Shadow of the Woe Tree

"No!" Féainn tried to cry out but was rewarded with another thrust from the cock in front of her. She was held tight as she heard a spit and then a rubbing sound as a cock was lubed with saliva – that cock became the one that stretched her asshole to the point of ripping, Tears rolled down her cheeks as the huge cock stretched and stretched her with each back and forth inch it stroked, working her and forcing her anus to accommodate its girth. After an excruciating eternity, the cock in Féainn's anus stopped moving as well as the other two and she stayed there, frozen with her body invaded on three fronts. Yet, there was a growing ease she felt at being held in that manner – her anus seemed to relax with each passing second whereas her pussy shuddered in hopes of further fucking and even her hunger for the cock in her mouth grew.

As if on cue, the three symbols of manhood moved simultaneously and Féainn grimaced as her body was pumped and thrust and redirected by the lusty actions of her lovers. The brandui moaned and sighed as the tools of the men worked her into a wanton frenzy of bliss – when her anus felt it was about to be torn apart, her pussy quivered and gushed with the force of a returning orgasm; when her pussy seemed unable to stand penetration, her excited anus flared with sensations of burning hot passion, rekindling her pussy's lusty readiness. Only her mouth was less active in her stimulation, used only for the desire of the men of the Oglaigh – but even when one faceless warrior filled her throat with a stream of hot seed from a heaving cock, she swallowed it, thrilled at the devilishness of her behavior.

Another cock entered her mouth, a thick and veiny tool that was unfamiliar but it smelled clean and its skin was quite soft. Hands found her breasts and squeezed and needed her pale flesh while a hand slipped between her thighs and a finger found her clitoris. Féainn moaned and heaved as her body was once again ravaged by a glowing, fiery orgasm that ricocheted across her body and the violent fucking of her unknown Oglaigh lovers reached a crescendo and the three men deep inside the most intimate parts of her anatomy exploded together. They groaned and grunted and sighed while Féainn became a vessel for their seed, her ass throbbing from the ejaculate and seeking to push it out while her pussy took it greedily, milking the delivering cock like some dirty beast. The cock in her mouth also spasmed and the man behind it held her head steady as a torrent of thick seed flowed down her throat.

Féainn felt light headed and flushed with power as her lovers pulled out of her and she leaked their offerings to the altar of her sex. She managed to sit up and extended a hand – it was gently taken and she was pulled to her slightly wobbly feet. Her robes feel across her shoulders and she tied the sash. She adjusted the piece of linen over her eyes, her keen senses now clear enough to pinpoint each of her 4 lovers and the fifth who had tried to humiliate her.

"Ye will have the old gods' wrath tonight, Féainn brandui," the chieftain of the Oglaigh said as he and his brethren knelt before the brandui. She nodded and then glanced as the one that had come in her hair. Without hesitation, the other four of the Oglaigh snatched their daggers and stabbed their former companion before he could react, leaving a crumpled, muttering, bloodied heap that sank to the ground.

Féainn smiled.

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Tables and benches were placed in a circle around the ancient willow that was in a clearing a quarter of a league away from the center of the village where Celhern O Cunnight acted as magistrate and spiritual leader for the populace – he watched as the villagers, man woman and child alike, worked to prepare for the final feast of |Samhain. Pits were dug for the scented bonfires and a grand one was built for the pig and cow that would be cooked and the others to be slaughtered as the night bore one. The harvest had been good this year and the animals large, so Celhern thought this success was why his daughter's vision of the chosen of the feast and the Morrigan had bee somehow delayed.

Celhern looked upon the ancient willow that had been the foundation of his family's rise as druids in the region – they knew the old tales and songs to sing to make the tree act as a bridge between the heavens and the underworld. But as time had drawn on, Celhern had seen less and less evidence of the gods, so his dedication to the rituals had been lax, and he much more enjoyed studying and enforcing the laws as magistrate. Féainn had taken up the mantle of keeper of the ways of the gods and the souls of the villagers. She was a dignified successor to her mother, his beloved Siobhan – although he thought Féainn secretly resented his relationship with the widow Daimhin Mhic Ulder. She had left his dwelling some hours before the sunrise, kissing him on the cheek after dressing. Unbeknownst to her, he had heard her last comment before falling to sleep.

