Padraig's Death

MacDonnough's Last Stand Sept

Near Kilkenny, Ireland

    "I can see why you called me Uncle." Padraig said, holding the baby gently in his arms. "You were right. She does bare a strange resemblance to me. Have you spoken with Fox about her?"
    
    Callum shook his head, his long copper hair whipping back and forth with the motion. "I'm holding on to my alpha title by sheer will alone as it is Padraig. Niamh managed to keep her pregnancy secret from us for so long, and then when the little one arrived, and killed her, my honor was stained for allowing my daughter to bare a metis child. Consorting with a dishonorable spirit might just be the last straw for the O'Connors. Bran held Mary in check only by sheer strength. Now, with Branwyn out of the picture, Mary's free to command those loyal to her without fear of reprimand from any of the others in the sept."

    Padraig nodded in agreement, knowing that Mary 'Scolds Vampires With a Sharp Tongue' had been waiting many years to set right the MacDonnough's Last Stand Sept once and for all. With the death of his paternal Grandmother Nonya, his maternal Grandfather Bran who had been Alpha of the sept, and the exodus of Mary's granddaughter Branwyn, any who had ever stood up to her were now out of the picture. Mary ruled most of her own family with an iron fist. It was common knowledge that she'd had her heart set on ruling the Sept in the same way. She was old however, and didn't have the loyalty of the Septs warders. That honor went to the alpha of Morrigan's Ravens, Callum 'Breaks for no-one', Padraig's uncle, and the current Alpha of MacDonnough's Last Stand.

    "I'll contact him as soon as I'm off the Sept." Padraig replied. I'll not cause more trouble for you while I'm here. There's resentment enough against you for lifting the ban that Bran set upon me."

    Callum said nothing for a long time. Finally, he leaned forward and took the baby from Padraig. "Gaia knows I love the wee lass." He said. "But you'll forgive me if I say that I'll be glad to see the back of you and little Brynn here. When do you plan to leave?"

    "First thing tomorrow morning Uncle." Padraig told him. "I wanted to visit my parents grave first. I have some things that need to be done there." His hand went to the ring which hung from a chain around his neck, and his eyes glistened with moisture.

    "She was a fine girl Padraig." Callum said. "Gaia only knows why she chose to love you, but I know that she did with all her heart. I grieve with you for Charity's loss, and for Connor-Patrick's also."    

    Padraig nodded his thanks. "And I with you, for Niamh." He replied.

    They were silent for some time, the only sound in the small wooden house that of the gurgling baby held in Callum's arms. The child's tufty red ears twitched this way and that, as though tracking something that could not be seen, and from her blankets, the small brush of her tail protruded, flicking back and forth.

    Padraig stood finally. "I should go find the others. I trust Last Howl to watch over her, but Little Sister shouldn't be left alone too long. She has a habit of getting herself into trouble, and I saw the way she was eying Stag's shrine when she was brought onto the Sept."    

    "Aye," Callum agreed, nodding sagely. "I won't lie when I say I'll be glad to have her off the Sept lands. She's a sweet girl and no mistake, but there's something fey about her all the same that some in the Sept fear."    

    Padraig smiled. "And so they should." He told his uncle. "Little Sister is one who walks with only a part of her soul in the real. She's more spirit than Garou. Be well Uncle, I'll see you tonight at the gather."    

    Callum nodded, and saw his nephew to the door.

    

    *****

    

    It took Padraig only a few minutes to locate the girl he and his uncle had been discussing. As he had feared, she had found her way back to the Stag shrine, which stood guardian on the path into the Sept proper. The huge carved image of Stag himself dwarfed the young cliath, the rag laden tines of his antlers barely within reach of her outstretched arms.    

    Padraig smiled as he saw the girl. As his uncle had said, there was something fey about her that none could deny. Her dark braided hair was twined about with flowers, a pretty cap to a pale angular almost elven face. Her eyes were also slightly angular, adding to her natural strangeness. But it was perhaps her scars that were most disturbing. The girls bare skin, where it showed, was covered in shining scars, the only one of which Padraig recognized was the mark of Luna herself upon the girls brow. None knew her name, but Padraig often referred to her as Little Sister, or sometimes, when he was feeling melancholy, Brianna, after his mother. At present, she had her forehead pressed to Stag's front flank, her eyes closed and her lips quivering as though in silent communication with the spirit represented here.    

