Nell_Anthony Anthony

~ Merry Meet ~

The houses of the MacDara and Hollywell were quiet. It had been three weeks since the young ones from the Hollywell and MacDara families died in the wood in a conflagration none of the clans' elders understood.

Neither family wanted to acknowledge that their young ones had died in one another's arms. Neither family wanted to ask if they had been the cause of such death and destruction. No one journeyed toward that part of the wood, and the elders forbade their youth to do so.

If the MacDara and Hollywell clans had known they shared the same apprehension, that they agreed something must be done even though they knew not what, they would have cringed, shaken their heads, and ignored whomever bared such foolish news.

But it was so.

~

"What is to be done?" Aiden, the Eldest of the MacDara elders, asked of his comrades.

"You mean you don't know?" Helyah, Aiden's wife, asked her question with a huff of laughter she didn't even try to conceal.

Aiden simply stared at her.

Helyah shook her head. "It is up to the young ones, now," she said, with a flip of her hand, as if the matter were of no consequence to her. "God knows the girl's parents aren't going to do anything."

"You leave Robert out of this!" Aiden boomed, slamming his fist against the table before him.

"Okay, you two, that's enough. I don’t know why we even let you lead this meeting. All you do is bicker," Saphira, Ember's aunt, spoke up from amongst the crowd of elders.

"How dare…" Aiden began, only to be cut off by Saphira again.

"Oh, please be quiet," Saphira said. "Everyone here knows it's true." She took a deep breath, composing herself. It was obvious Saphira was disgusted by Aiden and Helyah's antics. "Let's just say that Robert is gone. We will not speak of him because he is not to blame, nor is he here to defend himself." She gave Helyah a pointed glare. "The girl's mother isn't to blame either. It was our Eldest who did this. Sinead had no control over the girl any more than Robert did. But you did, oh Father of the clan. You did!" Saphira hissed, growing angrier with every word she uttered.

Ember had died. That child was as much Saphira's as Sinead's and Robert’s. Aiden had made Ember go away because she loved in the wrong direction. Saphira would never have said the girl was smart in her choice, but whoever was at that age? And the Eldest had no right to take Ember and give her to Sinead, a woman who knew nothing of Ember and who had abandoned the clan’s ideals long ago.

"Since you're so all knowing and I'm so wrong, tell us all what you think is to be done, then?" Aiden demanded, his face flushing a deep pink and his green eyes flashing like emeralds reflecting sunlight; his sarcasm lashed Saphira.

"Send her brother," the aunt suggested. "He is the most devoted to this family. He is the most beloved of this clan, and he will serve it well."

"Send him where?" Helyah asked, appearing to display true bewilderment.

"Send him to investigate," Aiden responded, his brows scrunching together and his right hand rubbing his lips and chin.

Satisfied that her thoughts had been heard, Saphira took her seat, leaving it up to the rest of the elders to hash out. She just wanted her boy involved. She knew he'd help. He may not figure it all out, but he will be a catalyst, she thought. She remembered the mist of her crystal ball waning and showing her boy making headway in the war she could feel being waged against them. The danger wasn't from another clan. Like we need another feud anyway, she thought, wondering what the Hollywells would do. She knew they would do something, for her boy hadn’t been in that wood alone.

~

Across the fields, winding through the wood on a circuitous route and over the vineyards of both lands, another group of elders–the Hollywell clan of Draiochtes to be exact—were meeting in nearly the same manner as the MacDara.

Shamir, whom the clan called The Hollywell in deference, was far different from Aiden of the MacDara. Shamir was a quiet man. Some called him taciturn and often remarked that they didn’t' know how he'd ever met his wife, but it was evident to everyone that The Hollywell adored the soles of his mate’s shoes. Clan members still found them kissing around corners and shook their heads in disbelief.

"It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for," was often heard throughout the clan as teenage girls snickered at the elders' antics. Other women of the clan only wished their mates loved them as much and showed it. But that was not what they were gathered to think about, and The Hollywell waited for his people to settle before he remarked, "The damage in the wood cannot go on like this. What do you all think should be done?"

"Well," Zandra, the mother of the dead Kooper, stepped forward to speak with a bowed head.

The Hollywell knew it was a show. Zandra bowed before no one and only did so now because she wanted her way and thought she’d get it if she played obedient.

"Speak," Shamir urged.

"Well, we all know that my daughter," on this note, she looked up with a proud lift of her head, "is a powerful Draiocht. And she can learn of what happened here."

"She is infamously absent, Zandra," Lillia, The Hollywell's wife, said, through gritted teeth.

