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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1336586-The-Story-of-sionnach
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Fantasy · #1336586
This is when the heroin meets her villian.
It was late summer; the sky was clear and crystalline. A dark shadow loomed

like a cloud over the town, Dinas Affaron, Snowdonia. It was a dark green, almost

black winged serpent. His bat wings unfurled and filled the sky. His fierce teeth

were thirsty for blood. His spikes were like flames. His scales were the size of fists.

The dragon was about six cubits tall, ten to eleven long from his long tail to his

pointed ears. Heat waves pulsed as he writhed back and forth in the sky.

It was Beli. There had been legends told about Beli, even by the great bard

Taliesin. No one knew of anyone who had seen Beli, save for Taliesin himself.

Now the villagers scampered frantically like mice. They were screaming in horror

at the first sight of him.

He blew fire, fire upon the village. The domed roofs and woven reed walls (of the

round buildings) engulfed in flames. Now the town burnt like a phoenix, down in a

blaze of glory. Many went up with the smoke.

A child was left crying on the snowy ground, crying in fear and confusion. The

child cried and clung to her dead mother; her burnt and beaten body. She sat

amongst the destruction in horror.

A golden eagle circled in the sky around Beli. It danced and swooped down and

snatched the child up in her huge talons; like the catch of the day. She kept the child

out of harms way and set it back down once it was safe.

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Alone the child cried. No mother, no father, no family; alone in the magical city.

It burnt to the ground and all that was left was rubble. It burnt with everyone and

everything in it, except for that one rescued child. For some reason the “sisters” had

saved yet forsaken this child. She now lay alone in a pool of burnt blood and

billowing smoke.

Behind the black curtain a cloaked figure appeared, holding a wand. There was

no face to be seen yet there were glowing red eyes. He took off his hood and his

ominous face now showed; cracking an arrogant smile. He almost laughed to see

such demise.

He took the child and made her his slave. He stole her life away. He changed

everything. I was this child and the sorcerer was a druid named Pherylt. Sure, he

would abandon me for long fort nights. Sure, he taught me everything that he knew

and I had quickly become more powerful than he, more powerful than he ever

dreamt to be. And sure, I built a new Emrys, (Dinas Affaron, Snowdonia), when I

was older. I had become the phoenix resurrected, so had my city. Yet it wasn’t such

a glory. But once you experience a thing and then change it, it never is. Yet it was

mine; my home, my people. Yet times had changed. Now we were encroaching upon

human civilization, human insanity, plight, and blunder.

Sure, I know all about this. So I’m not so different from you, Meranda. My

childhood was much the same, except I learnt the wise ways.

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Pherylt had held me tight under his wing. He hid me, since the druids are

supposed to be against such things. What a joke, since they had killed my own sister

for a sacrifice.

Sure, life wasn’t that bad being mostly alone and isolated; alienated, even from

my own kind.

The time went on and I got older. Pherylt spent more time with that fool Merlyn

and wasted his time in Arthur’s court. (All these years seemed fairly uneventful).


It was a foggy winter’s night, right before Yule; when I first got the taste of

blood. Pherylt had of course been gone. Our hunting party had just killed our last

sow which we named, Muc Henwen. We rushed up the cliff before the icy winter

snowed down and locked us out of our city. I could smell that it was close. A few

obstinate leaves were hanging on the tips of the branches of the Oak trees that lined

the entrance of our city. The hides were hanging over the huts and flapped in the

ice-laced wind. Bale fires burnt and the plumes of smoke rose like a mystic dancer.

The smell of stew cooking, bread being baked, and meat roasting on the spits filled

the air. It was a good smell, a smell of harvest.

Yet the smell of death was in the air also. It wasn’t the good kind of death. Oh no,

I knew that smell all too well. I smelled it for the first time when I was only three

years old.

