Page 2 of The Violet Raven

As she gazed out into the dark night, with Triona comfortably snuggled in her arms, Ellen felt the warmth of James’ presence behind her. The gentle weight of his hand upon her shoulder urged her gaze toward him; his hazel eyes, reflecting starlight, conveyed silent promises as he softly said, “Ye are truly a wonder, Lady Sinclair.” His words warmed her skin, but his gaze left her breathless, her mind yearning to move story time along—to feel his hands tracing her, igniting every inch of her.

In a whisper of a moment, James’ lips brushed against hers, igniting a silent cascade of understanding. He whispered into her ear, “at all costs.” That tender, unspoken phrase had evolved into an oath more poignant than a thousand declarations of love. Together, they had an unwavering bond of devotion, steadfast in their resolve to protect their families, prepared to make even the most profound sacrifices should the occasion arise. They had built a beautiful life together, and they would valiantly defend the bonds of this family to their last breath.

In the hush of twilight, Ellen began.

“Long ago, before the rise of great kings and queens, when Ireland’s emerald hills were young and unspoiled, beings of unmatched power roamed the land. The Tuatha Dé Danann, ‘People of the Goddess Danu,’ were a spiritual tribe of gods and goddesses cloaked in mystery.

Among them, Ériu and her kin held dominion over the realm. Born of the land itself, Ériu’s essence was tied to the rivers and hills, representing unity and strength. Their presence wove magic into the land itself, breathing vitality into barren soil, calming stormy seas, and moving in rhythm with the tides of the moon and sun. Beneath their watchful gaze, mythical creatures pledged their loyalty, and nature itself obeyed their will. They stood as towering guardians of existence, timeless and revered.

Yet, shadows whispered of a destiny even they could not foresee—a truth that would shape the fate of the world.

Triona leaned in closer and whispered urgently, “Tell us about their powers already, Mam! Did they shoot fire from their hands? Turn people into goats? Did they have swords that talked?”

Ellen gave her a sharp look. “If ye want me to continue, ye’ll keep yer heid. Ye’re rushin’ me like a bard who’s had too much mead an’ forgotten his own tale!”

Triona huffed, crossing her arms. “But tell the good bits! The fightin’! The magic! The explodin’ stuff!”

James, who had been lounging nearby, smirked. “Aye, Ellen, spare us the poetry. Were they hurlin’ lightning bolts, shapeshiftin’ into fearsome beasts, or at least turnin’ some poor bastard into a toad? Because if there’s no dramatic smitin’ involved, I’ll be terribly disappointed.”

Ellen sighed dramatically, giving James an exasperated look before turning to Triona. “Ye ken, lass, ye’re far too much like yer father. Impatient, an’ full o’ mischief. If the pair of ye dinnae let me finish, I’ll start bletherin’ on about the grand politics of auld Ireland instead.”

James raised his hands in surrender. “All right, nae need for such cruelty. Continue, wise storyteller.”

Ellen smirked before pressing on.

“Sacred within the beliefs of the Tuatha Dé Danann was the divine feminine—the conviction that goddesses alone would weave the threads of existence. These deities lent their essence to the very fabric of the land, blessing all forms of life with vigour.

Amongst them rose a triad: the Goddesses of Sovereignty, and foremost was Ériu—her might unrivalled, her power immeasurable. Such was her force she did not deign to grace the battlefield with her presence.

It wasn’t just power she wielded. Ériu could change form and command the loyalty of any woodland creature, but above all, she chose the raven—a creature as enigmatic as the shifting tides of fate itself. Her raven was no ordinary creature. Black as the deepest night under the moon’s watch, yet when the sun reigned, its feathers shimmered with an eerie violet sheen—an omen, a harbinger of fate, and a whisper of the unseen world.

Even the bravest warriors faltered at the sight. A bridge between the living and the dead, Ériu’s raven carried the weight of fate itself. To see it was to know that destiny had begun to unravel—and none could escape its shadow. Warriors on the battlefield would freeze in terror at its cry, for they knew its presence heralded judgment.

Combined with the strength of her other parts, she wove destruction upon those who dared invade their sacred realm, ensuring that the spirit of the land remained unbroken.”

Ellen cleared her throat and began singing a simple melody.

‘In her stead, she sent a raven, cloaked in violet’s hue. Then came the banshees, bold and fierce, vengeance swift, and justice true.

The villains’ steeds on windswept heath would buck and bolt, unbound, untethered, their masters left to face their fate, their cries soon lost to winds that weathered.

With victory near, the triad stood, beneath the sky so vast and wide. Their blades like fire, their hearts burned bright, no foe could break their fearless stride.

Through shattered night and echoing wail, the foes did fall, their strength undone, and so the dawn in golden light arose to hail what they had won.’

With an abruptness only a child could muster, Triona blurted out, “What does that mean?”

Ellen blinked. “What does what mean, mo chridhe?”

Bundled in a shawl far too big for her, Triona wriggled around on her lap. “The raven. The banshees. The horses runnin’ off.”

Ellen nodded, settling deeper into her chair. “Well, they called Ériu the Raven Queen because, before battle, she would send her raven as a warning—a sign to put fear in the hearts of men. And once that fear took hold, she used it. While they fled for the safety of the woods, she lured them toward their victims—the very people they had wronged.”

“Banshees?” Triona asked, eyes wide.

Ellen’s lips curled in a knowing smile. “Aye.”

James muttered under his breath, “Serves ‘em right for layin’ hands on a woman.”