Hawkmoon (The Hawkmoon Chronicles) (2 page)

He woke to the sound of  laughter fading. It was  dark.. He thought of the woman. The way she smiled, her hair, the shape of her face… her breasts.  His face was itchy.  Rubbing the skin,./ his hand came away with flakes of dried blood…The evening brought a cold breeze. Standing on the mountain he felt a longing deeper than he had ever known.  .

                                                          Assassins.

The second moon lifted above the horizon. Once upon a time the moon was a child; a naughty boy watched over by his sister. Charged by their mother to keep him out of mischief, he teased her by running away. One day the boy ran into the Forest, daring his sister to catch him. He ran so far that when he stopped he was lost. He cried and called out but he had gone too far. His sister wandered the woods calling his name, and crying. Mother would beat her.  Hearing their cries the God  of the Land sent a plea to the God Beyond the World who changed them into moons and fixed them in the sky. The boy never frightened his sister again. Scorpio was rising, the sign of doctors and poisoners. 

A soft breeze caressed her face as she strolled with her husband on a beach of black volcanic sand . Gasping she sat down, arms around her midriff. Her husband knelt by her, his face a mask of concern.  Marcus lifted the cloth above her thighs... Each night he massaged her with oil which, the old lady that sold it to them had promised would ease the marks of pregnancy. Work roughened hands turned to velvet as he eased   the tension  in her  back and shoulders..

She wore a light cotton shift and open toed sandals The beach at night  was their   place for  lovemaking.  In the last months, conscious of her expanding girth, they had  resorted to their home  beyond the dunes.  They returned by the path through  scrubland to the woods beyond. The house stood on a rise behind trees.

They were approaching the end of the path when footsteps came behind. Two men followed on the sand.  A third stood waiting on the dunes, outlined against the stars. Armour glinted in the moonlight. Marcus put his hand in the small of her back. “Get to the trees and hide”. Mira stopped confused. “Move, he growled, his anger breaking through her confusion. Her feet sank in the sand. Stepping from her sandals she began to walk as quickly as her bulk would allow. A shout made her look back. One of them was charging at her husband, a sword raised.  Moving inside the arc of the blade Marcus threw a fistful of sand in the face of his attacker.   While the swordsman struggled to clear  his eyes Marcus  handled   a length of driftwood  and smashed it  on the  killer’s helmet.. There was no time to finish the first; the second was closing. Picking  the weapon out of the sand he blocked an overhand cut and  darted  the blade at his opponent. The assassin  stepped back then  lunged, blade  carried low. Marcus   trapped the sword. Disengaging  with a  turn of the wrist he slashed at his  attacker . Blood  spurted in the  sand.

“Marcus”, 

He looked across. “Get down”. A snap came from behind her.  Something struck her husband in the chest. “No”, she screamed. Stumbling back, she reached the place where he had fallen. In the moonlight blood   poured from his mouth, bubbles forming at his lips. His breathing made a sucking noise. He lifted a hand to her face with a look that would live in her soul for the rest of her days.

Sand shifted under the weight of a foot. Looking up,   a tall figure armoured and caped, stood outlined against the night. He held a crossbow aimed at her husband. She flung herself across his body. A hand gripped her hair and wrenched her back  with contemptuous ease. Ignoring her, the killer turned to fire at her husband. Catching the glint of a blade she reached for it. Alerted by the attempt the killer turned. For a moment they looked at each other. Eyes in shadow he moved his hand in a tight arc  and punched her in the stomach. Her world exploded in pain.

                                                               Black Moll

“Hey you” He looked about in a haze of pain….

“Open that gate after you” A wizened little man stood in tweed jacket, breeches , heavy boots, with a blackthorn stick .It was  McGinty.  Jack looked down the hill; he was on the old fellow’s land. “Haven’t I enough to be worrying about, without annoyin’ their equals. Haven’t I?” He said, brandishing the cudgel. McGinty came of a line of faction fighters.

“What day is it?”

McGinty waved the club. “What day is it, indeed? Look around you and tell me what day d’ye think it is.”

Every gate and half gate were  open. The gate at the boreen, the gate to the farmyard, the door of the main house, the dairy and all the gates on the meadows; none were closed. Ribbons were tied to trees. McGinty’s boots were white with ash .The smoking remains of fires in the lower field, cows grazing around them. It was May Day, the festival of Spring.  Bonfires had been lit at sunrise, the cattle   driven between the flames to protect them for the coming year...

This was the time for  the Shee  to ride out   in the world they once ruled . During their progress they  would seek out handsome men and lovely women  to seduce into returning with them. Fine men to lie with old crones who would use magic to look like comely maidens….strapping girls to warm the bed of a Faery chieftain. On that day of the year all gates were to be left open lest they hinder their progress. Misfortune would come to any careless enough to forget.

