Time and Time Again

Niamh

Niamh, the brightest star of Aonghus, the former scourge of the northern seas, stood on the cusp of her erstwhile home. The blue-violet mist cloaking the Irish hills pierced through the thin silk of her luxurious clothes. The diamonds clustered in the hollow of her throat could purchase the entire village spread before her. She shivered and gathered her insubstantial cloak tighter to disguise the necklace. Life as the wife of Ireland's most successful and brutal pirate captain had repeatedly instructed her about humanity's bloody nature.

Aonghus...her eyes stung with tears as she recalled their last moments together. He had been as self-assured as any other day, convinced the ship in his sights was a merchant vessel ripe for the plundering. Even when the ship revealed itself to be a member of the Roman navy and retaliated, he kept a level head. Only the final few minutes of confrontation revealed the pirates' fatal mistake. Aonghus bundled his wife onto a small boat, pressed a kiss against her mouth, and set her adrift. She didn't have to see his corpse to know he was dead. After a miserable day of being tossed about by the relentless ocean, her boat washed against the shores of her youth, and Niamh made her way home.

Will they even welcome me? Recognize me? For all I know, they could be long gone or buried, and I approach a stranger's door. Five years ago, Aonghus had barreled into Niamh's sleepy village, swept her off her feet, and promised a life of adventure on the high seas. Niamh had resolved to go, and her mother had resolved that she would not, resulting in a terrific argument filled with barbed insults and the door to her home closed forever. Still, she returned. Where else could she go?

Most of the cottages slept in dusk, but golden light spilled from the windows of her family's home. As Niamh crept closer, she glimpsed two figures silhouetted against the hearth's glow – her mother and younger sister, occupying themselves with weaving late into the night. Before her exile, Niamh had worked alongside them.

At last, she found herself directly facing the door. As if in a trance, she reached into the crisp night air and rapped her fist against the worn, familiar wood. She heard a muffled curse and a scuffle as the women scrambled to find a weapon in case of a murderous intruder. The door jerked open, and Niamh felt the cold point of a sword press against her chest. Her mother pointed the weapon at her – grayer, but the same woman. Their breath caught at the sight of each other. "Mother –" Niamh began.

However, before she could proceed, the mother tossed her sword aside and pulled her daughter into a fierce embrace. As they clung to each other, Niamh at last allowed the hot tears she'd held back for days to pour over her cheeks.

She was home.