Chapter Six: The Demon at Lough Derg
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. , or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.
OOOO
Cliodna Milligan had been out by the water when she found the other girl there. Face down, covered in blood, clothing more like rags than anything else. The Father would have been displeased for her to come back covered in mud and filth. Her pretty dress in an equally ruinous state as that of this fallen child, yet Cliodna knew that he would be forgiving. How many times had he been forgiving as the Lord would have wished them all to be? So she hitched the silky fabric up in her hands, waded out into the water, and tugged the limp body onto the shoreline. It was cold today. Summer was fading fast into fall, already Ireland had sunk down into the promises of a cruel winter.
Once her brother had drowned during an excursion to the beach. Her mother, cruel woman she had been, gathered the brood for a spot of time away from the harsh realities of Belfast. Such trips and luxuries had been paid for with criminal brutality of course. Cliodna always struggled to stomach this reality. Patrick had been caught up in the water, and the woman had breathed life back into him. Not magical like their father, so she used her desperate hands. It had been one of the only times Cliodna ever truly saw something carnal in her mother's cold, dead eyes. Now the girl acted much in the same way. Pressing as hard as she could, breathing against chilly, blue lips.
Coughs and gulps of ill-begotten, dirty water surprised her. She had not expected one so long submerged to have had any life left in their lungs. Knowing now that the corpse was not a corpse, she appraised the other girl carefully. Pretty enough in spite of her ramshackle state. Hair a light brown. Skin the colour of freshly churned cream. Those eyes though, golden and threatening. Flickering open and closed as one of Cliodna's childhood dolls might have blinked once long ago. Her heart thrummed at the sight of them. She only ever encountered one person with eyes so unique as these. The Father. That jolted her back into motion.
Recognizing that the foundling was in no position to move back up to the church, Cliodna raced across the beach. Winding her way through St. Patrick's Purgatory. Closer and closer until-. "Child," The voice was sweet, kindly, untroubled by anything. Every day she resolved herself to become as unflinching in the face of hardship as the Father. "You have besmirched your smock, my dear Cliodna. Why?"
She peered up into his handsome, artfully crafted face. Eyes as red as boiling blood, dark as rubies glinted down at her. His black curls flipping in the chilly wind. "A girl," She gasped up at him, "Oh Father, she washed upon the beach. I breathed life back into her lungs. Please help, Father!"
He snapped his fingers at a pair of advocates toiling nearby. Commanding them to fetch the foundling and bring her into the warmth of their home. What followed was a whirlwind of activity. Cliodna and her sisters brought the new arrival into the sanctuary of their chambers. Warming her against the cold, lighting every hearth and nearly exhausting their stores of blankets. "I have a bad feeling," Claire hissed from the corner. She was an older girl, close to joining the Sisters in their devotion to Father's mission now. Cliodna never liked the seventeen year old, or any of the other young women at St. Patrick's Purgatory for that matter. They were mean-spirited, often tattling on one another as they scrambled for the Father's approval. He liked that about her she recalled with a flush of pride, how she avoided womanly politics. Focused only on her devotion to him.
"Hush," Cliodna hissed at her, at all six of the others in truth. Better to quell the nastiness now before it took root. "She washed ashore, from a fate I can only imagine as horrific as each of our own. The good Lord delivered her here, to our Christian hearts."
"You are one to lecture us. Look at your garment. You defiled yourself to bring her into our home." This came from Keira, of an age with Cliodna. Both were eleven, both of them witches, unlike the rest of their gaggle. The Father had confided in her that it only made them more special to his mission. This foundling had magic in her too. Cliodna could sniff it out more surely than daylight. That made her special to the Father's plans too. Even as the others huffed themselves to sleep, Cliodna fervently sat vigil with the girl she breathed life into. Warming her, brushing any hair from her pretty face.
Her heart was good. That much was certain. A bright spot in a place of evil. Not that she was aware of this quite yet. Fortunately powers beyond her comprehension had delivered Cliodna the rescuer she never knew she needed.
Hermione Granger grew stronger with every kind word and bit of warmth sent her way.
OOOO
They sat together in the Father's study the next morning before mass. Her and the girl she had rescued. Still was her tongue, clever were those eyes. Cliodna already liked her leagues more than the others. Pretty, silent, and observant. Not a mean word had pierced the air from the moment she was resuscitated and slipped into a white gown. He entered shortly after their arrival. His vestment was as immaculate as ever. Cliodna spared no glances for her new friend, preferring to drink in the sight of her Father as he leant against his desk before them. "I am Father Walsh," He introduced himself. If Cliodna had taken any notice, she would have seen the other girl tense at first glance of his eyes. "We were worried about you. Thankfully Cliodna took swift action when you washed upon our doorstep."