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Stray leaves danced in the wind, scrapping past my feet. I stood there in the

middle of my home, yet no where I be. In sudden dismay yet the rest of the camp

was unknowing. I looked over the foggy edge, down the stone wall (that was still

broken and burnt). I saw bands of dark figures marching, beating their battle

drums. They were marching toward my home. How had they found our little secret

sanctuary? I wondered. Yet they were coming; droves of them like ants, in a

seemingly endless line. Slowly they encroached upon us and there was nothing that I

could do.

I felt helpless as they came. And with what wonder, what irony, what I stupid

thing. I had to laugh at myself; all of these years of education and I could do

nothing. I had no power. I felt lost and alone in the lazy, drizzling rain. I was all of a

sudden reliving history. A time that I wished I could have forgotten. Yet once again,

I was a child alone and afraid. Here they came to take my village; all that I had

built. To destroy what I had recovered from the ashes and soot. Up the rocky crag

they were marching, chanting, bombarding upon my home.

A thick woolen cloak pulled over the sky. It was black and heavy; its nubby fleece

sagging to the ground. I looked at the marauders and then the sky; damning this

day and the mishap of my creation. Iolair, my familiar, (the same golden eagle that

had once saved me) circled the horizon; screaming its warning calls but they

ignored it. They approached my city with swords blazing.

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“Who yee be and why are you at my home?” One of the men approached me on his

horse and spoke; “I’m Lancelot, a knight of the round table in Camelot. We’re here

to claim this land for Arthur, the king of England.” “This land is mine! It is not

yours to claim.” “Leave or be captured.” He warned. “Encroach upon me any

further and die!” I hissed. They just mocked me, laughed at me. I felt like a fool. I

felt pity and weak. “You; you haven’t any weapons?!” One of the men shouted.

Oh that’s when the thunder boomed and the lightning filled the sky. “Are you

questioning me, my powers?!” My voice boomed like he thunder and echoed in the

wind; “Don’t die over such a futile thing.” “You goanna kill us? How? With your

magic I hope.” The same fool mocked. “Don’t you dare underestimate my powers?”

The wind howled and the rain poured down. I became illuminated by the flashing

lightning. All which I drew and yet, they still mocked me.

They pushed me aside like nothing. They walked around me like I never existed.

They raped and pillaged; burnt the huts to the ground, and stole everything of

value. I stood there alone, watching. I was frozen in anger, seeping with anger.

That’s when I became like a volcano, about to destroy all who stood in my path.

And that’s when it happened. They were so unsuspecting. I crept up upon them just

as they were leaving. I flew into the air and landed on the back of Lancelot’s horse. I

stole the Excalibur right out of his hands and slit his throat with it. Then I rode on

and killed them all, every single one.

It was my victory and their defeat. Snow came down and was coated with their

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blood. In the black night the blood spelled out my name on the ground, Sionnach. I

stole their borahns, I burnt their flags. I thought I had banished them from my life

forever more. Yet they still came; night after night, in mindless droves. I killed all

that had crossed my path, my threshold, yet they still came.


So I left my home. I traveled a long, hard journey that aged me beyond belief.

All the things that I had seen and done; I would never tell, never think of it.

I had just gone south into the river Seven, down into the river Avon until I got to

Dinas Powys. That’s when I ran into Pherylt. He was boasting his tale to some

Vikings inside a pub. It had been so long that he didn’t recognize me sitting there,

right beside of him. I sat in the dark corner, silently. “God, she’s so stupid!” He

said, spit sprayed out of his mouth as he laughed. He was obviously drunk. The

Vikings seemed amused. They looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders,

whispering to one another. For some reason, I came under the impression that they

didn’t understand a damned thing he said.

Pherylt continued; “They rode into her town and burnt the whole damn thing

down to nothing. She was so unsuspecting; she didn’t even see it coming. She’s

probably dead now. It’s good to finally be rid of her.” “Don’t be so sure!” I threw

off my hood and revealed myself. His eyes grew as wide as saucers. I could see him

struggle, squirm. It was hilarious. And he called me a fool! “It was Arthur that had

page seven

sent them, not me.” He said nervously; “I was just recanting the story.” “And some

how found it hilarious.” I said sardonically; “How ironic.”

