The Torment of the Truth
In 2020, Yen Xiang Jun met once again with her child Daman Ó Conaill. Only this time she did not come alone.
The girl looked like his mother.
She was a tiny, wiry little thing. Dark haired like he and Darragh but with blue eyes like his, though shades darker. Mother’s eyes, not the green that his brother had inherited from their father. Scrappy was a word for aura that she put off. He would give it to Xiang, she looked the part for the claim that was being made.
Looking at his sire, Damon spat, “Are you intending to torment me with what could have beens? Why now after so long?”
Xiang sighed and said, “She is your blood, Daman. Hunter’s blood, diluted as she is the third child, runs in her as it does in you and Darragh.”
He had known. Oh, he had hunted and dug for scrap after scrap of information about Marie Smith over the years and found snippets of her. Had finally put the pieces together that their mother truly had been a hunter, assuming that Darragh’s madness after he was turned was possibly a product of his unknown hunter nature warring with his vampiric. Yet there had not been anything about what had happened to her after.
“Our mother disappeared in 1653,” he snarled.
“She was taken by Cael Ward,” the girl stated flatly. “He was going to kill Darragh and you and she gave herself to him, knowing his cruelty wouldn’t let him give up a chance to taint a hunter and their unborn child. She went to the Hancócs and I was born there, raised by Rohan Hancóc like his own daughter as a member of the sect.”
“Prove it.”
She drew a knife from her belt and extended it towards him, hilt first.
“This is her knife. The one she carried with her as a hunter. The one she used to bargain for an oath of safety from Tirlagh Hancóc when she came to Ireland after making a deal with Ebio to flee her clan. Rohan Hancóc took her life with it after I was born when the blood drove her mad.” Damon stared at her as she continued, “Take it. Her blood scent is no longer on the blade but it still calls to her blood.”
He looked over her head towards Xiang, still believing that this was some sort of torment that she had devised. Perhaps he had displeased her somehow since the last time they had seen each other or it was on a whim. And yet…his sire had never been so cruel. She had left him to protect him and kept Darragh’s existence a secret to do the same.
As his hand curled around the hilt of the hunter’s blade, he felt magic bloom around him, something he hadn’t felt in more than two hundred and sixty years since Violante Ottolini had died. Yet this magic was also in him, a powerful tug around his heart that said this blade was his.
Then Damon was pulling the girl forward into a hug, the knife still clutched in his hand, and bent to press a kiss to the top of her head as tears burned in his eyes. “Hello, baby sister,” he whispered brokenly as he realized that she smelled like their mother. Like oak and fire and the cornflowers that had surrounded the home he had left behind so long ago.
The girl looked like his mother.
She was a tiny, wiry little thing. Dark haired like he and Darragh but with blue eyes like his, though shades darker. Mother’s eyes, not the green that his brother had inherited from their father. Scrappy was a word for aura that she put off. He would give it to Xiang, she looked the part for the claim that was being made.
Looking at his sire, Damon spat, “Are you intending to torment me with what could have beens? Why now after so long?”
Xiang sighed and said, “She is your blood, Daman. Hunter’s blood, diluted as she is the third child, runs in her as it does in you and Darragh.”
He had known. Oh, he had hunted and dug for scrap after scrap of information about Marie Smith over the years and found snippets of her. Had finally put the pieces together that their mother truly had been a hunter, assuming that Darragh’s madness after he was turned was possibly a product of his unknown hunter nature warring with his vampiric. Yet there had not been anything about what had happened to her after.
“Our mother disappeared in 1653,” he snarled.
“She was taken by Cael Ward,” the girl stated flatly. “He was going to kill Darragh and you and she gave herself to him, knowing his cruelty wouldn’t let him give up a chance to taint a hunter and their unborn child. She went to the Hancócs and I was born there, raised by Rohan Hancóc like his own daughter as a member of the sect.”
“Prove it.”
She drew a knife from her belt and extended it towards him, hilt first.
“This is her knife. The one she carried with her as a hunter. The one she used to bargain for an oath of safety from Tirlagh Hancóc when she came to Ireland after making a deal with Ebio to flee her clan. Rohan Hancóc took her life with it after I was born when the blood drove her mad.” Damon stared at her as she continued, “Take it. Her blood scent is no longer on the blade but it still calls to her blood.”
He looked over her head towards Xiang, still believing that this was some sort of torment that she had devised. Perhaps he had displeased her somehow since the last time they had seen each other or it was on a whim. And yet…his sire had never been so cruel. She had left him to protect him and kept Darragh’s existence a secret to do the same.
As his hand curled around the hilt of the hunter’s blade, he felt magic bloom around him, something he hadn’t felt in more than two hundred and sixty years since Violante Ottolini had died. Yet this magic was also in him, a powerful tug around his heart that said this blade was his.
Then Damon was pulling the girl forward into a hug, the knife still clutched in his hand, and bent to press a kiss to the top of her head as tears burned in his eyes. “Hello, baby sister,” he whispered brokenly as he realized that she smelled like their mother. Like oak and fire and the cornflowers that had surrounded the home he had left behind so long ago.
Comments