Bri Leith, Ireland, Once Upon a Time

Though she had smiled with delight throughout the interminable banquet, pretending nothing was wrong, the tall woman in the midnight cloak was no longer smiling as she made her way down the hill. While Bri Leith was not as high as some of the mounds the Sidhe built their homes on and in, it commanded a sharp view of the surrounding countryside from the castle. On the ground, however, it was forested, and she paid attention to the little-worn path she followed through the trees, placing her feet carefully on uneven ground.

Her destination was nearly a mile through the valley, further into the forest, and it seemed to grow darker as she approached, though a full moon shone overhead and did its best to light her way. Shadows elongated where none should be, reaching for her, and the chill in the air was sharper, but she paid the shadows no mind, nor did she flinch as the cold wind fluttered over her skin through the silk of her dress. With a slight frown tugging at her brow, the woman brushed her fingers over the pouch at her side, reassuring herself that it and its contents were secure. Goosebumps rose, and she pulled her cloak more tightly about her, but she kept on at a brisk pace until she came to the clearing.

A hut sat there, squat and round, a light shining out of the window casting a glow across the grass. Not bothering to knock, she slipped inside, looking around with the faint twist of a smile on her lips, letting hope settle inside of her for the first time in weeks.

"Fuamnach!" The mage moved toward her, the scowl on his features twisting into a smile that looked more like a grimace due to disuse. She allowed Bresal to kiss her cheek, to remove her cloak, not pushing him away when his hands lingered places that propriety dictated they should not. He'd fostered her when she was a girl, made sure of her introduction to Midir, and she was fond enough in her own way not to chide him. Besides, he had what she needed to accomplish her goal and courtesy would go a long way toward smoothing the path. "What brings you here at this time of night?" The look he ran over her made it clear what he hoped she'd come for, and he curled a strand of her hair around one finger, stroking it lightly.

Fuamnach jerked her head away impatiently, ignoring the sting as a few strands tore loose in his grip. "I want her gone."

He gave her a shrewd look, eyes sharp and assessing. "Lady Etain?"

"Who else?" She half snarled it at him, all the composure she had maintained the past few days at court dropping away. "I won't take it anymore. That he wants his playthings, his pets, his little girls and little boys, I care not. But he is putting her in my place, flaunting her for all the court to see while I sit in silence and must watch."

Bresal nodded a little, backing away imperceptibly.

"I am his wife, his Princess. I am the Lady of Bri Leith, not that little harlot." Her skirts came dangerously near the fire, swirling as she paced past. "Do you know what he has done? He had a throne carved of gold for her, inset with gems in the shape of her precious butterflies. A throne, Bresal."

"Fuamnach…"

"What?" She snapped, spinning on him.

He watched her closely, calculating while she glared at him, fingers clenching and unclenching in her skirts, creasing the flowing fabric. "What is it you wish me to do?"

"Help me." Did she have to state something so obvious?

He did not move, and a brief look of confusion slid across his face. "To kill her? You hardly need me for that. You’re as skilled in poisons and spell work as I." It was not quite the truth, but near enough and the flattery softened her expression for a moment, before the thrust of her injury sliced again.

"Killing is too quick for her." Her face felt hot and the room was too close around her, constricting. "I want her cursed, forced to suffer the way she’s made me suffer. I want him forced to watch. The initial spell I can accomplish alone, but I need help with the second."

His hand reached out to brush back a strand of her hair. She allowed the touch this time, watching him. "What sort of curse?"

"One that lasts from this lifetime to the next. That lingers. That follows her, bound to her, no matter how she thinks to escape it."

"Such a thing requires a great deal of power to fuel it. Blood to bind. And you will have to sacrifice much to gain it."

Fuamnach gave him a small, sharp nod. "I know." It clutched at her briefly, a momentary pang at what would be necessary that was tight in her throat until she swallowed around it and forced it to release her.

He frowned a bit. "If you know all of this, what is it you need from me?"

"I'm not sure exactly what to use," she lied, looking up at him with appealing eyes. "Besides, you are more powerful than I, and I need your power to add to mine to make it work." She hoped the flattery would allay any suspicion.

It seemed to as his hand slid to her cheek, fingers stroking over her skin. "And my payment?"

