by Cate Tiernan
He had said that I was destined for great things—to become high priestess! And he knew the Goddess’s plan for our union—that together we could unite all the clans! But no. The path to redemption had been crossed by Siobhan, and Diarmuid had succumbed to her. He had failed me, failed us, failed our child. Oh, Goddess, how could he be so disloyal? Disappointment overwhelmed me as I fell into a dark state, my hand resting upon the child within my belly. A Spell for the Darkest Hour
The creak of a door. A sliver of light.
Someone was entering my chamber.
“Hark!” he said, peering over the flame of the candle. I sat up on the dirt floor. “Diarmuid?” My head was clogged from sleep, but indeed it was him, coming into the cell.
“Where are the guards?” I asked in surprise. “They are blind to me,” he said as the door creaked closed behind him. “I cast a see-me-not spell, rather successfully, I might add. And those bumblers are spelled deep asleep.” How could he joke at a time like this? I turned my face away, not willing to meet his eyes. “Have you come to gloat over my demise?” I asked. “Of course not. I’ve come to extract one last promise. I was pleased by the way you held your tongue today, not mentioning my name. I trust you’ll keep silent till the end.” I spun around to glare at him. “Silent!” I shouted. “Silence is the reason I am here! Why did you not answer my messages?” I stamped the ground with my foot. “Why did you not come forward to defend me and claim your child?”
He lowered his chin, his blue eyes abrasive. “How am I to know the bairn is mine?” Furious, I took a swing at him, but he bobbed so that my fist caught only air. As I stumbled back, he caught my arms and held me in place. His eyes swept down my body to my breasts, my swollen belly. “And you thought I would claim your child?” he said with sudden disdain. “Knowing your wanton ways, you’ve probably bedded dozens like me.” His words infuriated me, but my fury was checked by my revelation. The man standing before me was not noble nor true nor even kind. And he had never been the sweet perfection I’d glimpsed under the Goddess’s sky.
His pentagram dangled at his neck, glinting mockingly. Suddenly I wanted to scratch out his glittering eyes and smite the grin from his pretty face. I did not love this man. How had I ever loved one who so cagily used me, took of my body and my heart, then abandoned me for dead?
“Get out!” I growled. I kicked at his legs, aiming high but just glancing off the top of his thigh. Still, it was enough to scare him off. He released my hands as he doubled over.
Reaching out, I grabbed at his pentagram and pulled. He did not deserve to wear this! He did not
deserve to pay homage to the Goddess! He made a little choking sound as it snapped off. With a feeling of righteousness I dropped the pentagram to the ground. Diarmuid rubbed his neck. “You’re rather feisty for a condemned woman,” he said. “And I should be the one throwing punches, what with the way you charmed me. I found the rose stone in your pocket. Powerful magick you make. ’Twas lovely while it lasted, but love soon fades to lust and needs. And my needs are well fulfilled by my own coven.” Fury burned inside me. “And Siobhan,” I said. “You have lain with her because . . . because ’tis the easiest path to take.”
He shrugged. “A man has certain obligations to his clan, and to marry a Wodebayne, I would have been falling short of everyone’s expectations. You truly caught my eye. Even when Siobhan undid the power of your charmed stone, my desire to take you did not abate. Even now . . . I long to hold you one last time. . . .” He reached for me hungrily. “In a pig’s eye!” I shouted, pushing him away. “Begone from here, Diarmuid! For our passion was not about lust nor favor! Did you not stand in the circle with me and summon the Goddess? Did we not pledge our love under her sky and promise to—” “A witch says many things, chants many things,” he said. “Often we say words we do not comprehend. ’Tis part of the—”
“I knew what I was saying!” Hatred swelled within me as all illusions of beauty and goodness melted away from him, revealing a diabolical monster. I pointed to the door. “Begone from here before I have at you, for I swear, I will tear the hair from your lovely head.” “Don’t you threaten me, Rose!” Diarmuid lunged at me, backing me against the wall. “For despite your powers with the Goddess, I have the physical power to overcome you, and aye, I am stirring at the very touch of you, wench!” His eyes sparkled deviously. I felt stunned, unable to move. Was it possible that this boy—this boy I had seen as the answer to all of my prayers—would ravish me by force?
