Eclipse

11. Morgan

After ten minutes of holding Ciaran in a binding spell, I began to feel that I should have let him sit down first. Because I felt a little guilty that one of the most evil witches in the last two centuries, a man responsible for hundreds if not thousands of deaths, a man who had, in fact, killed my mother, was possibly getting uncomfortable having to stand still in one place for so long! I’m so pathetic, I just can’t stand myself sometimes.

I was leaning against a headstone, occasionally walking around to keep warm, when Hunter and his father arrived. I had never been so glad to see another person in my life. I felt them get out of Hunter’s car; then Hunter led his father through the woods to the Methodist cemetery. I hurried forward to meet them.

“Thanks for coming,” I said, wrapping my arms around Hunter’s waist and leaning my head against his chest for a second. I kept part of my concentration on Ciaran but knew he couldn’t budge that binding spell. I’d always been good at them. “Things got a little crazy.”

“What’s going on?” Hunter held me by my shoulders and looked down into my face with concern.

“Over here.” I waved my hand limply toward Ciaran, and Hunter took a few steps before he spotted him. Then he froze, his hands already coming up for ward-evil spells. “He’s under a binding spell,” I said quickly.

“Goddess,” Mr. Niall breathed hoarsely, having spotted Ciaran.

Hunter turned and looked at me like I had suddenly revealed elf wings on my back.

I shook my head, unsure of how to begin. “I just couldn’t stand the fact that all this was happening because of me. If I weren’t here, Amyranth would have left Kithic alone. I felt like it was all my fault. I decided to contact Ciaran, to try to reason with him.”

I glanced at Ciaran and almost shivered at the look in his eyes. He seemed less recognizable, his eyes glittering darkly, with none of the mild affection or warmth that they usually held.

“So you called him to meet you here?” Hunter asked, disbelief in his voice. “And he came?”

“Uh-huh. And he said that if I didn’t join him that he would have to take out our coven. Because I was too dangerous to live if I wasn’t on his side. Because I was the—the, um, sgiùrs dàn? Something like that. Then he put a binding spell on me—”

“Hold it,” Hunter interrupted. “Wait a second. He said you were the sgiùrs dàn?” He looked at Ciaran questioningly, but the older man’s face didn’t change.

“Yes. Then he put a binding spell on me, and I thought I was going to die, right here, tonight. But I distracted him for a second, and broke his concentration, and managed to put a binding spell on him.” I rubbed my hand across my forehead, feeling old and sick and tired.

“How did you distract him?” Hunter asked.

I glanced at Mr. Niall—I thought he’d been way too quiet. In the night’s darkness he almost glowed with a white rage. He was standing stiffly, hands clenched into fists. He looked like he might attack Ciaran at any moment.

“I created a pocket of steam, under that tree’s bark,” I explained, pointing. “It made the bark pop off hard, and it distracted Ciaran just enough for me to be able to use my hand and to speak.”

“What did you say that got you out of the binding spell?” asked Mr. Niall, his voice hard.

“I said... his true name.” The last three words tiptoed out of my mouth. I had never told anyone that I knew Ciaran’s true name, and part of me didn’t like telling anyone now.

Hunter’s eyes got so big, I could see white all around the green irises. His jaw went slack, and then he cocked his head to one side. “Morgan. You said what?”

“I said his true name,” I repeated. “Then I made him take off the binding spell.”

Both Hunter and Mr. Niall looked from me to Ciaran: they had suddenly found themselves in a situation that defied all reason. Ciaran’s eyes now seemed as black as the night, and considering that all he could do was blink, he managed to put a lot of scary expression into it.

“And I put a binding spell on him,” I finished. “Then I called you. I don’t know what to do now.”

Just then, with a hoarse cry, Mr. Niall launched himself at Ciaran. Using his shoulder, he butted Ciaran hard in the stomach, then followed him down to the ground and pulled back his fist. I was already on my way to them when Hunter’s father landed a hard blow to the side of Ciaran’s head. Hunter beat me there and tried to pull his father off, but finally it took both of us to drag Mr. Niall away.

“Da, stop it,” Hunter panted, pinning his father down with one knee. “This isn’t the time or the place. Get ahold of yourself.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Mr. Niall spat, and I got angry.

“No, you’re not!” I snapped. “I understand how you feel, but you don’t decide what happens to him. That’s the council’s job.”

“No, not the council.” Hunter shook his head. “They’ve bungled things twice with him already. No—it’s up to us. We have to strip him of his powers.”

