Author's Note: Tis inexcusable. I shall be punished greatly for not posting...But I warned ya, didn't I? I'm a lazy bum, and sometimes it could take a month or two for me to post an update.hey, here comes Ciaran!!!!! Everyone take a bow...No? Okay, well, anyway, on with the show!!!

Chapter Five: The Ties that Bind, pt 1

The air was thick with tension, filling the four passengers seated stiffly in the car with nervous anxiety as it sped down the narrow roads of Scotland's sweeping, hilly landscape. Morgan felt like she was being smothered beneath a thick, woolen blanket, and the foreboding warning of Dante flashed angrily in her mind: 'Abandon all hope ye who enter here'; nothing good could come from summoning Ciaran.

Nothing.

Her brother sat apprehensively beside her, and Hunter and his father sat stonily silent up front—Hunter darting a cross gaze at Killian every mile or so as they drew closer to their destination.Killian didn't notice. He sat staring forlornly out the window, his brown eyes dull and unseeing, as if he were staring at a world beyond this, somewhere deeply rooted in the past.

Last night had not been what she wanted her first night in Scotland to be like. Every hour she'd been awoken by Killian muttering incoherently in his sleep, and weeping.

Disturbing.

She wasn't used to this. Had she some how caused it with her phone call? Had Ciaran done something to him? For, though the man had had his powers stripped from him, he was still as dangerous as ever. Unlike other witches, Ciaran had resources.

Dangerous resources.

"So," she began timidly. "You say Ciaran lives out here, Killian? What about his wife? And-And Kyle, is it? And Iona?"

He seemed to come to for a moment, frowned and nodded slowly. "He doesn't live with Mam. And Kyle and Iona are out visiting our uncle on the other side of Scotland right now. Won't be back 'til next week."

"Oh," she said softly, a bit disappointed. Maybe, if they'd been there, Morgan could have scheduled a meeting to see her other siblings. She smiled at his puzzled look. But he didn't return it. Soon he was turning back to stare out the window, at the endless, grassy terrain and the sheet of grey covering the sky in low, thick clouds. She looked away and met Hunter's heated gaze in the rearview mirror.

She shook her head and turned to stare out her own window. Killian seemed to be getting worse. The closer they drew to Ciaran, the more his vacant look seemed to overtake his face and the more he just stared dejectedly out the window at the passing landscape. She was really worried about him. What had Ciaran said to him, when she'd asked Killian to speak to their father? Or worse, what had Ciaran done?

"We'll be getting there shortly," Killian spoke up after an eternity of silence. Morgan jumped at the intrusion of sound. His voice sounded hollow and lost. Morgan watched him anxiously as a tendril of disquiet traced its way up and down her spine.

The compound sat silently, hidden within the sloping hills of green, wind-swept grass, as they pulled into a graveled driveway. Morgan was the first to hop out of the car and look around. There were four, squat one-story buildings, standing in a tight circle, each with thatched roofs and stone chimneys, slate grey in color. Just around the bend of one of the houses were the faint traces of blooming flora in the air, and she caught a fleeting glimpse of flowering plants and herbs. Her magickal senses reached out and felt the essences and spirits of almost all the individual plants. This garden was enchanted, but by what spells she could not fathom.

The entire place was closed off from the rest of the land with a white washed fence, which opened up to far away pastureland. She saw the distant, bulky shapes of grazing livestock. It was a picturesque little setting, quiet, peaceful. It sat far away from any town or intrusion from outside forces. Almost like a small community in itself.

"So...."Morgan turned to Killian as he got out of the car slowly. "This is where Ciaran lives?"

He nodded quietly. "I suppose. He comes out here a lot. It's where he ought to be."

"There's magick in this place," Hunter said suspiciously. Morgan nodded in agreement. Just underneath the surface of her senses. It was there: the kiss of magick, the driving force of this entire compound. She felt concealment charms and spells as well, perhaps to keep this place out of the way of prying eyes and wayward travelers.

"Who else lives here?" Mr. Niall asked. Killian flinched slightly before answering, then said, "Some members of MacMurdach Coven, and others. Mostly, high priests and priestesses, and some people just passing through."

"No dark magick," Mr. Niall said quietly, looking about him in puzzlement.

Killian shook his head. "Not allowed here. It's a place of neutral ground. If you cast your senses out, you can feel some of the spells that prohibit the workings of dark magick here."

And Morgan felt those too.

"Amazing." This coming from Danial Niall, who looked around with some appreciation.

Morgan turned back to the compound and squared her shoulders.

"Well, let's go," she said determinedly. "We've got to get Ciaran and bring him back to the council for that spell on Cal's Book."

