The Awakening

Part 4 of Annag's beginning.  If you haven't already, read parts one, two, and three. 

 Lillian shuffled between the quickly made litter and the defiled clan house, directing the men of MacGoulan in the proper way to secure her human prize, and questioning Sionn.  

"You're familiar with the clan chief's sword, are you not?" she asked.

"Aye, I've seen it"

"Have you found it here?  Did Donnchadh die with his blade, is it with his body?"

Sionn tried to hide his disgust, "I did not search his remains, old woman! You said to burn it all."

Lillian smirked, "Before you light the fire, search for the sword. If you do not find it, search again after the fire has cleaned up the mess. Search every hovel here. Do not think to defy me, Sionn MacGoulan, don't for a minute think this same fate couldn't visit your home." Without waiting for an answer, she left him glaring after her as she returned to the litter that held Annag. 

The hairs rising on Sionn's neck convinced him to follow her commands. He watched as she directed his clansmen to accompany her, carrying the wounded girl with them. 

>>>>>

 Annag’s dreams were ugly and disordered. In them she ran, trying to escape the terror that began as her wedding feast. Trying not to believe Taog, her betrothed had been torn apart in front of her.

           Running from the vision of savaged flesh that had been her mother and the memory of her father being pulled down and slain.

           Fleeing the scream of her young sister before her head was ripped from her body.

          Trying not to see every one of her clansmen dismembered, bloodied.  Dead.

         Screaming herself to muffle the soothing voice that kept repeating, "It will be alright."

More frightening was the beast that walked beside her. A man with a wolf’s snout. Claws at the end of each finger. Together they walked from village to village, clan to clan. In each pace they left blood and death behind.

She raised her hands to wipe the tears from her face only to see claws growing from her own fingers.

She screamed in denial.

“It will be alright,girl.” Again the voice. Soothing. Compelling. Terrifying.

She’d cried out repeatedly in her fevered dreams. And each time that voice, those words “it will be alright’” mocked her.

>>>>>

Annag woke from the nightmare at midday. The sun blazing through the window across from her cot. She felt a strange relief, at least she was alone.

The room smelled of burning herbs and the taste on her tongue mirrored them. She tried to raise her head. Dizziness made that impossible. She could see the sky bleached white by the heat of the day. A wind gusted through the window, its breath drawing the last moisture from her mouth.

She lay back on the pillow, her mind sorting the dreams from reality. The burning pain on her back insisting far more of the nightmare was real than not.

Her solitude was too soon broken. The persistent voice from her dreams broke the silence.

“So, Annag, last of MacClarren, you’ve awoken finally.” Lillian filled the small space.

“Where am I? What has happened? I don’t remember, where is my family, where is Taog?” she asked the last question already knowing the answer.

“You are a guest in my home. For now.” The old woman appraised her. “What do you remember, girl?”

“Attack. By… wolves?” Annag closed her eyes as tears began to form, then opened them quickly as memories of blood and death swam behind her lids.

“Wolves?” Lillian snorted, “You know better, girl. The only wolves in this land are the one’s on two legs. How do you even know the word?”

“I don’t…”

“I do. Men that become beasts, the old stories. Wolf? Not really, just animals from a man’s black heart, made real by old magics.”

Annag tried to deny, she shook her head, “no, they are only tales to frighten children! Such things don’t exist, they cannot…”

“They cannot? Were you not frightened, ‘child’?” Lillian sneered at her. “Your clan is dead. MacClarren is no more. No father, chief. No mother. No precious little sister.” Lillian’s voice that had pretended comfort during the nightmares, threw aside the pretense. “And your MacGoulan boy? Ripped apart.”

“Stop! Stop it!” Annag tried to get up from the cot, Lillian pushed her back with the butt of her staff.

“You stop, girl. Stop puling like a babe. You are alive. And hard work it was to keep you that way.” Lillian eyed her sidelong. “What I really want to know, is how you survived, how you slew a dozen shape shifted men and only have a few scratches to show for it.”

Annag’s memories played in her mind. Her father’s blade. Where was her father’s blade. She almost asked the old woman, then hesitated. She had held the broadsword in her hands, where had it gone? Vague recollections of moonlight glinting on the iron. Surely she’d never left the clan house. But, where was the blade?”