“Any way, I already went after him and he’s no where to be found.” “That old

fool Merlyn must’ve hidden him!” He said with the oddest disgust that made me

think that he had came up with this whole thing to spite him. He was in thought for

a moment and spoke in a soft tone, more to himself than me; “There is one more…”

“What?” He looked a bit startled. I knew he hadn’t meant to say it. “He has a

sister.” “What?” “Not a real sister but still a sister in a way.” “You old fool, you

must be drunk. You make no sense.” “They are one in the same and she is the other

half of him.”

He explained; “But I’m sure Merlyn’s hidden her far away from anybody.”

“Where better to hide someone than in plain sight? That Merlyn’s a fool anyways.”

“Well, no one’s yet to find her.” “I can. That is if she’s even real.” He gulped. “I

think you are trying to detract attention off of yourself.” I pulled back my cape to

reveal Excalibur, which was hanging in a sheaf around my waist. His eyes were as

unsteady as the wavering candle on our table; “Uh, ah, uh, no. She’s real; I swear it

to you.” “Then what is her name? Tell me, go on.” “Freyja;” he mumbled; “But

you can’t kill her. She’s not mortal like Arthur, she’s a Goddess.”

“There’s ways around that.” He smirked a satisfied grin; “Finally that’ll be one

page eight

on him.” “Why do you care so much?” I asked suspiciously. “Get back at him for

what he did to me.” “What did that old fool Merlyn ever do to you?” I asked with a

laugh. “He cast me out of his lodge of druids. He had me banished from Anglesey

Yn’ys Mon to this God forsaken Gwynydd.” “What’d he do that for?” “Heck if I

know.” “Oh I think you know. You lie!” I flung out of my chair, about to cut him in

half. I thought that I had him for sure. But to my demise, he was smarter than I

had first anticipated.

The Vikings seemed bored with this and were about to leave. “Wait;” Pherylt

said desperately. He flung up quickly, pulling me in front of himself and then

putting Excalibur to my throat. “How much for her?” He pointed to the young,

portly girl that had been with them. I had scarcely noticed her since she had been

mute this whole time. Fear was now written in her eyes. The Vikings looked at

another a bit confused until Pherylt stuck out a bag of coins and pointed to the girl


The one whom seemed like the leader nodded, took the gold, and then pushed the

girl over to Pherylt. Then He pushed me over to the Vikings with the sword to my

back. “What? You can’t.” I protested. He turned to look at me; grinning fiendishly,

then chuckling; “I just did.” Out of his own yellow blood and greed, he had sold my

bloody life for that of a fourteen year old mortal slave. He had once told me that he

loved me, but that was a lie. But love is a lie; a human concoction, a human fallacy

that’s a measure of their weakness. And he took that beast for his wife and sold me
page nine

off like nothing. He took Excalibur with him and went on his way; not even caring

of my pending doom.


The Vikings took me far from my home; all that I once knew. I don’t know of

all the places I did go; from sea to sea, from land to land, from people to people; or

of how many days and nights followed. They had all slowly melded into one; one

single nightmare where I spent nights chained and shackled to their dragon boat’s

floor, rowing. Rowing in the day with less than food; stale, moldy bread and dirty

water; whipped and beaten and then raped in the night. I felt like a rat in a cage,

but I think we’ve all felt this way once or twice.

I barely escaped with my life when we landed upon the shores of Gundestrup.

Once again, my cunning had saved me. Maybe I’ll tell you the story some time, but I

don’t think so. You’re too stupid to understand. You’re a half-human, half-mortal,

half-blood, half ingrate and insanity. Ha, half delusion for that matter.

But back to my story; I walked for miles barefoot in torn, wet clothes. I was

practically starving. No one bothered to stop and help me, to merely offer me clothes

or bread. They just stole from me, shunned me away, and pushed me farther to the

brink of extinction. I was half passed death and would be gone if I wasn’t immortal.

