McDaurn Family Farm
Back Woods
Lewis County, Washington State
United States of America
12 August, 1986
0430

I lit another cigarette, watching the front of the farm-house. Lights had come on when we first pulled up. Within ten minutes vehicles had pulled up, the occupants careful to stay away from the four of us. All of them moving slowly and carefully, making sure that their hands were where we could see them. Nearly twenty cars and trucks had pulled up, everyone going inside.

The news had spread. Command Sergeant Major Tiernan Stillwater had arrived.

"They appear a mite nervous," Bomber chuckled as another group got out of a car and went into the farmhouse, all of them glancing repeatedly over their shoulders at us.

"Been thirty years since I've set foot on this farm," My Father mused. "Came back from the occupation of Germany for a few weeks, was told I was going to marry a girl I had never met, and I have never returned since."

The next group got out of the car, nervously watching us. The adult male had his right arm and left leg in a cast, bandages on his face. He kept glancing at us until the door shut behind him.

"That one's nervous," Nancy chuckled.

"They're afraid of the boogie-man," my Father said, chuckling.

"They have reason to be afraid of you," I said.

He chuckled again, looking at me. "Not me, boy. You."

Nancy laughed at that.

My Father dropped his cigarette, toeing it out. "Well, let's get this show on the road," He said. He reached out to me, squeezing my shoulder, and I followed. My knee ached, and I knew I was limping.

I was running on not enough sleep, too much activity, and still pumped up from Matron Aine's primal ministrations. My knee hurt, and I couldn't remember injuring it again.

"You all right, boy?" My Father asked as we stopped in front of the heavy front door.

"Knee hurts," I admitted.

"They get a piece of you?" Nancy asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

I just shrugged. She moved toward me but the Sergeant Major reached out and stopped her. "Later." She nodded, looking slightly defiant, but moved to stand next to me.

"I'm not going to forget what they did to me," Nancy snarled. The scar on the side of her face was a deep livid purple.

"Let me handle this, Miss Nagle," my Father said.

"Yes, sir," Nancy said. My Father made a hmm, noise, ending the conversation, and reached for the door handle.

The door opened smoothly, revealing the broad entry hall with the portraits and wall hangings lit by cleverly hidden lights. At the far end of the hallway two young boys waited by the door, staring at us nervously.

"Return to your mothers, children, I can open a door myself," The Sergeant Major told them.

The nodded jerkily, one swallowing nervously, and they scampered out the side door, leaving the hallway entry. We stood there for a long moment.

"Let them realize that we will come in when we're ready, not before," The Sergeant Major said. "We need to take control of this right away. They aren't used to being the ones made to wait."

The three of us nodded. My nerves were singing and I had to keep myself for reaching for the knife. Just to touch the hilt, to reassure myself I was still armed, just to remind myself I was not a prisoner this time.

"Steady, boy," My Father said.

"They changed the wall hangings," I pointed out. The others looked. Instead of scenes of soldiers or battles, it was portraits of the various matrons, all of them looking stern.

"Impress any of you?" My Father asked. We all shook her head. He snorted in amusement. "They're really out of touch." He took a deep breath. "Let's do this."

He led the way, and I noticed that without any words Nancy and Bomber moved so they were on either side of me, close to me. I glanced at John and he winked. A glance at Nancy got a quick smile.

The doors swung open smoothly when he reached out with both hands, grabbing the heavy bronze rings, and pulled. The oiled hinges were silent as the counter-weighted doors opened, revealing the heart of the Matrons power.

The braziers had been lit, pots were dripping water into the massive stone-edged fire pit, and the Matrons were seated, although they looked startled at our entrance.

"You were not summoned!" One of them shrieked, "You were not announced!"

My Father stopped two steps from the firepit, going to parade rest again. I knew now that the pistol he had used was hidden at the small of his back and the way he stood made it so the pistol could be back in his hands in a split second.

"What is the meaning of this, Tiernan?" Another Matron asked. "Why have you brought your son and his two companions into this hall?"

We stood silent.

"Those three animals were to be bound before being brought into our presence," another Matron screeched.

"ANSWER US, BOY!" One stood up, holding onto the arms of her chair. Flash powder was thrown into the braziers, but I saw the young girls moving and closed my firing eye out of habit.

Still we stood silent.

The Matrons went quiet, only the rustle of their clothing and the gentle noises from the coals in the fire-pit making any noise.

