Curse of the Goddess - Blood of the Moon

Chapter 1 - The Secret

Faolán rubbed his upper arms as the crisp night air sent shivers down his spine. The setting sun behind the distant mountains momentarily distracted him; no matter how often he saw it, he always found the view breathtaking. Feeling unsettled, he allowed himself a few extra seconds to appreciate the view of the landscape and then his home before returning to the task at hand.

He picked up two rocks and walked over to the firepit, striking them against each other. After a few attempts, a tiny spark finally caught on the dried leaves. Not wanting the spark to go out, he quickly bent down to blow on it in an effort to ignite it. The spark smoked a little before turning into a small flame, igniting the carefully placed twigs and dried leaves. The tiny flame didn't take long to grow, crackling and popping as the larger logs started to catch fire.

Faolán sat and watched the flames flicker and intertwine, the shades of orange and red dancing with one another, casting a warm glow over his face. He was so memorised by the fire he attempted to catch one of the flames with his bare fingers, only to quickly pull back as the heat from the fire was too hot, burning his hand. He inspected the burn and blinked in disbelief as he watched the red, blistered flesh peel away to reveal healthy skin underneath, already healed.

"Isn't that right, big brother?" Maeve asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Faolán looked up at his sister's big blue eyes and the cheesy grin catching him off guard. Being so captivated by the newly lit fire, he didn't notice his two younger siblings, Maeve and Cirian, who had come and sat together beside him.

He looked down at his hand again, wondering if they had seen what had happened - even questioning whether it had happened at all.

"Right?" Maeve repeated, this time a little more impatiently, tucking the loose black strands of hair behind her ear.

She had their mother's dead-straight black hair parted down the middle and wore it tucked neatly behind her ears. As a talented seamstress apprentice, she was always neat and well-groomed. Today she wore her favourite front-tied black corset that she had hand-stitched herself over a loosely fitted white long-sleeve tunic and blue petticoat.

It didn't take Faolán long to realise he had missed the end of an exchange between the two; most likely, Maeve was trying to pressure him into something. Maeve was opinionated, outspoken, and loved to boss everyone around - especially her brothers. Faolán had a soft spot for her, always happy to oblige as long as she respected his boundaries.

On the other hand, their brother, Cirian, was extremely stubborn, constantly arguing and disagreeing - even if it was a good idea.

Faolán glanced at his brother, noticing that his grey eyes were staring widely at him, with an expression as if he was pleading for him to say no.

His off-white long-sleeve tunic was roughly tucked into his loosely fitted brown pants. He shared the same black hair as Maeve and Mother, but he had Father's curl - except Cirian's curls were messy and unkempt. Cirian had already taken off his worker's apron, which Faolán assumed would most likely have been stained with blood from the bore he and Father stayed back to track down earlier this afternoon.

"And what am I agreeing to this time?" Faolán responded sarcastically, knowing this game too well, but he couldn't help but find it amusing.

"It's nothin-" Cirian tried to speak up but was quickly cut off by Maeve.

"Our brother has a crush on a certain blonde!" She teased, grinning as she emphasised the last word.

Faolán leaned forward, still looking at Cirian, "Is this certain blonde named Isult?"

He couldn't hold back the smile stretching across his lips. Faolán had certainly noticed how his little brother gets all nervous whenever she's around, running into things, and just downright making a fool out of himself.

Maeve smiled, turning to face Cirian, "See? She's looking for someone to help her with the children's scavenger hunt for the Mabon Harvest Festival!"

She clapped her hands and jumped excitedly in her seat, "It's perfect, brother! You can spend some time together and actually talk!"

"I think helping her with the scavenger hunt is just a start after what happened today, little Brother," Faolán said while still looking at Cirian.

Cirian's cheeks flushed red; he leaned forward and placed his hands over his face. He sat like that momentarily before letting out a frustrated sigh.

Still leaning forward, he removed his hands and looked up at Faolán, "I'm such an i***t!"

Maeve looked between the two; just as she was about to speak, another crisp breeze pushed through the trees and into the small clearing around the firepit outside their family home.

Maeve shivered, turning around to grab one of the sheepskins hanging on a nearby tree and throwing it over her shoulders.

She turned back towards her brothers, "Wait, what happened?" she asked, suddenly realising she had missed something.

"Do you want to tell, or should I?" Faolán bent down to ask his brother.

Cirian hung his head, "It was so embarrassing!" covering his hands over his face again, "You tell her," he said to Faolán, muffled.

Maeve tilted her head questioningly and turned to Faolán.

"She has been baking pies all day for the festival," Faolán began, glancing at his brother. "I found Cirian walking back and forth in the food storage, muttering to himself."

Cirian, not moving, let out another muffled grunt, knowing where this was leading.

Faolán, looking at Maeve, continued, "He doesn't see Isult walk in carrying four pies, two in each arm. She says hello to him as she walks past. Startled, he jumps back and turns around, knocking into Isult."

Maeve covered her mouth, looking at Cirian.

Faolán continued, "He ends up knocking her over, and the pies have gone everywhere."

