The Coven

by Cate Tiernan

  Ballynigel was a small town, mind you, small and close to the

  coast of western Ireland. The people there were mainly

  farmers or fishermen. Not worldly, not overly educated. Very

  conservative," Alyce explained. She paused, thinking.

  In my mind I saw rolling hills as deep a green as a

  peridot. Salt air seemed to kiss my skin. I smelted tangy,

  brackish seaweed, fish, and an almost unpleasant yet

  comfortable odor my brain identified as peat, whatever that

  was. "The villagers had probably always lived among witches

  in peace, but for some reason, every so often, a town gets

  stirred up; people get scared. After months of persecution a

  local witch was murdered, burned to death and thrown from a

  cliff."

  I swallowed hard. I knew from my reading that burning

  was the traditional method of killing witches.

  "There was some talk that it had been another witch, not

  a human, who had done it," continued Alyce.

  "What about Maeve Riordan?" I asked.

  "She was the daughter of the local high priestess, a

  woman named Mackenna Riordan. At fourteen Maeve joined

  Belwicket under the name Bradhadair: fire starter. Apparently

  she was very powerful, very, very powerful."

  My mother.

  "Anyway, things in Ballynigel grew more and more

  intolerable for the witches. They had to shop in other towns,

  leases expired and weren't renewed, but they could deal with

  all that somehow."

  "Why didn't they leave?" I asked.

  "Ballynigel was a place of power," Alyce explained. "At

  least it was for that coven. There was something about that

  area, perhaps just because magick had been worked there for

  centuries—but it was a very good place to be for a witch. Most

  of Belwicket had roots in the land going back more generations

  than they could count. Their people had always lived there. I

  imagine it was hard to fathom living anywhere else."

  It was hard for an American, with family roots going back

  only a hundred years or so, to comprehend. Taking a deep

  breath, I looked around for Robbie. I could hear him still

  talking to the girl on the other side of the store. I glanced at

  my watch. Five-thirty. I had to get home soon. But I was finally

  learning about my past, my history, and I couldn't pull myself

  away."How do you know all this?" I asked.

  "People have talked of it over the years," Alyce said. "You

  see, it could so easily happen to any of us."

  A chill went through me, and I stared at her. To me,

  magick was beautiful and joyful. She was reminding me that

  countless women and men had died because of it.

  "Maeve Riordan finally did leave," Alyce went on, her face

  sad. "One night there was a huge . . . decimation, for want of a

  better word."

  I shivered, feeling an icy breeze float over me, settling at

  my feet.

  "The Belwicket coven was virtually destroyed," Alyce

  continued, sounding like the words were hard to say. "It's

  unclear whether it was the townspeople or a dark, powerful,

  magickal source that swept through the coven, but that night

  homes were burned to the ground, cars were set on fire, fields

  of crops were laid to waste, boats were sunk...and twenty-

  three men, women, and children were killed.”

  I realized I was panting, my stomach in knots. I felt ill

  and dizzy and panicky. I couldn't bear hearing about this.

  "But not Maeve," Alyce whispered, looking off at some

  faraway sight "Maeve escaped that night, and so did young

  Angus Bramson, her lover. Maeve was twenty, Angus twenty-

  two, and together they fled, caught a bus to Dublin and a plane

  to England. From there they landed in New York, and from New

  York City they made their way to Meshomah Falls."

  "Did they get married?" I said hoarsely.

  "There's no record of it," Alyce replied. "They settled in

  Meshomah Falls, got jobs, and renounced witchcraft entirely.

  Apparently for two years they practiced no Wicca, called upon

  no power, created no magick." She shook her head sadly. "It

  must have been like living in a straitjacket. Like smothering

  inside a box. And then they had a baby in the local hospital. We

  think the persecution began right after that"

  My throat felt like it was closing. I pulled my sweater

  sway from my neck because it was choking me.

  "It was little things at first—finding runes of danger and

  threat painted on the side of their little house. Evil sigils, runes

  bespelled for some magickal purpose, scratched into their car

  doors. One day a dead cat hanging from their porch. If they had

  come to the local coven, they could have been helped. But they

  wanted nothing to do with witchcraft. After Belwicket had been

  destroyed, Maeve wanted nothing more to do with it. Though,

  of course, it was in her blood. There's no point in denying what

  you are."

  Terror threatened to overwhelm me. I wanted to run

  screaming from the store.

  Alyce looked at me. "Maeve's Book of Shadows was found

  after the fire. People read it and passed on the stories of what

  was written there."

  "Where is it now?" I demanded, and Alyce shook her

  head.

  "I don't know," she said gently. "Maeve's story ends with

  her and Angus burned in a barn."

  Tears ran slowly down my cheeks.

  "What happened to the baby?" I choked out.

  Alyce gazed at me sympathetically, years of wisdom

  written on her face. She reached up one soft, flower-scented

  hand and touched my cheek. "I don't know that, either, my

  dear," she said so quietly, I could barely hear her. "What did

  happen to the baby?"