“I’m sorry Paddy, I wasn’t thinking.”

McGinty’s   face changed. Temper cooling, he saw the state of the boy; clothes torn and bloody. Face caked in blood…

McGinty peered into Jack’s face. He stank of magic.  Somewhere on the mountain he  had met with the Folk.. And something else. Something deadly. He would have to be minded in case he wandered off and got himself lost. McGinty wished Moll were back

“Come on up to the house. You’ll drink tay; of course you will”. Taking Ryan by the arm he led him away. Moll had decorated the lintels, door and windows with May flowers. The fire was out. It would be lit when she came home. There were Rowan trees planted around the house.  A trial to witches ,their kind would avoid it. Underneath were clumps of Houseleek, close relatives of garlic, they were a better charm than the trees.  Useful for anything that came looking for blood. Moll had planted them in pots.

The half door stood open. On the facing wall, hanging from a nail, was an iron Crucifix wrapped with Rosary beads.. Underneath a font, with holy water from a well on their land. The well came up by a Mass rock where the people came to meet their priest in the years when the English  attempted to drive  the Roman  faith out of Ireland.

“Where’s Moll?”

“She’s away over the glen with a cure for sick childer.”

They talked about the raids by the Tans, the exploits of the Boys, as the I.R.A. were known. McGinty was as cross as a bag of cats. For all that he was kind and brave as a lion. A  turf fire , fresh baked bread The smells reminded him of all the years he had known in  this house.

The sound of a pony and trap  came from the yard .McGinty peered out. “T’is herself”.Molly McGinty  came in with a basket of flowers . She was a handsome woman, of medium height with a strong build. Her hair was  red with gold highlights... In her time she had  been the finest looking girl in the Parish.. They called her Black Moll because of her strange ways, visiting places no one should go near; in the woods at dawn picking   herbs…

Women shunned  her until their children got sick. Then it was “The blessin’s of God on you Moll”  and “God look down and bless you  Molly McGinty”. Later  when they passed her on the road they wouldn’t look to see what side of it she was walking on...Moll doted on Ryan as only a childless woman could.

“God bless you, John Ryan. “

“And you ,Moll”.Crossing  to her husband she embraced him . McGinty patted her arm, peaceful now that she was home. The men of the area would bed her but they wouldn’t marry her. She had been twenty , he was forty six when they met.. It was a happy union. Moll made no secret of her affection for the Oul Fella, as she called him. As for McGinty the sun rose and set by her.

Moll crossed to where he sat by the fire. Crouching before him she took his hands in both of hers, looking deep into his eyes.” What way are you?”

“I’m grand. Moll.” She looked at the dried blood, the torn clothes, then at McGinty who shook his head. “I fell in the bushes”

.“Did you indeed John and where might that be?”

Ryan looked down. “Poulnafulla.”There was a hiss of annoyance from  McGinty

“Is that where you’re hiding?”

He nodded. “No one goes there or talks about it. I’m safe”

“John I told you to stay away from Poulnafulla. Nothing is safe there. Neither man nor beast”

“I know you did Moll. Up to now I would have laughed at you. I did laugh at you.” As he gazed  into eyes full of worry a stench  wafted  from the doorway. A puck goat stood at the half  door chewing on one of  McGinty’s shirts. Moll  held her gaze on Jack“Paddy McGinty hunt that yoke of a goat out before I hit it with the hatchet” McGinty jumped to his feet as if launched from  a spring. The goat was dragged to the far side of the yard where McGinty tied him to a column of the hay barn.

“He’s only a goat”. Said McGinty as he  sat down. “So are you”. McGinty chuckled. “ Find something to do, she ordered. McGinty left the kitchen once more.Moll stood, bringing him to his feet. “Take off your clothes, I want to see where you’re hurt” Ryan hesitated.

Moll put her fists on her hips.“John Ryan, I  was washin’ your arse before you knew you had an arse. Strip  yourself”. Moll went into the scullery. She returned with towels, bandages  and a biscuit tin. Most of the cuts were on the front. Except for the forehead and groin none of them needed more than cleaning and a dab of iodine. Moll stitched the flap of skin over his eye. She hissed when she saw the cut on his groin.

“You could have died”

He told her  what had come to pass at the Cave of Blood. Moll handed him a dressing robe Walking  to the door, she called her husband. The old fellow came in from the yard where he had been tending the puck.

“Tell it again”

Jack recalled the events, this time in more detail. When he finished McGinty looked at his wife. “Who was she?”

