The Druids' Daughter: Forbidden Magic

By Christina McCarthy

Readers have likened 'The Druids' Daughter - Forbidden Magic' as a cross between'Harry Potter' and 'The Mists of Avalon!' The feisty main character - Regan - has been described as 'A female Harry Potter - on steroids!'
This inspiring book successfully combines adventure, fantasy, history, mythology, humor and pathos. It is sure to please children and adults alike.
Regan, a chieftain's daughter in Ireland's ancient past, has enjoyed a carefree childhood, secure in the love of her clan.
But there is something in her history of which she is unaware - a sacred promise placed upon her at her birth. When Regan discovers that her destiny is to be sent away to live with the Druids, she is angry. When she learns she is to go with the Lord Druid of the greatest faery shee in the whole land, she is frightened too, for this is a place spoken of in hushed voices. A place of mystery. A place of peril. A place of Magic.
There is only one way to escape her fate - to pass through the terrifying Ordeal of the Rowan. Alone, she must journey to the Otherworlds, and face her deepest fears.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christina McCarthy
• Release date: Jul 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9780646559193

Christina McCarthy

Christina McCarthy is the author of the acclaimed book ‘Forbidden Magic – A Druid Born’, the first in a series of books about druid life in ancient Ireland. She was born into a rich tradition of storytelling, Irish folklore, Celtic spirituality and healing.The author's painstaking research enables her to show us the authentic environment,flora, fauna and human diet extant in Druidic Ireland."Forbidden Magic" is a book for children, grown-ups and Celtic Reconstructionists alike, empowering the reader both spiritually and mentally, enabling them to achieve ‘wholeness’ of personality which is so lacking in the modern world.Now living in Western Australia, she is completing the Forbidden Magic series. She spends much time playing her Irish ‘high-headed’ harp both for the inspiration it gives her and for the beauty of its voice. She is passionate about reviving Celtic tradition, especially in the areas of healing and the arts.

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The Druids’ Daughter – Forbidden Magic

By Christina McCarthy

Published by Smashwords

In a time when magic was, I lived!

Copyright © Christina McCarthy

CONTENTS

Book One

The Festival of the Dead

Forbidden Magic

The Reckoning

The Gift of the Sight

The Lord Druid

The Geis

A Birthday Feast

The Fire of Truth

A Late Rising

A Strange Blessing

On the Wings of a Raven

The Rowan Tree and the Stone of Destiny

The Otherworld

The Morrigan

The Bridge of Doubt and Fear

Where There is Fear

To Command a Dragon!

Promises Kept

The Forest of Return

Slow to Learn

A Slave to the Druids

Goodbyes

Book Two

The Dragon’s Eye

A great cure for constipation

The Wolf’s shadow

Black Wolf’s Head

Rath Arra

Dark Clouds and Destiny

Cruachan

A New Day

The House of Brigid

A Servant’s Lot

The Morrigan’s Scrying Pool

The Hearing

Strange Partners

Travelers in Time

The Feast of the Dead and Destiny Found

‘The Festival of the Dead’

The druid wizard stood on the Great Hill, gray hair blowing about him. Overhead the full moon, almost hidden by dark clouds, cast an eerie glow on the restless crowd. It seemed all the people of my clan had gathered to see the lighting of the sacred fire. All eyes looked to the wizard, waiting for his signal. Women spoke in hushed voices of loved ones long gone from the world of men. Little children sat on their fathers’ shoulders, straining for a better view. In the distance a horn sounded. All became quiet as the druid raised his arm.

‘Tonight we celebrate Samhain, the Festival of the Dead. Our chieftain, Lord Roth, will light the bale fire, a beacon to bring together the spirits of our world and the spirits of the Otherworlds.’

At the wizard’s words, my father stepped forward, a flaming torch in his right hand, my little brother Brion beside him. Both were wearing cloaks of red-and-white, the colors of Clan Carthaigh.

‘Let the veil between the worlds divide!’ cried the druid, as my father lifted the torch high.

‘To the Goddess of Death and Battle,’ called my father. ‘The Morrigan!’