"If you have composed yourselves," The Sergeant Major said mildly.

"HOW DARE YOU!" another  Matron shrieked.

Again they began yelling at us. Even the younger ones began shrieking.

We just stood there quietly. Watching them, letting them run out of steam again. Again it became quiet. One of the Matrons gestured and one of the little ones ran toward one of the side doors.

The Sergeant Major's hand snapped out, a short, controlled throw, and a knife appeared in the middle of the door, the thunk of its impact loud in the silence. The girl squealed, almost falling down as she suddenly stopped. The Sergeant Major had returned to parade rest before the knife had even hit.

"Do not," my Father warned, his voice raised. Command authority rolled off of him suddenly, and more than a few Matrons shrank back in their chairs. The three kelly Matrons present did not move, just simply watched with shielded eyes.

This time the Matrons were silent, fear filling them.

"Your ignorance has led us to this point," My Father began. He paused for a moment expectantly.

"How dare..." one of the Matrons began.

"Be silent," one of the Kelly Matrons snapped. I could not tell which one, her face was shadowed and I was not familiar enough with the Matrons to know who had spoken. "If you cannot remain silent, then remove yourself." She paused for a moment. "Please continue, War Patron."

"I reject that title," My Father said, "But that is not what I have come to discuss."

He stepped to the side, bringing John, Nancy, and me into focus.

"I sent my son to care for his sister while she was in the hospital. I was in another country, carrying out the will of our sworn government, and was not available," He began, "So I sent one of my sons that I knew cared deeply from Niamh."

He paused again, his gaze sweeping over the Matrons.

"One of you, who is absent, and will be forever more," He said, "Sought to ensnare my son in her machinations, thought him weak and easy to control."

The Matrons muttered at that.

"She knew nothing about my son, nothing about what he does, who he is, and what he had become. She thought him little more than more leverage to use against me in a disagreement that I have with this august body that did not involve her. She sought to prove her worth by abusing my children to force me to kneel," my Father stated slowly, his gaze sweeping over the Matrons. "And many have paid the price. Those who are not dead, who have faced my son, are maimed, possibly for life."

He was silent, letting the tension build.

"Because none of you consulted the War Matrons," He snapped. "Because you did not understand, could not understand, the nature of the weapon you had unleashed into your own midst. You could not understand why every time you reached out you drew back a bloodied hand with missing fingers."

The little girl brought back the knife, holding it out to him. Without looking at her he took it from her hand and it disappeared, his hands moving quickly as he continued to speak.

"The War Matrons could have told you, had you done anything but look the other way while a foolish and ignorant Matron brought this family to the edge of extinction," He said. He turned to one of the Matrons, pointing, "War Matron Moya, what do you know of my son?"

The Matrons all turned and looked at the member who my Father had pointed out. The old woman sipped at her cup of tea, then set it down on the saucer that one of the young girls held out to her. She leaned forward, cleared her throat, and addressed the other Matrons.

"The nature of his duties, even his training, is hidden behind layers of government secrecy. His duty station is hidden behind another unit. His mail is vetted by military intelligence, both incoming and outgoing. He undergoes security clearance, medical, and psychiatric checks regularly. His phone calls are supervised as well as survielled," The old woman said slowly, her voice whispery and reminding me of spiders moving in thick cobwebs. "His accessible records state that he is little more than a man who supervises the storage of ammunition."

One of the Matrons scoffed, and one of the other Kelly Matrons banged her cane on the floor for silence.

Matron Moya continued once it was quiet, "However, his medical treatment tells another story. Gunshot injuries. Blast injuries. Shrapnel. Internal injuries. Brain injuries. Chemical weapon exposure. Radiation exposure. Experimental drug regimens." She was silent for a moment.

"And your conclusion, War Matron? What would you have told them about my son, had you been consulted?" My Father asked mildly.

"That he is an unknown, and very possibly more dangerous than he appears."

Her words hung for a long moment.

"And?" My Father asked.

"That we should be wary of him. That he should be treated carefully, with gentle hands," Matron Moya said, her words stern. "I would have advised Matron Regan against involving Aodan in any plans."

Everyone was silent for a moment.

"The War Matrons exist for a reason, Matrons," my Father told them. "They understand the culture, the society, and could have advised you."

He shook his head, "Instead, you listened to a Matron known for little more than cruelty and spite, who was more in love with power than the traditions of our family," he paused, "And your boys have paid the price as you sent them against my son time and time again."

