While Brannaugh packed what they’d need, she thought again of that long-ago morning, rushing to do her mother’s bidding, packing all she was told to pack. So urgent, she thought now, so final. And that last look at her mother, burning with the power left in her, outside the cabin in the woods.
Now she packed to go back, a duty, a destiny she’d always accepted. Eagerly wished for—until the birth of her first child, until that swamping flood of love for the boy who even now raced about all but feverish in his excitement.
But she had a task yet to face here.
She gathered what she needed—bowl, candle, book, the herbs and stones. And with a glance at her little boy, felt both pride and regret.
“It is time for him, for this,” she told Eoghan.
Understanding, he kissed her forehead. “I’ll take Sorcha up. It’s time she was abed.”
Nodding, she turned to Brin, called him.
“I’m not tired. Why can’t we leave now and sleep under the stars?”
“We leave on the morrow, but first there are things we must do, you and I.”
She sat, opened her arms. “First, come sit with me. My boy,” she murmured, when he crawled onto her lap. “My heart. You know what I am.”
“Ma,” he said and cuddled into her.
“I am, but you know, as I’ve never hidden it from you, what I am besides. Dark witch, keeper of magicks, daughter of Sorcha and Daithi. This is my blood. This is your blood as well. See the candle?”
“You made the candle. Ma’s make the candles and bake the cakes, and Da’s ride the horses.”
“Is that the way of it?” She laughed, and decided she’d let him have that illusion for a little while more. “Well, it’s true enough I made the candle. See the wick, Brin? The wick is cold and without light. See the candle, Brin, see the wick. See the light and flame, the tiny flame, a
nd the heat, the light to be. You have the light in you, the flame in you. See the wick, Brin.”
She crooned it to him, over and over, felt his energy begin to settle, his thoughts begin to join with her.
“The light is power. The power is light. In you, of you, through you. Your blood, my blood, our blood, your light, my light, our light. Feel what lives in you, what waits in you. See the wick, it waits for your light. For your power. Bring it. Let it rise, slow, slow, gentle and clean. Reach for it, for it belongs to you. Reach, touch, rise. Bring the light.”
The wick sparked, died away, sparked again, then burned true.
Brannaugh pressed a kiss to the top of his head. There, she thought, there, the first learned. And her boy would never be just a child again.
Joy and sorrow, forever entwined.
“That is well done.”
He turned his face up, smiled at her. “Can I do another?”
“Aye,” she said, kissed him again. “But heed me now, and well, for there is more to learn, more to know. And the first you must know, must heed, must vow is you harm none with what you are, what you have. Your gift, Brin? An’ it harm none. Swear this to me, to yourself, to all who’ve come before, all who will come after.”
She lifted her athame, used it on her palm. “A blood oath we make. Mother to son, son to mother, witch to witch.”
Solemn-eyed, he held out his hand to her, blinked at the quick pain when she nicked it.
“An’ it harm none,” he said when she took his hand, mixed her blood with his.
“An’ it harm none,” she repeated, then gathered him close, kissed the little hurt, healed it. “Now, you may do another candle. And after, together, we will make charms, for protection. For you, for your sister, for your father.”
“What of you, Ma?”
She touched her pendant. “I have what I need.”
• • •