She did not trust this old woman. Her answer was half truth, “My clansmen killed them before they fell themselves. I remember being wounded. I must have fainted, the beasts thought me dead already.”

Lillian weighed the words. “Perhaps. Perhaps that is so. We shall see, yes, we shall see.”

“Sionn! I remember Sionn, I want to speak to him, please.” Annag was ready to leave this place, this woman. She could go to MacGoulan, she had been betrothed.

Lillian laughed, “I think you don’t want to speak to Sionn, or any MacGoulan. The scratches you remember, the one’s healing on your pretty back? They carry… well let’s just say a sickness.”

“What do you mean? Am I dying? The babe, I carry a child!”

“Dead is what you’ll both be if you approach any MacGoulan. Those marks mean the beast is in you now, girl. You’re tainted.”

“No! You're lying, lying!” Annag stood up in spite of the dizziness, she wanted to strike Lillian. Stop the words that resurrected the dream. The dream of walking with the beast at her side, leaving death behind.

Lillian smiled knowingly at Annag. “Am I now?”

Don't be afraid to leave a comment, let me know what you think.  Concrit is welcome!

MacGoulan Arrives

   More of the Chaos in Progress, this scene is the morning after the attack on Annag's wedding feast. Pt 1 The Wedding Feast  Pt 2 Unexpected Guests



 The morning sun slid hesitantly through the broken doorway. Flies began to gather around pools of blood and stray limbs. The lazy buzzing a sharp contrast to the panicked screams and roars of rage that filled the house hours earlier.

The small party from clan MacGoulan approached the doorway with blades drawn. Nerves were on edge since entering the cluster of stone huts and encountering unnatural silence. The bodies of the clan hounds, ripped apart, littered the tracks between homes. Their calls of greeting had gone unanswered at the nearest huts.

Sionn reluctantly peered through the doorway of the clan chief's home, then stumbled back, his breakfast returning to his throat.

"They're dead! All dead!", he cried. "Killed same as the hounds, torn..."

Another man had braved a bit farther into the carnage. "Sionn, there's not just the clan dead here. There's animal...I think." He looked around, trying to understand the bodies. The clans people were badly mutilated, the bodies violently torn and shredded. The other dead were more simply slain. By sword or club.

Those dead were not of the clan. Sionn reentered the house. "What kind of men were these?", he muttered as he took in the misshapen faces. More of a muzzle than nose or jaw. Hands that ended in razor sharp claws. ‘Wulver, men that became beasts,” he thought. Nightmares made more chilling by the light of day.

Sean gasped behind him. "Sionn! There are children dead here as well! And this child, this one has no head. Sionn what..." A small moan from the back wall interrupted his morbid inventory.

Sionn drew his broadsword and made his way toward the sound. There he found the woman, her clothing ripped and bloody. A dirk still gripped in trembling hands, her red hair a wild flame about her head.

As Sionn reached for her she scrambled closer to the wall, trying to lift the blade against him.

"Hush girl. I'm Sionn MacGoulan. Are you of MacClarren? Can you say what happened?"

She tried to focus on him, his resemblance to her betrothed returned her voice to her. "Taog? Where is Taog! Where is my mother? Father!" She struggled to stand. As her eyes took in the scene around her, she fell back.

This must be Annag, betrothed of his brother. Sionn threw his arm around her, when he touched her back she screamed in agony. He turned her gently to see what caused the pain. Three deep slashes crossed her back. Blood still seeping weakly from wounds that were an angry red.

Sionn let her fall to the floor. She'd been clawed by the beasts. The old stories made it clear what to do. What had to be done. The wounds were a death sentence. MacGoulan would not abide her, betrothed of Taog or not. She was cursed and they wouldn't suffer her to live, within or without the clan. Though it grieved him, Sionn drew his sword. Grabbing a fistful of the girl’s red hair, he pulled her head back, baring her throat.

“Stop!”

The voice rang through the silence. Startled Sionn turned to the shattered doorway. A figure in long dress holding a crooked staff stood silhouetted by the sun. As she stepped into the room, he could see the wrinkled face of an elderly woman. He shook his head dismissively.