Hunter nodded, and together, lead by Killian, they walked into the compound. They passed through the fence and entered into a large courtyard. At the center of it was a fountain where a stone statue of a woman sat. She was seated on a beautiful throne, her arms open, welcoming to all who entered. Her face was obscure, having been worn away by the elements and time, but Morgan knew, with out a doubt, that at one time, she had been breathtaking.

At the stone woman's feet rested overturned water jugs which released the spray of the fountain, and a small diminutive man, nude, slender, with fairy wings. His stone hands were reaching up to grasp hold of the woman's flowing robes. From the fountain, four cobblestone walkways branched off towards the buildings, lined with herbs of protection. Morgan knew. She could hear their earthy voices floating to her mind.

"Where to—"

She never got to complete her sentence, for at that moment an old man hobbled out of one of the buildings. His face was a gnarled, ancient thing, a cross work of wrinkles like cobwebs cut through his skin. He walked with a limp and was muttering to himself, yanking at the cap on his head and fixing his shabby coat.

"Angus!" came Killian's voice. Morgan turned to him in surprise. Her eyes widened. He was smiling. He was actually smiling, and for once since this whole thing had started, he was looking like his old, playful self. The old man looked up, alarmed at the shout, squinted his eyes then grinned a wide, waning smile, missing two front teeth.

"Fancy seein' ye here," the old man, Angus, said in a bright voice that sounded like shuffling parchments and windblown sand. "What be yer business, lad?"

"Nothing much, Angus. Nothing much," Killian said, his eyes lighting up. "Where's Da?"

Angus' gaze went shadowed for a moment and he glanced quickly back, towards the doorway he came from. He turned back to Killian and eyed him cautiously. He said," I felt strange energies as ye were comin' up the road. Ye brought with ye some councilmen, aye laddie? There be many here that don't take kindly to their types, especially no' ye faither. I canna let ye into the houses, but ye faither's in the clearing with some of the others, overseein' the Rites."

"Right," Killian replied gravely and nodded towards Angus. "Next time, hopefully, I won't come for business."

"I doubt tha' verily much," Angus said, and watched as Killian led them away from the houses, around one bend and out towards the garden.

"What did he mean by 'overseeing the Rites'? He is not allowed to cast anymore. Nor can he really," Hunter growled angrily. "What kind of place is this?"

"A place where no dark nor light magick can be made," Killian replied a touch of vehemence in his voice. "A place where only magick is cast to strengthen the wards."

Hunter looked as if he were about to say something heated and fuming, but Morgan cut him off.

"Was Angus Ciaran's friend?" She inquired, shooting Hunter a look. Hunter shot her a look of his own.

Killian shrugged faintly.

"Friend, foe," he replied quietly. "Who can tell these days? It only matters what you have at the time that the other person wants that determines anything."

"I can understand that," Mr. Niall agreed quietly from behind. Morgan glanced back at him. He was staring at the compound, taking in all the sights: the buildings, the shrubbery, the overall peacefulness of the place. A look of longing overcame his features, as if this were the peace he had been looking for for so long.

"The clearing's just around here," Killian said and led them around another bend, an outcropping of natural rock that looked like a hand reaching to the sky. It blocked from sight a beaten path that ran through leafy ferns and bushes, then disappeared within the wild tangle of a small grove. They were shadowed and dark, but Morgan saw the faint traces of dim light, like glow globes, gracing the bark and leaves of the trees.

Killian led them down the path and through an overhanging tangle of branches, and, finally, into the clearing. Morgan gasped.

They danced with absolute abandon, pounding their feet into the earth like drums. Hands tossed skyward, heads flung back, their bodies twisted and moved as if rhythm itself were running through their veins. Hyena-like cries, yelps and caws, animalistic sounds filled the air. And around those beautiful, freely moving forms glowed the slight traces of magick. Gold, yellow, sparks of fire and light, the mighty forces of nature tracing its ways up through their limps, between their skyclad legs, between their toes.

Morgan felt her magick rise to join them, to join their dance, to join their magickal weave, but she squashed it, however difficult that was, and watched, her eyes finally landing on her father in surprise.

Ciaran McEwan.

He stood at the farthest end of the clearing, like a dark king watching, eyes glittering within the darkness of the grove as if the otherworld itself had graced him with eyes of all-knowing power. His lips were curled into an unreadable smile, his hands braced against two oaks that grew side by side. He stood away from the powerful magickal working, but he looked as if he were just as much apart of it.

"Water, Goddess, mother, life," chanted one of those gathered.

"Earth, thunder, womb, born," chanted another.

"Fire, feeling, heart, light," cried someone as they spun faster and faster.

"Air, mountains, winds, storm," cried another.

"Spirit," said the dark drawl of Ciaran's voice. "Spirit."

