CHAPTER 11

~ Fagr MacSweeney ~

 

Because she has no desire to relive her latest vision over and over, Callie opts to eat her meal first, and then go downstairs after drinking the blood donated by her mates to relate the tale for any who want to hear it.  Once seated in the massive meeting room with numerous enforcers present, Callie relates her life as Fagr MacSweeney, daughter of a Norse wolf shifter who led a band of Gallóglaigh warriors near north Donegal, Ireland in the early part of the 16th century.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

My bare feet pad near silently as I flit from tree to tree in our little game of hide and seek.   Jannon Dagrún, my passionate pursuer, isn’t bothering to hide the sound of his approach, and I can’t help but smile at his obvious eagerness to collect on the kiss I have promised if he can catch me.  If he were my enemy, I could easily slip in behind him to end his life this day because he is being unusually careless. 

Obviously, Jannon is far too focused on the possibility of being alone with me in the wood without the prying eyes of our pack and clan mates.  That knowledge fuels my foolish feminine pride, just as it reminds me that I am far from the settlement with a male who desperately wants to bed me.

Not that I am worried that anything will happen between us without my consent.  Even if Jannon were not an honorable male, my hand on the hilt of my short sword at my belt, and the welcome weight of my dagger strapped to my left thigh always assures me of my safety in the company of a lone male.  I’ve been trained since toddlerhood in all of the weapons of our people and our usual enemies.  I take a great deal of pride in knowing I am a female who can take care of herself in almost any circumstance.

But today, I’m making it easy on Jannon.  I purposefully wore my brightest and most visible saffron yellow léine, topped with a shorter overdress of natural linen, and my long azure blue brat.  The long, fur lined cape, or brat, is a symbol of my station among our clan, just as my willingness to play games in the wild with Jannon shows my deep affection for the shifter male.  I smile because allowing Jannon to nearly catch me during our little games is always the highlight of my day. 

While the handsome warrior is not my fated mate, he certainly holds my heart, or at least my infatuation.  He’s a dangerous warrior, even tempered, and quite handsome to boot.  On the whole, a fine male.  My heart and body long for a male to make me his own, and it is my greatest wish that my father, the Laird Rekkr MacSweeney and his warrior wife, Skjótr, will permit Jannon to take me to be mated and give me a longhouse to fill with many happy and healthy leanaí.  I am a good Shield Maiden, but in my heart of hearts, I know my destiny is to be a wife, mate, and mother.  But in the meanwhile, we are simply two young lovers enjoying a fair and warm day in the wood.

Ah, but calling us young lovers does not truly fit because I have yet to allow Jannon to catch me alone in the wood.  I am a Shield Maiden for our clan of warriors and the only child of Rekkr MacSweeney, laird of the mighty Gallóglaigh clan of north Donegal, Ireland.  Aye, our clan may be mercenaries, and we sell our sword arms and long ships to those who pay our price, but we are always loyal to Odin Allfather and the Old Norse ways. 

So, as daughter of the Laird, I observe the societal rules and will remain pure until I am given by my father in a binding ceremony and mated in the ways of our inner beasts.  But that doesn’t stop me from playing naughty games of chase, engaging in a bit of wicked teasing, as well as stealing the occasional kiss.

A faint snap of a twig in the far distance behind me fills me with an ominous sense of dread.  That sense of “knowing” which sometimes comes upon me is screaming at me to run!  I’m young, but I am wise enough to heed a gift from the god’s.  And that is exactly how I have always viewed the “knowing”, a divine gift.  But none of these thoughts are in my mind as I run toward the last location from which I heard my would-be lover. 

Instinct has taken over, and I am in survival mode.  I must get to Jannon and warn him, and then we must both hurry back to the settlement to alert our clan.  Something truly evil has come for our band of gallóglaigh. As I silently break through the wood and into the small clearing where I last heard Jannon, I nearly stumble over my own feet at the horrible sight that greets me. 