She lowered her lashes, lips curving in a sensuous smile. Leaning in, her lips settled near his ear. "After. When the magics are high and surrounding us, pulsing through us, and vengeance has been accomplished, you can have anything you want."

Bresal shuddered and grabbed her chin for a brutal kiss. She allowed it, returned it even, arms around his neck, but her mind danced ahead and she finally pulled away, looking at him sharply as his hand slid over her dress, fingers twisting cruelly around one breast. "I said after."

He bowed, a mocking light in his eyes. For a moment he looked thoughtful, then moved to gather the ingredients needed from murky jars, and the choking smell of sulfur filled the room. "If you wish to bind the curse to her past this lifetime, you'll need to secure it to a place where the power can be held in the interim."

She nodded a little, her eyes flitting around the hut, assessing it.

He glanced at her. "You have what you need for the first part?" She held up the small pouch that hung around her waist and wiggled it at him. Giving her a sharp nod, he went back to his sorting of herbs.

Fuamnach settled on a stool, tucking her skirts around her, watching him. "Tell me how it is done."

"Boneset for the incense, though I suppose you had that planned for the first part." She nodded. "The blood must be spilled and the sacrifice given, consecrating the earth where you wish to bind the curse. The work must all be done in the sacred space, and then a binding spell performed to tie it there for as long as you wish. Use the witch grass for that." He held the herb up before tossing it into the bag and he moved toward the door. "I know a clearing we can use."

She trailed behind him as they stepped into the clearing surrounding the hut. "I like this one."

Bresal gave her an irritated look. "Well this one is mine. Besides we need to hunt on our way there for the blood. And you need to decide what you are willing to sacrifice of yourself."

She paused for a moment, watching him with dark eyes. He was loyal, but he was weak when it came to pain. If Midir tortured him after, he would break, and if he was part of the making of the spell, he would be able to undo it. "I already know."

Swallowing the smallest pang of grief, Fuamnach moved quickly and sure, arms wrapping around him and placing a dagger at his throat. He dropped the ingredients for the spell as she pulled him closer. The dagger slid across his throat and he gurgled, scrabbling at her hands for just a moment, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. As she let him go, releasing his weight, he collapsed, blood flowing to soak the ground. She watched until the last twitch of his body ceased, then knelt in the bloody grass to pick up the ingredients he had let fall. With a look at his frozen face, she sighed softly, brushing fingers over his cheek and closing his wide eyes before pushing back to her feet, her voice just a whisper. "I will miss you terribly."

The blood caught her gaze as it continued to spread under her feet, forming a circle around her. His power filled it, making her skin tingle, and if it seemed dark and vengeful for her betrayal, then all the better for what she needed. She lit boneset for her incense carried it around the circle, spiking it outward as she chanted, consecrating the earth and calling on its power from the darkest depths to surround her. Placing the incense in the pot Bresal had brought, she threw in the remaining ingredients for the first spell. In the middle of the circle of blood she stood, arms reaching to the sky, as the wind began to rise, whipping her hair and dress, curling them around her as if they too were living things intent on violence of their own. From her pouch she pulled a lock of the Etain's hair and one of the butterflies that loved to settle in the girl’s garden, fingers tight on its wing as it tried to escape. She wound the hair around the insect three times with careful precision, holding it aloft.

"As the moon lights up the sky, so shall she wander here and nigh. That which is loved in hatred held, as her eternal spark is quelled. No rest, no peace, no home has she, until she finds the farthest sea. There she may rest though it will ease her none, for as one ends, another is begun. Thrice by thrice by thrice she'll be, found then lost again by he."

The wind picked up until she had to shout to hear herself. It captured her words and sent them spiraling through the air, around the clearing, then back again. Lightning struck a tree nearby, starting a fire blazing in its branches as she felt the power taking her over, pain and anger mingling as she added the witch grass to the herbs in the pot.

"Mother of Darkness hear my command, deliver justice to my hand. Find here your home among these trees, bide here until this all shall be. Hold hard within your secret heart, the power I give you from the start. No hand shall break the ties that bind, and you shall heed no will but mine. In hatred born from love, I pray, no mercy cause my hand to stay. To you I bind my soul this eve, now as I will, so shall it be!"

