Gavin Smith - The Age of Scorpio

He touched his head. He could feel its weight pressing down. He tried to block out what the crystal wanted to show him. It felt like there were thousands of screaming spirits somehow just out of sight, hiding. Those that didn’t scream whispered obscene things to him in impossible tongues. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember the words of the chant. He let it run through his head over and over again. A string of simple syllables but with power, sometimes the words were enough for peace.

‘Are you here because you want to be? Or to anger Fachtna?’ Teardrop asked with his eyes closed.

‘Do you think I care about Fachtna?’

Teardrop thought on the question. ‘No. No, I don’t,’ he conceded. ‘But I think you want something.’

‘I do,’ Britha replied.

Teardrop opened his eyes and turned to look at her. Since he had tasted of her blood and she of the crystal, he could see the demon blood burning inside her, and if he concentrated enough he could make out the thin strand of the Muileartach’s gift as well.

‘I want your power.’

‘Do you not have enough power?’

‘It’s not for me; it’s for my tribe. I will trade for it.’

‘What would you trade?’ Teardrop asked wearily.

‘What do you want?’

‘The secrets of the dryw ?’ he asked, going through the motions.

Britha gave this some thought. The knowledge and the magics that had been passed down to her in the groves were secret. There was a powerful prohibition against telling them to outsiders. On the other hand, this man undoubtedly had power. Britha reasoned that she would be able to add what she learned from Teardrop to the power and knowledge of the groves. She was also prepared to face whatever punishment she would incur for betraying them. After all, she had failed her people; she had to do whatever it took to bring them back. Besides, when she had obtained what she wanted of Teardrop, he could always be dealt with.

‘Perhaps,’ she answered. Teardrop turned to look at her. She wasn’t sure what she saw in his face, his strange features were so difficult to read. Sadness, perhaps, disappointment.

‘The secret of woman’s magics?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Britha went cold. That was another matter altogether. Betraying the magic of women to a man was everything the other ban draoi had taught her to guard against. Men were simpler creatures than women and there were just some things they could not and should not know, and if Britha angered the other ban draoi , nobody could wreak vengeance on someone like a woman could. Their magic was darkness, life and blood. They were connected to the moon and the land itself in the same way that men were connected to the sky. The consequences of betraying the dryw would be dire but she feared the ban draoi more.

She moved closer to him, took his free hand and placed it against her groin, and looked him straight in the eyes.

‘That would depend on which secrets you meant.’

Teardrop could feel the heat of her, ever through her robe. Her smell filled his nostrils. He wasn’t blind to her. He felt the stirrings of lust, but that just made him feel further from home. He wondered how much younger than him she was as he wrenched his hand free.

‘A seduction? You would pay for mere power with your body?’

‘It’s my body. I use it how it pleases me. There’s little payment involved it if pleases both of us,’ Britha said fiercely. Sex was an intrinsic part of her rites as well as a pleasure. There were many different reasons for having sex.

Teardrop turned away from her and looked out past the rocks at the darkness. The squirming in his head made the darkness come alive for him. This place was so strange and distant.

‘I have a family, and a wife I miss so much,’ he said.

Britha nodded. She could hear the sadness behind his words. She could also hear the honesty, and it sounded raw to her.

He turned to look at her. ‘And I think your heart – no, not your heart, maybe somewhere lower – wants another.’

Britha blinked at him. She was trying to think what she had said or done to give herself away. Was she under the control of magic? Had Bress done something to her and Teardrop could sense it?

‘We weren’t talking of hearts…’ she started.

‘We were talking of desire. Love Bress or help your people. Trying to do both is folly.’

‘I don’t lo— I have to have that power.’

Teardrop rubbed his eyes. He could feel it moving in his head. At times the pain was close to unbearable. Just after he had joined with it he had screamed and screamed, trying to claw it out with his fingernails. Now he just felt so tired.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. The price is too much. It would consume you. What you think of as you would cease to be.’

‘So who did you use to be?’ she asked.

Teardrop looked back at her, anger in his expression. You told her too much, old man , he thought. You gave her enough to hurt you . There was no triumph in her eyes.

The figure exploded out of the water, crossing the narrow strip of shore on all fours to where they stood. Pale skin in the moonlight as the figure leaped at Britha. Caught completely by surprise, she was carried to the ground, the figure on top of her. Britha was appalled to feel fingers under her robe, on her sex. A mouth on hers, a kiss that tasted of the sea, familiar except for needle-like teeth and the taste of blood and meat.

Teardrop was moving towards them, staff in his hand.

Britha fumbled for the iron-bladed knife in her rope belt. She grabbed her attacker by its long dark hair, yanked it back, and brought her head up and its head down at the same time. Britha’s attacker’s nose crashed into her forehead. There was a satisfying crunch and Britha felt something warm on her head. She stabbed at the figure with the blade but it had rolled away.

Teardrop reached them and raised his staff. Britha was also aware of the sound of someone sprinting towards them along the shore. The attacker leaped high into the air, legs curled tight under its body. Long, thin but powerful pale fingers ending in black claws grabbed the staff in mid-air. Both legs straightened into a double kick that caught Teardrop in the face and chest. He went flying, hitting the ground hard enough to wind him.

The figure landed on the ground just as Fachtna charged, his gently singing silver-bladed sword held high. The figure rolled towards Fachtna with incredible speed, closing the gap, grabbing the surprised warrior and then rolling back, using his momentum to throw him. Fachtna hit the ground face first.

Britha was on her feet, slashing with the knife at her attacker. The figure was bent low, hair covering its face, naked, obviously female. She hissed, backing away from the iron blade. Blood pouring from his face, Fachtna was back on his feet, angry, sword in hand and looking to hurt someone.

Teardrop, more cautiously, was trying to flank their attacker. His jaw hadn’t just been broken, it had been powdered and was hanging loose from his face. He’d heard and felt ribs crack and found himself short of breath. He felt bones grinding together in his chest as they healed rapidly. It hurt. A lot.

The attacker flicked her hair back and Britha saw Cliodna, almost. Britha stepped back, shocked by the changes wrought in her lover’s flesh. Her features were drawn back, angular, predatory. Lips opened to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. The gills on her neck sucked down air. Her body was leaner, there was something about it that made Britha think of a sword or a spear, with spikes of bone sticking out of newly formed fins on her forearms and lower legs, a spur of bone sticking out of each heel. She looked like a weapon now.