Silence followed.
A smile stretched across his handsome face. Cliodna knew this face well. He indulged them often, his girls, and this was a courtesy to their new arrival. If she did not like to speak, why then would the Father force her to do so? She would speak when she was ready. "I have decided that Claire is ready to serve her role in my mission," He directed this to Cliodna. "Our new friend shall take her place. I wish for you to guide her, my blessed girl."
At mass that morning Claire was nowhere to be seen, but they all partook of communion bread and red wine as though naught were the case. For all the bitterness Cliodna had felt for the older girl she tried to let it pass now. Claire was and always would be a part of her now. Her new sister silently followed her stead over the following week. They would row out onto the water and fish together. Harvesting herbs such as gillyweed if so blessed by the heavens. Such goods were valuable at the markets and provided an easy escape for desperate souls in troubled times.
Precisely seven days after her arrival, while they polished the floors of the cathedral, the girl finally spoke. "Are you content here?" Her voice was sweet like honey.
Cliodna paused, unsettled by the sharp question. "Yes. I am happier here than I ever was at home."
"The priest," She began in response, careful and measured across every syllable, "What would he do if you ever tried to leave?"
"No one has ever wanted to leave," Cliodna answered, unable to understand why anyone would want to. The world was a horrid place. Here it was safe, they were safe in their devotion to Father Walsh. "Do you not wish to stay?" Something in her tone must have betrayed her stance on the matter, for the girl did not speak again. This was the sort of thing that should have been relayed to the Father. Though she said nothing in the days that followed. A voice Cliodna had not heard in a very long time told her to say nothing to him. An aggression began to fill her when the other girl was nearby. The secret she now kept felt like a burdensome betrayal to the other occupants of the island.
As that week turned into another, her meetings with the Father became fewer and farther in between. Instead he started to invite the nameless girl along for conversation after mass. Her disciple did not feel as fondly of him as the other girls did; That much was certain. Where they were meek in mass, eyes averted from his own, the foundling stared upwards the whole time. She worked just as hard as Cliodna did, yet never seemed to derive any sort of comfort from it. Perhaps this was why she waited to fall asleep one night. Observing as a silent shadow snuck free of the conclave and deciding to follow her closely.
Down they slipped through the Purgatory until finally there was no more following needed. Around the corner Cliodna watched as the strange child knelt before a statue of Mother Mary. Finally, she wasn't so silent either. "I don't quite know what to make of you," The girl confessed, "Or why I suddenly believe something might be listening to me. You didn't intervene when mother died, or at Cashel. Maybe you did help on the streets by helping me to find Ruby. I'm not sure how or why I ended up here." There was a long time of silence. "That thing is unnatural. He scares me in a way none of those other men ever could. I suspect I am the only one here to see it, and I have no idea what I can do about it. I could run, but I have a feeling I'm not meant to." Anger suddenly laced her tone, "So what do you fucking want of me? Answer me."
There was a sudden noise of heavy boots marching further down the halls. In a whirl of white fabric and bushy hair the girl scurried back around the corner. Right into Cliodna. She instantly tried to make her excuses, but the golden-eyed girl stared at her with tightly pursed lips. "Shush, you stupid girl," She silenced Cliodna, even though they were certainly of an age with one another. They both watched around the corner with absolute quiet and darkness as their cover. Torches flickered into view. Claire, of all people, headed a group of men. A baby swaddled in her arms. The girl moved to follow them several moments after they passed by. Cliodna followed mutely for a reason that completely evaded her understanding. The eyes of Mother Mary watched her every single step.
They wound their way through the monastery. Only to eventually realise that the group headed by Claire had vanished. "Where did they go?" The other girl turned on her with a snarl. "Where could they have disappeared to?"
Cliodna struggled to find her voice. "I-I'm not supposed to know," She protested earnestly, worried for half-a-second that the stranger might rip her throat out, "But there is a passage to the caverns hidden here…"
Those golden eyes seemed satisfied with the answer. Though the carnal, animalistic ferocity did not diminish at all. "Show me."