She sliced the dagger across her wrist and added her own blood, rage and jealousy to Bresal's vengeful power. Pain ripped up from the ground and through her as the curse hurtled out of her and toward Etain. She watched the fire burn for a moment until, no longer able to stay on her feet, she collapsed unconscious on the ground next to Bresal.

#

The covers on the bed had been deemed unnecessary and joined their clothing on the floor. Firelight filled the room, setting the shadows to dancing merrily on the stone walls, twisting and cavorting with seeming glee. Midir's lips moved gently over Etain's, and she sighed as she returned his kiss. When he pulled back and smiled down at her, she thought her heart might stop from the sheer joy of it. She ran her fingers down his cheek, staring at his golden hair, emerald eyes and finely drawn features with a kind of awe.

"I think you have bewitched me."

Midir chuckled, leaning down to kiss her again. "I believe I am the one bewitched."

He shifted, settling her against his chest, arms tight around her. She brushed her lips over his skin, tasting the salt of their exertions and smiled a little.

"Perhaps we both are."

His fingers slid through her hair, stroking gently, and her smile grew at the contented look on his face.

"In truth, I thought you'd tire of me when we returned to Bri Leith." It was a quiet confession, a small flush on her cheeks. "I know you spoke of love, but somehow I thought…"

"You thought I was using it to persuade you to my bed." Midir gave her a slightly reproving look, though there was rueful acknowledgement in his eyes.

"I did." She shook her head in bewildered happiness. "Not that I'm complaining... I just never expected that something could happen like this. Not with someone like you."

He laughed at that and rolled to his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her with a teasingly affronted look. "Someone like me?"

Etain made a face, wrinkling her nose at him in amused exasperation. "Are you really so vain that I must list your attributes for you?"

"Mmm…yes." He grinned at her and her heart gave a bit of a flutter, even as she rolled her eyes.

With a little smile, she sat up and started counting things off on her fingers. "Son of a god. Ruler of his own sidhe. Ruler of the Otherworld. Older than most of Eire’s hills." That one got him a sly glance, and he reached to tickle her in reproof. She laughed, wriggling out of his grasp, her voice filled with all the light disdain of the young. "What? You remember the Fomorians.”

"Impudent wench." Midir laughed and reached for her again.

She let herself be caught this time, tumbling against him, and smiled up at him, winding her arms around his neck. Her smile faded a bit at her next words, though. "Then, of course, there's the not-so-small matter of your first wife…"

His face darkened, and he sighed, fingers tracing down the outline of her face. "She's no longer my true wife, Etain. I am yours, utterly and solely, I promise you that." He kissed her, then looked at her with solemn eyes. "I give you this vow. From now until eternity, there will be no love for me but you."

Etain searched his face for some sign of falsehood and part of her, the colder part that slid away from the warmth of love in the room and looked at it all objectively, the part that had held out against his seduction as long as possible, wondered if he had once sworn the same to Fuamnach. If one day she, too, would find her rooms on the other side of Bri Leith, her children grown, and only pretty courtiers to keep her warm at night while Midir delighted in a new playmate in his bed.

"Only you," he promised softly, again, reading her thoughts in her eyes, and she saw nothing but sincerity and wonder in his gaze until they closed and he kissed her fiercely, his fingers still light on her face.

#

It was a few hours later when Etain awoke. The fire had died down, and the bed next to her was empty. Her hands drifted over the sheets, still warm with the imprint of his body, and she smiled to herself, stretching leisurely as she felt her body uncoil.

The water pitcher was missing from the bedside table, giving her a clue where he had wandered off to. She rolled out of bed with a languorous stretch and moved to the window, breathing in the soft, sweet scents from the garden below. Leaning out, she looked down, making out the shape of flowers and Sidhe moving among them in the moonlight. Bri Leith’s beauty had captivated her when Midir brought her here. Her father’s home was elegant, but it lacked the, the…She tried to think of a word to capture it all. The warmth, perhaps. The feel of life and laughter pulsing in the walls and across the floors and ringing in the voices of each of Midir’s subjects.