“She is tainted, old woman. And mostly dead anyway,” Sionn said. “She cannot be saved. Besides, you’ve no voice here.” He began to lift his blade again.

“Oh, but I do, boy. I so do.” She tapped her staff on the ground. A vibration began at her feet and traveled swiftly to Sionn. His arm numbed and the blade fell to the floor.

The other men backed warily away. “Don’t run off, now, children. I’ve more work for you.” Shedchuckled as the group looked nervously at each other, waiting for Sionn to tell them what to do.

It was the woman that spoke to them. “ First, bring that girl out of this filth.” When there was no immediately movement, she lifted her staff. Three men hurried to Annag’s side, lifted her roughly and scurried for the door.

“Carefully, children! Let’s not make her wounds any worse! And find a litter, you’ll move her to my home.” She turned to the other men standing amid the carnage. “The rest of you, gather what fuel you can. This must be burned. All of it. Burn the dead hounds as well.”

Sionn spoke finally, “Why not leave the girl to burn, also? She’s cursed. Whatever they were, she carries that taint now. I grew up hearing stories, I’d not believed them before, but, now…I say again, she cannot be saved.”

“I say she will be saved.” The woman’s eyes flashed at Sionn.

He snapped back, “And who are you to say this?”

“Me?” The old woman grinned unpleasantly. “Why, I am Lillian”

/>

Unexpected Guests

This next part is not as serene as the introductory chapter found here.  Annag's life is about to change...

The sun had just begun to set when the clan hounds began to howl.

“Well, my daughter. I’m thinking that MacGoulan has finally arrived to take you away.” Donnchadh took Annag by the shoulders. “I wish only the best in life for you, child.” He blinked back the tears that threatened to escape. “I will sorely miss that sunset hair.” He gave her a great hug then turned quickly away.

Taog came forward to take her hand. They would greet his clansmen together.

The hounds had continued baying, louder and more excited. The laughter and chatter in the house matched their enthusiasm.

Until one of the hounds screamed in pain. And the tone of the baying changed from greeting to terror. Then fell silent.

As Donnchadh reached for his great broadsword, the heavy wooden door burst open. A dozen bodies poured through the opening.

Annag didn’t want to believes what she was seeing. This was not the MacGoulan. This was the stories told late at night to frighten children. These were nightmares come to visit.

“Wulver!” she heard someone cry.

The beasts were upon the gathering in an instant. Taog pushed her behind him as the monsters came. She heard he screams of women and cries of men realizing they were too far from their weapons.

Her father’s blade swung hard at the first wave, one beast yelped in pain and turned away. Then targeted another man with only a heavy chair for defense. The pain maddened attacker ripped it from him, and his arm that had wielded it.

Other men had reached knives or swords, but they were no match for fangs and the claws that grew from hand-like paws.

Taog had no weapon, he made no sound when his throat was torn by gnashing teeth.

Her mother, Mara had joined Donnchadh, an iron fire poker her weapon. Six of the beasts closed on them. Annag heard her father roar his rage just before the hand that held his blade was severed by knife like teeth.

She watched his heavy broadsword fall to the ground. His body followed, pulled down by three of the creatures. She didn’t see her mother being torn apart next to him.

Annag’s eyes were still fixed on the blade. She’d made no sound. Her terror had stolen her screams. But her body lunged for the fallen weapon. Once it was in her hands, she felt her fear turn to anger. With strength she didn’t recognize, she swung the blade.

One beast fell, the wound in its neck pouring blood. She swung again. A second beast snarled in pain. As it backed away, one of her clansmen stuck a knife between its ribs.

She spun around hearing her young sister’s scream. She swung again, but was far too late. A moan fled from her chest as she saw her sweet  sister’s head fall from her shoulders. Her grief fuelled fury made certain the beast that was responsible was headless a moment later.

She felt fire skate across her back. She turned, blade singing through the small space. The beast that struck her was already down. The man that slew it lay dying from too many wounds, a small smile gracing his face in that final act.

Annag didn’t know how much time had passed since the attack had begun. She only knew that it was suddenly silent. No more beasts came at her. No more screams of her clan. No more growls of the unnatural beasts.