Maeve placed a hand on Cirian's back, "Don't worry, brother, they're just pies. You should offer to help her remake them tomorr-".

Faolán interrupted Maeve, "That's not all."

Still, with her hand on Cirian's back, Maeve turns to look at Faolán.

Faolán pauses momentarily before continuing, "Instead of helping her up, he doesn't say a word and runs off."

Maeve's eyes widened, and she quickly turned back to Cirian, "Why did you run off!" she raised her voice as she started to shake him with the arm she left on him.

Cirian was still leaning forward, with his hands covering his face. He made another frustrated sigh before removing his hands and turning his head to face Maeve, ".. I panicked."

She stopped shaking him and leaned down in a half hug.

Faolán also scooted over, placing a hand on Cirian's other shoulder before saying, "She'll respect you more if you apologise and try to make it up to her. Not saying anything at all will make it worse."

Cirian didn't say anything, and they just sat there for a brief moment.

The three of them had a good relationship, being so close in age. The twins were born two winters after him; Faolán reflects on how he vividly remembers the night they were born and how their village was hit with the worst thunderstorm he's ever seen. He remembers how the adults tried to keep his mother quiet, worrying about the noise of her screams. The memory of how the storm developed quickly flashed in his mind, recalling how the loud cracks of thunder were consistent with his mother's screams of pain.

Once, he told his parents this detailed memory from that night, but the colour drained from their faces. They told him to keep it to himself, as they worried about how the villagers would react to such a young child remembering that night in such detail. From a young age, his Father taught him that anything outside of normal was feared and feared people were unpredictable and dangerous.

"What will make it worse?" Their mother had approached the fire pit, having caught the tail end of their conversation.

The siblings, who all looked up together, were unable to respond, taking in her appearance.

Being a seamstress, their mother was always well-groomed, but her petticoat was tied up on one side, revealing mud-stained stockings and shoes. Her normally tightly-pulled-back hair was somewhat unkempt, with a few strands sticking out, and her white bonnet was nowhere in sight.

Their Father also joined the four at the fire pit; he had mud-stained trousers and shoes. This wasn't uncommon for their Father; he was an expert hunter and had come home covered in mud on more than one occasion. He sat down next to Faolán, and as their mother took the seat on the other side of their Father, he immediately grabbed her hand as she sat down.

Faolán looked over at his Father, noticing specks of mud and what appeared to be blood on his Father's face and shirt. Faolán wondered for a moment whether the blood was from the boar hunt that Cirian and Father stayed back to track down this afternoon. Although he decided this could not have been the case, when he glanced at his brother, noticing there was no mud - or blood on him.

"My dear children," their Father began, with an expression on his face that Faolán did not quite understand.

He paused, looking at their mother momentarily, who nodded in agreement to continue. "Have I ever told you the story of the beasts that roam the night?"

"Yes, Father!" Cirian exclaimed. "Savage beasts that eat annoying sisters!" He sneered the last part towards Maeve, who retaliated by smacking him.

Their Father looked sternly at the twins, shaking his head again before continuing. "Well, they were once human, just like you and I," he said, his voice low and serious. "But now, a curse turns them into savage beasts every full moon."

The twins had finally stopped fooling around, caught off guard by this statement.

Faolán leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "What kind of curse?" he asked.

"They call it the lycanthrope curse," his mother stated, joining the conversation. "It slowly strips away who they are with each full moon until they can no longer turn back into humans."

She paused, almost hesitating to continue before their Father took control of the conversation. "Unfortunately, anyone bitten by one of these beasts will share the same fate."

"I think I've heard the merchants talking about these," Cirian stated, almost like he was thinking out loud. "Large wolves that stand on two legs?"

Maeve turned to her brother. "Oh, I think I've heard about these too - that they haven't been seen this side of the mountain in years. One of those travellers last week said he saw one disembowel someone with their claws!"

Faolán was sitting quietly, processing the conversation; he turned to his Father, asking, "What about them?"

As the words left his mouth, he noticed dried blood on his Father's hand. His Father followed his gaze and noticed what he had seen, attempting to cover his hand before looking up at him. They stared at each other briefly, with Faolán looking away; his Father's tired grey eyes said everything he needed to know.

"Maeve, didn't you hear travellers talking about these creatures? That they're not seen on this side of the mountains?" Cirian interrupted, turning towards Maeve.

Maeve nodded. She seemed lost in thought momentarily before turning to her mother. "Why are you covered in mud?"

Their Father sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "A stag was found in the forest, torn to shreds. Not something that a mountain lion or bear could have done either."

"It wasn't a full moon last night, though," interrupted Cirian.

"That's what worries me," their Father replied. "The travellers were right; there hasn't been a Lycan this side of the mountains for..." he paused again, looking at their mother.

Without lifting her head, she finished their Father's sentence, "Since we found Faolán almost 21 winters ago, alone in a den full of dead Lycans."

She turned to look at Faolán with tears forming in her eyes as she continued, "I'm sorry; we should have told you sooner."

His Father stood up and knelt before Faolán, placing a hand on each of his shoulders. Looking him dead in the eyes before saying, "I want you to know that you're still our son, regardless of where you came from."