Daimhin thought she loved him.

Celhern knew he loved her.

And that loved swelled in his chest when he saw her enter the clearing carrying a basket full of breads and salted meats – her children followed until they caught sight of the other little mongrels and they looked pleadingly at their mother. Daimhin tussled their hair and sent them on their way to play with the others before being called upon for their chores later in the day in preparation for the feast after sundown.

When Daimhin turned to look at the old willow, Celhern waived to her and her face lit up before coloring a bashful red.

"Are you excited for tonight?" Daimhin asked as she met him while put his shoulder to help set up the dais for the feasts prayers.

"Yes," Celhern said as he heaved a barrel over to a waiting worker. "But I worry for Féainn – the harvest was plentiful, I fear her prophecy will remain unfulfilled."

Daimhin put her basket and wares on a neighboring table. "When did you last see her?"

"The night passed. There had been some harsh words."

Daimhin put a hand on Celhern's shoulder, recognizing the grief the druid was feeling behind his waning smile. He glanced at her with some surprise as they had always kept their interactions to the minimum, but he appreciated her daring and her comfort.

"She loves you, oh druid," Daimhin said as she turned and looked upon her own fledglings.

"I know, though I wonder if she loves the old gods more," Celhern mused as he righted an upturned bench. "But there is one thing I think I know for sure, Daimhin."

"What's that?"

"I know I love you."

Daimhin Mhic Ulder stared at Celhern O Cunnight after so startling and admission. She backed away, a broad smile enlightening her face and turned with a hop in her step to help prepare the festivities.

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It was sundown – Celhern stood with a torch in hand before a silent bonfire while around him were awaiting men in women dressed in green and brown robes with faces covered in design cast in woad. Celhern sang a prayer to the four winds that carried the seeds and the rains that fed the crops; he sang to thank the gods for the beasts to be slaughtered for the cold season and smoked for long keeping; he thanked the men and women whose efforts had made the feast possible – with a nod, the awaiting onlookers tossed fragrant oils and herbs onto the stacked wood, mints and lavenders and berries. Then the sound of a lutes and flutes and drums rose into the night and the woad covered villagers started to dance and Celhern tossed his torch in the bonfire and it ignited with a burst of flame from oil placed at its base. The woad covered villagers then began to chant and dance around the bonfire while the other smaller fires were lit and the clearing around the ancient willow became alive with dancing and waiving shadows.

Families and neighbors joined in the dancing while others sat and partook of breads and stews and cured meats and root vegetables. Celhern walked among the revelers, shaking hands and patting shoulders and laughing at jests. The druid would sometimes cast an eye at the old tree as it seemed to wait for something – he hoped Féainn was going to lead the populace in the closing songs and prayers at sunrise, and that was what he told inquisitive patrons of the feast.

But even as he moved and was handed a flagon of mead, Celhern glanced from the tree to the forest beyond the outskirts of the clearing and the fires. He remembered older days when the tree was used for hangings of murderers who could not pay the debts owed the families of the wrongly slain – laws demanded a restoration for the wronged whereas the laws of the One god were barbaric and retributive, based on fear and hate. He understood Féainn's fear of the One god's overwhelming tide, but he saw how people's faith in the forces of nature and the old god were waning so they naturally turned to something new to fill that void.

Celhern struggled to shush those thoughts from his head when he heard a high pitched scream.

Onlookers pointed and gasped at the old Woe tree as carved turnips in the effigy of towns folks dangled from the trees weeping branches, odd luminaries escaping the gouged holes marking the eyes and mouths – the druid's eyes darted back and forth as blazing pumpkins with hideous faces rolled from the woods and into the revelers, coming to a supernatural standstill and staring accusingly at Celhern. Tables flipped over as people scrambled away from from the horrifying apparitions.

"Please! Calm yourselves!" Celhern pleaded with his people as he kicked aside some pumpkins and watched as they fell into the bonfire, seemingly laughing as they roasted and charred. Some listened to him, his authority as their druid having always lead them to safety.

"This is a cruel jest! That is all it is ..." Celhern pleaded as some of the villagers turned to flee to the woods and back to the village – only the runners fell in screams and blood as they were barred by a line of demons and other nightmares drawn from the underworld.

