Read Online Spirit of the Mist by Janeen O'Kerry - Free Book Online
Authors: Janeen O'Kerry
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an unworthy man, or else she would find that she no longer had any power of magick at all. None of them, she swore, would end up as she had, wasting her life and her magick on a man who had neither love nor respect for what she was.
“She commanded her daughters to marry only kings, for she hoped that a king could not hide the mistreatment of his wife the way another man might…and being a king, perhaps he would hold enough truth, enough justice, enough strength on his own, to let him cherish his wife’s magic as much as she herself did. It was the best hope that she could give them.
“The years passed by. Of her five daughters, the four eldest did not heed their mother’s words. As women so often do, they chose their mates solely with their hearts and not their heads, and married the first men who kindled the flames of attraction within them—men who were not bad, but not good either. They treated their new wives well enough but even so, it was not long before the women found their magic starting to fade.
“Soon these four young women, once so lively and strong, had no magic at all. They spent the mornings and the evenings of their days bent beneath the weight of endless wooden buckets of water, and the nights suffering at the hands of their husbands.”
Brendan closed his eyes, and for a moment he turned away. “And they lived out their lives in this way? It is a very sad story.”
“There is a bit of hope. The youngest daughter, remembering her mother’s words and seeing what had happened to her sisters, did wait until she could be the wife of a king. Her powers remained, as did her beauty and liveliness, and it has been so ever since among the women of my family.
“Only those who marry kings retain their youth and spirit and powers of magic. The others—those who marry ordinary men, or worse—become as my ancestors became, as my sisters have become.”
There was a silence between them for a time. Then Brendan stood up and walked around to her, and took hold of one of her hands. Gently touching the side of her face, he said, “Such a fate will never be yours, Lady Muriel. That I can promise you.”
“I have already promised it to myself,” she said, looking steadily into his blue and brown eyes.
The wind blew cool and damp as they returned together to the dun, just as the rain began to fall.
Chapter Five
When the sun began to set, Muriel walked alone to the edge of the sea and peered up at the sky. It was as clear as an evening was likely to be in Eire, with just a few high clouds drifting off to the north and none to be seen on the western horizon.
She felt great relief at the simple knowledge that the sky was clear and the nearly full moon would soon be rising, for there was nothing she wanted more right now than to use her water mirror to learn a very important truth.
There would be no better time than tonight. Muriel dipped her leather bag into the edge of the sea, allowed the rush of the surf to fill it with cold water, and then made her way back over the sand and the rocks until she reached the dun.
She went into her house and shut the door.
Alvy snored softly in her warm nest in the rushes, but Muriel had not even tried to sleep. She sat on a bench beside the stone border of the central hearth, working by the glow of the fire and a flat seashell lamp with a little rush light burning in it, trying to pass the time by spinning a basket of fine wool, trying to occupy her mind by thinking that perhaps she would attempt to dye this lot in the purple-blue that was her favorite—the same color as the spring gentian that grew among the rocks—but it was difficult to keep her thoughts on such ordinary things as spinning thread and making pretty gowns.
The flame in her lamp flickered and went out. It had burned its tallow-soaked reed all the way down to the bed of sand in the shell. Muriel got another reed and used the coals of the fire to
“She commanded her daughters to marry only kings, for she hoped that a king could not hide the mistreatment of his wife the way another man might…and being a king, perhaps he would hold enough truth, enough justice, enough strength on his own, to let him cherish his wife’s magic as much as she herself did. It was the best hope that she could give them.
“The years passed by. Of her five daughters, the four eldest did not heed their mother’s words. As women so often do, they chose their mates solely with their hearts and not their heads, and married the first men who kindled the flames of attraction within them—men who were not bad, but not good either. They treated their new wives well enough but even so, it was not long before the women found their magic starting to fade.
“Soon these four young women, once so lively and strong, had no magic at all. They spent the mornings and the evenings of their days bent beneath the weight of endless wooden buckets of water, and the nights suffering at the hands of their husbands.”
Brendan closed his eyes, and for a moment he turned away. “And they lived out their lives in this way? It is a very sad story.”
“There is a bit of hope. The youngest daughter, remembering her mother’s words and seeing what had happened to her sisters, did wait until she could be the wife of a king. Her powers remained, as did her beauty and liveliness, and it has been so ever since among the women of my family.
“Only those who marry kings retain their youth and spirit and powers of magic. The others—those who marry ordinary men, or worse—become as my ancestors became, as my sisters have become.”
There was a silence between them for a time. Then Brendan stood up and walked around to her, and took hold of one of her hands. Gently touching the side of her face, he said, “Such a fate will never be yours, Lady Muriel. That I can promise you.”
“I have already promised it to myself,” she said, looking steadily into his blue and brown eyes.
The wind blew cool and damp as they returned together to the dun, just as the rain began to fall.
Chapter Five
When the sun began to set, Muriel walked alone to the edge of the sea and peered up at the sky. It was as clear as an evening was likely to be in Eire, with just a few high clouds drifting off to the north and none to be seen on the western horizon.
She felt great relief at the simple knowledge that the sky was clear and the nearly full moon would soon be rising, for there was nothing she wanted more right now than to use her water mirror to learn a very important truth.
There would be no better time than tonight. Muriel dipped her leather bag into the edge of the sea, allowed the rush of the surf to fill it with cold water, and then made her way back over the sand and the rocks until she reached the dun.
She went into her house and shut the door.
Alvy snored softly in her warm nest in the rushes, but Muriel had not even tried to sleep. She sat on a bench beside the stone border of the central hearth, working by the glow of the fire and a flat seashell lamp with a little rush light burning in it, trying to pass the time by spinning a basket of fine wool, trying to occupy her mind by thinking that perhaps she would attempt to dye this lot in the purple-blue that was her favorite—the same color as the spring gentian that grew among the rocks—but it was difficult to keep her thoughts on such ordinary things as spinning thread and making pretty gowns.
The flame in her lamp flickered and went out. It had burned its tallow-soaked reed all the way down to the bed of sand in the shell. Muriel got another reed and used the coals of the fire to
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