    Padraig's eyes went to Stags antlers, locating without problem the scraps of fabric he had tied there yesterday morning when he, Last Howl, and Little Sister had arrived. A piece of Charity's wedding dress, a scrap of cloth from Connor-Patrick's baby blanket, and a tuft of his own hair had been twined together and tied to a tine. Padraig and Stag did not see eye to eye. They never had. But this didn't mean that Padraig did not feel the spirit's call, nor did it mean he ignored the traditions of his ancestors, or his home sept. He smiled as he saw a scrap of blue fabric next to his own offering, and his eyes went to Little Sister's dress. Sure enough, there was a ragged piece missing from her hem.    

    "We leave tomorrow." Padraig said quietly to Last Howl, as the South African Uktena made his presence known. The man was one Padraig did not know well, but had grown to like him quickly over the last week. Both galliards, they had shared many tales on the long crossing between America and Ireland. Like Padraig, Last Howl had seen many Garou come and go, and expected to see many more pass before the end of his days. This commonality had created a friendship between them that was hard for either to speak about. Shared loss created strange bedfellows.    

    "I mean no disrespect to your home Sept, Padraig, but the Garou here are hardly friendly." Last Howl said, his words heavy with an accent.    

    "No disrespect is taken Last Howl." Padraig replied. "MacDonnough's Last Stand is in a difficult place right now. They are one of the oldest Septs in Ireland, the third largest, and in an uncomfortable place when one considers that there is a Leech controlled city not ten miles from their border. Callum is holding on to his position with only a tenuous grasp right now. Under my Grandfather, the sept was unified, but now my uncle has taken up the Alpha's mantle, and there is much ill feeling to the Dooley's at the moment. It will pass. Callum is strong, and a good leader. They will remember that in time, when we are gone."    

    Last Howl nodded, reading into Padraig's words, the unspoken statement: When the child is gone.    

    "There will be a gather tonight." Padraig continued. "We are invited to dine with the sept. The Sept may be at odds with each other, but they won't let us go from here with tales of inhospitable treatment. You'll hear many stories tonight that you have not heard before Last Howl. You may even take part in some of them. If you are chosen, no matter the role, be honored, for it will be how it is intended. We Fianna love Galliards."    

    Raising his voice slightly, so that the girl would know his words were intended for her, he looked back at the shrine and the girl standing silently beneath it.  "Are you making friends, Little Sister?"    

    The lack of understanding was clear in her eyes when she looked up, but she smiled in any case, and gestured to the shrine, and then touched her heart.  Passing her hand in reverse over the band of mirrors made to resemble the moon phases she always wore several times, she then pointed first to herself and then to the ground.  It was a perplexing brand of charades she always played, made all the more complex by the fact that she couldn't follow any additional questions or catch misunderstandings when they happened.  Still, she usually caught the raised eyebrow or the blank stare, and seeing his now she laughed quietly and pointed again to herself, and this time up to a few pieces of thread that might have once been blue still hanging from a high antler.  They looked rather old.    

    "You were here before?" Padraig said incredulously, miming as best he could along with his words.  She nodded, and grinned slightly at the thought.  She had felt the hostility as they came onto the Sept when they had made their introductions.  This Servant of the Clever Hunted might enjoy the knowledge that one of this sept's more arrogant Crescent Moons had attempted to command the little lune she'd called into granting her greater wisdom. The theurge had been so utterly perplexed by her failure.  The Graceful Prey who claimed this land was old, and powerful in his following; he had seen right through the skin the Nameless Girl wore, but had been little more than bemused at the trick of the Celestine.  He had shown her polite respect, all those years ago, and she felt honored to see him again.  She made up her mind to share the scene with her metis friend later, when he was less distracted and willing to speak in her mind.

    

    *****

    

    The moon hung heavy in her gibbous state as Padraig approached the place where his parents were buried that evening. He had left the revel early, having tired quickly of the dark glances being cast towards him. When he had lived at MacDonnough's Last Stand, he had been treated as Metis always were amongst the Fianna. That hatred of his kind had only been made stronger by his revelation that two of the Septs great warriors were his parents. His mother had been the only daughter of Bran, the Septs Alpha, his father the Great Grandson of Michael, Bran's predecessor. It had been that revelation that had led to his expulsion from the Sept, and the unsanctified graves to which his parents had been consigned.    

    Padraig cared not about his past. The road he had walked had been hard, had always been hard, but knowing that he had fought for what he believed in, and had taught so many Garou his lessons helped him through his pain.    

    Now, as he knelt before his parent's graves, he placed a small urn  between the headstones. His wife and sons ashes were contained within. It was only right that they should rest here, with others that he had loved with all his heart.    