As she became aware of her rasping breath, her racing heart, her eyes took in the horror before them. Her family, her people, dismembered, mutilated, all dead. The silence was broken by one last scream. She fell to the ground as it escaped her exhausted body.

Semantics

Trifextra: Week Sixty-Four

Congratulations to all the winners!  Wish I'd had time (and energy) to visit and comment on every one.  
I'm beginning to believe that most of mine are becoming character studies for my...uh,characters.

Anyway,
The Prompt: 
 This weekend we're asking for exactly 33 of your own words plus the following three words:

charge
century
lost
So 33 of yours plus 3 of ours means that everyone will have a 36 word response this time around.





"You lost my sword, Lillian?"

The demon bitch had been hounding her for the last century.  "It's not lost, Aslozoth."

"Then, let me amend the charge, witch," Aslozoth's eyes burned red.  "You stole my sword, Lillian?"

Ancestry

Write at the Merge, Week 16The song is “Tiny Dancer” from Elton John, and you can use the lyrics, the music or anything about the video that inspires you.
Trifecta: Week Seventy-Three
On to the one-word weekly challenge where we ask for a 33-333 word response to the third definition of a given word.  If you need a refresher, click here for more information on how to play.  Be sure to check that you've used the correct definition this week!

color (noun)

3: complexion tint:

  a : the tint characteristic of good health

  b : blush

Anne Marie sat away from the crowd.  She settled in the shade and shadow of an old oak, well removed from the lake's sandy beach.  

Children ran amok, parents yelled warnings about swimming too soon after eating, young couples sat staring dreamily into each other's eyes.

Anne Marie's eyes were fixed a little girl with dark curls and an infectious smile.  She was accompanied by her mother and grandmother. The girl was spinning in circles on the sand as the women talked. 

A small smile bloomed on Anne Marie's lips as she followed the girl's dance.  Memories surfaced in wisps of foggy images.  Of a beautiful man with dark curls and perfect smile.  Of a young girl with flame red hair and cheeks that glowed with the color of impending motherhood.

Unbidden tears flowed down those same cheeks centuries after her world was changed.  Her young man's life ended before his daughter was born.  Her daughter stolen from her at birth.

Her daughter, seen only once from a distance all those long years ago.  She'd kept track of the bloodline, knew of all the daughters born after.  Had watched from a distance the two older women when they were but toddlers.  Had known of the birth of this one.  

This one, this tiny dancer that so resembled the child she never held.  This one, that stopped spinning to look across the space between them.

With head cocked to one side, that perfect smile lit the girl's face.  She raised one chubby hand and waved merrily at Anne Marie. 

Just as she began to lift her hand to wave in return, the women took notice, "Katie Crowe!  What were you told about strangers!" Her mother gave the girl an exasperated look.  "I've told you, Mom, she never pays attention."

Caroline Crowe followed her granddaughter's gaze, caught the eyes of the woman under the tree.  A feeling of recognition washed through her.  "She pays more attention than you know, Natalie.  More than you know." 


Anne Marie has been a recurring character in many of my stories.  Katie Crowe is part of the "novel" I've been... ahem... working on.  Somewhere along the way, they became part of a bigger story that links them together.  Most of the bits I've shared here are under the labels at the top of the blog.  Annag of Clan MacClarren/Anne Marie MacClarren and Renewal; A Tale of Katrina's Kitchen.  This is the first time I've put them in the same post.





  

The Wedding Feast

This is the first chapter of my work Work in Chaos, the one I post bits and pieces of about the internet.  
It introduces Annag, of Clan MacClarren, long before she takes the name Anne Marie.  Shortly before her life changes.  Forever.  I haven't pinned an actual time or geographical location yet.  I'm still researching and changing my mind.  A lot.  But, here it is....

A slight breeze ruffled Annag’s already unruly red curls. She’d stepped outside the crowded stone house for a moment to take a final look around. She leaned against the outcrop she’d known all her life. The smell of the clan‘s sheep filled her nose. This was her last night on the moors of Clan MacClarren.