Daimhin Mhic Ulder had gathered her children when Celhern saw her to his left – he turned to run to them but there was only scream as a wave of people passed between then and Daimhin fell into the main bonfire, her maiden dress lit up in a burst of yellow flame as her children pulled her in vain from the fire. Daimhin screamed as the skin of her arms and face blistered and cracked from the intense fire.

Celhern fought and clawed through the panicked crowd, cursing them and hating them for being in his way as he sought only to save his newly admitted love. When he finally reached her, demons from the forest had reached her first and she was snuffed out, a deep groove carved in her chest and blood spilling over her breast. He fell to his knees by her side and cradled her head – her lifeless eyes stared back at his and tears stained his cheeks with guilt and rage.

Celhern suddenly looked for Daimhin's children and saw them being dragged off by monsters. He scrambled to his feet and touched his belt – he found his sickle there, waiting. He unhooked it from his belt and started after the monsters who were leading the pleading children of his lover away. His sprint, fueled by vengeance and grief, was swift enough that he reached the demons within seconds. He used the sickle to hook the arm of a demon, unconsciously noting the glimmer of studded leather armor beneath the mangled animal pelt it used as a disguise. Celhern yanked on the arm and the monster pivoted, the druid crouched and released a dagger that he stabbed upwards into the monster's neck. He heard a very human gurgle as blood ran down his hand and the monster fell backwards, tripping over Daimhin's daughter.

Celhern stood over the body and looked upon the eyes of a man – young and strong but now dead. His eyes scanned the other demons and he realized they were all men in costumes designed to frighten and terrify. The Druid was yanked from his astonishment by a shout from Daimhin's son – he turned in time to sidestep to the left an ax about to rain down upon his head. Clutching his sickle in his right hand, he stabbed the tip of the curved blade into his attacker's cheek, ripping it to shreds in a shower of blood and flesh.

As the second man clutched his face, Celhern dropped the sickle and picked up the ax meant for him and struck his enemy in the stomach before yanking the weapon out, a trail of blood and entrails staining the ground around the Woe tree – the blood sank into the ground, feeding the ancient tree with power it had not felt in centuries. Celhern ignored the movement of the branches without wind and brought the ax down again and again on this false monster.

Behind Celhern, the screams had died down and all that could be heard were sobs and moans and occasional orders barked in old Gaelic. He turned and saw Féainn, surrounded by her horde of false demons and monsters. He wanted to reach out to her and shake her and demand what was happening – instead, his vision went black from a blow to the head.

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"My friends," Féainn pleaded, "my friends! Please ... please be calm. I know some of us have already paid a terrible price for tonight's heresy."

"Heresy?" a voice cried from the wary crowd assembled around the old Woe tree, "All I saw was your father, our druid, lead us in song and prayer as is tradition and you call it heresy? You are mad."

Other voices rose in support to the speaker when the night resounded with the sound of metal on metal. The voices fell silent as the fear of bloody retribution hovered over them.

"Yes ... and because my father ignored my advice to select the chosen of the Samhain and the Morrigan, theses half men approached me and warned me of the wrath of the old gods. They warned me if my father refused to name the chosen they would exact punishment. You saw the jack-o lanterns that hung in the tree – one for each of us in the village. You saw the pumpkins roll from the shadows and pass the gods judgment against my father.

"And it is a sentence they will pass on to you. But, it is not too late – we cannot select chosen as the prophecy commands? Then let an expiation of blood upon the ancient Woe tree seal our pact with the old gods and and we can then call upon their spirits to aide us in halting the march and the missions of the One god!"

"Expiation!" Féainn cried. "Expiation!"

The words sounded in the rising darkness as the bonfires abated – Féainn's half men cried the word and struck their swords together and the gathered crowd began to shout the word in growing unison until it became a mantra the crowd would swear by.

Celhern O Cunnight stood awkwardly with his hands high above his head, bound by a rope that had been tossed hi over a branch of the old willow tree he had been sworn to protect. His robes had been pushed down to his waist and his chest, back and arms were covered in runes painted in woad. His hooded eyes, the haze of his head blow slowly lifting, cleared and he focused on his daughter. Féainn was gesticulating to the attentive crowd, cowered by the strange happenings of the night and by his daughter's words – he struggled to straighten his legs and back, his bone popping disagreeably as he stood.