I struggled to get away, but he only tightened his grip. “I will have you, Rose, for who will stop me? You are locked in prison, completely alone. Do you think the guards will answer your cries? The pleas of a witch sentenced to die?” He pressed his hips against me, pushing me into the cold stone wall. I felt sickened by his touch, furious at his determination to overcome me. And I had loved him! How had I ever loved this cruel, conniving beast? Feeling it was hopeless to fight him, I collapsed against the wall. He was stronger than I. I knew I had to summon magick, but my mind was wild and scattered.
Seeing me relax, he released my hands and lifted my skirts. “Come on, Rose,” he said, fingering my thighs. “I shall make it painful if you fight me.” Seizing the freedom of my hands, I grasped his face and pressed my nails in, hoping to scratch his pretty blue eyes out. “Aye, then let’s make it painful!” He gasped as my fingers penetrated his skin. His hands quickly encircled my wrists and pried me off, but not before I’d managed to scratch his cheeks. “Are you mad?” “So they say!” I wrenched my hands free of him and backed away, rubbing my wrists. “But I’ll not spend my last night on earth being defiled by the lust of a lying coward.” He pressed his fingers to his cheek and saw the crimson smear there. “You drew blood,” he said in horror. For a moment I thought he would weep with despair. Focusing my mind, I held up my hands to ward him off. “Next time I’ll usedealan-dé ,” I told him. “And if I had an athame, I would plunge it right through your festering heart.”
Holding a hand against his cheek, he sucked in his breath. “I cannot wait till the morrow.” His
face was hollow and angular in the candlelight, a hideous, hateful specter. “I will relish the moment of your death.”
Before I could respond, he fled from the cell, leaving only a lit candle behind. A lit candle. Fire of the Goddess.
Diarmuid had left behind the one element I needed to balance out my circle. I had earth, wind, water, air . . . and now, despite all the attempts of the guards to keep it away from me, I had fire. My fists clenched, I stared at the flame as fury raged within me. I burned for all the Wodebaynes who had suffered injustice at the hands of rival witches. Fire raged within me for Diarmuid—not the fires of passion, but the fires of hatred and fury. I burned with vengeance for Siobhan, who had stolen my place as Diarmuid’s wife and sentenced me to death, who had tried to take my mother’s life, too. And above all I was afire with love and sorrow for the babe in my belly, the child who had been condemned before she’d had a chance to take her first breath. Sweat beaded on my forehead and dripped down my neck. What was happening? Pressing my hands to my cheeks, I found that my skin was sizzling hot to the touch, feverish despite the cool night air.
A fire raged within me, a fire from the Goddess, and I realized she was summoning me to a mystickal destiny.What? I asked.Where shall I go? Which way to turn? I felt pent up and trapped, unable to commune with her. I needed to see the moon. Glancing up at the thatched roof, I realized that I could probably reach it with the help of the one chair in my prison. I pulled the chair to the highest spot and climbed up. Aye, my fingertips pressed against the thatching. I pulled at the straw, tugging it loose. I would claw and scrape until my fingers bled if it meant reaching out to the Goddess on my last night upon this earth. As I plucked at the straw, I thought of my purpose. I could not see my way to escape from my death or to save my child. But what of my legacy . . . my destiny before the Goddess? Would I be known only as a young witch who had feuded with a Vykro
the girl? I recalled what my mother had said about Da, about his feud with the Vykrothes. Now, so many years later, I had become entangled with the same clan. Was that part of the Goddess’s plan? Perhaps my very purpose was to dismantle the Vykrothes’ power once and for all. I could not actively go after Siobhan, but I could place a curse upon her from behind these prison walls. One last spell, one final wave of revenge before she had me killed. Bit by bit, the straw tumbled down to the earth. Then I yanked on a thick piece, and a fat section of thatching fell to the floor of the stone hut, making a crumbling sound that might have been heard by the guard if he had not been still asleep and snoring thanks to Diarmuid’s spell. When the dust cleared, I was gazing upon a dark patch of sky with a virgin crescent moon. I came down from the chair and stood, arms up, in the sliver of pale moonlight. ’Twas but a dim patch, but I could feel its power lifting me to the sky. I no longer felt trapped. I was communing with the Goddess, opening myself up to my own destiny. The air seemed to crackle with magick as I held my hands open to the Goddess. “Show me the tools and how to use them,” I begged.
