And a place of power.
She stopped the wagon, breathed the air.
“He can’t get through. It’s too strong for him to push through.”
“Something here,” Eamon murmured.
“Something bright,” Teagan said. “Strong and bright. And old.”
“Before us.” Grateful for the help, Brannaugh let her husband lift her from the wagon. “Before our mother. Before any time we know.”
“A church.” Gealbhan reached up to lift Teagan from the saddle. “But no one’s here.”
“They’re here.” Weary, Teagan leaned against him. “Those who came before us, those who sanctified this ground. They will not let him pass. This is a holy place.”
“Tonight, this is ours.” Brannaugh stepped forward, lifted her hands. “Gods of light, goddesses bright, we call to you across the night. By the power you have given, by the purpose we are driven, we seek your blessing. A night within your walls before whatever fates befall, this respite, this resting. We are Sorcha’s three. Dark witches come to thee. By thy will, so mote it be.”
Light bloomed like sun, shining through the windows, the doors that opened with a wind like breath. And warmth poured out.
“We are welcome here.” Smiling, she lifted her daughter, and all the fatigue from the long journey fell away. “We are welcome.”
Brannaugh settled the children to sleep on pallets she made on the floor of the church. And was grateful to find both of them too weary to whine or argue, for her momentary energy already flagged.
“Do you hear them?” Eamon whispered.
“Even I hear them.” Eoghan scanned the church, the stone walls, the wooden seats. “They sing.”
“Aye.” Gealbhan picked up the pup to soothe it. “Soft, lovely. As angels or gods might sing. This is a holy place.”
“It offers more than sanctuary for the night.” A hand pressed to her back, Brannaugh rose. “It offers the blessing, and the light. We were called by those who’ve come before us, to this place, on this night.”
Teagan touched her fingers lightly, reverently, to the altar. “Built by a king for a kindness given. A promise kept. Built here near a pilgrim’s walk. This abbey called Ballintubber.”
She lifted her hands, smiled. “This much I see.” She turned to her husband. “Aye, this is a holy place, and we’ll seek the blessing of those who called us.”
“Like the king,” Brannaugh said, “we have a promise to keep. Eoghan, my love, would you fetch me my mother’s book?”
“I will, aye—if you will sit. Just sit, Brannaugh. You’re too pale.”
“I’m weary, in truth, but I promise you this must be done, and we will all be better for it. Teagan—”
“I know what we need. I’ll—”
“Sit,” her brother insisted. “I’ll get what we need, and the both of you will take your ease for a moment. Gealbhan, I swear by the gods, sit on the pair of them if they don’t rest for a bit.”
Gealbhan had only to touch his wife’s cheek, to take Brannaugh’s hand to have them heed. “What must be done?” he asked Teagan.
“An offering. An asking. A gathering. He cannot come here. Cabhan cannot come here, or see here. Here he has no power. And here, we can gather ours together.”
“What do you need?”
“You are the best of us.” She kissed his cheek. “If you would help Eamon, I promise you Brannaugh and I will bide here, will rest.”
When he’d gone, she turned quickly to Brannaugh. “You have pain.”
“It’s not the birthing pains. You’ll learn the babe often gives you a bit of a taste of what’s coming. This will pass. But the rest is welcome. What we will do here will take strength.”
They took an hour, to rest, to prepare.