Three males have set upon my beloved Jannon while a coldly beautiful woman in rich finery stands back and watches gleefully.  One of Jannon’s attackers has a mouthful of razor sharp teeth and is savagely feeding at his neck.  There is no doubt, the creature is a Stone Cold.  My Jannon tries to scream a warning at me to run, but he is far too weak to utter a sound as the vampire at his neck drains his life blood, while the two flesh eating Ghouls are viciously ripping chunks of his flesh from his vulnerable midsection and meaty thigh.

In my blind rage at seeing such a fair warrior attacked so vilely, I let loose a battle cry, and pray that they can hear me back at the settlement.  For the first time today, I am regretting leading my suitor so far away from our stronghold.  I know, deep in my soul, that because of my foolish need to be pursued, petted, and cherished that Jannon will lose his life this day.  But regrets won’t keep me alive to avenge Jannon.  I immediately lay my left hand upon the dagger strapped on my thigh through the scandalous but practical slit in my léine.  As my right hand pulls my short sword from its sheath, I let loose another battle cry as I take the head off the Ghoul who abandoned feasting upon my friend and would be mate, thinking I might be a tastier morsel.  Instead of my flesh, this foul creature will get to taste the cold iron of my blade.  Without a second thought, I remove the Ghouls head from his body in a single swipe of my steel.

The vampire is still greedily draining every last drop of blood from Jannon, when even from here, I can tell my fair and beautiful male is dead.  My heart clenches painfully and I promise Jannon’s spirit that I will avenge his death and mourn him as he deserves.  My laird’s approval or not, this was the male that I had wanted to make a life with, to create life with.  This male was mine!  And these foul, evil bastards stole him from me!  Hatred fires my rage and I feel the haze of the berserker madness fall upon me.  I try to push the battle madness away so that I might remain clearheaded in a fight, but my heritage wins out, and my battle beast comes to the fore, snarling and snapping at my enemies.

My change empowers my sword arm and I easily remove the second Ghoul’s head as I begin to taunt the vampire.  A glimpse of the woman dressed like a queen tells me she is avid for bloodshed, but I don’t have the ability to focus on her.  The battle madness is taking me, and this vampire will not die as easily as his flesh eating cohorts.  Someone must pay for my warrior’s death, and it seems this foul Stone Cold will have to suffice.

I enjoy sinking my blades into his flesh and dashing out of his way as he tries to retaliate.  And once I have stabbed him full of holes and he falls to his knees in a weakened state to beg for mercy, I cleanly cleave his head from his body with one mighty blow of my short sword.  But before I can even draw another breath, the “knowing” screams at me.  Often when the Berserker’s rage fills me, I lose touch with the “knowing” and it appears that has happened today and will cost me my very life because the clearing is now filled with vampires and ghouls. 

The woman who had contented herself to watch from the fringes steps forward so that I might get a better look at her.  She is the most beautiful woman that I have ever laid eyes upon and also the vilest.  Pure evil roils off of her lovely presence like a putrid miasma of greed, blood lust, and hatred.  I can feel her desire for my death, it is a palpable thing that hangs in the forest like a living entity.  It shines from her very eyes, radiates from her soul to contaminate everything in her presence. 

Obviously, this woman is leading this murderous horde and there is no mistaking the pure evil in her vile soul.  The corrupt creature takes to stalking around me as I fend off her horde, who are simply taunting me at this point.  There are far too many of them for me to survive were they to attack in earnest.  In reality, these creatures are simply playing with their food before indulging.  My death is a forgone conclusion.  Fagr MacSweeney of the Donegal Gallóglaigh will die this day.  Resolve fills my heart, I will simply take as many with me as possible when the onslaught finally comes.

Their leader begins tsking as though she is truly troubled by something.  “Do you know who I am, girl?” 

“Nay, I do not associate with vampire whores,” is my biting rejoinder.  Mayhap, I can anger her minions enough to goad them into ending me quickly.  I don’t mind dying if it is my time, because death comes to all of us, but I’ve no desire to suffer overly or to be dishonored by these creatures in the process.  The lust for my blood and my body that I see in the eyes of this horde assures me that a great deal of suffering awaits me.

The woman ignores my taunt and simply states; “I am Nyx, the goddess of the moon.”

I scoff.  “The cesspool of all things evil and dark, more like.”