Soon the small party from clan MacGoulan would arrive. After a feast and music and dancing they would gather her and Taog, along with her few belongings, to begin the journey back to his home.

It was a fortunate turn for her. At nearly 20 years, she was considered old for marriage. The limp form a childhood injury had made her an undesirable choice.

It had also been a benefit. She was marrying a man she had grown to love. Taog had been sent to train with her father, Donnchadh, chief of her clan. A warrior however, Taog was not. More a bard and dreamer. She had more skill with weapons than he had acquired. It was a joke between them, he’d raise the babes and she’s protect the family. During his time with the clan, they had talked and laughed and dreamed together. Her father upon seeing the budding romance, saw a way to bind the two clans together as well as finally finding a match for daughter.

Taog had slipped behind her as she took her last look of home. He knew she was excited yet anxious about the changes that were coming.

“Are you sure, love? Can you make this move” he asked. She leaned into him as he wrapped his arms around her, one hand sliding to the swell of her belly.

“Yes, of course. I’m just nervous. I haven't met any of your family but your brother.” Sionn made her uncomfortable, he was twin to Taog in looks, but his personality was completely opposite. “Besides, its a bit late to change my mind now.” She laid her hand over his. Protective of the small life within.

Taog knew how she felt about his twin, he chuckled, “he grows on you. He’s not as tough and surly as he seems. Well, mostly not.”

She laughed with him, turning to face him. She gazed into his eyes, a dark blue that made her think of deep water. She wanted to look into them forever. His thick black hair curled tightly against his head, unlike her own temperamental locks. She lace her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers.

“Oh sweet lass, you’ll make us miss the party if you start that.” His voice made the words a caress. She held tighter, trying to pull him to the ground.

“Annag! Come in girl, the MacGoulan will be here soon”, her mother, Mara, called. Annag reluctantly pulled herself away. “You've been saved,” she whispered, “this time..”

As they returned to the chief’s house, the clan hounds greeted them with wagging tails. The wonderful smell of roasting mutton caused her mouth to water as she opened the door. Her younger sister, Danae was following their mother from hearth to table, helping as best as her small size allowed.

“There you are, girl! Sneaking about with that young man again, I see.” Her mother teased. “Think you would have learned a lesson from that.” She gestured to Annag’s rounding middle.

“I take full blame for the state your daughter finds herself, and I’ll pay the price.” Taog pretended chagrin, for only a moment. He laughed merrily, “I take that back, the lass is to blame. It must be that red hair, all over the place, it blinded me.”

“Oh really, you will blame me? The price you will pay is not what you expect, I think.” She punched him playfully. “Remember, I’m much better with the broadsword than you, and I’m not afraid to use it!”

He grabbed her hand before she could strike again, “but my harp and my voice will soothe you. And the babe.” He grinned, “which is good, because your singing will just scare the poor thing.” He let go her hand and ducked quickly behind a table before she could plant another blow.

Mara shook her head, but inside she felt warmth. The chatter between the two reminded her much of the way she and Donnchadh had been years ago. They still loved one another, but the job of keeping the clan together took much time and energy.

She interrupted their play by assigning them tasks to get ready for the arrival of Taog’s brother and the few others that would escort the couple back to MacGoulan clan home.

Her happy mood was only slightly marred by the thought of her eldest daughter going away. She chided herself, “MacGoulan is only a two days trip. I can visit her and my grand babe whenever I wish.” That thought kept the tears away. Though she knew there would be no stopping them when she watched her daughter’s back walking away.

Secrets

The prompt:  I gave you a tiny poem by Robert Frost to inspire you this week:

The Secret Sits

We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.

Sionn of Clan MacGoulan kept his distrust of the old woman well hidden. He knew her power from experience, and she’d promised these would be the last tasks she’d require of him.

“Be here, the second full moon from today, boy. You'll take the child at birth.” Lillian told him.

“Does she know the child is being taken from her? What if it carries the same taint as its mother? She was clawed by those hell hounds, she’s cursed.”

Sionn couldn’t forget the scene inside the MacClarren clan chief’s house. Pools of blood, the mangled bodies of the clan. The mangled body of his twin brother, Taog, there for his wedding feast. His betrothed alone had survived, though not untouched.

