Aoife’s eyes darted from me to the king. “Leave? And go where? Will you send me back to the man who cannot stand the sight of me? The man who beat me and took a year of my life while I lay in sickness?”
“No, I cannot send you back to Lir. The poor man has suffered enough grief, and you would only add to it. No, you must leave the People. You must leave this land. You may never again set foot on the island as long as you live, and that life will be long. You cursed the children I loved, the children of my own dear Aobh Bán. And so I shall curse you to become a phantasm of the air, forever riding upon the ever-present winds. You will speak no more curses and cause no more harm.”
He nodded to the Ollamh, and she pulled up power once again. It was that same, odd power I couldn’t touch, the transformation magic.
Aoife screamed and backed away, until she came up against a pine tree. “Wait, wait! May I at least have the same mercy I showed the children? May I keep my voice?”
Bé Chuille glanced at Bodb Dearg, and the High King nodded his permission. His eyes were full of sorrow, and I could swear I saw tears glittering in the corners.
Don’t miss information on Celtic myth and history, as well as practical travel planning tips, and hidden places, in my travel books.
– Mythical, Magical, Mystical: A Guide to Hidden Ireland
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