Blood tie.



The disfigured face took on as much humanity as possible as he crawled painfully through the leaf litter, looking towards the hole in the tree, badly wounded, trying to reach something very important. Tiredness made his task difficult until he could no longer move.

_ Tell me where you are going, you horrible creature; the man shouted at him while he sprinkled water where a four-leaf clover had fermented.

The creature, exhausted and weakened by the effect of the concoction, could only look towards the opening in the tree while the man and three others surrounded it.

_ Surely you are going for your precious pot of gold, or rather our precious pot of gold, he said, causing the whole gang to laugh.

He approached the creature with a special rope to tie it up; suddenly everything around began to move very slowly until it almost stopped completely, from the opening of the tree had come out two more creatures similar to the one that was badly wounded on the ground, while one with a pass of hands manipulated the time around the men the other in a rush went and took the one that was wounded lifting leaves as it ran.

They were the Doyle Brothers, hopeless cynics who had dedicated themselves to plunder any magical creature they could find for their own benefits, they lacked scruples and had perverted all the knowledge that their ancestors had learned during hundreds of years living in those forests with all kinds of magical beings.

It was the turn of the goblins, Jhon, the eldest of the Doyles, was obsessed with his gold and had spent months with his brothers looking for where the goblins had hidden it, for protection they had gathered all their gold in a safer place.

_ Let's go back home, we'll come in the morning, anyway they are already forewarned. Jhon Doyle said to his brothers.

Connor the youngest of them clenched his fists in disagreement, at this the eldest approached him and grabbed him by the lapel and rebuked him in a whisper:

_ Do you have something to say little boy, or have you already forgotten who is in charge he said challenging him.

The youngest of them just lowered his head.

_ I thought so, my friend," he said as the other two brothers exchanged helpless glances with each other.

They quickly retreated in Indian file and at a fast pace, they left a blanket of uneasiness in the heart of the forest. As they advanced, they weaved through the thicket and pierced those places that had always been considered sacred to their ancestors.

Once in the old house, Connor moves away from his brothers while they prepare a series of mystical protections, he goes to his room and cautiously removes a piece of wood from the floor; he takes out a piece of paper that he puts in his pocket and waits for the night to close to make his move.

_ This has to stop one way or another, he mutters to himself.

The silence gradually takes over every corner of the house and finds everyone asleep except the youngest Doyle, who leaves what was once his home for the forest. Up above through the thick branches of the trees is the full moon, the last of March, the moon that will guarantee the magical work the boy intends to do.

He gets to a clearing near the river, crouches for a moment in the bushes, looks around, and as his heartbeat catches in his throat he reviews the conditions of the spell.

Full moon, flowing water, a candle pierced by a virgin needle, and the incantation written on the old paper

He enters the center of the clearing and kneels down, thanks nature and asks permission to all the forces of the forest to perform his magical work, takes the candle out of his pocket and places it on a stone, before lighting it he spreads the old paper that he keeps in his pocket reading loud out:

Blood tie

He remembered in that fleeting second as he lit the candle the time his grandfather told him about that spell; he said it was sealed by St. Patrick himself and served to bind all members of the same bloodline to an oath.

All this Connor remembered as he recited the magical phrases that echoed throughout the forest, the breeze subtly stopped, all magical and non-magical beings stopped as the boy Connor conjured the last phrase of the incantation and fell dead.

Connor's oath; the one that all who bore his blood were bound to keep was to never disturb any of the magical creatures of the forest. The only price to pay was his life.

The other brothers, alerted by the roar of the spell, had gone out into the forest to search for their younger brother arriving at the clearing just as Connor fell lifeless. They knelt down beside him, looked at the scene and the open paper on the ground. They knew immediately what it was about; Jhon embraced his brother's body and wept bitterly, wept as he had never wept before and blamed himself for what happened. All the brothers embraced the boy Connor, accepting his oath.

A small figure appeared in the bushes, it was the goblin they had tried to hunt. It approached the young man lying on the ground, the brothers only moved away. The goblin looked at them as one looks at an old enemy who no longer has reason to be one, in a quick movement of his hand he took out a small gold coin that he placed on the young man's chest, he recited a prayer in his strange language causing an intense light to emanate from the coin that was soon absorbed by Connor's body.

The next morning it was the sun that was tangled in the branches of the trees, the birds were singing songs they had not sung in a long time and the forest.... The forest was no longer shrouded in unease. The lushness was weaving again as the ground healed and in the old house men could be heard talking. Four voices could be heard. Voices that sounded like relatives.



This is an original story from @joalheal for The ink well community in their monthly contest on March: Pot of gold.
Image courtesy of Pixabay With own edition in Picsart and Canva./Endcards Canva design

Translated with (free version)


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