"Spirit," came the echoing chant from all. "Spirit, guide us. All-knowing. All-seeing. The Akasha. The Nun. The Creatrix. That which is void and yet full. That which is invisible, but seen."

"What the hell is going on?!" Hunter called out, but no one heard, and if they did, didn't care. He turned to Killian, the anger evident on his face. "Ciaran isn't supposed to be practicing magick. He was stripped of his power."

Killian's glare was like ice. "He's not casting anything—"

"Are you sure of that?" This time Danial Niall spoke up and his voice was like cold steel "Are you sure your father's not changing the wards on this place?"

"He can't!" Killian protested. "He can't do anything like that. No one can. The wards on this place are older than anyone here, if anyone tapered with them beyond their use, then that person would be killed!"

Morgan's head whirled back to the circle as Ciaran spoke again.

"Water," He intoned.

"Water, Water, Water," came the echo. "Goddess, mother and life..."

"Earth," Ciaran whispered.

"Earth, Earth, Earth," came the resonance of voices. "Thunder, womb and born..."

"Fire," Ciaran crooned.

"Fire, Fire, Fire. Feeling, heart and light." Like a ricochet from tree branch to tree branch, power building, rising. The wind whispered, the earth sang.

"Air." Ciaran caressed all who were gathered with his words.

"Air, Air, Air. Mountains, winds and storm."

"Spirit." The softest brush of silk against their magickal senses.

"Spirit... All-knowing. All-seeing. The Akasha. The Nun. The Creatrix. That which is void and yet full. That which is invisible, but seen."

"Now, send the power," Ciaran ordered fiercely. The glow around the peoples' bodies became intense, like the thousand thousand blazings of dying stars, showering the universe with their last lights before being snuffed out forever. This glow, this intensity, this light was sent skyward out of the clearing, fanning out into the atmosphere, finally dissipating and disbanding like a sprinkle of stars across the Milky Way. Then it disappeared altogether.

Morgan took a deep breath, not realizing she had been holding it, watching as the people in the clearing came down from their magickal highs laughing and joking, but still within the thrumming thralls of their craft.

"This is magick," said Killian softly. "This is the Cleansing Rites, to keep all negative and positive forces out of this place. It is neutral ground. So neither good nor evil can have its sway or influence on this place's goings about." He turned to them. "Da can't possibly be changing the way this place was made, but he can lead the Rites. He's done it before, once or twice, and while he can't join the magickal weave, he can still guide it with his voice alone."

"Would it be able to stop the dark wave's might?" Morgan asked timidly.

Killian shrugged.

"Honestly?" He shrugged again. "No one's ever tested it out. No one's ever wanted to test this place's old magick. It sits on a direct powerhouse. There is an underground river that empties out to the sea, flowing underneath the pastureland. There's the pastureland itself. There are the hills in the distance, and there's an old kiln that the ancient witches set up some time ago. Water, Earth, Air and Fire."

Morgan nodded in awe. "A Powerhouse of magick?" She breathed. "Wow."

"Yeah," Killian said with the slight shadow of a smile.

"Well that's all well and good," Hunter cut in, "but we've got business to attend to." He stepped forward into the clearing and cleared his throat. He said loudly," Ciaran McEwan of Clan Woodbane, I, Hunter Niall, Seeker of the Council, have been sent to you. By order of the International Council of Witches, you have been summoned and commanded to appear before its High members for matters of importance."

There was silence in the grove for a moment as heads turned and some gathered looked on with puzzlement. Morgan watched Ciaran as he stepped gracefully from between the oaks, eyes trained on Hunter. His face was unreadable.

"Ah," he began his voice a dark whisper that carried," it seems I can't keep the council from meddling in my affairs, then." He turned to Killian. "I thought I told you—"

Morgan saw Killian visibly shiver.

"I know, Da," he replied shakily," but they need you. You have to—"

"Ciaran McEwan," interrupted one of those gathered from within the circle. He was a tall, bearded man with a grandfatherly look about him. His eyes were guarded pools of green-hazel. "This is a hassle we do not need. These Council members threaten the very fabric work that has been cast upon this place. Remove them, for your problems are not a concern of ours."

"Understood, McDunn," Ciaran replied in a clipped tone. He sent Killian a fiery glare before sweeping past Morgan and the others, out of the grove. They followed.

"McEwan," Hunter growled heatedly as the older man was about to turn the bend on the dirt path that led back to the houses. He stopped and looked back at Hunter with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You will come."

"Will I now?" he said, amusement creeping into his tone. But it was a dangerous sort of amusement. Much like a cat's, when playing with a mouse, until it grew bored and snapped its neck. "Go back to your council, Seeker, and you tell them, that under no circumstances am I inclined to follow their orders." And then he turned on his heel and continued up the path.