Daimhin Mhic Ulder was lying on her back, her burnt face and arms and punctured chest casting shadows in the dwindling light of the bonfires. Her children were kneeling in prayer among the onlookers, listening to his daughter.

"Expiation!" Celhern heard as Féainn pointed in his direction. The druid sighed as he understood he was going to die by the tree he loved instead of for it. And with Daimhin gone, taken already a victim of Féainn's crusade against the missions of the One god, he resigned himself to his fate.

"We will meet again soon, my beloved," Celhern whispered as he closed his eyes and he sang a prayer to the three Morrigna.

"I lay for thee, Morrigna three

For Badh the crow to feed me to the Morrow

For Macha the mother of Eire, to lay me to land and Sorrow

For Nemain the wife, to strife me on the pitch of Narrow

I lay for thee, Morrigna three"

A woman in the crowd, her head tilted and her ears perked, heard Celhern's song, and she joined in; the man next to her turned and was ready to strike her to silence her for fear of reprisal form the horde of half men when the words weaved themselves into his thoughts and he took the woman's hand and he joined her song. The children of the deceased widow Daimhin also took to the song, reciting it as a liturgy against the fear that held them at their mother's death. Even on of the half men, removing the animal skin that hid his visage and revealing himself simply a man in armor and a disguise, put aside his sword and sang the song.

Féainn began to pace as the prayer to the Morrigna increased in intensity – she had wanted a prayer to be said, but lead by her while her father was sacrificed to the Woe tree in an attempt to rally the people together against the the march of the One god. But Celhern was somehow winning the sympathy of the crowd and she would not have it.

"Men of the Oglaigh! Silence them!"

Those men of the Oglaigh who had not taken to singing disregarded their disguises and raised their swords to end the mad song once and for all, but they halted as the branches of the Woe tree bristled and erupted with sound.

Dozens of crows burst from the shadows between the branches of the Woe tree and climbed into the night sky, veiling the stars while their caws carried like a faraway thunder on the winds. When they reached a crescendo, the murder of crows fell onto the false monsters and attacked them with talon and beak – the men of the Oglaigh struggled but for each crow that was downed, an eye was pecked out or flesh was torn.

Three crows landed on the branch where Celhern was strung up and the birds frantically worked at the rope, pulling at its strands until it unraveled and Celhern fell to the ground – he worked his hands free, rubbing the friction burns that circled his wrists until he caught movement from the corner of his eye.

The body of Daimhin Mhic Ulder had begun to be lifted into the sky by a swirling mass of circling crows – while the chaos was happening, the prayer to the Morrigna was booming as the villagers poured their every breath behind its words.

Celhern ran to the rising column of dark feathery wings and reached for Daimhin scorched hand.

"Father ... No!" Féainn screamed as she fell to her knees and tears leaked from beneath her blindfold – two growing wet spots where her eyes should have been bore witness to of what she had done. Celhern stopped in mid stride and gazed at his daughter before going to her side. He knelt beside her and hugged her to his chest.

"Father, I just wanted to save them," Féainn sobbed as she grasped Celhern's arms.

"I know, Féainn," Celhern said, fighting the seed of hatred he harbored against her for causing Daimhin death. And as he did so, the path the gods had laid out became suddenly clear to him.

"It was already too late, Féainn – when Daimhin and the others died during the attack, the Woe tree fed on that loss. On my loss – and when I started to pray, when the others joined, the the Morrigna heard and came to claim their sacrifices. This is the final time the Woe tree will unites us with the heavens."

Féainn was brought to her feet by her father and Celhern placed a hand upon her brow and said: "See, my daughter." When Celhern pulled the blindfold from her head, Féainn opened her new eyes and focused on the face of a the man she had never seen and had always loved in her own way.

"How is this happening?" Féainn asked as she rubbed the eyes she had never used.

Celhern was about to speak when a crow landed on his shoulder – around them, dozens of bodies floated in the air as they awaited a rapture to the heavens.