‘The Morrigan!’ echoed the crowd.

Nine sacred branches lay upon the pyre, one from each of the magical trees, with elder, rowan and oak at the very top. A cheer arose from the people as the flames leapt up, gold and crimson.

‘The worlds of the dead and living have come together.’ My father stepped back from the blaze to face the crowd. ‘We welcome the spirits of our ancestors as they walk amongst us, and we open our hearts and minds to their wisdom. Let the feasting begin!’

Old Cait took my hand, pulling me toward the flames. My foster brother Alun followed, his red hair seeming to rival the fire’s glow.

‘Look how well the fire is burning,’ old Cait said to me. ‘Remember what I taught you?’

I nodded. ‘When the flames blaze high, the spirits are strong.’

‘And perhaps your dead mother will visit tonight.’ The old woman’s hazy eyes were as bright as I’d seen them. ‘She would be proud you’ve done so well with your lessons.’

Tears pricked my eyes. My mother had died five summers before, when I was only six, soon after my little brother’s birth. At first her spirit was often with me. I saw her watchful gaze in my dreams, or reflected back in another’s eyes. When I found my lessons too hard, she would whisper answers in my ear, or words of love and encouragement. Sometimes she warned of danger.

But the voices had gradually faded and my dreams began to change. Instead of seeing my mother’s face and things I knew, my dreams seemed to point towards the future. I saw strange things that I did not really understand. It was like losing my mother all over again. But I was luckier than my little brother. Brion had nothing of her to remember, just fireside tales and the stories I told him at bedtime as our mother had told them to me.

Suddenly the old woman leapt forward. ‘Look, child. Your mother’s spirit is rising from the sacred fire.’

I stared into the flames. All I could see were sparks and a haze of bluish smoke. I wondered if Cait was teasing me.

‘How lovely she looks,’ she said. ‘Why, her eyes are even brighter than they were in this life. And look, child. Her skin is as creamy and smooth as the milk of the finest cow.’

Was she taunting me? There was no doubt the old woman could be bad-tempered and mean, but she had never lied to me. Yet how could she see my mother when I could not? I shook my head. Cait might have a way with spirits but surely my tie to my mother was stronger.

‘It doesn’t seem fair,’ said Alun beside me, staring hard at the flames.

‘Faith, child.’ Cait wagged her finger at me. ‘You need more faith. Then you would see her.’

A silver flash lit up the village that nestled below the hill, a rumble of thunder following like a dragon’s roar. As the wind whipped up, the crowd began to back away from the flames. Reluctantly I went with them, still hoping for a sign of my mother.

Suddenly another fork of lightning split the sky. A great branch from the massive oak tree standing by the well mouth fell like a warrior’s arm striking a mighty blow.

I remembered a dream and shivered.

The old woman drew me to her. ‘The oak branch has fallen on the sacred well.’ Her voice was quiet but full of feeling. ‘May the gods of Erin preserve us all.’

***

Brion sat sniffing by the fireside, his eyes watery and his nose glowing red like a small ember.

‘Poor love,’ said Siobhan, Alun’s mother. She fussed around him, bathing his forehead with a damp cloth. Siobhan and her husband Colm were my father’s slaves, but Siobhan had cared for me and Brion as though we were her own. ‘He’s hardly slept a wink with coughing and sneezing.’

Brion pushed away the spoonful of porridge I was offering him.

‘Come on, Brion,’ urged Alun, ‘there’s honey in it.’

‘And apple,’ I said.

Brion turned his head away, his lips tightly closed.

‘You’ll never grow tall like Kieran or strong like Fergus,’ I said, hoping mention of our older brothers would make Brion eat. ‘Just try a little.’

‘No, Regan.’ Siobhan shook her head. ‘He’ll only bring it back up.’

‘Berries,’ Brion mumbled, with a crafty glint in his eye. He knew how to get what he wanted from our foster mother even better than I did.

‘Now that might work,’ said Siobhan, turning to me. ‘Old Cait made herb and berry tea when Fergus had a nasty cold. It cleared it up in no time.’

‘There are a few berries left by the stream,’ I said. ‘I could gather some right now and get the herbs from old Cait.