    "Look after them." He whispered. No more needed to be said.

    

    *****

    

    Callum bid them farewell the next morning at the edge of the Sept. The baby, Brynn was wrapped warmly in a blanket, and strapped to Padraig's chest to make carrying her easier. Callum twitched back the blanket and laid a soft kiss on his granddaughters head. "Take care of her Bastard." He said to Padraig, the old nickname now a term of endearment.    

    "I will." Padraig replied. "And you take care of the Sept. Watch for Mary's treachery. It will come soon."    

    His uncle nodded, and turned his back on them finally.    

    "Where to now Padraig?" Last Howl asked. "Home?"    

    "We have a stop to make first." Padraig replied. "It's not far. We can reach there before nightfall if we hurry. Besides, O'Roarke's ship isn't due to leave for another three days. Come, follow me."    

    He led them at an easy pace through the country he knew so well. They skirted Kilkenny, but the stench of leech carried to their noses even from here. Though the sept had routed out all but the most powerful Leeches from the town, some still remained, reconsolidating their power in preparation for the next confrontation with their Garou neighbors. It had been this way for many years.    

    The sun rose over their heads as they stopped for lunch high in the foothills that Padraig loved so much. The country around them had a wild, ancient beauty that Padraig always associated with. He was a Wyldling child, and this land was in his blood.    

    The walk was not arduous, and Padraig often pointed out features of his home that he thought might be of interest to the others. As the sun dipped low on the horizon, they came to the crest of a hill, and at it's peak Padraig pointed to a small cottage. "My first pack lived here," he said. "My mentor, Ogma is buried here. I could not come home without visiting his grave. The cottage is run down, but it will shelter us for the night. The coast is another days walk west from here, and we can board O'Roarkes ship when we get there.    

    The Fianna Metis led them up the hill to the cottage, and soon, there was a fire burning in its ancient fireplace. Padraig showed Last Howl the stream where they could catch fresh trout for supper, and then made his way back to the cottage to check on the baby and Little Sister.    

    He paused as he drew near to the cottage however. Something on the wind brought his hackles up, and he dropped low to the ground, approaching the building cautiously. The moon had barely risen, and cast her wan light over the landscape, and it was only by this slight silver sheen that he saw several figures approaching the cottage. He could smell their stench from here. Leeches.    

    Throwing his head back, he let out an angry howl, alerting both Little Sister and Last Howl to the danger. Then he rushed up the hill to face his enemies.    

    Last Howl had already reached him by the time he stood at the cottage. Little Sister was standing in its doorway, a look of defiance marring her pretty face. But for Padraig, there were only the Leeches.  There were six in total, all but one appearing disheveled and dirty, with long hair matted by dirt and grease, their clothes hanging off them in rags, but as he leveled a shaking finger at their leader, a low growl vibrated in his chest. "You!" he snarled.    

    The leading Leech laughed, his long canines flashing in the light. He was different to his compatriots. Where their hair was light and matted, his was dark black, slicked back against his head, and it seemed to absorb Luna's illumination. His clothes were equally black, a leather jacket and dark jeans, and were immaculate in condition. Where the others had bestial almost inhuman faces, this man's was handsome, but cruel, and cold.    

    "You know this Leech?" Last Howl asked incredulously.    

    "I know him." Padraig replied, barely understood through the growling bass of his anger. "This piece of filth is known as Yvariss. He killed my mother and father."    

    "Hello Padraig." Yvariss hissed, his accent British. "It's been a long time. How are your mum and dad? Still buried in traitors graves?"    

    "You would know." Padraig growled back. "You put them there."
   
    The vampire laughed again. "I?" he asked, touching his chest in mocking surprise. "No not I, Padraig. I only brought their deaths to them. It was you who gave them their dishonor."

    "Enough of this Yvariss." Padraig snarled. "I will not be toyed with. Why have you come here now? You made it perfectly clear nine years ago when you ran from me that you were a coward. What's changed to make you crawl out of your well guarded dung hole?"

    Yvariss smiled, and it was not a pleasant sight. "You have changed Padraig. You were young nine years ago. No challenge. I prefer a seasoned opponent. When my spies told me of the scars you now bare, I knew you were ready."    

    "So you've come to die then?" Padraig asked with an equally dark smile. "I will be happy to oblige you. Last Howl, Little Sister, stay out of this. If these others attack you, then you are permitted to defend yourself, but Yvariss is mine, and mine alone."    

