“The vampire, that mysterious and fearsome being, is both a seducer and a destroyer, a creature whose allure lies in the paradox of being simultaneously seductive and repellent.”
John Polidori
Art by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Once upon a time many years ago, there were two young sisters born barely a year apart. Their father was a famous king of Scotland, named Robert McDonald. He was a strong, proud and wise king who ruled fairly and was well beloved among his people. The girls enjoyed quite a lavish life style for the time period and their father adored and adorned them like none other. Their mother died in childbirth with their younger brother and his children were all he had left.
One day the girls were out exploring in the forest as young teens when a neighboring chieftain by the name of Conchobar MacLeod happened upon them. Conchobar was the sworn enemy of their father and on a spy mission to determine his clan’s next mode of attack on the McDonald king in the hopes of overthrowing his rule. He brutally tied the teen girls up and took his time beating and strangling each girl until their beautiful lives were extinguished. When the gentle McDonald king found his girls, anguish tore at his heart until he himself was within an inch of taking his own life.
The single hope that kept him holding on was of being able to avenge their deaths. He hired his own spies to try and get to the bottom of their deaths and three of his best men went to and fro about the entire country and even neighboring countries but it was to no avail. In the meantime, he paid a visit to their clan Druid, Magerathe with the bodies of his girls and begged him to bring them back to life. “My magic is very limited,” Magerathe replied in a solemn tone, “but there is one spell not unknown to me that may bring them back in some capacity.”
“Some capacity?” the old king questioned. “They will be half alive, neither part of this world nor the Otherworld and it’s unknown how or on what they will feed. They age but very slowly and are damned to a life of essentially, immortality.” “But they’d be here again nonetheless? the king questioned again, “They’d be walking among us?” “Yes sir, they would, but it would be a mere shadow of them.” “I don’t care about the details Magerathe, I just want my children back…” the king exclaimed.
So the old Druid set about his task and performed a great ritual that very night in the local tomb of their ancestors. The candles burned and the drums pounded as female and male Druids surrounded the girls, drumming life back into them. Some were standing while others sat close to them singing the enchanted words… carefully, powerfully and in unison. Dorchadas, cluinn sinn Thoir air ais na bha air chall Fàg na tha air fhàgail Beo, beo, beo Dùisg, an seo, an-dràsta Give back what was lost Leave what remains Darkness, hear us Alive, alive, alive Awake, here, now The girls awoke with a start at the end of the hour long chant. Every Druid gasped and stood back making room. The candles blew out and their eyes glowed menacingly as they gazed around the pitch black cairn. They each laughed ever so slightly and quickly scurried out of the cairn.
Everyone was too stunned to move or speak. A few minutes later, a long and loud group of wolf howling was heard on the moors. “What have we done?” Magerathe whispered. The king received the announcement of his girl’s awakening and immediately set a search party to find them with himself leading the hunt. They weren’t hard to find as their thirst was massive and they were leaving somewhat of a large trail of animal carcasses. He wasn’t prepared for the scene he came upon as he watched his two young daughters crouching over and devouring a large stag. “Hello father,” one daughter hissed as she looked up from her blood lust. Blood covered her entire face and upper torso and the mere rags of her once vibrant dress. “Have you missed us?” the other sister asked. She licked her lips as she looked up and tilted her head towards him. Her crystal green eyes bore through him. Their father was speechless…
He unmounted his horse and fell on his knees in front of them. “Who did this to you?” he cried out. “WHO??! Who killed you?” “Twas’ the MacLeod laird,” they nearly said in unison. The king let out a shriek of anguish and unsheathed his sword high into the air. He stood up and turned around to his first man, “Find him and bring him to me,” he said darkly. The MacLeod man was brought to trial and Robert never took his eyes off him. There was a pensive long moment of silence before the sentencing… “Listen well, MacLeod. I will take your life today but know this. The last ancestor of your line is cursed to become what my daughter’s have… the damned, the undead, the anguished immortal ghosts of this forsaken land. Your land. My land. Your castle is mine and your kin made house servants. You have condemned yourself with your own misdeeds and misfortune. Our queen justice is merely setting the scales even.” He unsheathed his sword and approached him standing with his feet spread wide before him.
He stared down at MacLeod as he sat on his knees in the middle of the courtyard. MacLeod started to say something and Robert immediately sliced his head clean off not willing to hear another word from his foul mouth. He picked it up and shoved it on a pike and passed it onto his first man to display on the castle bridge. There was great celebration that night while the king looked on quietly. He would never smile or laugh again. Robert would occasionally hear of sightings of his daughters and follow the trail of them. A few times he got a quick glimpse of the hem of a dress or their long crimson hair caught in the wind from a distance but was never close enough again to have any real relationship. He died in old age, feverish, still whispering their names. Mòrag… Máirín…
600 years later:
His girls would become somewhat of local legends. They aged to maturity although very slowly, but aged nonetheless. They had a knack for luring men and women alike to their inevitable demise. Their favorite place of residence was the old MacLeod castle to spite the man himself. Due to his shame as well as the occasional visitation of the girls, the castle became unmanaged and unkept through the centuries. Huge trees grew around it to where it was almost completely hidden. They hadn’t seen any activity in countless years and dined most frequently on passing deer or carrion birds.
Their legend fell into nearly forgotten obscurity. The women were lounging around the castle near the present day when they caught a strange and unfamiliar scent in the air. They exchanged a look of pensive curiosity. “Coigreach,” Mòrag whispered. “Sasannach,” Máirín hissed. A man by the named of Aidan was visiting Scotland for his 28th birthday from America. He wanted to explore his ancestral roots and traced his lineage to the MacLeod’s very castle. It was a cloudy day and there was no place for him to hide and no chance of escape…
The two sisters quietly ambushed him with sensuality and magnetism. They lured him with wine and enchanted words. They danced for him and around him. He was utterly and completely entranced. Máirín distracted him while Mòrag quietly kissed at his neck. She casually took the first bite. He didn’t notice between the wine and the vision of Máirín in front of him. “He has old blood,” Mòrag remarked as she licked her quivering lips. “Mmmm…” she said as she grabbed his hair and pulled his head to the side so she could drink from his neck more deeply. Máirín could hardly wait to get a taste.
After some time, they were both well filled and covered in blood and Aidan was in such a mystical and blissful trance, he took no mind of it. Mòrag stared down into Aidan’s eyes as the life was nearly completely drained from his body. “Stop,” she barely whispered to Máirín. “He is really quite handsome,” Máirín said frankly as she read her sisters mind. They both sat back and stared over his spent body. “Let’s keep and turn this one,” Mòrag announced. “We don’t know him enough to know if we want to spend hundreds of years with him!” Máirín countered. Mòrag fumbled in his back pocket looking for his ID and laid it out. “Here. His name is Aidan MacLeod… now we know him,” she declared. “Oh! For fucks sake!” Máirín laughed.
Isla Skye
Isla is an American Irish mother of 3, teacher, author and herbalist that splits her time between the states and Ireland. She has been studying folklore as well as the Druids and related practices for over 20 years. Her hobbies are family time, reading, camping, hiking, visiting sacred sites, spending time with her many animals as well as writing and research.
Isla is an American Irish mother of 3, teacher, author and herbalist that splits her time between the states and Ireland. She has been studying folklore as well as the Druids and related practices for over 20 years. Her hobbies are family time, reading, camping, hiking, visiting sacred sites, spending time with her many animals as well as writing and research.
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