The Lamb and the Gray Battle

October 12, 2022

Brantley asked Otis to read his application to OSU Law School.

"Dude," Otis said. "The girl's not interested, so she's not interested. Take no for an answer. We don't need anymore women marching on Washington with v-jayjays on their heads and we don't need Winnie the Pooh laughing like an idiot."

They didn't need anymore hangings or police with flame throwers burning protesters either.

"Look, Evie needs me," Brantley said. "Just read my entry thesis and tell me what you think."

Otis rolled his eyes, swiped the papers from his hand.

His original paper had addressed Prince Nianzang, but this paper was an historic review of the Mhor Clan. Over the summer, when he happened to stumble across the Mhor lineage book, it had been a fluke and he forgot about it soon after. Now that Evie's living room was covered in letters to Aoibh an Mhor, Banrion Aoibh, all the other nonsensical names, his obsession was alive.

Brantley went on Wikipedia and tracked down every reference he could find on Bronagh, Siofra and Aoibh an Mhor. He had to write to a scholar in Ireland for photocopies of texts.

The reply e-mail said:

Thank you for your interest in an Mhor witches. The books you are requesting are illegal in PC. Please fill out the attached forms for approval.

After a few minutes of squinting at the fine print, it said to allow six to eight weeks for authorization. Brantley searched a few more websites, found a phone number for the Dublin University Library.

Dr. Kearney said, "If you're not careful, the police will question you for researching these women."

"Are the an Mhor women particularly special?"

The Irish man scoffed. His accent made him hard to understand.

"First and foremost, young man. It's the Mhor or an Mhor, not both." Dr. Kearney made much of growling and whining and throwing a tantrum. He could have put Dylan to shame. "Secondly, Quinn an Mhor is possibly the most important woman in demon history. She established the merging of demon and human blood and argued for them to live peacefully together. It's because of her that Ireland is the demon blood paradise that it is today.

"Quinn an Mhor said the more the demon blood intermingled with the human blood, the more human-like the demon blood behaves. Now, technically, the Chinese were doing exactly that for thousands of years, but we don't pay any attention to them. Our King would point out that he and his son are perfect models for the blending of human and demon blood."

"What else can you tell me about them?"

"It's late and I'm an old man."

Brantley asked Siri what time it was in Ireland. Sure enough, it was nearing 9:00 p.m. "Message me the documents that don't require clearance."

The man swore, the dialect similar to the handful of times he'd heard Gran. Brantley assumed they were curses and apologized.

The pages the scholar sent praised Bronagh for her sword skill and listed her success in no less that two dozen wars. She'd been a member of an Mhor demon slayers, an all-female group who were better known for wands and spells than swords and bloodshed. Bronagh was the exception. She could handle it all. Some suggested that she had ogre blood in her veins, which made her more violent. Others said it was her conversion to Catholicism that sent her over the edge. Still others said it was Siofra's collusion with the Ao dragons that unhinged the old broad. But then, the pages also noted that Bronagh was violent and uncontrollable long before Siofra was born.

He turned to the pages on Siofra. It was apparently a damned miracle she was even born. Apollo was known for fathering many children, but Bronagh wasn't going to be seduced by any demon; she wasn't going to be tricked by him supposedly being a god. Like that was any different.

Siofra claimed to be Catholic, but wasn't as fanatical as her mother, which made sense, because how could she say that Jesus was the god of gods when her father was the pure blood real thing? A lot of it was repetitive, that she inherited her father's gifts, liked poetry, had an ability to entrance crowds. No wars were listed under her name. Little was known about her. Though the exact date wasn't listed, Siofra was murdered by the feuding Ban clan, who were opponents of King Ao Guang and his faction. King Ao Guang had declared her birthday a national holiday in 1447.

Brantley sorted through all the pages, but there was nothing about Aoibh an Mhor. Sensible of the time in Ireland, Brantley sent an email. It was several hours before he got a reply.

"There's nothing about her."

Brantley sent another email. "You have to know something."

"Aye, every scholar knows exactly who she is. And everyone smart enough to know who she is is smart enough to keep his mouth shut."

Even though it was an email, the accent pervaded the words.

Brantley sent back, "Give me a hint or point me in the right direction."

"I have a copy of Her Story. It's locked away where no one will find it, but I've read it half a hundred times. I recommend you do the same. Banrion Aoibh is disgruntled."

Brantley shouldn't have been shocked.

Aoibh, Aoibh, Aoibh.

A million times his father had written that name.

"Look, Otis, I just need someone sane to read this," Brantley said, awake from his reverie.