    The two old enemies moved off a ways, and Padraig shed his jacket, the trinkets which weighed heavily upon it rattling and jangling as it hit the ground. He reached to his side, where a scabbard hung, and drew from it a golden blade, the moonlight reflecting off its surface. His other hand went to his back and he slipped his fingers through the guard of a strangely designed knife. The guard and handle were akin to a set of brass knuckles, but at its base, traveling along Padraig's forearm a blade extended. Both handle and blade were made of bone, and exquisitely crafted.    

    Yvariss drew an elegant sword, and the two bowed to each other, showing a mark of respect for their opponent, despite the fact that they were hated enemies. Before either had fully recovered their positions from the bow, they both dropped into ready crouches. While the vampire moved in a crabwise fashion, Padraig began to rock back and forth, his movements rhythmic in nature.    

    "You really think this is a good time to dance?" Yvariss taunted him.    

    Padraig smiled in reply. "You should see me tango." He said, and then suddenly darted forward. The vampire was quick to reply as Padraig's bone blade slid along the other sword. Yvariss turned his parry into an attack of his own, but Padraig was waiting for it, and back flipped out of the way, even as the blade hissed passed him. A cartwheel brought him back into the vampires range again, and as the vampire came in with a vicious horizontal swipe, Padraig deflected the blow with his sword, and dealt the vampire a mean left cross, the knuckles of his strange weapon busting open the vampires lip. The motion continued, and a red line of blood blossomed on the vampires cheek from the bone blade.    

    Yvariss stepped back, momentarily surprised by Padraig's agility and skill. "That's a nice toy you have there Metis." He hissed, touching two fingers to his cheek to capture the blood which rolled down his cheek. He brought his fingers to his lips, and a quick flash of his tongue licked them clean.    

    "Thanks." Padraig replied, slightly out of breath. He knew he would have to end this fast. An old wound had left him with diminished lung capacity. It made him more prone to sickness, and great amounts of exertion tired him easily. He had established his dexterity. Yvariss would expect him to strike with lightning quickness now. But there was more to the Metis than just speed. Now he would show the vampire his strength. He raised the hand holding the dagger, and flexed his fingers, beckoning the vampire closer.    

    Grinning, Yvariss obliged. His sword, a slender yet strongly built rapier blurred in motion in a lightning series of thrusts, and Padraig was hard pressed to defend against them. For all the werewolf's speed, he was not quick enough, and hissed as a clumsily deflected blow grazed his side, the blade glancing off a rib. The sword was base metal, not silver however, and even as he moved forward, Padraig could feel the wound closing, a benefit of his so called low birth.    

    He answered Yvaris flourishing attack with one of his own, relying on the strength of his shorter and heavier weapon to counter the speed of the lighter blade. Having a second blade to parry with was certainly an advantage, and he used it to full effect, catching strikes on his forearm that might otherwise have left him a hand or even an arm shorter. Padraig had the advantage of terrain also. Twelve years and more since he had lived on this hillside, but his feet had trodden every square inch of ground around the cottage, and he used this to his advantage. Pushing the vampire back with the ferocity of his attack, he drove his foe backwards and smiled as the vampires right foot sank a foot into the soft loam. For three years, his first teacher Ogma had tripped over that same rabbit hole every single day, and now Padraig was glad he had stopped the old man from filling it in. As the vampire stumbled backwards, Padraig dove forward, shifting into his Crinos form as he went. He barreled into the creature, and knocked Yvariss to the ground. His sword and dagger had been discarded, for Padraig preffered to use his natural weapons in this form. The vampire too had been disarmed in the tussle, and he hissed at the werewolf's maw, snapping his teeth at Padraig.    

    "You should have killed me when I was green, Yvariss." Padraig snarled, biting off each word as he spoke through a muzzle full of sharp teeth. "I've learned a few new tricks since then." Even as he spoke, Padraig burst into flame. One of his Metis gifts was the ability to create fire. Another he had aquired with the help of a friend had taught him how to reduce the damage that fire would do to himself.    

    The vampire screamed in agony as fire licked at his flesh, but then suddenly was gone, sliding into the ground as though he were nothing more than water being soaked into the loam. Padraig stared down in surprise, robbed of his prey. Standing, he looked about for the vampire, trying to figure out what had happened. With his back turned to the place Yvariss had vanished, he did not see the hand which snaked out of the ground and seized his awkwardly shaped Crinos ankle, but he felt it as he was jerked off his feet. He fell forward, and his head impacted with the earth, his muzzle burying itself in muck and grass.    