Hers now, he kept insisting, but she could not call them that, though he'd wed her and brought her to his home. Too many of them still deferred to Fuamnach as his Princess, his first wife. Her fingers traced the ring on her fingers, a chain of filigree butterflies entwined in an eternal circle as if in defiance of any other claim on him but hers.

Sighing a little, she perched in the window, one foot dangling back toward the floor as she tucked the other under her, looking down at the village nestled at the bottom of the hill and past it to the rolling plains, so green that it showed even without the sun to light it. The moon seemed cold tonight, though, looming too large in the sky with a red tinge to it that made her shiver. The sun was her guide, her guardian, and she missed it suddenly with a fierceness that made no logical sense.

Another shiver slid over her skin, and she told herself it was the wind, not anything sinister about the moon. That it favored Fuamnach’s dark beauty over her own was merely a fancy of the poets who rivaled for their favor in the Hall. Sliding off the window ledge, she moved back toward the blankets and their bed.

She was halfway across the floor when the pain hit. It sliced through her abdomen and she heard herself cry out without meaning to do so. Doubled over she clutched at her stomach, but the agony did not ease. It grew, spiraling through her, ripping and tearing her until she was screaming, adding one more sound to the maelstrom that rose up around her.

The curtains blew from their rod with the force of the gale and the blankets rose up in it to dance across the room. Her throat was raw, but that was nothing to the feeling of being cut into pieces from the inside out as something malevolent and cruel worked to devour her.

The room seemed to grow around her, and she realized she must have fallen as it loomed larger and larger.

Midir crashed through the door and looked at her, eyes horrified. She could see him struggle to move forward against the wind that pushed him backward, and she reached out her hand to him, then screamed again as her arm seemed to shrink away. She could not have stopped the screams if she wanted to, terror and pain mingling in a cacophony of panicked noises.

Midir was yelling something, but she could not hear him over the wind. She could not hear herself either, and she could not feel the tears that had been warming her skin. He looked so big and so very far away.

Etain struggled to get up, to move to him, to reach out for him, but instead she found herself lifted and hurtled away from him. He fought through the wind harder, reaching to grab her, but she saw the window fly by her as she soared out of it, tumbling through the air.

From the corner of her eye she caught the sight of a fluttering wing of green and blue, fighting helplessly against the gale. She could still see Midir at the window reaching for her, and she locked her eyes desperately on him, fighting hard to fly back to him, moaning inside in terror. The wind was too cruel a taskmistress for that, however, and it pushed her farther and farther away from him.

“Etain!”

She heard him scream, that final time, and then she heard nothing but the wind as the castle disappeared from sight.

#

He sat on the throne at the end of the Great Hall, looking out on his subjects with unseeing eyes. Courtiers had filled the chamber, murmuring amongst themselves and casting glances his way. A brooding silence had haunted Bri Leith since Lady Etain’s disappearance. Rumors flew in whispers between the lords and ladies, speculating on her fate.

None speculated as to whom was behind it. Fuamnach’s absence from Bri Leith had been noted and a search for her mounted. They found Bresal’s corpse abandoned by a river in the woods. The hue and cry had gone out, and Midir’s warriors were given their orders. Nothing else mattered but finding their once-princess and bringing her to their Prince for justice.

What that justice entailed was a point of much contention, he knew. There were those who had loved Etain who called for her death. Others who spoke more softly that Fuamnach had the right to avenge her perceived disgrace. He made note of those who spoke the latter.

An outraged shriek split the air as two guards entered, dragging Fuamnach between them. She struggled, kicking and attempting to scratch them, but their hands were too tight on her wrists. Midir watched them approach, refusing to stand in her presence, a deliberate insult to a Princess and a resounding commentary on her place in this court.

“What is the meaning of this, Midir?” Her eyes fastened on him, and he fancied he saw both hatred and terror lingering in their depths. He appreciated the terror. It darkened the amethyst to nearly black, a detached part of him noted.

“You are called to answer for the sorcery you perpetrated against the Lady Etain.” His voice rang out through the room, and everyone stilled.

Fuamnach jerked her hands away from the guards and stood tall, looking back at him with her chin tilted in defiance. “I called her to answer for her crime.”

“Crime?” Midir’s gaze was partially incredulous, but more mocking. “She did nothing wrong, my lady.”