Siobhan looked relieved. ‘Well, off you go then.’

I didn’t tell her that Cait was away for a few days helping the midwife with a difficult birth in the next clan stead. Or that I would be taking more than just healing herbs. The less she knew about what I was planning the better.

***

‘You can’t steal from a witch! It’s dreadful bad luck and you can’t mess with magic.’ Alun stared in horror at the bundle of herbs I was holding. ‘You were only supposed to gather a few berries and get the herbs that Mother asked for. If old Cait finds out you’ll be in terrible trouble.’

I laughed, mocking him with the words of the old woman herself. ‘Faith, child. You need more faith.’

Alun glared at me. He didn’t understand what I had to do. Three moons ago my father had asked old Cait to use her herb magic to bring rain badly needed for the crops. The next day the heavens opened, but it rained for only three days. At the next full moon the druids performed a rain bringing ceremony that brought no rain at all. There could be no doubt about it now. When the oak branch fell on the sacred well it was as if some curse had fallen on our land. If rain didn’t come soon the harvest would fail.

Well, if old Cait couldn’t coax enough magic from her herbs, why shouldn’t I try? It wasn’t really stealing. All I wanted to do was bring rain for the good of everyone.

Alun shook his head. ‘It’s too chancy. What if you’re caught?’

‘The grain from last harvest is nearly gone,’ I said. ‘Do you want to go hungry? Imagine winter without enough flour for berry pudding and mutton pie.’

‘I know,’ said Alun. ‘It would be terrible but - ’

‘And imagine trying to explain to the little ones why all they can have is bone soup with no bread.’

‘Regan! I don’t want anyone to go hungry. But even the druids’ best wizards won’t touch anything belonging to that old hag. Even Druid Conor is wary of her. And she’s tricky enough to have put a spell on the herbs to harm anyone who touches them.’

‘She won’t even miss them,’ I said. ‘There were huge bunches hanging in her hut. I’ve only taken a few.’

‘And what makes you think you can bring rain when the druids couldn’t?’

I said nothing. Wasn’t it obvious why the druids’ magic had failed? They believed the gods were angry with us, and so did old Cait. How could their magic work if they thought we deserved the fury of the gods? But why should the gods be angry? Our people had properly celebrated every festival, and Druid Conor had performed all the right sacrifices, even killing two great bulls at Samhain. The gods should be pleased with us, not angry.

‘What makes you so wise, Regan? You’re not a druid or a wise woman.’

‘I’ve been studying with Cait for nine moons now,’ I said, annoyed by my friend’s lack of faith in me. ‘I know what herbs cool fever and what cleans wounds and - ’

‘You know some of the healing herbs,’ Alun broke in, ‘but she hasn’t taught you magical herbs, has she?’

‘No, but -’

‘And you know what my mother says. She’s warned you about dabbling with things you don’t understand.’

‘Maybe I understand more than you think,’ I said. ‘I’ve been watching old Cait. Last full moon I heard her talking to Druid Conor about the herbs that bring rain. And the other night I heard chanting coming from the hazel grove. It was Cait speaking to the moon.’

Alun took a deep breath. ‘She was talking to herself! She’s crazy.’

‘No, she was doing another rain spell.’

Alun lifted his face to the clear sky. ‘Well, it didn’t work.’

‘That’s because she needs help.’ I dangled the herbs in front of his face. ‘And these might just be the answer.’

‘Forbidden Magic’

It was the sixth night after new moon, a perfect day for beginning my magic. I glanced skywards. Not a cloud to be seen and no wind to bring any. The air was so still it felt like the whole world was holding its breath. Rain seemed another world away.

I looked all around, scanning the trees, a final precaution against being seen. The dense oak forest surrounding the little hazel copse would hide any fire I lit.

By the light of my lamp, I found some small twigs and stacked them under the biggest hazel tree, shoving dry grass beneath to start the fire. I encircled the little pyre with shells I’d collected when my mother was still alive. Perhaps they would please the mighty sea god, Manannan, the bringer of storm clouds. I placed the most colorful shells in the west, putting my favorite one on top before carefully lighting the grass with the lamp.