Again, the bitch ignores my verbal barb, but her minions are hissing, snarling and lunging at me with a new carelessness.  Obviously, my taunts are having the desired effect.  I can’t help but smile a bit when I easily remove the head of a tall, blond vampire who dares to get too close.  I silently curse when his foul blood splatters my face, but soon it will matter not. 

“Too bad I must kill you,” the dark bitch taunts.  “If you were anyone else, I could make you one of my children and bestow upon you the honor of serving my cause.  But your very existence is a threat.”  She tsks again and shakes her head in a parody of remorse. “Such a waste.”

As though by some prearranged signal, the entire dozen or so of her dark minions descend upon me to rip my body to shreds.  My last memory is of me lying battered, torn, and ripped asunder on the ground as the world is fading to black.  I want to scream from the searing agony of vampire venom coursing through my blood, but I am too weak from blood loss and massive injuries to even utter a sound as the vile fluid corrupts my tissues.  I fear the change is upon me, but my fears of being turned into one of her vile creations are unfounded, as the Queen Bitch herself towers over me, broad sword in hand.  “Oh no, little one, I cannot allow you to change.  You must die!”  And with those words, her blade takes my head.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

   Kazar and Nyle are holding Callie’s hands as she relates the tale of her death when she lived as Fagr MacSweeney.  Upon finishing she looks around the large gathering of stunned enforcers.  Everyone present has witnessed many horrible things in their lives, and no doubt been involved in battles and fights that would send many hiding under their beds for the rest of their lives, and yet, the relating of her death at the hands of Nyx’s blood horde seems to have profoundly affected these enforcers. 

Obviously, her tale rocked even these hardened Immortals to the core.  As she looks into each pained filled face, Callie sees an overflowing of compassion in each set of eyes.  Tara mutters something about giving the pregnant lady a shot of whisky, and Blood moves to stand before her. 

“Callie, are you quite certain this was not a dream of someone else’s life?”

“Oh, if she’s not certain, I am,” Morrígan snaps.  “I arrived with my warriors just after Odin.  It was not Fagr’s time to die and her soul was still bound to the earth.  I had to escort her to Talamh na Anamacha, the Land of Souls.”  The look on Morrígan’s face speaks of how deeply the Warrior Mage’s soul was wounded that day by what she had witnessed and her duty of escorting Fagr’s soul to the limbo realm to await a new incarnation.  “I’ve been sent to Tulsa because Callie must not die at the hands of Nyx’s minions in this life time!”

“Explain,” Blood snaps at his old friend.

“I cannot.  Not yet.” Morrígan snaps right back at the sabretooth shifter.  “You know I am oath bound to serve without revealing the secrets of my lords.  But do not doubt my words, old friend.  That was not a vision of someone else’s death that our little Callie endured, but a visit to a past life.  Her past life.”  She scrubs her hands down her face and looks weary.  Not of body, but in her very soul. 

“I had hoped and prayed that all of her visions would be of her past lives, and not the horrible deaths she endured.”  The other enforcers begin demanding answers, and tossing questions at the Irish Raven, who snaps back angrily at the Immortals reasonably wanting more information.  The situation is quickly devolving into an ugly confrontation, but Callie needs answers.

There are tears in Callie’s eyes when she begs them to stop arguing and be silent so she can speak.  With shamefaced expressions, the enforcers stand down to watch her with true regret showing on their hardened visages.  “What happened to the others?” Callie asks in a voice that borders on pleading.  “What fate befell my father?  My mother?  Our clan?”

Nyle drags Callie over into his lap and holds her like a child as he tenderly wipes away her tears.  “I’m sorry, mo àille, none survived.  The entire gallowglass clan of MacSweeney was wiped out that day.  Not a single soul survived.”  He could have also explained that Odin and a battalion of his warriors, as well as a band of Irish warriors led by Morrígan la Fey arrived just in time to give chase to the fleeing horde of vampires and ghouls. That they killed over one hundred and seventy vampires and ghouls, and performed the Old Norse burial rites for sixty-two gallóglaigh clans members, men, women and children.  None were spared in the attack.  Not even the clan’s animals.