Ciaran lay on the ground like a mummy where he had fallen. He hadn’t displayed much response when Mr. Niall had attacked him, but now, at Hunter’s words, real fear entered his eyes. I had seen a witch stripped of his powers once, and I’d hoped never to see it again. The idea of seeing it happen to Ciaran was stomach turning. Yet I knew, realistically, that there was no other real option. If we let Ciaran go, he would be exactly the same. He would continue to create the dark wave, killing anything that got in his way. He would always be a threat to me, no matter what kind of promise I could get out of him. Once more I met his gaze and saw the disappointment there, the rage, the regret. I looked away.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said roughly, trying not to cry. “I guess you need five witches.”

“We have three here,” said Hunter. If he was surprised by my acquiescence, he didn’t show it.

“I can’t do it,” I said immediately. “Get someone else.”

Hunter took his knee off his dad’s chest and warily let him up. Mr. Niall slowly got to his feet and stalked off to lean against a weatherworn headstone. Hunter stood quite still for a couple of minutes, and I knew he was sending witch messages. Without looking at Ciaran’s face, I went over and pulled him into a sitting position, awkwardly propping him up. There was a lot I wanted or needed to say to him, but I didn’t trust myself to speak. In my heart, I knew we were doing the best thing. After he was sitting up, I sank onto a cement bench nearby and concentrated on the binding spell.

Then we had to wait. Hunter came to sit next to me. I felt like I had been out here about three years and wanted to go home, curl up in my comforter, and cry until dawn.

“Morgan,” Hunter said, his voice pitched for me alone. “You never told me that you knew Ciaran’s true name.”

It was a statement, not a question, but I knew what he wanted.

“I learned it the night we shape-shifted,” I said. “It was part of his spell. I don’t know why I never told anyone. It just felt... wrong to tell.”

“Or maybe you didn’t want Ciaran to be that vulnerable to anyone else. Because whatever else he is, he helped make you.”

I frowned, not wanting to acknowledge this fact at the moment.

“All this time you knew his true name,” Hunter continued, rubbing his chin with one hand. “You could have done anything you wanted with it. You could have killed him, controlled him, turned him in to the council or to me. You could have bound him and done a tàth meànma brach so that you would have all his knowledge, all his skill.”

I shook my head. “No—I couldn’t have. I couldn’t have killed him, and somehow I just kept hoping that he would... be different. And I don’t want his knowledge or his skill. I don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

Hunter nodded. He was sitting close but not touching me, and I wondered how upset he was that I hadn’t told him.

It wasn’t long before we heard two cars driving up, and moments later we were joined by Alyce Fernbrake, Bethany Malone, and a woman I didn’t recognize.

“Where’s Finn?” Hunter asked.

“He couldn’t come,” Alyce said, and the way she said it made me think he just hadn’t wanted to come. I didn’t blame him. “This is Silver Hennessy.”

Awkward introductions were made—we all knew why we were here: he was sitting ten feet away from us. I started to feel queasy and had to sit down again.

“More than five witches can take part,” Hunter said to me. “Five is the minimum number.”

“I can’t,” I said, and he didn’t press me.

Having to do this particular rite out in the woods, with no advance warning, wasn’t ideal. Usually the witch in charge chooses a suitable time and place, where the phase of the moon helps lessen the discomfort or the place feels more protected. Ciaran, because of his very nature, couldn’t be held for any length of time. It would be here and now.

Hunter had brought his athame, and now he drew a pentacle on the ground, about eight feet across. The litter of leaves obscured the ground, but he muttered some words and raised his athame high. Then he traced it on the ground, and it left a fine, faintly glowing azure line.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at Ciaran, to see the increasing rage and panic on his face. Instead, I huddled on my cement bench, my head on my knees. I knew that using his true name had been the right thing to do. I also knew that I would feel badly about doing it for a long, long time. Bethany Malone and Alyce both came and sat next to me, and I felt the warmth of them on each side of me. Bethany put her arm around my shoulders, and Alyce patted my cold knee. I leaned my head against Alyce, grateful she was here. I didn’t know Silver Hennessy, but I completely trusted Bethany and Alyce and knew that Ciaran was lucky they were performing the rite.

Mr. Niall stood close to Hunter, as if watching to make sure he was setting the rite up correctly. Occasionally they murmured to each other. Mr. Niall refused to look at Ciaran or me, but I felt that he was trying to release some of his own fury and pain. He would need a clear head to participate in this.