  A mist swam over my eyes, and I needed to lie down or

  fall over or run screaming down the street

  "Hey, Morgan!" Robbie's voice broke in. "Are you ready? I

  should get home."

  "Good-bye," I whispered. I turned and raced out the door,

  with Robbie following me, concern radiating from him in

  waves.

  Behind me I felt rather than heard Alyce's words: "Not

  good-bye, my dear. You'll be back."

  8. Anger

  November 1, 1980

  what a glorious Samhain we had last night! After a

  powerful circle that Ma let me lead, we danced, played music,

  watched the stars, and hoped for better times ahead. It was a

  night full of cider, laughter, and hope. Things have been so

  quite lately—has the evil moved on? Has it found another

  home? Goddess, I pray not, for I don't wish others to suffer as

  we have. But I'm thankful that we no longer have to jump at

  every noise.

  Angus gave me a darling kitten—a tiny white tom I've

  named Dagda. He has a lot to live up to with that name! He's a

  wee thing and sweet. I love him, and it was just like Angus to

  come up with the idea. Today my world is blessed and full of

  peace.

  Praise be to the Goddess for keeping us safe another year.

  Praise be to Mother Earth for sharing her bounty far and

  near.


  Praise be to magick, from which all blessings flow.

  Praise be to my heart' I follow where it goes.

  Blessed be.

  --Bradhadair

  Now Dagda is meowing to go out!

  "What's wrong?" Robbie demanded in the car.

  I sniffled and wiped my hand over my face. "Oh, Alyce

  was telling me a sad story about some witches who died."

  His eyes narrowed. "And you're crying because ..." he

  prompted.

  "It just got to me," I said, trying to sound light "I'm so

  tenderhearted."

  "Okay, don't tell me," he said, sounding irritated. He

  started the car and began the drive back to Widow's Vale.

  "It's just... I can't talk about it yet, okay, Robbie?" I

  almost whispered.

  He was quiet for a few moments, then nodded. "Okay. But

  if you ever need a shoulder, I'm here."

  It was so sweet of him that a wave of warmth rushed over

  me. I reached out to pat his shoulder. 'Thanks. That helps.

  Really."

  Darkness fell as we drove, and by the time we got back to

  school, streetlights were on. My thoughts had been churning

  around my birth mother's fate, and I was surprised to

  recognize the school building when Robbie stopped and I saw

  my car sitting by itself on the street.

  "Thanks for the ride," I said. It was dark, and leaves were

  blowing off trees, flitting through the air. One brushed against

  me, and I flinched. "You okay?" he asked.

  "I think so. Thanks again. I'll see you tomorrow," I said, [

  and got in Das Boot

  I felt like I had lived through my birth mother's story. She

  had to be the same Maeve Riordan on my birth certificate. She

  had to be. I tried to remember if I had seen the place of birth—

  if it had been Meshomah Falls or Widow's Vale. I couldn't

  remember. Did my parents know any of this story? How had

  they found me? How had I been adopted? The same old

  questions.

  I started my car, feeling anger come over me again. They

  had the answers, and they were going to tell me. Tonight I

  couldn't go through another day without knowing.

  At home I parked and stormed up the front walk, already

  forming the words I was going to say, the questions I would

  ask I pushed through the front door—

  And found Aunt Eileen and her girlfriend, Paula Steen,

  sitting on the couch.

  "Morgan!" said Aunt Eileen, holding out her arms. "How's

  my favorite niece?"

  I hugged her as Mary K. said, "She said the exact same

  thing to me."

  Aunt Eileen laughed. "You're both my favorite nieces."

  I smiled, trying to mentally switch gears. A confrontation

  with my parents was out for now. And then—it was only then

  that I realized that Aunt Eileen knew I was adopted. Of course

  she did. She's my mom's sister. In fact, all of my parents'

  friends must know. They had always lived here in Widow's

  Vale, and unless my mom had faked a pregnancy, which I

  couldn't see her doing, they would all know that I had just

  turned up out of nowhere. And then two years later she really

  had had a baby: Mary K. Oh my

  God, I thought, appalled. I was utterly, utterly humiliated

  and embarrassed.

  "Listen, we brought Chinese food," said Aunt Eileen,

  standing up.

  "It's ready!" Mom called from the dining room. I would

  have given anything not to have to go in, but there was no way

  to get out of it We all swarmed in. White cartons and plastic

  foam containers filled the center of the table.

  "Hi," Mom said to me, scanning my face. "You got back in

  time."

  "Uh-huh," I said, not meeting her gaze. "I was with

  Robbie."

  "Robbie looks amazing lately," said Mary K., helping

  herself to some orange beef. "Has he been seeing a new

  dermatologist?"

  "Um, I don't know," I said vaguely. "His skin has gotten a

  lot better."

  "Maybe he's just grown out of it," suggested my mom. I

  couldn't believe she was making polite chitchat. Frustration

  started to boil in me as I tried to choke down my dinner.

  "Can you pass the pork?" my dad asked.

