She went out, drew deep of the air, lifted her arms to stir the wind. And called the hawk.
He came on a cry that echoed over the trees and the hills beyond that, which caused servants in the castle by the river to cast their eyes up. His wings, spread wide, caught the glint of the winter sun. She lifted her arm so those wicked talons clutched on her leather glove.
Her eyes looked into his, and his into hers.
“Swift and wise, strong and fearless. You are Eamon’s, but mine as well. You will serve what comes from me. Mine will serve what comes from you. I have need of you, and ask this for my son, for your master and your servant.”
She showed him the knife, and his eyes never wavered.
“Roibeard, I ask of thee, a drop of blood from your breast times three. A single feather from your great wing, and for these gifts your praises I sing. To guard my son, this is done.”
She pricked him, held the small flask for the three drops. Plucked a single feather.
“My thanks,” she whispered. “Stay close.”
He lifted from her hand, but soared only to the branch of a tree. And closing his wings, watched.
She whistled for the dog. Kathel watched her with love, with trust. “You are Brannaugh’s, but mine as well,” she began, and repeated the ritual, gathering the three drops of blood, and a bit of fur from his flank.
Last, she moved into the shed, into the sound of her children laughing as they worked. She took strength from that. And stroked her hand down the pony’s face.
Teagan raced over when she saw the knife. “Don’t!”
“I do him no harm. He is yours, but mine as well. He will serve what comes from me, and you, as you will serve what comes from him. I have need of you, Alastar, and ask this for my daughter, for your mistress and your servant.”
“Don’t cut him. Please!”
“Only a prick, only a scratch, and only if he consents. Alastar, I ask of thee, a drop of blood from your breast times three. A bit of hair from your pretty mane, and for these gifts, I praise your name. To guard my little one, this is done.
“Just three drops,” Sorcha said quietly as she pricked with the tip of the knife. “Just a bit of his mane. And here now.” Though Alastar stood quiet, his eyes wise and calm, Sorcha laid her hands on the small, shallow cut, pushed her magick into it to heal. For her daughter’s tender heart.
“Come with me now, all of you.” She lifted Teagan onto her hip, led the way back into the house. “You know what I am. I have never hidden it. You know you carry the gift, each of you. I have always told you. Your magick is young and innocent. One day it will be strong and quick. You must honor it. You must use it to harm none, for the harm you do will come back on you threefold. Magick is a weapon, aye, but not one to be used against the innocent, the weak, the guiltless. It is a gift and a burden, and you will all carry both. You will all pass both to those who come from you. Today you learn more. Heed me and what I do. Watch, listen, know.”
She moved to Brannaugh first. “Your blood, and mine, with the blood of the hound. Blood is life. Its loss is death. Three drops from thee, three drops from me, and with the hound’s, the charm is bound.”
Brannaugh placed her hand in her mother’s without hesitation, held steady as Sorcha pricked her with the knife.
“My boy,” she said to Eamon. “Three drops from thee, three drops from me, and from the hawk’s heart, to seal three parts.”
Though his lips trembled, Eamon held out his hand.
“And my baby. Don’t fear.”
Her eyes shone with tears, but Teagan watched her mother solemnly as she held out her hand.
“Three drops from thee, three drops from me, with the horse as your guide, the magicks ride.”
She mixed the blood, kissed Teagan’s little hand. “There now, that’s done.”
She lifted the cauldron, slid the vials into the pouch at her waist. “Bring the rest. This is best done outside.”
She chose her spot, on the hard ground with snow lumped in the cool shadows of the trees.
“Should we get firewood?” Eamon asked her.
“Not for this. Stand here, together.” She moved beyond them, called on the goddess, on the earth, the wind, the water, and the fire. And cast the circle. The low flame bubbled over the ground, rounded until end met end. And inside, warmth rose like spring.
“This is protection and respect. Evil cannot come within, dark cannot defeat the light. And what is done within the circle is done for good, is done for love.
