A/N: It has come to my attention, that some of you think that I am writing Regina weak. I am not. It will all make sense. In the next few chapters, more of the past will be revealed and you will come to understand why people are acting the way they are. Besides, the Evil Queen will be back and better than ever. Trust me, there will be plenty of sparring to come. Please just bear with the story because it does have an obvious progression and it will all make sense very soon. I hope to have the next chapter up quickly, so I can ease all the Evil Regals hearts. She will be back and she will get what she needs, trust me. ~ JET
Chapter 9
Bevin sat in their apartment staring at the wall, waiting on Bridget to say something. She had come back into their living room and just sat down in the recliner. She had a worried look on her face and she didn't say anything. Bevin didn't know how long she could take the silence.
"He agreed to meet with us," Bridget told her.
Bevin stared at her for tense moments, before the magnitude of what she said hit home. She looked up at Bridget with her monumental blue eyes and waited for more information. She was on the edge of her seat. She needed Bridget to tell her more.
"He said that he could meet us at the Russell House in an hour, if you would like. I told him that I would email him our answer. He seems really intrigued by your knowledge of Irish lore."
"My knowledge of Irish lore?"
"Yes, I didn't tell him the truth. I didn't think that he needed to know about the tattoos and stuff. I don't think that he needs to know anything that we don't have the answers for at the moment. I know that you got some stories that you could share with him. I know that there has to be something that you can tell him that will get him to disclose something or get us pointed in the right direction. I don't want anyone else knowing what is going on with you until we do."
"Why is that?"
"I don't want anyone to hurt you," Bridget told her.
"Hurt me? Why would anyone hurt me? What have I done?"
"You just woke up with tattoos on your body and your grandfather called to tell you that you were marked. We need to figure out what that means. I think that you can tell Seamus the stories that your grandfather told you without revealing too much to him. I want to see if he knows as much as you do or if he has some other stories that match what you know."
"Aren't we being over cautious about this?" Bevin asked.
"Haven't you seen the movies?"
"What movies? What are you talking about? I don't understand."
"You know in the movies the person that is changing gets tested, probed and prodded by scientists and such. We don't have time for you to be tested. We need to figure out what is going on with you before we seek more help."
"Fine, but I don't like lying about this."
"I'll email Seamus and tell him that we will meet him, but you must promise not to divulge too much. I don't want him to think that he can take you from me. I don't want him to think that you are some quest that he can solve, either," Bridget stated.
"I am not worried about Seamus, Bridget. I am worried about these," Bevin replied, thrusting her arms out at her. "I am afraid of what will happen if my grandfather's stories are true."
"What aren't you telling me?"
"I come from Kildaire."
"I know that."
"Kildaire is the home of the Cavanaughs."
"Yeah, I know you are one. What of it? What does that have to do with any of these?"
"Cavanaughs are said to be the descendants of the Banshees."
"Banshees?"
"Yes, banshees," Bevin stated.
"Like the bringers of death?"
"Not all the tales of the Banshees are true. Some of them are tall tales that haven't gotten told wrong throughout the ages. Banshees are singers. They wail for the dead, even if they don't where the dead fell. I heard my Grandmother call out for my uncle years ago."
"He died?"
"Aye, that he did. Thousands of miles away from home, he died. Then at the hour of his death, my Grandmother began to sing a lament. She didn't know who it was for some time, but she knew before the call came. She knew it was family. I dunno how she kin about it, but she did."
"And, you're afraid that is what the marks mean?"
"No, these aren't the marks of the Banshee," Bevin told her.
"Then, what the hell do that mean?"
"I haven't a bloody idea."
They stood outside the Russell House. They were both apprehensive about meeting him, but they knew that Dr. Taran Seamus was the only person that would be able to help try to find meaning in the stories of her youth. He was the only one that spoke Irish and Gaelic on the East Coast. He was eccentric but he was knowledgeable in what they needed.
They made their way in and upstairs to the main food court. Bridget found them a table and made Bevin sit down. She walked over the Chick-fil-a and grabbed some food for them both before sitting back down. She handed Bevin a sandwich and some fries. They ate in silence and waited for the good professor to join them.
He came in shortly after they finished their meal. They couldn't miss him. His wild and unkempt wavy sandy blond hair and emerald green eyes found them quickly. His frame was that of a jock or a fighter, but his dress was that of a researching professor. The off-white dress shirt, corduroy moss green button-up vest, understated clay colored wool tie, and brown tweed jacket with darker leather elbow pads were only further evidence of his position at the University. He smiled and joined them at their table.
"I have to admit, girls. I was surprised by your enthusiastic request. How may I help?"
"I'm from County Kildaire and am a Cavanaugh," Bevin told him.
"Ah, the land of the Banshee, tell me more," he stated, as he raked a hand through his hair.
"It is not the Banshees I have come to ask you about."
"Then, what?"
"I need to know if you can translate a tale my grandfather always told me at night."
"I will do my best to try. I am studied in the languages of the Celts. I speak Manx, Irish, Welsh and Scots-Gaelic. I will do my best to aid you."
"That is all I ask."
"Can I ask why you are asking me about this?"
"My grandfather is ill and I want to preserve the stories. I only know them in Irish and I can't quite translate them properly. It seems that some things truly do get lost in translation," she lied.
"I would love to help. I always like hearing the lore in its native tongue. Please go ahead."
Bridget nodded at her to tell him something. She knew that Bevin wanted to roll up her sleeves and show the man the tattoos in hopes that he could decipher their meanings. She was hesitant and she knew that he could feel it, but she hoped that whatever Bevin told him, he would know what it meant to her.