Morgan heard Mr. Niall's slow, angry hiss beside her and felt the fury radiating off of him in waves. Hunter was doing a good job of holding his rage at Ciaran in check; she wondered what it was like for Mr. Niall seeing Ciaran. What emotions could possibly be running through his system, watching his age-old enemy openly defy the council's orders and parade that defiance in their faces.

"CIARAN!!" Hunter shouted angrily, but the older man ignored him and continued walking. He added furiously, "He's not going to listen to us."

"What can we do?" Morgan asked, fearing that she might have to risk this compound's ancient spells and power by putting a binding spell on her father and dragging him off to the car.

"I don't—"

But Hunter was cut off when Killian stepped forward with a determined look on his face. He opened his mouth and said something in Scottish. Morgan frowned, but had no time to ask Hunter or his father what the words could possibly mean; Ciaran had stopped abruptly in his tracks. He turned, an unreadable look frozen on his features.

"No, you don't, Killian," Ciaran growled angrily. "Don't you dare."

"I will," Killian said in a warning tone. "You can't walk away like this. What about Cal? What about your promise?"

"What about them?" Ciaran hissed, baring his teeth.

"I won't let you do this," Killian whispered. Morgan went to him and placed a shaking hand on his shoulder. She'd never heard her brother talk like this, act like this. And what was he talking about? What promise? What did Cal mean to Ciaran? To the both of them? What ties did either of them share with Cal?

"Won't you?" the older man replied, turning on his heel once more. Morgan backed away from Killian and into her boyfriend's arms, watching as her brother took a deep breath and shut his eyes. For a moment, he did nothing and Ciaran was moving farther and farther away. Then he opened his mouth and spoke, "Meomhair bhur bangadh."

Like silk running over soft skin.

Again, Ciaran froze in his tracks, but this time, when he turned back to their small group there was a stricken look upon his face, marring his handsome features. A look of someone who had lost so much and could not take losing anymore.

Killian spoke again, "Meomhair bhur bangadh."

The world around her quivered for a moment, pressing in around them, leaning in as if to listen to this one word spoken, and she felt something old and ancient rise from the earth, ready, waiting. The faint flicker of old runes of protection and negation shimmered in the air for a moment before fading like a dream.

The wards! Whatever magick Killian was invoking was setting off the wards of this place, not necessarily attacking his use of magick, but not necessarily liking it either. She could feel the guarded nature of the old magick, feeling around the edges of Killian's words, tasting it, trying to sense its intention. She turned back to her brother as she felt Hunter's grip upon her shoulders tighten for a moment in concern.

"Don't—Don't do this, Killian," Ciaran stumbled in an uncertain tone. "Don't."

"You leave me no choice, Da," Killian replied, finally opening his eyes and staring blankly at his father. "Will you adhere to the council's summons?"

Ciaran clenched his jaw. His eyes were dark, black holes of blazing anger. He did not answer.

"Will you adhere to the council's summons?" Killian asked again, more forceful this time. Still, Ciaran remained silent.

Killian took one more deep breath, opened his mouth to speak.

"Yes," Ciaran ground out before Killian could speak another word. "I will adhere."

"Your word?" Killian asked. Ciaran nodded quietly.

"My word."

Killian's body seemed to slump with some infinitesimal weight as he released whatever magick he had been invoking, watching as his father stalked stiffly away down the path and disappeared around the bend.

Morgan approached her brother and placed a hand on his shoulder once more. He turned to her and smiled weakly.

"What did you do?" Hunter asked in wonder. "I thought you said no dark or light magick could be cast in this place."

Killian looked at him for a moment, before swallowing a dry throat and saying, "It wasn't dark or light. It was....a reminder."

"A reminder?" Mr. Niall asked puzzled. Killian nodded and sighed.

"Can we go?" Killian asked wearily. Morgan nodded and turned to Hunter.

"Yes, we'll head back to the council headquarters," Hunter replied. "Are you sure Ciaran'll..."

Killian nodded exhaustedly.

"Alright then," Hunter said, still casting Killian strange looks. "We can go."

And led everyone back to the car.

Author's note: Did you like? After much revising on this story ( i still can't iron out the kinks in Hunter's character...he doesn't seem Hunter-ish to me), how did it work out? And for anybody who're Irish-Gaelic-Scottish scholars, don't mind me and my foolish attempts at language.....o.0

(My second language is German, okay?!!! o.0)

MacBain and MacFarlene Dictionary sources:
meomhair: remember
bhur: your
bangadh: promise

I'll post as fast as I can...which don't mean diddly to any of you, but wah!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Reviews are golden!!!!

C'mon...give a starvin' artist something!