OOOO
The further they descended downwards the more Hermione's brain felt prone to split. Her eyes had been more perceptive since she extricated herself from the ruins of Cashel. Everything in St. Patrick's Purgatory glittered with something vibrant. Whether that was magic or something else the muggleborn was not quite certain. It wasn't strong anywhere as it was in the statue of the Virgin Mother. Hermione had not one iota of understanding why, but the more trials she faced the more comfort she gained in not understanding.
Except for when it came to Father Walsh. She was no one to judge another for having strange eyes. It went deeper than that. To what sometimes would flicker forth from his figure. Beneath that handsome countenance lurked a beast which knew no bounds. Something that was willing to inflict depravities her orphaned brain could not even contemplate. His energy was different from that of the iconography found elsewhere in the monastery. The polar opposite. Deeper down, that distinction became less and less apparent. This was a realm of neutrality. Somewhere the beast could survive away from the body it had inhabited. Smoke began to fill the air. Chanting reverberated along the stone walls. Cliodna seemed quite close to fainting from terror. Even still those hooks were there, almost invisible, a tether that had unwillingly bounded her to the thing.
They came from the darkness and scurried behind a rock. Torchlight now flickered and shadows danced all around them. Hermione peered over her hiding spot, Cliodna shakily doing the same next to her. Father Walsh stood at the mouth of a pit. His followers stood about him like a sea. He was naked beneath the smoky haze of burning incense and herbs. She might have almost felt a wolf whistle were in order if there weren't a monster lurking in that body.
He spoke in Latin, voice reverberating loudly across the already amplified caverns. His followers swelled like a sea, parting so that a select few could move on by. Eight of them. All carrying bundles except for the woman in the centre. "Claire." Cliodna hissed, "She should be out on her mission. Helping in hospitals, spreading Father Walsh's word." Clearly things away from the island were not painted to the girl in quite the right light. At that exact thought, one of the bundles began to scream.
He snapped then. One by one, each of the followers stepped forth to drop seven bundles into the pit below. Cliodna was staring in shock, tears dripping from her eyes. It was about to get a lot worse. A red light emanated upwards. Casting ghoulish shadows along the walls. Hermione was desensitised; She could admit as much. Though the numbness she felt left her feeling deeply uncomfortable. Was she such a monster now that she remained stoic while a girl like Cliodna sobbed? Seven babies. Fed into a pit, torn from their mothers. A demon standing above it all with a sick look plastered across its smug face. Carnage was his crown and what did it say about her that she could witness it with so little remorse?
She didn't know what it was, or even who it could be attributed to. Yet a feeling surged up within her belly. Filling her all the way from her toes to her brain. In London she fought off an invasion single handedly while Tom Riddle cowered in his palace. Protected orphans from lesser predators. Destroyed Pilliwickle and Cashel. Rose again from the dead. Now she would defend what remained of Cliodna's innocence so another girl would never have to do or see the same things she did.
Father Walsh's flesh began to bubble and rupture even as Hermione carefully strategized. The hooks wound around Cliodna were already breaking; If she could see that Father Walsh would be able to as well. Now was the time to act. Otherwise, that thing would certainly know the very next morning when he arose from whatever was about to pass. The way she saw things, perhaps knocking the fucker into a pit was the best way forwards. "What are you doing?" The other girl asked in a trembling tone. Wincing when Walsh's neck snapped backwards very audibly. Hermione stood from behind the rock.
"Putting this fucker in that pit where he belongs."
"What do I do?"
She was impressed that Cliodna even asked. "You need to pray. Like your life depends on it. Be brave for me. Can you do that Cliodna?" She nodded furiously. Instantly bowing her head and assuming a pose.
The muggleborn stepped away from the hiding spot. A straggler further out noticed almost immediately. Not that it mattered. In fact, it helped. "Turn on your friends. Push as many of them into the pit as you can." It was simple business for a girl like her, of course. Eliminating them all one-by-one. A dozen at a time. They didn't go into the pit as easily as those babies did. All the while Walsh stood above them, writhing, twisting, skin sloughing off into a puddle at his feet. He was being ripped in half as whatever hid inside was coming out. "Attack Father Walsh. Get him in the pit." Her approach changed.
Just as the followers neared him, it finally happened. Something red, and scaly burst free. Bathing in the heat of the light. Hermione clenched her fists even while the thing ripped its own followers into bloody mounds of slime. In this moment, with no obstruction posing a problem, she saw it clearly as daylight. There was a barrier here. One that had formerly clung to the bottom of the pit until it was pushed further and further away. So very close to snapping it now was. Nothing like the magical wards at Cashel. Not even alike to the Shield. This was a magic of an entirely different nature altogether. Slowly this creature had been fed with ritualistic slaughter.