Lillian’s sharp voice brought him back, “She’ll know when the child is gone. I’ll not have a squalling brat getting in my way.”

“But the curse…” Sionn started.

“I know my business boy! The child is clean, and of MacGoulan blood. She is your problem. The mother is mine.”

“It’s a girl child? Are you sure, witch?”

Lillian snorted, “you call me witch, yet question my knowledge?” She glanced sidelong at him. “You have three boys. Be here, take your wife the girl child she wants.”

**********

Annag knew Lillian would be angry that it was taking her so long to complete her errands. She’d make sure to fill both baskets well with the roots and herbs the old witch and sent her to gather.

Though her body was heavy with pregnancy, she felt surprisingly strong. Whatever brew the old woman had been forcing on her had been good for her. The limp from a childhood accident was nearly gone, though she still pretended it for Lillian.

She stayed for the sake of her unborn child. None of the neighboring clans would give her sanctuary. They all knew about her wounds and what they meant.

Annag prayed the end of her pregnancy would not mean the end of her immunity to that curse.

She’d been using the many errands to assemble a cache of supplies. When her child came, they’d escape this prison. She’d find a way to live clanless and raise her child.

As she approached the cottage, she heard voices. Her heart began to pound with fear as she recognized the voice of her once to be brother-in-law conversing with her captor.

“And what of Donnchadh’s blade? Have you found it yet? Is it with you?” Lilian demanded of sionn.

“I have not. Ive searched the ruins of MacClarren and the land around it. Perhaps the faerie reclaimed it.”

Lillian replied with scorn. “Faerie. Fool! Keep searching, I want that sword, it’s the only thing could have killed those beasts!”

Annag's eyes narrowed, she purposefully rustled the brush she had hidden behind. The voices stopped and she heard Sionn's feet hit the earth as he trotted away.

She limped heavily around the bushes, her baskets all but dragging the ground.

“What took you, girl? It can’t take all day to gather a few leaves.” Lillian was angry, and not entirely with Annag.

Annag dropped her eyes to the woman’s feet, “I’m sorry, milady. It’s hard, getting up and down. The babe is heavy in me.”

“You're weak. Perhaps more duties will strengthen you.” She sneered and turned away.

“Yes milady” Annag replied meekly. Her eyes glowed with hatred at the witch’s back as she thought, “You’ll never find my father’s blade.”








And a little more of Annag/Anne Marie's story....

Sleepless

     As sleep lounges in a corner refusing her invitation, Anne Marie's mind travels to the long ago.

     In the blush just before dawn, after a night of hunting those things that go bump, the memories taunt.

     Her daughter, born in a witches hut. A child she never held nor suckled. A child taken from her before her womb completed its business.

     All that she has to hold, is a silver thread wound tightly about a lock of hair.

     She has known her daughter's daughter, and the daughters after.

     Still, she'd trade the centuries for one touch of her newborn's hand.




I joined in the 100 Word Song, this week's track is "She Talks to Angels" by The Black Crowes.  This is another little snippet of Anne Marie/Annag's story.  There is more, I'm working on it...

Downtime

     The room was comfortably cool. The walls colored in shades of peacock blue. Three of four lined with shelves from dark wooden floor almost to the eggshell ceiling. A lacy candelabra adding more to the decor than lighting.

     The fourth wall rose over a long oaken desk, just inside the door, filled with electronic paraphernalia. The industrious hum of hard drive was punctuated with bursts of cooling fan.

     Scattered dots of LED lights winked in blues, reds, and greens as the equipment attended its various tasks. Searching for specific words and phrases across the World Wide Web. Bookmarking and flagging those that matched the criteria set for it.

     From the fog gray suede of her chair, Anne Marie MacClarren looked up from her reading. She breathed in the scent of the space. The musk of old paper spiced with a variety of inks, that was subtly interlaced with the ozone of electronic exhalation.

     She scanned the rows of scrolls carefully sealed in protective tubes, and old leather-bound books. All well worn yet meticulously maintained. She'd spent countless years finding them, acquiring them, translating them, studying them.