    A sudden weight landed on his back, and Padraig howled in pain as he felt the Leech tear into him with talons. Again and again the blows rained down on Padraig's back, denying him the ability to bring his mind to focus so that he might defend himself. Finally, it was animal instinct that shed the vampire from him, as he bucked wildly, the sudden motion sending Yvariss soaring into the night sky.    

    Padraig didn't pause, leaping up after him, his ability sending him like a missile into the still tumbling Leech. The impact could be heard clearly as a crunch of bones as Padraig's head battered into Yvariss' side, breaking ribs. Padraig grabbed at Yvariss, and swung him beneath the two now falling enemies, digging his claws into the vampire to hold him in place. They landed with a heavy thud, accompanied by the sound of more breaking ribs. Again, Padraig was not done. Sliding off the vampire with the front claws of one hand still imbedded in the Leech, he regained his feet and swung a fist at his foe.    

    But Yvariss was not done either. Blocking the blow with his arm, he used the other to wrench himself free of Padraig, and as the two stood toe to toe, weary and bloody and battle worn, both rocked on their feet.

    

    *****

    

    The vampires by the cottage, aware that this fight was not going as their master had planned, began to shuffle their feet in indecision. It was clear that they wished to help their master. In turning towards him however, they had all but forgotten the two Garou who stood beside them.    

    "I wouldn't do that if I were you friend." Last Howl told one of them as the Leech reached for a 9mm in his jacket. The South African Galliard swung his fist, catching the vampire across the jaw and knocking him to the ground. "This is their fight. Let's stay out of it eh?"    

    The vampire snarled at Last Howl, finally gaining the attention of his comrades. As the gathered Vampires took in the sight of their downed friend, and Last Howl standing above him massaging his fist, they finally realized that they outnumbered the two werewolves.    



    *****

    

    Yvariss and Padraig faced each other, the Crinos werewolf and the vampire both panting heavily, rocking with weariness.    

    "You're right Padraig." Yvariss admitted. "I should have taken you sooner. You are stronger than your mother and father were."    

    Padraig growled. "No." He replied. "You don't get to speak of them." He dove forward without warning, his claws moving with practiced skill. The vampire met his attacks, blocking with equal ability. They sparred like this for some moments, both masters of the martial arts they practiced. Claws slashed skin, tearing open vicious wounds in both of them when their defenses failed them. Finally, with an almost feral cry, Padraig loosed an uppercut that sent the vampire reeling back, and he moved swiftly to take the advantage. The Crinos werewolf struck the vampires belly, his clawed hand sinking into Yvariss' flesh and driving upwards. With his hand cradling the beating heart of the vampire, Yvariss eyes went wide, the whites flashing in fear.    

    "Stop." He hissed, realizing what Padraig meant to do and trying to stall for time. "Don't do this. There's something you don't know."    

    "And what's that?" Padraig sneered, summoning the gnosis of his spirit to call forth fire to his hand.
   
    Yvariss smiled. "I brought six men with me." He hissed.

    Padraig unleashed his power, throwing back his head in a victorious howl as he sent flame from his hand, and felt the vampires heart burn. Yvariss screamed.    

    Last Howl and Silent Sister turned from the vampires they had killed, their attention drawn to the sound of their friends howl. They saw Padraig, his arm buried in the vampires chest, and watched in fascination as flame licked up out of Yvariss open mouth, and from his eyes.

   The vampires body turned to ash, and crumbled before his enemy. Padraig stared at the ashes as they began to blow away on the soft breeze, and then turned to face his compatriots. Lifting a hand as though to say he was well, Padraig's thoughts sought out Little Sister, to re-establish the connection they tended to share when together for any length of time.

As Padraig's thoughts brushed the girls mind, she received a single image, that of a dove being released from Padraig's hands. She smiled, but the expression faded to one of horror as Padraig's head suddenly snapped forward. The back of his head exploded outwards in a violent shock of brain matter and skull pieces.    

    "No!" Last Howl screamed in horror as Padraig fell.    

    "No." Silent Sister echoed.

    The sound of the gunshot reached them finally, echoing from a distant hill, and they saw a flash of metal in the moonlight, as the assassin ran. Knowing that they were safe for the moment, they rushed to Padraig to see if anything could be done for him, but it was too late. Last Howl sunk to his knees, turning Padraig over, and cradling him. But the fire was gone from Padraig's green blue eyes. The Metis, Padraig Westenmore-Dooley, Fostern Fianna Galliard, known to the Garou nation as "Rains Fire", was dead.