dark eyes shifted to my hand and then back to me once more. “It’s not that simple love.”

  I sighed, releasing my hand from the stone and stepping back. It was never that simple I supposed.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Iseult reached into her bag then and produced a ceramic bowl. It was old, almost ready to crumble it seemed. Soon after she placed it down, she also produced a dagger before looking up at me.

  “They’re taking the blood part of this spell very seriously.” She advised.

  I winced at the concept.

  I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of blood, even less thrilled at having to use this ancient dagger to draw it from my own flesh. That was its purpose I assumed. After all, what else could she possibly need the dagger for?

  It seemed like the ritual would be a bit more complex than I’d hoped. I waited, with very little patience, as I let my father explain the steps we would each have to take.

  “Each of us will take turns. We need to draw the dagger across our palms and allow our blood to flow into this bowl. The two of you need to go first. Once we’ve allowed your blood to combine, your blood should become one," he explained before continuing “and then it will oppose mine. This will ignite the spell. We need to place the bowl at the base of the rock.”

  Iseult placed it there gently, careful not to disturb its already fragile state.

  I nodded, to show I understood.

  I watched carefully as Cormac held out his hand and rolled up his sleeve in order to prepare. My breath caught in my chest. This was the moment I’d been waiting for, and I hadn't even needed to prompt him for it. The scar wasn’t there.

  My blue eyes stared at his unmarked arm in awe, as I sunk back into my mind, trying to recall from my vision, which hand had choked the life from Miriam O’Neill.

  I was certain it was the right one, and so now, I was certain my father hadn’t been the one to do it.

  I wanted to scream in delight, jump up and down in joy and tell him that I’d just confirmed his innocence, at least in one of the Coven’s untimely deaths. Instead, my throat tightened. The lack of scar may have confirmed his innocence, but it meant that the Coven had another threat they didn‘t even know about yet.

  That one thought made me even more determined to go through with this spell. If it could truly protect us all, we would need it now more than ever.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to dwell on any of this. I knew we still had a job to do and the other conversation could wait until later.

  I watched the other two draw the knife across their own palms, drawing blood.

  This was something I had never had to witness before, blood to such an extent. The worst I could remember was the aftermath of the car accident when Eamon and I had both looked cut to pieces.

  I was learning only now, perhaps a little late in life, that I really, really, didn’t like blood. I wasn’t about to faint or anything, but the sight of the red liquid certainly made me feel uneasy on my feet.

  I waited until my sister wiped the blade clean on her shirt and then passed it to me.

  My throat was still tight, the ache there growing stronger as my nerves attempted to consume my body.

  I took the hilt of the dagger in my dominant hand and stared at it.

  My turn. I could do this.

  I gulped trying to swallow the nerves. I kept drawing the blade to my skin and retracting it just as quickly. The other two watched me with an uncomfortable intensity as I went back on forth on whether I‘d be able to do it or not. I wasn’t sure that I was prepared for the pain. Eventually, I placed the cold metal tip to my flesh, pressing firmly against the skin I dragged it down and watched the crimson liquid appear. It stung, but to my surprise, it hadn’t hurt as much as I’d expected it would. I had a feeling it would hurt a lot more la
ter on.

  I closed my palm to keep the blood pooling there and turned to look at the others trying to keep the tears of pain from my eyes.

  Now what?

  They were both crouched down and holding their hands over the bowl, waiting for me to join them. Pushing aside what still remained of my nerves, I followed and as we crouched there together, in a half circle around the bowl, we looked at one another and soon opened our palms.

  The blood flowed, dripping into the bowl. I kept my eyes on my blood as it trailed down the side of the bowl and met my sister’s in the middle. The reaction was as expected, just as he had explained it. The two steams of blood opposed one another. I blinked then, realizing that wasn‘t what he had said would happen. They were supposed to combine as one.

  Another thing I hadn’t expected, was that they would change colour. As soon as the two met, hers turned into a dark green and mine to a deeper shade of crimson red and the two streams began swirling around the centre of the bowl, each remaining distinct.

  They hadn’t mixed yet, but maybe it was just because we were still missing Cormac’s.

  I looked up at him and the look on his face was twisted. He appeared just as confused. I blinked at him and waited for his blood to join, but it was taking its own sweet time creeping towards the mix in the centre.

  Finally, when it hit, I expected her blood would turn the same darker red and join with mine. My breath caught in my lungs as it instead created a new, third dimension in the bowl. Her blood didn’t mix with mine, it opposed both streams and instead Cormac’s turned a shade of dark blue. Instead of just the two opposing lines, there were three.