Then I stood back and watched the dry twigs crackle into life. When I judged the time was right I threw the first of four herbs onto the flames.

‘Burn, bracken, burn,’ I whispered.

The dried leaves quickly shriveled to ash. A cold breeze blew through the trees, stroking the top of my head. Looking up, I saw a solitary crow cawing mournfully as though grieving. I shivered and continued my spell.

‘Essence of water, soul of the sea,

Make the land fruitful. Come to me.’

I had no idea where the words came from. But I didn’t question them.

I threw fern next. Smoke rose, acrid and bitter. I walked slowly around the hazel tree as I’d once seen old Cait do.

‘Sacred spirit of hazel tree,

Bring the gifts of stream and sea.’

There were just two herbs left now. Rubbing heather between my hands, I sprinkled the violet-pink flowers onto the dancing flames.

‘Lucky heather of destiny,

Give storm and clouds and rain to me.’

I held the last herb, pig’s bell. It didn’t look much with its tiny green-gray leaves and bell-like yellow flowers, but I knew it would be the most powerful of all. Manannan had shown it to me in my dream and I knew old Cait had never used it.

I looked up. The stars were bright with no sign of cloud, but the pig’s bell might make all the difference.

Holding the herb aloft, I strode around the little fire, chanting. Suddenly the walk became a dance.

‘Essence of water, soul of the sea,

Make the land fruitful. Come to me.

Sacred spirit of hazel tree,

Bring the gifts of stream and sea.

Lucky heather of destiny,

Give storm and clouds and rain to me.’

I threw half the pig’s bell onto the flames.

‘I take a vow of secrecy,

Four herbs that burn in mystery.’

There was a loud crack and a terrible stench as the flames leapt up and sideways, like dragon tongues licking at my skin. I dropped the remaining pig’s bell, choking and retching. As I turned to run, strong arms grabbed me, pulling me clear of the fierce blaze. A bearded face was staring down at me, horrified. It was Colm, Alun’s father and my father’s slave and groom.

‘Little fool!’ He shook me roughly, mumbling a strange prayer beneath his breath.

‘How dare you?’ I yelled. ‘You have no right to stop me. I am a chieftain’s daughter and you are a slave.’

‘Mother Goddess save us!’ he cried, and suddenly the flames died to a flicker.

He dragged me, protesting loudly, back to the clan stead and my father. My feet barely touched the ground as he half-ran, half-fell, with me yelling angrily for him to put me down.

My father was sitting with Brion beneath the apple tree in the courtyard, eating a supper of mutton stew. He looked up, startled, as we fell through the open gateway.

Colm’s voice trembled as he pushed me to stand in front of my father. ‘Lord Roth, forgive me for disturbing you, master. I was on the trail of a deer when I saw a fire … it was Regan … she had this.’ He placed the pig’s bell into my father’s hand.

‘A druid’s herb?’ my father said quietly, his voice steely calm. ‘What were you doing with this, daughter?’

‘Father, it isn’t just a druid’s herb. Old Cait must use it too because it was hanging from her ceiling and - ’

‘My lord,’ Colm said, ‘I believe your daughter was conjuring some spell.’

‘Magic?’

‘For rain!’ I protested.

‘When I found her she’d already thrown a little of the herb on the fire and was about to throw some more. I managed to pull her to safety before the fumes overcame her.’

My father did not move in his seat.

Alun and Siobhan rushed in.

‘Regan, what have you done?’ cried Siobhan. ‘They must have heard you howling in the next clan stead.’

‘You really did it?’ said Alun, his face drained of color.

‘You knew about this, son?’ bellowed Colm.

Alun didn’t say another word.

‘This is what your foster daughter has been playing with,’ my father said to Siobhan, holding the pig’s bell aloft. Brion ran to Siobhan’s skirts, frightened by the raised voices. ‘She’s been dabbling with magic. Perhaps you’ve nourished her with more than just your fine stew and oatcake.’

Siobhan shook her head. ‘Master, I’ve never encouraged Regan in forbidden ways. I’ve tried to care for her and Brion as their own mother would have wanted.’