Yes, The Hollywell thought with an inward sigh. Lillia couldn't stand Zandra, but Zandra was right in this. They needed her daughter, Synder—to hell with diplomacy, keeping the peace, and hurt feelings. He stared into Zandra's proud eyes until she lowered her head.

Pretending to be cowed, he thought, as he looked to his wife. This was about the health of the clan. This was about the health of the land. He noticed how new debris and rot was beginning to spread throughout the wood. People thought that because he was an elder, and looked to be as old as that fellow in the Bible who had lived beyond nine hundred years, that he did not know what happened on his lands and those of the MacDara. That was not the case. He'd noticed that the grapes on the vine had been affected as the Spring came and it was time to plant again. Yes, he knew what was going on, even as others of their clan went about their lives and knew none of these things.

"And, Zandra," he said with a low authoritative tone, "how do you suggest we ask her to help us?" He didn’t like the idea of using force.

"I can write her and ask her," Zandra said.

"That won't work," Harlow, Zandra's husband, piped up. "She will never come."

The Hollywell watched in mystified astonishment as Zandra turned to Harlow. Shamir could feel the blast coming, but suddenly, the energy was packed away, and Zandra regained her supplicant pose. It was a pitiful one, The Hollywell thought, hiding a grin in his beard.

The Hollywell rolled his lips in, took a deep breath to keep from laughing aloud, and blew the breath out again. His wife elbowed him, knowing he was on the verge of really causing problems by laughing in Zandra's face.

"Oh," The Hollywell, asked with a lifted brow once he was in control of his laughter. "And what do you suggest we do, Harlow?"

The Hollywell found himself in danger of laughing again when Harlow looked to his wife for permission to speak and he witnessed a small jerk of the woman's head in ascent.

"Well, I think that we can send a letter from you and your lady, asking her to come home to the performed rites for the dead and to help in the investigation of what happened to her brother. Everyone here knows how she loved Kooper. She would do anything for him if for no one else."

The Hollywell watched as Zandra absorbed those words. And what is here? The Hollywell wondered. He would ponder upon what he’d observed in Zandra and Harlow’s behavior and their words during this meeting.

"Of course, the letter will have a compulsion to come to our aid," Harlow said.

Others around the room seemed to agree with the idea that Harlow had suggested, and Zandra seemed made of stone as she stood silent beside her husband.

"Then," the Hollywell asked, "is it decided."

The shout of several "Ayes," gave him his answer.

~

And so, it was done. The MacDara sent for Ember's brother to be brought to them for their proposal that wasn't a proposal at all. Synder was sent a letter that would compel her home.

Now, it was up to the younger to free them all from the dereliction clouding the land and threatening to choke the hearts of the clans.

~ 1 ~

Morning Manifestations

It was a beautiful day. Synder wasn't quite ready to go home just yet, but something pulled her toward the penthouse she owned in Baltimore. The sky was a bold blue. The sun shone, brushing its golden light over everything. It was as if the Gods were shining on the city, turning everything to gold, hiding the shadows of the city’s underbelly. No one could find fault with the day. The clouds were fluffy and white. They didn't pause in their movement. It looked like something out of a fairytale that starts out lovely enough and ends on a sinister warning note. With that thought, a shiver went down Synder's spine, and she pulled on the cardigan she’d folded over her arm as she walked to her car, briefcase in hand, fighting the new wind that blew up as if it were a portent of things to come. Yes, Synder thought, perhaps I should make my way home.

~

Kedrick labored in the fields of the vineyard when he felt a compulsory pull toward the edge of the MacDara property. He shook his head annoyed. He figured the elders were up to something when he saw a few of them heading in the same direction. Tomlyn and Jervice, who hated one another, were heading toward the hut on the east side of the property. The two old men were markedly ignoring one another. If they had been women from the turn of the century, they would have turned their noses up and lifted their skirts away from one another in a show of distain, but this was modern Sweetwater, and the men were worse than the petticoat brigade of old. Kedrick shook his head and went back to work.

Now, there was that feeling. That tug to "come," whispering in his ears and singing through his soul. It was a melody he well knew augured a task he wouldn't relish carrying out. The elders believed their wishes and desires were all that mattered. They acted as if he wasn't busy working his ass off for them. He knew they would pretend not to realize he still had hours of work left. His hands were full with planting the new varietals Kedrick's Uncle, Aiden, The Elder, insisted he try this year. What Aiden didn't understand was that it would take a couple of years for the vines to yield usable fruit. But Kedrick tried not to argue with the elders. Besides, he'd been thinking of it himself. He wondered if his uncle’d had a premonition and hadn't shared? He shrugged the itching feeling of the compulsion from his shoulders, and went back to working. Eventually, the elders would amp up their compulsion and he wouldn't be able to shrug the feeling off. Might as well get as much done now as he could while he could hold them off, he thought. He figured once they trapped him in their little meeting hut, he'd be there the rest of the evening. He hoped one of the aunts had cooked and a few of the uncles snuck in a flask or two of whiskey. He had a feeling he was going to need food for fortitude and drink for his nerves.