Callie curls into Nyle’s body to mourn the loss of her family, friends, and clan members. Even though this horrific calamity occurred centuries ago, for Callie, the wounds and the grief are fresh and all too real and personal in this moment.  After recalling her own suffering inflicted by the feral blood horde, she well and truly understands just how much her loved ones must have suffered.  She also mourns her family and clan from her time when she lived as Asami.  Until now, the likelihood of their deaths seemed a bit like reading something in a history book.  But now, it is all too personal and it hurts.  So, so very badly.

Nyle wraps his strong arms around her trembling shoulders and low back, as he holds her tight.  The horrific sobs continue to rack her body, while Kazar tenderly rubs her bare feet and calves as he hums a soothing tune.  He’s working his magick to soothe his mate because it’s the only thing he can do to help her in this moment.  Callie’s mournful cries tear at the heart of every single enforcer present.  A few wander away silently because her grief, or their own memories, are simply too much to bear.  But after a long while, the sobbing begins to subside, and she hiccups a few times before falling mostly quiet. 

Her weak panting testifies to the depth of her grief and the exhaustion left in its wake.  And still, Nyle and Kazar soothe, pet, and caress their mate.  Sadly, it is all they can offer, even though their hearts break right along with her.

After a time, as deathly silence reigns in the gathering room, Wrath steps forward.  “Callie?”  His deep, thickly accented voice is soft, and filled with grief.  “I was with Odin that day.  I’m so, so very sorry we did not arrive earlier.”  Everyone can hear the deep regret in the demi-god’s voice and see it on his hardened and scarred face.

Callie raises her head from Nyle’s shoulder and nods at the terrifying enforcer, who oddly enough, doesn’t look very terrifying in this moment.  Instead, the blond behemoth looks as grief stricken as Callie feels.  “I recovered this dagger from the body of one of the fleeing vampires whom I destroyed that day.  He extends his hands, to show a fairly plain iron dagger.  “It seemed important at the time, and I have kept it in my treasure hoard in Vanaheim since that day.  But I think it belongs to you.  When you uttered your former name, I flashed to my palace to retrieve it.” 

Wrath flips the ancient dagger over to reveal her name carved into the hilt of the dagger.  The Norse runes are easily read by Callie. “Jǫru-fægir Fagr,” she whispers.  “Twas a gift from my father upon my sixteenth birthday when he conceded to allow me to go on raids.”

“What does it mean, my love?” Kazar asks gently. 

“Beautiful Warrior,” Wrath says quietly.  “It was made by Mountain Dwarves and magickally bonded to the owner.”  Callie reaches out with trembling fingers to grasp the dagger.  The second she touches the old iron, it begins to hum and glow.  Wrath smiles his approval.  “Your blade knows your touch, Beautiful.” 

Callie opens her mouth to mention that she recognizes him from her days as Fagr, but he turns to face the rest of the enforcers in the room and notices they have a visitor.  A tall Japanese man is chatting quietly with Blood near the doorway of the large gathering room.

Wrath starts to question why the billionaire CEO of Nakano West is at the Twin Ravens MC when Callie clamors from Nyle’s arms to scamper across the room and kneel before the man. “Alpha Nakano,” she whispers reverently.

The man leans over and urges her to rise, but Callie remains kneeling.  Clearly confused by this reception, the elegant Japanese male questions her gently. “I’m sorry, ma’am, do I know you?”

“It is me, Asami,” Callie croaks with tears in her eyes as she lifts her face to look into the eyes of her old friend.

The stunned Japanese executive stares at her with a disbelieving expression, until he truly looks into her eyes.  After several long moments, it is his turn to kneel before her.  “Mistress Asami,” he breathes reverently.  He looks around the room, hoping for clarification.  When none is forthcoming, he turns his astonished visage on the Caucasian woman kneeling in front of him and whispers; “Asami, how can it be?  Vampires murdered you centuries ago.”  Despite his shock and the seeming impossibility of it, he has no doubt the woman before him is the friend he lost centuries before.

“Dayum,” Tara growls.  “Those fuckers really have it out for you, little one.”