“She dared think she could usurp me!”

He stood at that, moving toward her. His hand raised and almost flew, but he paused at her cheek, running the back of it over her skin instead in a mockery of a caress. His voice was soft, just for her, and cold. “You had no place left to usurp, my lady. You abandoned it, and this union, long ago.”

“I am your wife,” she hissed at him through clenched teeth.

“You were my wife,” he corrected, almost gently. “And as the mother of my children, and my first wife, you had a place of honor in this court, and always would have done so. I left you free to pursue your own…amusements. But no more.”

He stepped back from her, voice rising to a command again, so that the whole court could hear. “You will undo this sorcery, or you will forfeit your life.”

He ignored the whispers flying around the Hall at that, keeping his eyes fixed on her face and feeling a cruel satisfaction when she paled.

“Never.” Her voice bit back, just as fierce.

“Then the sentence is death.” He motioned to the guards to take her away, turning back to the throne with a sinking heart. If she did not undo what she had done, he had no way to find Etain, to bring her home, and the thought made him almost cry out with the pain it sent flying through him.

“No one is going to die.” Another voice rang out above the hum of the court, and Midir spun.

A tall figure stood in the doorway of the Hall, full beard resting on a chest that would have been massive among men, let alone the slender Sidhe. An equally impressive man stood to his right and a slimmer one to his left. The courtiers sank to their knees in low bows, heads lowered, parting before the three as they strode to stand before Midir.

The guards released Fuamnach as she sank in a deep curtsy as well, and Midir caught the triumphant flash in her eyes before she looked down.

He alone did not bow, though he did step down from the dais and bow his head.

“Father.”

The Dagda reached to touch his shoulder gently.

“Your loss is grievous, my son, but this is not how it will be handled.”

Midir’s head snapped up, the fury arching through him again.

“It is mine to handle, as are all matters among the nobles of the Sidhe.”

“Because I decreed it to be so.” The Dagda’s voice seemed to reverberate even when he spoke quietly. “And I decree this as well. Fuamnach shall not be put to death for her actions.”

Midir looked to the other two for support. Lugh shook his head, causing Midir to scowl. Of course the Dagda’s champion would stand with his father.

Oghma sighed softly. “I am sorry, brother, but I have to agree with Father. She acted within her rights.”

“Her rights?” Midir was incredulous. “What right did she have to do such a thing to an innocent girl under my protection?”

“The right of a first wife.” The Dagda’s words were final.

“I set her aside!”

“It makes no difference. You chose her first, and it was hers to accept or reject those that came after into her home.”

“She must answer for what she has done. This goes far beyond rejection. She worked magic on her in clear disobedience to your orders that such was not to be done. Your own brother’s wife did as much to his children, and you had her punished!” The injustice of it stung him into defiance, nearly snarling at his father.

“So I did.” His voice was soft as he touched his son’s shoulder again. “But not by death. Some other punishment must be your vengeance and the Lady Etain’s justice.”

Midir scowled at Fuamnach viciously, then looked at his father. “Any other punishment?”

The Dagda nodded. “Any other.”

“Then I pronounce her banished from Faerie. No sidhe shall take her in. None shall give her succor or shelter. She shall be cursed to wander the Fields of Man until such time as the Lady Etain’s transformation is broken.”

“No!” Fuamnach stepped toward him, and the guards sprang to grab her again. “No! You cannot do that.” She looked at her father-in-law appealingly. “You said it was my right. You cannot let him do this!”

The Dagda stepped back. “He has spoken, Fuamnach, and so shall it be.”

She looked around wildly, but no one else would meet her eyes until she swung them back to Midir.

“So be it,” she snarled. “I will go, but hear this. You will find your Etain, and you will lose her again. Thrice times thrice times thrice shall you have her in your life and bed and thrice times thrice times thrice shall she leave it. In the end she will be lost and you will curse the day you brought her here with wailing and tearing of your hair. You sentence her to this as you sentence me. Your doing, my lord. So I say, and so it shall be.”

A cold hand clutched at Midir’s heart as a darkness passed through the room, dimming the sun that shone through the windows.

“Get her out of here,” he ordered the guards between clenched teeth.

They complied immediately.