A Curse of Magick by Gallagher Diane

Author:Gallagher, Diane
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Island2Island Press
Published: 2023-10-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The green canopy overhead softened the light to a beautiful glowing emerald. The path felt springy and lush under Diarmuid’s feet. The air was fresh and filled with the promise of new growth that spring brought. That’s odd. It was late in the autumn yesterday. Or… at least I thought it was.

As Diarmuid looked along the path ahead of him, he noticed a figure—that of a woman wearing a long dark cloak the color of the sea during the worst of the winter storms. She walked along the path ahead of him. She seemed…ethereal, not quite real. Like a tether to his chest, she pulled him forward. He had to speak to her. To say what? He didn’t know, but it was an urgent need—no, not a need, a compulsion—to talk to her.

“Wait!” he called. “Please, wait.” He quickened his pace to a trot, yet although she had not changed her speed, he couldn’t catch her. Diarmuid ran faster and faster until he was sprinting, and still, she remained out of his reach. Finally, panting, Diarmuid stopped and bent over, hands on his knees and sweat dripping from his forehead.

“That is not how you catch me,” she sang out with the sound of a thousand musical pipes played in harmony by the gods.

Diarmuid felt his heart lift with the beauty of her voice.

“Then how do I catch you?” Diarmuid asked.

“You do not catch me. Stop chasing me and open your heart. To have me, you must welcome me. You must accept and embrace me.”

Diarmuid looked up, his breathing now easy. She was beside him, but he had neither seen nor heard any movement. How is that possible? Her hair was so long it swept the ground as she moved her head—beautiful and glowing with a soft green sheen like everything around them.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“You know me.”

“But…I don’t recognize you. I’ve never seen your face before.”

“Yet you do know me.” She opened her cloak, slowly…carefully. Beneath the cloak, she wore nothing. Diarmuid flushed, unable to look away. She was the most exquisite woman he had ever seen, but the most remarkable thing about her was her heart. It radiated a light so strong that Diarmuid could see its shape and color through her skin. It was a dark red that filled Diarmuid with sorrow.

“Your heart…,” he began.

“My heart is broken.”

“Who broke it?”

“You did.” Such simple words, but they were filled with a grief so complete and profound that Diarmuid dropped to his knees before her.

“How did I break your heart? Tell me,” he begged. “I don’t even know your name.”

“I am in all things. I am in the hearts of every person and every faery. Children know me best; maidens and lads search for me, mothers and fathers celebrate me, and the old ache for me.”

“I don’t understand.” Tears were forming, unbidden, in the corners of Diarmuid’s eyes as he gazed at her sorrowful face. “Please tell me. What can I do?”

“It is as I said: accept and embrace me, and my heart will heal.

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