Soon Alyce left me and went to sit by Ciaran with Silver. Alyce was just about the gentlest, least judgmental person I had ever known, but the look she gave Ciaran was reserved and sad. I knew that Ciaran must be feeling incredibly sore and stiff by now, but of course I couldn’t lessen the binding spell. And this was nothing compared to how he would feel an hour from now. Not that he didn’t deserve it. Every once in a while I felt a rough growl in my mind, as if a trapped animal were trying to break free.

It was Ciaran, trying to claw his way through the binding spell.

Sitting there, remembering the last time I had seen this rite, I realized we needed to make some arrangement about Ciaran, for afterward. I left Bethany, went over to Hunter, and waited until he paused and met my eyes.

“I think I should call Killian to come get him,” I said very quietly. “None of us is going to want to take care of him afterward.”

For long moments Hunter looked at me, then he nodded. “That’s good thinking, Morgan. Can you send the message?”

I nodded and went back to sit next to Bethany on my bench, where I concentrated and sent a witch message to my half brother Killian MacEwan, the only one of my half siblings I had met. Despite being extremely different, we had forged a somewhat caring relationship. After tonight, I assumed, that would be over.

When Killian answered me, he was in Poughkeepsie, an hour and a half away. I asked him to come to Widow’s Vale at once and told him it was important, but didn’t tell him why. He said he would, and I hoped he meant it.

At last Hunter stood. “All right, I think we can begin.”

Bethany squeezed my shoulder, stroked my hair briefly, then joined Hunter, Alyce, and Silver as they lifted Ciaran and carried him into the middle of the pentacle. Mr. Niall stayed away—I wondered if he didn’t trust himself to get close to Ciaran without attacking him.

The four witches bent Ciaran’s unresisting body so he was kneeling on the ground with his arms by his sides. Then Hunter ran his hands over Ciaran, taking off anything metal, taking off his shoes, loosening his collar, his cuffs. He was quick and efficient, but not rough.

I saw a tiny muscle jerking in Ciaran’s cheek. With no warning a sudden, searing pain ripped into my mind. I cried out and pressed my hand to the side of my head. I heard Hunter shout and felt a flash fire of panic in the air around me. In an instant I realized it was Ciaran, trying to break free. Without looking I flung out my hand, singing out Ciaran’s true name. The pain in my head dulled, and when I raised my eyes, I saw Ciaran sprawled motionless on his side on the cold ground. He had almost made it. He had almost broken free.

Hunter looked over at me questioningly.

I nodded. “I have him,” I said shakily, rubbing the dull ache in my skull.

“Right. One more time,” Hunter said, and again he and the women propped Ciaran into a kneeling position. I knew that if I hadn’t managed to stop Ciaran so quickly, we’d all be dead now.

Then Hunter stood at the top of the pentacle, and the other four arranged themselves around the points. With closed eyes and bowed heads, each witch concentrated on relaxing, on letting go of emotion, on releasing any anger they might have. After several minutes Hunter raised his head, and I saw that he was a Seeker and no longer just someone I loved.

“East, south, west, and north,” he began, “we call on your guardians to help us in this sad rite. Goddess and God, we invoke your names, your spirits, your powers here tonight so that we may act fairly, with justice and compassion. Here, under the full moon of this, the first and last month of the year, we have gathered to take from Ciaran MacEwan his magick and his powers, as punishment for crimes committed against human and witch, woman and man and child. Alyce of Starlocket, are you in agreement?”

“Yes,” Alyce said faintly.

“Bethany of Starlocket, are you in agreement?”

“Yes.” Her voice was more strong.

“Silver of Starlocket, are you in agreement?”

“Yes.”

“Daniel of Turloch-eigh, are you in agreement?”

“Aye.” His voice was like a rasp.

“No more shall he wake a witch,” Hunter said.

Silver, Alyce, Bethany, and Mr. Niall all repeated, “No more shall he wake a witch.”

“No more shall he know the beauty and terror of your power,” Hunter said, and they repeated it. I heard it echoing in my mind as I rocked myself back and forth on the cold cement.

“No more shall he do harm to any living thing.”

“No more shall he be one of us.”

“Ciaran MacEwan, we have met, and in the name of witches everywhere, we have passed judgment on you. You have called on the dark wave, you are responsible for untold deaths, you have participated in other rites of darkness that are abhorrent to those who follow the Goddess. Tonight you will have your powers stripped from you. Do you understand?”