  For a while we all ate. If Aunt Eileen and Paula noticed

  that things were a bit weird, if we were stilted and less

  talkative, they didn't show it. But even Mary K., as naturally

  perky as she is, was holding back.

  "Oh, Morgan, Janice called," said my dad. I could tell he

  was striving for a normal tone. "She wants you to call her back.

  I said you would, after dinner."

  "Okay, thanks," I said. I stuffed a big bite of scallion

  pancake in my mouth so it wouldn't seem weird that I was

  being so quiet.

  After dinner Aunt Eileen stood up and went into the

  kitchen, returning with a bottle of sparkling cider and a tray of

  glasses.

  "What's ail this?" my mom asked with a surprised smile.

  "Well," Aunt Eileen said shyly as Paula got up to stand next to

  her. "We have some very exciting news." Mary K. and I

  exchanged glances. "We're moving in together," Eileen

  announced, her face lull of happiness. She smiled at Paula, and

  Paula gave her a hug.

  "I've already put my apartment on the market, and we're

  [poking for a house,” said Paula.

  "Oh, awesome," said Mary K., getting up to hug Aunt

  Eileen and Paula. They beamed. I stood up and hugged them,

  too, and so did Mom. Dad hugged Eileen and shook Paula's

  hand.

  "Well, this is lovely news," said Mom, although something

  in her face said that she thought it would be better if they had

  known each other longer.

  Eileen popped the cork on the sparkling cider and poured

  it Paula handed glasses around, and Mary K. and I immediately

  gulped down sips.

  "Are you going to buy a house together or rent?" Mom

  asked.

  "We're looking to buy," said Eileen. "We both have

  apartments now, but I want to get a dog, so we need a yard."

  "And I need room for a garden," said Paula.

  "A dog and a garden might be mutually exclusive," said

  my dad, and they laughed. I smiled, too, but it all felt so unreal:

  as if I were watching someone else's family on television.

  "I was hoping you could help us with the house hunting,"

  Eileen said to my mom.

  Mom smiled, for the first time since yesterday, I realized.

  "I was already running through possibilities in my head," she

  admitted. "Can you come by the office soon, and we can set up

  some appointments?"

  "That would be great," said Eileen. Paula reached over

  and squeezed her shoulder. They looked at each other as if no

  one else was in the room.

  "Moving is going to be insane," said Paula. "I have stuff

  scattered everywhere: my mom's, my dad's, my sister's. My

  apartment was just too small to hold everything."

  "Fortunately, I have a niece who's not only strong but has

  a huge car," Aunt Eileen offered brightly, looking over at me.

  I stared at her. I wasn't really her niece, though, was I?

 
Even Eileen had been playing into this whole fantasy that was

  my lite. Even she, my favorite aunt, had been lying and keeping

  secrets from me for sixteen years.

  "Aunt Eileen, do you know why Mom and Dad never told

  me I was adopted?" I just put it out there, and it was as if I

  had mentioned I had the bubonic plague.

  Everyone stared at me, except Mary K., who was staring

  at her plate miserably; and Paula, who was watching Aunt

  Eileen with a concerned expression.

  Aunt Eileen looked like she had swallowed a frog. Her

  eyes wide, she said, "What?” and shot quick glances at my

  mom and dad.

  "I mean, don't you think somebody should have told me?

  Maybe just mentioned it? You could have said something. Or

  maybe you just didn't think it was that important," I pressed

  on. Part of me knew I wasn't being fair. But somehow I

  couldn't stop myself. "No one else seems to. After all, it's just

  my life we're talking about"

  Mom said,"Morgan," in a defeated tone of voice.

  "Uh...," said Aunt Eileen, for once at a loss for words.

  Everyone was as embarrassed as I was, and the festive

  air had gone out of dinner.

  "Never mind," I said abruptly, standing up. "We can talk

  about it later. Why not? After sixteen years what's a few I days

  more?"

  "Morgan, I always felt your parents should be the ones to

  tell you—," Aunt Eileen said, sounding distressed.

  "Yeah, right," I said rudely. "When was that going to

  happen?"

  Mary K. gasped, and I pushed my chair back roughly. I

  couldn't stand being here one more second. I couldn't take

  their hypocrisy anymore. I would explode.

  This time I remembered to grab my jacket before I ran

  out to my car and peeled off into the darkness.

  9. Healing Light

  St. Patrick's Day, 1981

  Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I'm so drunk, I can hardly

  write. Ballynigel just put on a St Paddy's party to end all

  parties. All the townspeople, everyone, gathered together to

  have a good time in the village. Human or witch, we all agree

  on St. Paddy's Day, the wearing of the green.

  Pat O'Hearn dyed all his beer green, and it was sloshing

  into mugs, into pails, into shoes, anything. Old Jowson gave

  some to his donkey, and that donkey has never been so tame of

  good-natured! I laughed until I had to hold my sides in.

  The Irish Cowboys played their music all afternoon right

  in the town green, and we danced and pinched each other, and

  the kids were throwing cabbages and potatoes. We had a good