"Fine, but I warn you. I don't speak Irish verra well. I may have a thick lilt, professor, but my parents wanted me to learn English and use it more than my native tongue. Grandfather taught me little as he could and then more once my parents were gone. Forgive me if I say anything wrong for your learned ear," Bevin told him.
He could tell that she told him the truth. He heard distinct issues with her dialect. It wasn't from someone who was from Kildaire originally, but he couldn't place it. He shook his head in assent and gestured for her to tell him.
"Beidh sí a bheith ar eolas ag gruaige cosúil le tine agus súile an dath an spéir, agus beidh sí a bheith ar a dtugtar an ceann geal. Beidh sí a bheith ar eolas ag na marcanna ar a corp. Scaoileadh ag an carachtar, nathanna cainte, beidh ndán di a nochtadh."
"Sounded pretty good to me," he told her.
"Can you translate that for me?" she immediately questioned him.
"Yes, I can."
"And?" Bridget asked, finally joining in their conversation.
"It is a story it seems of a girl with bright red hair like fire. Her eyes would be the color of the sky and a deep blue. She shall be called the 'bright one' or her name will mean 'enlightened.' Again, that could be a translators' interpretation. But, it is last sentences that excite me."
Bridget and Bevin stared at each other. Bevin's eyes told her that he was correct in the translation so far, but she was worried. They both couldn't help but want to know why he was so excited about the end of the translation.
"Well?" Bridget pushed, silently taking Bevin's hand under the table.
"It is an old tale and not one told aloud in Ireland that often. It is about a man so great that he would bring peace and unite the clans once more. It is the story of a Welsh man though, which is why it intrigues me so much. You say your Grandfather told you this tale?"
"Yes, every night before I went to bed, why?"
"Do you know what the rest of the translation means?"
"That is why I am asking you," she told him.
"The last sentences tell that 'bright one' will be marked. How so I don't know. But, in the full tale that I have heard, she will only bear marks once the son of the wolf has reached the age of maturity. Once he has reached that age, the Banshees shall reveal the Sorcha to the world."
"The Sorcha?" Bridget asked.
"It means 'Bright One'," Bevin replied.
"So, what does this have to do with what your Grandfather told you?" he asked her.
"The son of the wolf, what is his significance to the story?"
"You don't know do you?"
"Don't know what?" Bridget asked, looking worriedly at the man before them.
"The Sorcha will marry the son of the wolf."
"Excuse me," Bridget stated a little more loudly than she wanted.
"It is the tale of the rebirth of Avalon. It is generally only known to families that have a bond to Avalon, according to legend. But, it was whispered among the Irish that Banshees were related to the Merlins of old. If that were true, then Arthur ruled more than the English and Welsh."
"I am not here to debate history, Dr. Seamus. I am here to learn more about his story. What properties does this Sorcha have?" Bevin asked.
"I have plenty of stuff for you to read about it if you would like. They are all in my personal library and I doubt that any of them will be found anywhere online. The stories that I have found concerning this tale are spread out over the British Isles and in different dialects but they all come to the same conclusion," he told them.
"And, what is that?"
"That Avalon will be reborn and peace will cover the land."
"Sounds too good to be true," Bridget stated.
"It reads more like the Irish apocalypse, however. It won't be an easy journey for anyone involved in the legend. In fact, the Welsh version has the newest Pendragon and the Sorcha leaving the World of Man for that of the Land of Eternal Youth and the Fae," he said.
"Tir Nan Og?" Bevin asked.
"Yes, Tir Nan Og, sort of the Celtic heaven."
"Bloody Hell," Bevin replied.
"Is there something else?"
"No," Bridget responded quickly.
"I would like to read your stories," Bevin said, looking up at him.
He smiled and nodded. Her eyes were icy blue and full of questions that he hoped he had answers for. He didn't want to disappoint her. There was something about her that he didn't quite understand or get, but he wanted to help her on her quest for knowledge.
"I can get them for you."
"Fine, we'll meet you in a reading room in the library, say in thirty minutes," Bridget said.
"Sounds good. If you want, see what you can find out online. I'll bring my stories and then you can tell me how they compare," he suggested.
"Perfect," Bridget replied Bevin did not.
He smiled again and stood. They watched him leave. He was walking quickly. Whatever it was about that Bevin told him spurred him into action. Bridget was certain that he would use her knowledge for his next research book. He looked way too eager to get the Irish version of the tale. Bridget wasn't sure how much good he was going to be, now. He had gone into full professor research mode and she was sure that he would hurt Bevin if he found out.
"Bloody Hell!" Bevin exclaimed.
"What is it?"
"The marks aren't the mark of the Banshee, Bridget. They are the marks of the Sorcha. I bear the marks of the Sorcha. He didn't tell you the last sentence though."
"What?"
"The last sentence that I spoke."
"I got that part. What the hell do you mean that you have the marks of the Sorcha? What did that last sentence mean? Tell me," Bridget demanded.
"The short version is that the Banshees will reveal the fate of Sorcha to the Sorcha."
"Meaning that you are going to be the new Queen of Avalon? There could be worse fates, you know? But, hell, we don't even know that what he is telling you is true, do we?"
Bevin turned and stared at her. She couldn't hide it anymore. She needed Bridget to see all the evidence. She pulled her sleeves back and showed her the tattoos.
"There are more?"
"Yes, but that isn't all," Bevin told her.
"What else?"
Bevin turned her head and looked out the huge plate glass windows. She sighed, but calmly reached up to her head and stroked her hands through it. When she heard Bridget's gasp, she knew that she'd seen the fiery red streak of hair.
"Bloody Hell!" Bridget exclaimed.
"My sentiments exactly."
"What the hell is going on?"
"I don't know, but I have a feeling that I am not going to like it," Bevin replied.