There was no response from Ciaran, but the muffled clawing sensation in my head increased. I raised my voice from where I was. “He’s trying to break the binding spell,” I said.

“Strengthen it,” Hunter said gently, and I closed my eyes and did as he said.

When Hunter had stripped David Redstone of his powers, Sky had used a drumbeat to guide our energy. Tonight the five witches began chanting, first one and then another, and kept time with rhythmic stamping of their feet on the ground. Hunter’s voice was deeper and rougher than the women’s; Mr. Niall’s sounded thinner and weaker. Everyone looked sad. Their voices blended and wove together, but instead of the beautiful, exhilarating power chants I was used to, this one seemed harsh, mournful, more cacophonous. I felt the increasing energy in the air around me; goose bumps broke out on on my arms, and my hair felt full of static. I could feel that every animal and bird had left the area. I didn’t blame them.

When I looked down, I saw that the star, the pentagram, had begun to glow with a whiter light—their energy. I knew what was coming next, and my stomach clenched. I drew my knees up again and held them tightly against myself and felt that I would bear the scars of this night forever. As would Ciaran.

The chanting ended abruptly, and Hunter bent to touch his athame to the white lines of energy. The knife glowed briefly, and when Hunter raised it, it seemed to draw up a pale, whitish blue film, like smoke or cotton candy. Slowly Hunter walked around the pentacle, drawing this light around Ciaran, as if he were at the bottom of a slow, beautiful tornado. When the light reached the top of Ciaran’s head, Hunter gave me a sharp look.

“Take off the binding spell.”

Praying he knew what he was doing, I released my father. In a split second he sprang up, roaring like a tortured animal, and just as quickly he seemed to hit the barrier of light and drop like a dead thing to the ground, where he lay on his side. He could move now, and his hands clutched at his clothes, at his hair. His bare feet moved convulsively, and he drew in on himself like a snail, trying to avoid any contact with the light. His eyes were closed, his mouth working soundlessly.

A sob erupted from deep within me, then another and another. No longer having to concentrate on holding the spell, my emotions poured out, and I was so shaken and upset that I wasn’t even embarrassed. Through my tears I saw glistening traces on Alyce’s face, on Bethany’s. Silver looked deeply saddened. Mr. Niall looked calm, focused. Hunter looked grim, purposeful, not angry or hateful. Still chanting quietly by himself, he spiraled the energy around Ciaran, slowly and completely. When at last he lifted the athame away, it swirled around Ciaran unaided.

Then the images began, the images that defined who Ciaran had been, who he had become. Watching through my tears, still shaking with sobs, I saw a boy, handsome and happy, running across a green Scottish field with a kite. It was diving groundward, and with a flick of his hand, young Ciaran sent it back up to the clouds. I saw fourteen-year-old Ciaran being initiated, wearing a dark, almost black robe sprinkled with silver threads. He looked very solemn, and I felt that in his eyes there was already a glimmer of the witch he would become. Ciaran aged in the visions, and we saw teenage Ciaran courting girls, working on spells, having arguments with a man I thought must have been his father—my grandfather. Then to my shock, I saw a teenage Ciaran with a young Selene Belltower, just for an instant. I blinked, and there was Ciaran, being wed to Grania, her belly already round with their first child, Kyle. My breath stopped, sobs caught in my throat, as I saw Ciaran with the woman I recognized as Maeve Riordan, my birth mother. Maeve and Ciaran were wrapped tightly together, clinging to each other as if to be separated would equal death. Then Maeve was crying, turning away from him, and Ciaran was staring after her, his hands clenched. I saw Ciaran darkly silhouetted against the bright background of a burning barn. On and on it went, these images being born from the energy and floating upward to disappear into nothingness. On the ground, Ciaran lay jerking as if he were having a seizure, and I could make out a thin keening coming from him.

The images turned darker then, and I flinched as I saw Ciaran performing blood sacrifices, then using spells against other witches who cowered before him in pain. I felt ill as I saw him calling the dark wave, saw the exultation in his face, how he felt the glory of that power as before him whole villages were decimated, the people fleeing pointlessly. It grew to be too much, and I closed my eyes, resting my head on my knees.

When I looked up next, I saw myself and Ciaran hugging, I saw us turning into wolves, and even from over where I was, I felt Alyce’s and Silver’s surprise. And then we were at tonight, when I had used his true name and he had been bound. When the last image had floated away and no more were coming, I knew that we had seen his life unraveling before us, seen the destruction of everything that had made him who and what he was.