~ 2 ~

Summoning Sacrifices

When Synder neared her building in the heart of Downtown Baltimore, the sky grew darker, clouds rushed in to cover the sun, and the air grew thick with moisture, signaling oncoming rain. The wind blew so hard Synder's car shook as she turned into the parking garage. It was a relief to be out of the weather as she walked to the elevators.

Synder thought about the oddity as she kicked off her shoes at the front door. When she’d left work, it had been beautiful, and according to the forecast, it wasn't supposed to rain. She turned her wrist to see the time. It was only five thirty. Yet looking out of the floor to ceiling window in her living room, it looked as though night was coming. It wasn't even six yet and the day had turned to twilight.

She shook her head, bemused, and walked to the bedroom to put her purse and briefcase down.

Usually, Synder worked from home, but she had taken an online graphic design position at the newspaper to supplement her freelance writing income. She made enough from writing and other odd jobs to pay the bills, but she wanted a new Mac. The new ones were so sleek and innovative. It would make manipulating digital art easier. She loved creating book covers for authors. Occasionally, she took on a job for a company just to make life interesting. For the most part, Synder preferred copywriting, editing, and content writing. She supplemented with all kinds of extras when she wasn't writing her own books, guest lecturing, or writing articles and short stories.

The bills had to be paid, though, before she could indulge in goodies like MacBooks and new iPads. Though she loved her gadgets.

She walked back to the front door. She had avoided the day's mail earlier in order to kick off her shoes, get dressed in yoga clothes, and grab a glass of wine. Now, she stooped and gathered up the mail, sitting beside the window. She sat with her back to the wall and her knees raised to watch the unnatural storm brew while she read and sipped wine.

She still thought the weather was odd, the window casements rattling from the force of the wind, and the rain slanting down in a torrent.

A slender envelop fell into the V of her lap before she could start flipping through the others.

It wasn't what she had been looking for, but she knew she had to open this one first.

The slender letter was the reason for the rush home. She could feel the prickles of compulsion racing across her skin. For a moment she thought about dampening and binding the magick rolling off the expensive stationary envelop but decided against it. What would be the point? she thought, pushing her finger under the flap to release the sealing spell. They wouldn't care. She could have sent it whipping back at them to slap them with their own magick. It was wrong to send out compulsion spells, and they knew it. But the elders of her family didn’t care about little things like right and wrong. They only cared that they be obeyed. She didn't think they knew that she could break the compulsion or fling it back in their faces.

She hadn't just lived in Baltimore and forgotten to feed her soul. Before anything else, she was a Draiocht. She knew how to take care of herself, and she knew better than to have magick running in her veins and let it stagnate. What did the elders think she'd been doing all this time? Did they think she was too stupid to find a way to practice when she was in a city? Maryland wasn't all city without rural communities. Hell, she even belonged to a coven. She shook her head and looked down at the letter.

She didn't have to read it. It was a dicto-gram. The words started to speak as soon as she unfolded the flap of the page. She sighed as she listened to her father's shaky voice, saying words she figured her mother penned.

"Dearest Synder,

You are needed home, immediately. Your brother has gone to the other side and a memorial will be set soon to clear his passage on his way. You are summoned by your family as well as the Council of Elders. The Hollywell is requesting your service. Please find your way home and prepare to stay a while.

Safe journeying.

Blessed Be,"

Synder shook her head. Oh, it was all polite pleases and neediness, but Synder knew her family. The Hollywell in all his wisdom had condoned this, as her family had probably required it, but they could have easily summoned her home without all the fanfare. Again, she was tempted, so tempted, to just tell them to go to hell with their polite words that ever so subtly compelled her to follow their directive. She released a breath, refolded the letter, and set it aside for the moment. She blew on the letter and envelop to dampen the compulsion spell, and rifled through the rest of her mail. She would have to see what Ryan said about a leave of absence. Maybe she should just quit. She had enough savings to pay the bills for a while yet. So much for a new MacBook, she thought, watching that dream flee like the rain running down her window.

~

Kedrick's fingers and feet burned. It was time to stop fighting the compulsion.