Desperately, the muggleborn witch extended her hands. Where excruciating pain would have flared through a human adversary, Walsh merely seemed to grow stronger. Swelling upwards as its scaly body undulated and reveled amidst this temple of sheer darkness. Without a wand or pre-prepared Potion there was only so much she could do. There were no more tricks in Hermione Granger's arsenal. As that spot of weakness nearly struck her down, a voice emanated from across the caverns. Not from Father Walsh, that thing was absolutely unintelligible now it had ripped free of its human host.
No. These calls came from the pit.
They weren't words per say, but feelings. Overwhelming ones. A sense of belongingness that called out to the worst parts of her. Nothing logical that she could fight off or argue with her clever mind. Instead, Hermione was promised everything if she only took the smallest first step. Right into the pit. Down into the depths of hell. A hand fell on her shoulder then, and she broke free of the trance long enough to recognise Cliodna. "What do I do?" She asked the other girl, tears running down her cheeks. "There is no way to fight this. Nothing I can do."
"Have faith," Cliodna stared ahead, "Give me your hand, and have faith in yourself."
There were no other options. She took the other girl's hand. They both knelt before the pit, Cliodna praying furiously. Hermione concurrently waging battle within herself. She was better than this. Better than the pit that consumed babies, that grew brighter and brighter with each successive sacrifice. The girl didn't pray, but she did close her eyes and believe in something which she couldn't see. Hermione Granger hoped with every ounce of her being that there was a world away from this hell. One where she was worth Sylvia's mercy. A path that rose higher than whatever Father Walsh was creating here.
A vibrant, blue light emanated from around Cliodna's body. All of the hooks Hermione had seen on her person before were gone. It was so bright Hermione could see it even behind closed eyes. Golden heat erupted from her own body as well. Their connected hands burned in an almost painful way. The beast roared defiantly as their collective light grew. Brighter and brighter. Swirling tempestuously the larger it got. Suppressing the red power that once tempted and allured any who might feel weak enough to hunger for what it promised. Now that force cowered. When it was over and done with the witches both collapsed against one another. Gasping for breaths that were slow to come.
Father Walsh was gone. The pit was no longer a pit, but solid ground.
OOOO
"I have to stay here," Cliodna smiled sweetly. "Someone has to keep that pit sealed. To spread the message now that the monks are all dead."
Hermione stood at the beach, by a rowboat that would take her away from the island. "Do you think the other girls will be a problem?" She looked over her friend's shoulder to where a gaggle of white-clad young women stood, staring despondently their way.
"No." Cliodna shook her head gently. "Now that he is gone, we can all see how Father Walsh manipulated us. Turned us all against one another." She hesitated, "He put his hooks into them too." Her fingers tightened on Hermione's. "Besides, the local villages never liked what he was doing. They will help us in our mission. Keep us safe. Thanks to you." That much was certainly true. When news finally disseminated of what transpired in the pits, village emissaries had arrived from the local areas. Wanting to see for themselves that things had truly been settled. Hermione had carried no qualms about providing the older generation a tongue lashing regarding how they had dropped the ball. They all promised to look after Cliodna, to support her now that she was forced to carry the burden of their failure.
"Alright," Hermione nodded, throat suddenly growing thick. Goodbyes were usually never this easy for her. Every inch of her body screamed that this was too good to be true. Though maybe it was a result of whatever she opened herself up to in the pits. The faith that things could be different for her. "It feels wrong to leave you behind."
Cliodna giggled. "I belong here, Hermione. You don't. You arrived as you were meant to and lent me the strength to see things for what they were." She hesitated, as though afraid of speaking out of turn. "I don't think your magic is your gift. Or even the fact that you can see things the way they really are. It's your heart. Your sheer daring. That bravery led me to a triumph I never thought I was capable of. This is a gift that you must share with the world."
She left after that. Her thoughts weighed heavily. Securing a wand was her most important next step. Yet her mind swirled with new possibilities instead.
OOOO
A/N: I didn't want this to get too religious, that wasn't the point. This chapter is something I have struggled to write for a long time. I was drawn to dystopia because it really matched what I was feeling at that time. In fact, I started to question how Hermione could live through such horrible things without a little bit of faith. Lots can change rapidly in life for the better. So here she is starting to find it, and I'm really pleased with how this chapter makes me feel about the rest of the fic.