The Cobb – 1721
“How many people are with us, Da?”
His daughter’s voice pulled Toren O’Neal from his thoughts as he tilted his head in her direction. He smiled an old man’s smile though he was only five-and-forty years.
“I don’t know, Sorcha.” He stroked his young daughter’s hair and held her closer. “So many want what we want.”
“A better life?” Sorcha replied.
“Aye, a better life in America.”
Toren had found a small place for himself and his daughter in the hold of the large British ship, The Cobb. They were joined by families that numbered in the hundreds: Scots, Irish, and Brits alike, all destined for the Americas. Many believed that the young British colony across the expansive ocean was their best chance at having a life they could call their own, perhaps a life that was joyous even.
That was not why Toren O’Neal had joined the voyage, however. That was not why he had uprooted his precious Sorcha from his family’s land in Ireland. He glanced down at his daughter and was comforted that she had fallen asleep, her breath in sync with the rhythmic motion of the ship on the water. He closed his own eyes and fell back into his memory.
…
How many weeks had it been since he had last left Corways? As much as he loved the town and her people, leaving had not been a difficult decision. However, as it always is where close communities are concerned, he felt guilty for leaving. Queen Finna had tried her best to convince him to stay.
“I still don’t understand why you think you need to leave, Toren,” stated the miniature queen, looking agitated and exasperated.
Toren had known Queen Finna and her clan for his entire life. Generations had passed and their lands had sat side by side with nary an argument to be had. The O’Neal clan and the village of Corways lived as true neighbors, always looking out for one another.
“I know it is hard to understand, but it is in everyone’s best interest that I take Sorcha and go.”
Queen Finna was matriarch of the Leprechauns and was known as a good and fair leader by everyone, as far as Toren had known. She had shimmering silver hair that was tied neatly in a bun that sat just below her crown. Her blue dress casually danced on the breeze. Her Leprechaun clan, as they referred to themselves, had thrived for thousands of years with very little contact with humans. The O’Neal clan was the exception.
“There’s nothing that can be done about it, Finna,” Toren continued. “Fate has forced my decision and I have no choice.”
“Why don’t you have a choice?” Queen Finna willed herself to take full human size. Normally, this would have fascinated a person, but Toren had already seen it happen dozens of times. She stepped closer and reached for his hand in a grandmotherly manner. “Your family has been as close to our village as any family of Leprechauns. I don’t see why you would need to go.”
Toren patted Finna’s hand and sighed. “My father made me promise to do all that’s within my power to protect Corways and her people. This is something I have to do.”
Finna was quiet and he recognized her silence for trust. She trusted that he was making the right decision, but as he sat in the hold of The Cobb gliding to an uncertain future, he wasn’t sure if he trusted his own judgment.
He shook off the doubt as he looked at Sorcha’s innocent face and was reminded of the oath that he had inherited from his father. He knew he was doing the right thing. His family lineage had a destiny and a burden to bear on the promise of an ancient Celtic god.
…
“Conchar,” whispered a voice in the wizard’s head.
Conchar had grown used to the voice and by all accounts wanted to ignore it, but it was persistent and unshakable. He had reluctantly begun following the voice’s commands and fulfilled its requests. The current request was more like a demand. The voice had thrown him from his horse and then compelled him to stand on a little plot of land adjacent to Corways. This was a dangerous place to stand considering that the War of the Magicks was ongoing. The necromancer knew he would have to tread carefully in the backyard of his enemies. The Leprechauns and the Sidhes had chosen to stand against his kind and the Merrows when it came to the human problem. The blasted humans had grown and advanced much more quickly than he would have thought possible, and when the tension became unbearable the dam burst and the magical clans were thrust into a war. Both sides had severe casualties and the Leprechauns were fearsome fighters. If Conchar could avoid engaging them on this day then all the better.
“Why have you brought me here?” Conchar demanded.
The voice remained silent. Conchar knew from experience that the voice would continue speaking when it chose to, so he began to walk the grounds. Being a wizard, he already had acute senses when it came to the arcane, but since the voice had joined him no more than eleven months prior, his senses had become exponentially better. This enhanced sensory perception easily picked up the powerful, latent energy that permeated the land. There was power here. Conchar could feel it.
He walked the lush, green acreage pressing his boot heals into the ground with each step, taking his time as he carefully searched the landscape for whatever it was the voice might be hunting. He was a keen observer, but noticed little that was out of the ordinary. Trees, acres of crops, a shed, and a modest cottage were all there was. He halted his stride when he reached the threshold of the cottage.
“Go in,” commanded the voice.
Conchar eyed the home cautiously, half expecting some sort of trap to be sprung upon his arrival. He reached out his hand and waved it over the door attempting to sniff out any ambush, but when nothing surfaced he obeyed and pushed the door open. It swung inwards without resistance and he stepped inside. His eyes were overcome by the darkness, but he willed his vision to compensate, and the entirety of the room soon came into view. There was nothing fancy about the amenities in this home, unlike his castle in the Black Forest of Scotland. The family that lived here was not poor by Irish standards, but they were not affluent either. The house was made up of three main rooms and a loft.
“Who lived here?” he asked the voice.
No reply.
Conchar took note of the haphazard surroundings and deduced that the family left in haste. Why they ran, he was not sure; only the voice and the family knew.
“It is not here,” sighed the voice.
“What is not here?”
The voice paused. “Something that we seek.” The voice remained silent. Conchar assumed it to be thinking. “Come. We have much to do in preparation of my return.”
This statement took Conchar by surprise. “Your return? Who says that I would allow that?”
The voice actually chuckled. “It is incredible that you think you have a choice. To be clear, you are marked as mine and to be in my favor will hold great rewards, but defy me and I will bring you great suffering.”
Greed was deep within Conchar’s heart, and he could not conceal his pleasure. He chose to ignore the threat.
“Come,” repeated the voice. “Your master commands it.”
Conchar strode to the door and into the night air. He whistled and his horse surged to him. He leapt onto its back and rode away. “And what name does my master answer to?”
“You may address me as Elathan.”
Conchar smirked with satisfaction as the clouds burst open and showered the earth with rain. Black lightning flashed across the sky, and Conchar knew that he was in the favor of a god.