In the candlelight the tips of my fingernails seemed black. Examining them, I realized it was blood. Blood and skin scraped from Siobhan and Diarmuid. ’Twas a powerful beginning, to have a piece of their body to place upon my makeshift altar. I scraped the dried crust from under my nails and placed it carefully on a clean tin plate left to me by the guards. Staring at the scraps of Diarmuid and Siobhan, I began to feel the way clearly. ’Twas the
Goddess’s will, this spell, and she lit my path.
“Sweep the circle,”came the Goddess’s voice. Or was I remembering Ma’s voice from one of
the coven circles? “Sweep...sweep,” it called out to me, stirring my powers. I gathered straw from my sleeping pallet and wove it into a small broom, which I used to sweep a circle inside the springhouse. Then I lit my makeshift broom afire and swept my circle with flames. The smoke burned my throat, but I breathed it gladly, wanting to cense my hair and skin with this powerful spell. Finally I left the broom to burn in the center and turned to the candle. Carefully, so as not to extinguish the flame, I carved runes into the single candle that Diarmuid had brought. I spelled out the Vykrothe name, then wrote the runes for death beside it. Then I added runes for Diarmuid’s name, for truly he deserved the wrath of the Goddess for his betrayal of Her, his betrayal of me and my child. As I set the candle down, I noticed Diarmuid’s pentagram on the ground. I picked up the gold coin and blew off the dust. ’Twould make a fine brand upon my body. If I was to go to the gallows, I would want to have the mark of the Goddess upon me and my child. I built up the center fire with twigs and straw of the thatching. Blowing on the flames until the embers glowed, I knew what I had to do.
A spell to put an end to treachery.
A spell to destroy Siobhan and Diarmuid. To punish their evil. Mayhap this was the Goddess’s will for me—my destiny.
A spell to set the balance among the clans aright once again. Casting Diarmuid’s pentagram into the flames, I felt the fever within me rise. Gasping, I threw back my head and cast my eyes upon the crescent in the sky. The fire within me was raging, my skin dripping, my cheeks burning. I slipped off my gown and stood naked in the square of light. “I draw the power of generations of Wodebaynes into myself, merging with her power, the pure essence of the Goddess.”
Gazing down into the crusty blood, I said: “I have cast this circle to perform the act of vengeance that the Vykrothes have truly earned. I place a curse upon their feet, that they may stumble along the path of light and fall into darkness. Cursed be their wombs, that they shall fail to produce new offspring. Cursed be their warmongering hearts, that they will no longer beat steady and true. Cursed be their sight, that they shall never again see through the Goddess’s veil to her true beauty.”
Holding the tin of blood over the flame, I charged it with fire, saying: “As Siobhan lit a fire of hatred in this world, so shall her blood boil. Send her own malice, greed, and wickedness back to her—threefold!” I tossed the dried blood into the fire, and a sizzling sound issued forth. I imagined leagues oftaibhs —a huge wave of them—rising up and sweeping over Siobhan’s pretty flaxen head. Black droplets of pain rained down upon Diarmuid, staining his sparkling blue eyes, burning his hair, sinking into his lovely cheeks. The black spells danced over them, blocking out all light until their bodies were a dissolving mass of darkness. “This offering is for you, Goddess,” I said. “Cast your hatred upon the head of Siobhan and her Vykrothe family. Cast darkness upon Diarmuid and his cruel family. And if you have no evil to send, I summon the fallen angels, arbiters of evil! Use my powers to mete out this justice!” The powers of darkness swirled around me. I felt buffeted by smoky darkness, mired in the pain and suffering that I was sending from my heart to the hearts of mine enemies. Using a thick piece of straw, I fished Diarmuid’s pentagram out of the fire. I thought of the way Diarmuid had drawn pentagrams in the air . . . the foolish boy. His magick was so weak! The pentagram had turned black with heat, but I reached for it. ’Twas time to brand myself to the
ways of the Goddess, despite the pain.
My fingertips singed as I picked it up, but the pain seemed cool against the fire that raged inside me. Pressing the pentagram to my belly, I charged each point of the star. “I summon the powers of earth,” I whispered hoarsely, “wind, water, fire, and spirit.” Pain brought tears to my eyes, but it seemed minor in comparison to the pain that filled me. The pain of losing my baby, of losing my life and love. My pain must not go unpunished!