“Not one of the folk, I know  that much… She has a taste for blood….Not of the Shee but she has standing among them. She passed through the veil at the place and time she needed to find him. I’m worried about the blood. Now that she has tasted him there is no place where she won’t be able to find him. Not in this world, not on the other side”

“Is she a daughter of the Little Sun?”McGinty asked.Moll shook her head,

“This was a beautiful woman, beyond words”. Jack interjected.

“Describe her”.He  told them. He did not mention her breasts but he blushed and Moll saw it.

The grandfather clock chimed in the hallway. Without notice the day was settling to evening. Moll lit the fire and started to make supper. It allowed her a chance for thinking. She had raised the boy after his mother had passed.  She looked long at him where he sat talking to McGinty. He had not come from her body but she doubted if she could love him more. Adding flour to the mixing bowl she kneaded dough, strong hands moving as her mind worked. Of all the days in the year Beltane was the time when the membrane between worlds became  thin enough to let creatures of  magic  cross over . Most of them were harmless, if avoided.

“I am going out for a while” She said taking a shawl from the back of the door “I will make supper when I get back. McGinty looked after her as she went. This was  part of her custom on Mayday. He knew who she had gone to see.

  The evening brought mist on the glen. It swirled from the heights down into the farmyard, sidling by the walls, creeping through doors. Wrapping herself in the shawl she  started up the track. Soon the yard and house were  lost in  the murk. As she went her footsteps were muffled. It became cooler. She was sweating as she came out of the mist at the top of the mountain. She walked through a stretch of mountain bog where the people would soon  be cutting turf . In the Summer McGinty would fetch Paudy O Callaghan from the town to foot the turf. In return Paudy would do his utmost to eat them out of house and home. Beside his own turf McGinty built another, smaller rick to light the fire of the Widow Carmody, who lived down the glen Emerging at the top she had a clear view out to  the Atlantic. She sat on a slab of flat rock. As the sun dipped someone sat beside her. An old woman dressed in black, her face covered.

“Hallo Mother”.

“Hallo Moll” The old lady replied. “Only you know I sit here of an evening. Yet you rarely come to see me”

“Because I don’t want to be drawn into your world. Did you see the boy?

“I did, he is well”

“Mother, he is not well, He was hurt and now he is under  enchantment by a bitch that came with the Shee” Moll told the Hag everything that had passed.

“All men are under the enchantment of women in some way or other, as we are by them. It is the magic of life. What is it you seek? “

“I want to know about her. Who is she and what does she want with the boy?”

“He is not a boy,” said the Hag. “He is a warrior. He fights for my land and I love him for it. As to her she is one of great power. She has marked him for service in her world.  Not as a lover...One of her kind would not spend herself to cross the Void for the sake of lust. She would have all her appetites call for at her side”.

“Can you stop this?”

“Moll, you have to understand… there is a balance. If one is taken another returns. If one gives service on one side, it must be repaid on the other.  If one goes, one will come, or several. The balance will be kept”

“Can you protect him?” Moll asked in desperation..

“The night he came into the world I sat by him while his mother slept. He told me his dreams. He will be great. He will   walk with demons and be served by them. In their way they will love him. If I sought to intervene on her side it would give her leave to interfere on mine. I can’t have that. What must be, must be”

Moll looked at the old one in the gathering dark. “So there is nothing you can do for him. All the years I have known you. I never asked for a thing. Now you refuse the only thing I ask. My heart is breaking.”

“I can promise you this, when the time is right, what little I can do I will do”.

“Will I ever see him again?”

“That is yet to be written Molly. You must give him over to the power that shapes all destinies”. The Hag placed her withered hand on Moll’s stomach. “You will have your own concerns very shortly. There is new life in you”.

Moll stared at the Hag, crushed with sorrow, dizzy with joy in the space of heartbeats.“McGinty is a goat after all”. The old lady cackled. Moll left the Hag  on the rock as the old one  gazed down on her land. Moll was out of sight when the old lady called her back. She handed Moll a glass bottle   and bid her drink.

“Do not practice Magic while you are with child. All your power is now going to the baby.  Demons like nothing better than to trouble   a pregnant woman. Give this to the boy and tell him to wear it .It will give him some protection” . It was an amulet of a bird in front of the moon. “Don’t forget me, craythur” She called as Moll left her on the mountain.

It was  pitch by the time she came  through the front door. McGinty had the fire ablaze and the stew bubbling on the crane above it. Moll took down plates from the dresser. She wanted to shout her news but decided to wait. This was a moment for herself and her husband . Cutting slices of bread she covered then with butter and poured glasses of milk. They sat at table in silence, each wrapped in their thoughts.

McGinty knew Moll had gone on the mountain to meet the Hag . She did this every Beltane. Moll would  ask if there was anything that could be done to change what was to come. He knew the answer she would get.