That’s when I found your father. He was lying in a dry river bed in the waning sun.

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He was in worse shape than I, dying yet still alive. There he was wishing for death,

begging for it.

At fist I thought of doing him the favor, killing him so that I could eat. But I felt

some strange pity for this being. He was like a lost mutt, all mangy and meek. He

had so much potential for much, much more. And it was all too easy. “Can I help

you?” I asked him. “You help me?” He said so arrogantly, even though he was

weak. I like that in a man. “Do you want my help or what?” “How are you going to

help me?” “I’m not what you think.” I explained. “I think you’ve gone more mad

than me.” “Look; I have nothing to prove to you. You don’t want my help, fine; die

here alone.”

“And if I let you help me; what do you want in return?” “You’re not as dumb as

you look.” I paused; “By any chance have you heard of the Goddess Freyja?” “Sure

I have. Hasn’t everybody?” “Do you know where I can find her?” “Are you

serious?” “Very.” “Well, it’s said you can access her realm from a tree named

Yggdraisil in the Hycerian forest. But that’s just a legend.” “I’ll take my chances.”

“So, what about me?” “What about you?” “You said you were going to help me.”

“So I did. Well, come with me and I’ll make it worth your while. Help me find this


“What will I get out of it?” “More than you know or can even understand.”

Page eleven

“Well, I’ll come with you if you help me with a little problem of mine.” “How?”

“Help me find my retched daughter. She’s been gone for days, maybe weeks.” “You

may have come to the right person.” “We’ll see.” “Don’t mock me you fool!”


So I trained him. But he became more than my apprentice, he was my consort.

After I had helped him to find you, he helped me find the tree. Believe it or not; the

later of which was easier.

I had gone to that place that is not a place; to that mythical tree, that was not so

mythical. They, thinking I was seeking refuge. But what I sought was revenge. I

came there like a wounded lamb. They all accepted me, including Freyja herself.

Freyja took me under her wing. She initiated me into the Vana-Troth; with her

labrys. She made me her daughter; thus so, giving me her hamanja. Then she taught

me everything that she knew; Seidir, spae craft, and the ways of the Wyrrd, and so


And maybe on her part that was a stupid thing to do. Because what happens

when a fairy becomes more powerful than the Gods? I smote her down with her

own labrys. I took Yggdraisil as my own and we became the Aesir. I created a new


page twelve

“But why; Why did you become this?” Meranda asked. “So innocent and

naïve;” Sionnach said sarcastically; “This is all that I have left, Yggdraisil… Many

die, many suffer; ‘tis a crucible pain, a companion vice, a sweet addiction, and

human life, a useless nothing.” Moon beams and shadows cast upon her ominously.

“But why do you hate me?” Meranda asked. “Because I can;” she said with a

cackle; “Because you know nothing… And yet have everything. You’re the most

powerful of them all. And it is up to you to decide to save those simple humans, or


She laughed again. “Why do you laugh?” “Either way you die. Either way they

will find a way to obliterate you, either from their own ignorance or in fear.

Humans fear what they don’t understand, what they can’t explain. Watch them,

watch what they do. See how ungrateful, how unworthy they be, as your blood is

spilt upon the ground.” She paused; “Then I will claim your throne; reclaiming

everything that those humans have taken from me. And I will laugh at my victory,

rejoice in your death.” “But you can’t blame everything that’s happened to you, to

this world on me or them.”

“I can and I will. Everything that’s wrong with this world is their plunder and

‘her’ mistake, her mishap of creation.” She paused; “In time you will soon see how

much destruction, imbalance, and bloodshed they bring.” “And what about me?”

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“What about you?” “Why do you hate me? You never did give me a real answer.”

“Because you’re Arthur Pendragon’s true sister.” Meranda was shocked. “Oh yes, I

know. I found out.” “Except you’re wrong about one thing.” Meranda interjected.

“What’s that?” “I’m going to be the one to kill you. You’re going to be the one to


© Copyright 2007 Meranda Aradia Moon (loutuspearl at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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