Kneeling before the fire, I imagined the wave of evil surrounding Siobhan, sucking her in, slamming her, crashing over her helpless body and swallowing the other cruel Vykrothes in its wake.
“I cast this spell for my baby,” I said. “For myself, and for every other Wodebayne who has ever been wronged. Goddess, sweep over the treacherous ones and let their own evil be compounded!” I felt a surge of power, a wave that drew me up, thrumming around me, buoying my body above the chaotic forces at work. I was rising up, hovering above my cell, above my own village and Ma’s cottage, above the Highlands. Beneath me were the soft greens of summer fields, the crisp dark crown of woodlands, the silver blue of lochs with the cool mist of evening rising up from them.
Wondering what held me suspended, I looked down and saw a wave of pure darkness. I was riding a crescent of black, a coursing molten liquid wrought of the blood of dead Wodebaynes, of my father and his father, of Fionnula and other tormented clan members. ’Twas my blood and my child’s blood, raging and thrashing over the Highlands—a river of evil crashing into the village of Lillipool.
Then, all at once, I was released.
I collapsed to the ground, weak and spent. I slipped into a dream state, feeling fires raging around me. Was my cell burning? Had I remembered to douse the burning broom? I wasn’t sure, but I could not summon the strength to lift myself from the floor. If I were destined to die now, perhaps it was better at my own hand than at the hands of the villagers. What was to come at the end of this life? I remembered Ma speaking of death being rebirth . . . the Wheel turns and we move on to a new life. Would I find my baby in that new world? I hugged my belly, feeling the child kick. “I will be there for you,” I whispered tearfully. “I will be there.” I am riding upon his shoulders at the seashore. Then suddenly we are here in the town square,
dancing with torches like witches around the Beltane fires. Then I am on a seaside cliff, holding
a soft bundle in my arms. When I open the flap, I peer into the face of my own baby. A girl, of
course. She smells of honeysuckle and clover. But we cannot stay here. The ocean is rising from
a storm. And suddenly the wave is cresting, taller and taller, over our heads. I must run to save
her. . . .
I lifted my head and reached forward, trying to grasp my baby. My fingers brushed the ashes of my ceremonial fire, and I remembered that I was in my cell, sleeping in my circle un
der a smoky gray sky.
I arose and slipped on my gown, struggling to fasten the girdle over my bulging belly. Throughout the night the shouts of villagers and the noise of people scrambling about had penetrated the numbness that gripped me. Now that daylight was flooding in through the ceiling, the smell of fire was thick in the air. How could the smoke from my spell linger so? The door opened, and a bowl of biscuits was tossed in. “Here’s your milk,” the guard said, eyeing me warily as he placed the pitcher inside the door. “And don’t be laying a curse upon my
head, for I am just doing my job, and I have three young bairns at home.”
I blinked. What was he blubbering about? But before I could ask, the door slammed shut, leaving me to my breakfast. I ate every last crumb, surprised at the calm that had overtaken me. I had resigned myself that my baby and I would be reborn together; that was the vision I would cling to in my last hours.
When the door opened for me to go to the gallows, I stepped into the smoky haze with my chin high and a small measure of courage. If Siobhan and the others were going to condemn me, I would not let them have the satisfaction of seeing that they had indeed broken my spirit. I will see you when the Wheel turns, I told the child within me. How I will delight in the sight of your sweet face!
I followed the guards to the gallows, surprised that they did not try to bind my hands or manhandle me today. They did cast nervous glances, but somehow their eyes no longer held the utter disdain I’d seen the day before.
Arriving at the village square, I was surprised to see such a small group of witnesses assembled. I wondered at the scarcity of onlookers, especially when I had been such a spectacle the day before. And where was Ma? I couldn’t believe she wouldn’t come to be with me as I took my last breath. Kyra stood by the gallows, swathed in black. But Diarmuid and Siobhan were absent, as was the village reverend, who had been my chief persecutor. I looked at the strange faces, wondering what had happened to my enemies. Had the spell worked? Perhaps Siobhan had been stricken down, unable to attend my execution. The thought offered some satisfaction.