Chapter II - IMature

The gentle moan of the wind across the trees filled the night's air and a pack of wild dogs howled at the full moon. On top of the hill, a young man rested his back against the centuries old Ash that dominated the hill top. Next to him, set up on flat rocks were lit candles, diffusing the sweet smell of honey as the wax burned.

The man laid against the tree, eyes closed, breathing in a slow, controlled manner. He brought a wooden cup to his lips and sipped the foul infusion, letting the concentrated solution of tobacco, clary sage and valerian into his stomach and then into his blood. 

He whispered a mantra to the wind, over and over, until the words filled his mind and nothing else as the brew took over.

Sent le souffle des dieux,          (Feel the breath of gods)
Le poul eternel de Gaia            (The eternal pulse of Gaia)
L'esprit des ancient lieux         (The soul of the old places)
La lumiere guidante de Luna  (The guiding light of Gaia)           
La puissance de L'esprit.          (The power of the spirit)
Pour invoker les faerie.            (To summon the faeries)

Although his body was still against the tree, his mind was between world, he felt rather than merely see what eyes couldn't, his mind's eye open to what was beyond the shroud. Phantom lights and old whispers filled the air, memories from ages past played simultaneously around him. 

Men and women danced, sung and celebrated. Some to celebrate life, some to worship it. Ghost fires burned and memories of the smell of burning logs of nine sacred wood.

...Nine, three times three...


The trinity; The father, the son, the holy spirit, three days to the resurrection. The Hindu Trimurti; The creator, the preserver and the destroyer. The three goddesses; the maiden, the mother and the crone. Odin hung nine days from Yggdrasil, the world tree with three roots, three wells, supporting nine worlds.

Everything come back to three. But here it is Ireland; Land of the Gael. Three... What is it with three? No, Who is three?

Badb, Macha and Anand, the three goddesses, The Morrígan. 

The man opened his eyes, coming out of trance. By the moon's position in the sky above, he knew at least two hours had passed while he was in communion with the spirit of the land. From his leather bag that rested on the ground a few feet away, he pulled out a cellphone and dialed up.

"JC, Here." Came a calm voice from the other side of the line.

"This is Terra." The man spoke, harboring a very faint french accent. 

"I assume you found something?"

"Not what I wanted, this site hasn't been used by Garou."

"Do you need an extraction to the base?"

"No, I need to investigate further. I found something rather worrisome..."

"What did you see?" His interlocutor questioned, worried by the tone of the french man's voice.

"The Morrígan."

"You mean the Irish goddess of battle and strife? You think she's coming to the physical world in the middle of no-where?" JC asked with derision.

"Of course not, I think it's an omen, war is coming... But why in this place, I can't figure that out. I'm going to stay here, I'll be in touch."

The End

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