‘Siobhan had nothing to do with this, father,’ I said. ‘And neither did Alun. It was all my idea.’

Old Cait arrived, a strange look of satisfaction mingled with fury on her face. In one hand, she held a switch of birch, in the other a large brown jug.

‘I’d use this myself,’ she began, handing the switch to my father, ‘but better you perform the rite, my lord. You have a stronger arm. I’m fond of the girl but your love is greater. And as she is a child of your blood, your chastisement will appease the gods more readily.’

There was silence.

Now Cait would be in trouble! How dare she threaten me. She might be a witch but she was still just an old peasant woman. And perhaps not so wise after all.

Then my father spoke. ‘Better you suffer pain now, Regan, than feel the wrath of the gods. You’ve brought this on yourself.’

‘But I only tried to help,’ I protested, but quietly now. I was very afraid.

My father thrashed me then. I thought I’d die of shame to be treated like a common thief in front of so many but my pride was greater than my fear. I did not cry.

Afterwards Siobhan took me in her arms, tears running down her face. ‘Thank your father,’ she said, pushing me towards him.

I turned to her, a look of disbelief on my face.

‘Thank your father,’ she insisted, ‘for saving you from the fury of the gods.’

It was hard for me to look into my father’s eyes, but when I did I was surprised to see tears. Then I thanked him, though I confess I didn’t mean it. He didn’t answer me, but threw the switch onto the fire.

‘I’ll have my herbs now,’ said old Cait, and there was no pity in her voice. I think I hated her then. Colm handed her the remaining pig’s bell. ‘Had I thrashed you,’ Cait told me, meeting my eyes, ‘I wouldn’t have been so easy on you.’

‘I meant no harm,’ I said as calmly as I could, holding back the tears. I did not want her satisfied over my ordeal.

‘Terrible harm can come from wanting to do good in ignorant ways,’ she said, examining the pig’s bell. ‘Your rite was apparently completed.’

I stood before her, bewildered.

‘Enlighten us, wise woman,’ my father demanded.

‘These herbs are now useless, my lord. There’s no more power in them. They’ve done their work. May the gods help us all.’ She glanced sideways at me, a strange smile on her face.

It was then I noticed a small dark cloud hovering above us. Cait noticed it too.

‘And I believe the child has inhaled the fumes of the druid’s herb,’ she said. ‘Am I right, Colm?’

Colm nodded, ‘Even I couldn’t help breathe in some of the vapors.’

‘Then you’ll both need the remedy. Pig’s bell is a slow-working poison, though if you don’t take the cure by morning …’ Cait shook her head and handed Colm the brown jug she had been holding. ‘Three large gulps should suffice a man.’

I watched Colm put the stinking jug to his lips. Even before he drank, he began to gag at the vile smell.

The old woman cackled. ‘Colm! Shame! Drink up and rid yourself of the poison.’

Colm turned his head from the jug and breathed deeply, then gulped down three large mouthfuls. ‘Great mother of the gods!’ he cried. ‘It tastes like filthy swamp mud. No, it’s worse than that.’ He pulled a strand of something slimy and green from his mouth. Then, with a self-satisfied smile, he handed me the jug. ‘Your turn, I think.’

‘I can’t drink that.’ I turned my head from the stomach churning stench. ‘I’ll be sick.’

The old woman laughed. ‘Better to be sick than to die.’

Siobhan stepped forward and took the jug from Colm. She bent down to whisper in my ear. ‘Do not make a fuss, child. You have no choice.’

I knew she was right. I don’t know how I kept the filthy brew inside me but somehow I did.

Old Cait took the jug, wiping the rim with her finger, checking every drop had gone. ‘And the wondering begins,’ she said.

***

The rains began. They lasted on and off for nine days and filled the river. It was too late for some of the crops but it saved enough to avoid famine.

Nobody ever mentioned again what I had done. It seemed I was forgiven, but after the rain Druid Conor held a thanksgiving ceremony and I wasn’t invited or allowed to take part in the feasting that followed. Instead, I helped Siobhan