I could feel the towering resentment flowing off of the Matrons as he continued.

"My son is a soldier. An active soldier. By tradition none of you have any hold over him, have no right to command him or make decisions regarding him, even if I was to allow you to," His voice hardened. "The War Matrons, and the War Matrons alone, may make decisions regarding my son if I was to allow it. Not you. Not the Lesser Matrons. Not the Matrons in Repose."

None of them spoke as he paused, sweeping his gaze across them again.

"Right now my son has agreed to allow me to take charge of things, to protect him and command him," He said. He looked at Matron Moya again, "Do the War Matrons agree that he should be allowed to return home."

Before anyone could say anything Tera stood up. "No! Aodan is to be..." she started, obviously intending on derailing everything.

"Sit down and shut up, abarlach," Matron Moya snapped. "You have not been given permission to speak, and we have no need to hear the words from a harlot."

Tera stared at the older woman, her mouth opening and closing silently in shock.

Matron Moya turned back to my Father.

"Take your son from here, War Patron Tiernan. We War Matrons will handle any dissent," the old woman said, her voice full of steel.

"Let's go, boy," My Father said, turning away from the Matrons and walking toward us.

"A moment, if you please, War Patron," Matron Moya stopped us before we had gone two steps.

We all turned around.

"Kelly Nagle, our promises to you, your place among us, is secure," Matron Moya said. "You will be always welcome here."

"Thank you, War Matron," Nancy said, her voice neutral.

"Anything else?" my Father asked.

"No, War Patron. You, your son, and his companions go in peace," Matron Moya said.

We began walking toward the door again.

"No! Matron Regan promised..." Tera's voice suddenly trailed off as she realized that she had said too much.

"Promised you what, young Tera?" Matron Moya's voice was the whisper of a razor across oiled silk.

The Sergeant Major pulled open the door. There were nearly a dozen men in the hallway. My Father looked at them, his face expressionless.

"Is there something you wished to discuss with us? The Matrons have released us to leave, but if you have other plans..." my Father let the silence build for a heartbeat. "I am prepared to use force to defend myself, my son, and his companions."

The men stepped to the side, paling.

"As I thought," my Father said.

"You're lucky your..." one of them started to say, looking at me. I recognized him, despite the bruising on his face, as one of the cousins who had been at the hospital.

"Shhh," my Father said, putting his finger against the younger man's lips. "There are not enough of you here to cover that check your mouth is about to attempt to cash."

The man paled, and a muscle along his jaw jumped.

"Weapons free, soldiers, but let's try to walk out," my Father said.

There was silence until we had almost reached the door, when Tera began screaming in outrage. I started to turn but Nancy grabbed my arm, shaking her head when I looked at her.

We kept moving, out into the steely light of false dawn, walking slowly to the truck.

"Don't look around, don't look back," my Father warned.

Kalene McCullen was standing in front of a car, over a dozen McCullen men with her. She was dressed in a fancy dress, her old regimental crest gleaming on the sash at her waist. The men were armed with rifles, pistols in holsters, and they all looked angry.

"Kelly McCullen," my Father nodded.

"Tiernan," she nodded back.

We passed them, walking to the truck. Nancy and John climbed in the back, and I saw that both of their hands went under the canvas in the back. I knew they were grabbing the rifles that they had hidden, both to make sure they were still there and to reassure themselves that they could fight back.

"I think the Matrons are going to be too busy to worry about you," my Father told me, lighting a cigarette and passing it to me. He lit another one as I brought the big truck to life. I took a deep drag, throwing it into reverse to turn around.

"I thought it was all going to come apart on me," my Father said after I put it in first and headed down the driveway.

I glanced at him, "What? Why? Everything was going fine."

He shook his head, "When your ex-wife stood up and revealed that she is in this up to your neck I was afraid you'd kill her right there." He blew smoke out the window. "For you, it's over, boy."

I nodded.

"We'll stop by the hospital, but I want you on a MAC flight today," he said, "The only way I can get this under control, stop the family from going to war with the McCullens, make sure that the guilty parties face Matron justice, is if they don't feel I'm holding a knife against their throat."

"What knife?" I asked, honestly confused.

He looked at me and smiled, a fierce, savage thing.

"You, boy. You." He said. He leaned back, relaxing, "Let's get you home, boy."

Home.

He was right. I just wanted to go home.