My blood father lay unmoving on the cold March ground. Hunter drew his athame, and slowly the swirling energy surrounded it and seemed to be absorbed by it. When the last of the energy had gone, Hunter sheathed the knife and went to stand over Ciaran.

“Ciaran MacEwan, witch of the Woodbanes, is now ended,” Hunter said. “The Goddess teaches us that every ending is also a beginning. May there be a rebirth from this death.”

With those words, the rite was over.

When David had been stripped, Hunter had brought him healing tea, and Alyce had held him as he cried. I knew no one would do that for Ciaran. I wanted to go sit next to him, but my guilt was too great. Then Alyce, softly rounded, dressed in her trademark lavender and gray, knelt down on the ground near where Ciaran lay crumpled.

Hunter came and sat next to me on the cement bench, carefully not touching me. He seemed much older than nineteen and looked like he’d been battling a long illness.

Bethany stooped, touched Ciaran’s temple once, then came to me and did the same thing. I felt her caring, her concern, and then she left through the woods. Silver Hennessey came to clasp Hunter’s hand, then she, too, left, after a sympathetic glance at me.

Mr. Niall strode over to us. “I’m off, lad,” he said in his odd, rough voice. “Good work.”

I gazed stonily at the ground.

“Morgan,” he said, surprising me. “It was a hard thing. But you did right.” I didn’t look up as he walked away.

Alyce stayed by Ciaran, and Hunter stayed by me. We were all silent. It was past four o’clock in the morning, and I felt that I would never sleep or eat or laugh again.

We sat in the darkness like that for another hour until we heard Killian crashing through the woods, and then he emerged through the cedars and pines.

“Hey, sis,” he said cheerfully, and it was clear he’d been drinking. Great—he’d driven here from Poughkeepsie. He ignored Hunter, which wasn’t unusual.

“Killian,” I whispered. I had no idea what to say—words didn’t cover this situation. I motioned over to where Ciaran lay on the ground.

If I had seen my real father, Sean Rowlands, lying on the ground in the woods in the middle of the night, I would have run over immediately. But Killian wasn’t me, and Ciaran wasn’t anything like my real father, so instead Killian just gaped at him.

“What’s happened, then?” he asked.

“Amyranth has been casting dark wave spells,” I said tonelessly. “Ciaran wanted me to join him and Amyranth. I said no. So he decided to bring the dark wave on Kithic. I met him here tonight, and then a group of five witches stripped him of his powers.”

Killian’s eyes widened almost comically. He couldn’t even think of what to ask or say, just kept looking from me to Hunter to Ciaran in astonishment.

“No,” he finally said, all traces of alcohol gone from his voice. “He has no powers? Are you sure?”

“We’re sure,” Hunter said, not sounding proud about it.

“You stripped Da of his powers. Ciaran MacEwan.”

I understood why he was having a hard time with it. Ciaran seemed invincible—unless you knew his true name.

“Can you please take him to a safe place until he’s better?” I asked.

Killian still seemed unsure whether or not this was reality. “Aye,” he said hesitantly. “Aye. I know a place.”

“I’ll help you get him to your car,” said Hunter. “Watch him closely. He’ll be very weak for a while, but when he’s able to move, he might... hurt himself.”

“Aye,” said Killian, slowly absorbing the meaning of Hunter’s words. He gave me a quick backward glance, then walked over to the father he had feared and respected. Alyce edged back to give him room. Killian put a hand on Ciaran’s shoulder and flinched when he saw Ciaran’s face. I looked away. Then Hunter and Killian walked away through the woods, supporting Ciaran between them.

Alyce got up slowly and came to sit by me. “It was a hard thing, my dear,” she said.

“It hurts,” I said inadequately.

“It needs to hurt, Morgan,” she said gently, rubbing my back. “If you had done this without it hurting, you would be a monster.”

Like Ciaran, I thought. Hunter came back, alone. Alyce kissed my cheek and left, going back through the woods the way she had come. With only Hunter as my witness, I let go and began to cry. He sat down next to me and put his arms around me, hard and familiar. I leaned against him and sobbed until I thought I would make myself sick. And still there was pain inside.

“Morgan, Morgan,” Hunter barely murmured. “I love you. I love you. It will be all right.”

I had no idea how he could say that.