     In recent times, countless hours copying the contents to drive, file, and disk. She'd compiled a searchable database from hundreds of years of study and discovery. Now, compacted into silver platters of ones and zeroes.

     She leaned back into the cushions, her eyes drawn back to the book in her lap. She chuckled to herself as she indulged in the once forbidden joy of reading for pleasure. Title page:  "Fifty Shades of Grey"....






the prompt: You have 450 words to write a fiction or creative non-fiction piece about the forbidden or the taboo.

Silhouette

photo courtesy of Cabochons By Bev

Anne Marie MacClarren wandered though the markets. She hadn't been to London in decades. As she held the heavy silk of her skirts out the stinking mud, she silently questioned her choice to visit now.


She had lost any intent to purchase anything offered as she passed tables of smelly fish, rancid fowl, and moldy produce. Not at all appealing, the vendors no more appealing than their wares.

One ramshackle booth was piled with likely stolen trinkets and crudely crafted jewelry. She took a moment to look over the clutter. Upon occasion, a true treasure could be found in such a pile if one knew what to look for.

A pendant caught Anne Marie's attention. A slice of muddy green stone, edged with a thin band of copper and hung on a ribbon. The shadowy image of a woman in the center.

Her breath stopped as she recognized the silhouette.

The dirty young woman behind the table saw her interest. "That be a special charm, milady, I can make a good deal..."

"Where did you get this? Where is the rest of this stone?"

"Its one o' a kind..."

"Do not lie to me. Where is the rest of the stone?" Her breath was coming in gasps. She could feel panic tightening her chest.

The vendor took her distress for anger. She produced three more slices of the stone from a tattered basket behind her. Each bearing the same figure.

"Just these,lady. These are all 'ats left! The rest was sold ."

Anne Marie ripped them from the girl's grubby fingers,"How many! How many more are there! Do you have any idea where they are!"

"There was 13 my da' cut. I been sellin' 'em some days. I dun know who buys. I just collect my coin for 'em."

Anne Marie muttered an ancient curse as threw more than enough coin for the three pieces at the shaken girl.

The young woman scooped the coins up, a bit braver than she had been. "Crazy foreign woman," she muttered.

Anne Marie grabbed the woman's wrist. "I'm not the foreigner here, girl. My blood was old in this land long before you fathers knew this isle existed." She threw the girl's arm down and turned from the stall.

She left the narrow street and its overpowering smells. When she reached the tiny room she had taken for the night, she laid the slices of stone on the table.

The image was unmistakable in each piece.

******

She'd returned to her homeland after years of wandering, hiding from the voice that was always in her head. Years searching for a way to free herself from Lillian's grasp. Years to find the answer now tucked in her pack.

She had barely touched the ground of her birthplace when the witch confronted her.

"Annag, you've finally come back to me. There was no other choice, you know. You must always come back to me."

Anne Marie almost lost the nerve she'd summoned at the old witch's voice. "I am called Anne Marie now", she told the woman.

Lillian sneered, "Anne. And how precious, Marie, for your dead mother Mara. Come, Annag of no clan MacClarren, I have chores for you. You must remember who you owe your life to, girl. Everything will be alright now."

Those last words triggered the desperation, the hatred and fear. She reached into her pack, her fingers gripped the dull green orb.

As she pulled it out, balanced on the palm of her hand,the chant she'd learned began to flow from her terror dried lips. The words in a language more ancient than the old Gaelic of her childhood.

Lillian looked at her with mild curiosity. "What game do you pretend to play, child? What gibberish is this?" Then her eyes widened in shock, her jaw opened to utter a scream of denial as the stone began to glow.

There came no scream, the old witch was still, frozen by the power of the conjure. The glow became a pulse, and with each beat Lillian began to fade.

When the words stopped, Lillian was gone. Anne Marie held the stone in shaking hands. She felt drained, almost as faded as the witch had been.

She finally looked hard at the surface of the orb. It was dull green once again. But as she studied it closer, she could see the ghostly image of a woman, her eyes wide, her mouth open in an eternal silent shriek.

*******

Anne Marie could still hear the voice. "It will be alright." But it never was. It was never alright again.






you can read more about Anne Marie/Annag here and here and here too