Moonlight

Chapter 3: Its Name

ITS NAME

Ciatlllait wound her way down a darkened corridor to a secluded room with two braziers glowing with embers. She reached into her dress near her breast and pulled out a small pouch of glittering dust. She threw a pinch at each brazier. They roared to life as she spoke archaic words. She turned to a basin of silver liquid. Placing her hands on either side, she plunged her face into it and uttered the words, “Turn back the time, the hands will work.” She chanted them, the rest of her body swaying. She straightened. The liquid streaked down her face, vanishing before reaching her gown. Her skin tightened and lifted, making her appear younger than a moment ago. She ran her hands down her face and throat, over her chest and across her hips with a sigh. The braziers danced with light, casting silhouetted shadows of impish Fomóraiġ and devilish Sluagh on the walls. She took upon herself the black cloak of embroidered runes. She moved about the shadows in a dance, slow at first then more frantic. From another pouch she cast upon the floor a number of bones and curious rune stones. “I call upon thee, Sylas Mortas!”

The silhouetted demons moved about in a similar dance until a form began to emerge. They shoved and jostled it until a figure materialized in the room. It wore a similar cloak to Ciatlllait’s. Its face was shrouded by the hood. “You call and I answer.”

The demons continued to dance on the wall. Ciatlllait circled the being. “Our plan is working, Sylas. Soon we will be the king and queen of the Summer Isle.”

“Yesssss,” Sylas hissed.

Ciatlllait stopped before him and yanked back his hood. Sallow, spotted, green skin framed a gaunt face adorned by long, pointed ears. A blaze of orange-red hair stretched down the middle of his scalp from widow’s peak to nape. He regarded Ciatlllait with almond-shaped, glossy black, pupil-less eyes.

Ciatlllait extended a finger and tugged it along the line of Sylas’s clammy, angular jaw.

Sylas lacked lips, but the skin above his teeth peeled back with pleasure, revealing razor-edged teeth.

Ciatlllait pressed herself against him.

Sylas slid his webbed hands down the curve of Ciatlllait’s waist. He dug his nails into her hips. Ciatlllait ran her tongue over his skin and nipped at his earlobe.

“What do you desire, my queen?” Sylas uttered.

“I wish for a way to end Aowyn, the last heir to Aodhagáin’s throne.”

Sylas bent his head to Ciatlllait’s neck. He took in her smell with a growl. “How shall we lure her?”

“A spell.”

“I am listening.”

“We will cast it on Aodhagáin. We will let Aowyn see. It should be a spell to control and slowly kill him.” Ciatlllait purred as her form melded to Sylas. “I will send her to you. You will set your trap.” She pulled Sylas closer until his teeth grazed the curve where her neck met her shoulder. “We will eliminate the girl and her brothers once and for all.”

Ciatlllait’s hand wandered low on Sylas and teased him before pushing him toward the dancing shadows. She took a few steps back and grasped the pedestals of the braziers. Her cloak slid from her bare shoulders. She licked her lips as the orange light washed over her. “Now, the spell. Tell me its name.”

Bealtaine advanced swiftly much to Aowyn’s dismay, and nothing she did or said could sway Aodhagáin to change his mind. On the last night of Aibreán, the eve of Cétamain, when Bealtaine began, Aowyn followed Ciatlllait in secret. If the witch planned something, perhaps Aowyn could stop it. She carried a dagger in her belt. If it came to blows, Aowyn would be ready.