The Diary of Cormac Brogan

Friday 5th September 1823

For as long as I can remember I've kept a diary. I can be honest between its pages in ways that I cannot otherwise. I've been able to tell it about my deepest secrets without being judged, which has proved helpful in processing my thoughts. It has helped me to stay focused and calm when life becomes stressful. And it has always been my hope and dream that when I depart from this world, someone might find my musings beneficial in some way.

Sadly, two days ago, my beloved diary was destroyed, along with my other possessions, in a fire that devastated my home. I've spent a little time deliberating whether I should start another journal, and I've decided that even if it helps one person to hear my thoughts or learn from my experiences, then it's worth the effort.

I primarily penned such notes because I knew I was different from the other boys. When I turned fifteen, I found that I didn't have the same fascination in the female form that they did, and I needed an outlet for the agitation that whirled through my mind as a result. I didn't choose my preferences for men in that regard - it seems this situation chose me. For what purpose, I have yet to determine, since it always seems to lead me to trouble rather than to love.

Whether or not this malady was the reason behind the destruction of my home is unclear. But I do know how hard the terror seized me when woke in the night to the acrid smell of smoke. I bolted from the bedroom and fled down the stairs as fast as my feet would take me, only making it as far as the kitchen. My intention had been to cross to the opposite hallway to make my escape, but when I saw the flames raging through the door through the thick black smoke, lapping at the surrounding supporting beams, fear held me in place.

I am not proud of my cowardice, despite feeling in that moment as though I had no control over the looming sense of dread. The tide of emotion was all-consuming and powerful, engulfing me the same way the blaze was devouring my home. Regrettably, I succumbed to it, buckling helplessly under its intense pressure to the point where I crumpled to the floor in terror as my property collapsed slowly around me.

This overwhelming consternation is not intended as an excuse for my inaction. I know that courage and tenacity would have served me much better in such formidable circumstances. But even reaching deep into my soul couldn't bring forth such admirable qualities, and so, while struggling to breathe, I lost both hope and consciousness right there on my kitchen floor.

I should have died in that fire. It would have served as fair penance for my weaknesses and sins.

I still have no rational explanation to offer for why I'm still alive.

Perhaps God heard the final, silent prayers that I recited in desperation as I sunk to my knees. I can only assume that He must have decided to show me mercy and send me a miracle. Why else would my saviour have been roaming so close to my secluded home while the rest of the world lay asleep, cosy in their beds?

I woke as I was being revived by a kiss from my rescuer. I may have been dazed as I lay on the grass while the fire continued to rage beyond reach, but there was no mistaking the feel of his lips on mine. He withdrew gently and rested a soft hand on my shoulder as spasms deep inside my chest ignited involuntary coughing from the poisonous vapour that I'd previously inhaled, until I was unable to cough anymore.

Shortly thereafter, I was aware of was being bathed in a vicinal, glowing light, so close to me that it could only have emanated from my companion. It was so bright that I became increasingly convinced he must be a seraph, and in those moments, I remember feeling confident of the divine nature of his presence. Surely, only a celestial spirit could have created a radiance so resplendent that I needed to turn my head away and close my eyes. What being, other than an angel of the Lord, could have saturated the darkness with such intense incandescence that it made my head spin?

The ephemeral light faded almost as quickly as it had appeared, before the tutelary assisted me to the house of my nearest neighbour, who was able to offer us shelter in her barn.

Despite my disorientation, I registered his name as he introduced himself to her.

'Aidan O'Rourke.'

I found it to be a fitting portrayal of his character. My understanding of the name 'O'Rourke' is that it is derived from a Norse word meaning 'king,' and I'm certain that Aidan means 'fire.' And this man had just conquered the flames to come to my aid.

'Fire King' suited him well, I decided, as he led me to a bed made of hay, where I collapsed in a stupor.

My neighbour woke me some time later with a bowl of broth, insisting I needed nourishment. In fairness to her, she'd established my state of hunger accurately, and I consumed it with zeal. As I ate, I noted that my worst burns had been tended to and dressed. I thanked her for the attention she'd given to my wounds, but she told me to reserve my gratitude for Aidan.

When I asked where he was, she disclosed to me that he had demonstrated a magical power to her, beyond her comprehension, before offering to use his unique skills to assist her with a personal setback. Upon Aidan's return shortly thereafter, I watched her venture out to meet him, her demeanour suggesting she was apparently pleased with the result of the use of his supernatural abilities.

Other than the sidhe, I'd never encountered a being that could wield magic before, and I didn't know whether to fear him or to be in awe of him. After a brief period of deliberation, I settled on having faith in the latter as I watched him approach me, reminding myself that he'd shown nothing but kindness and succour since his arrival.

I tried not to be anxious when he then sat next to me, dressed in clothes so unusual I have no words to describe them.

However, despite my initial concerns about his mystical abilities, I found him humble and pleasant to converse with.

Mustering enough courage to attempt to sate my curiosity, I confirmed with Aidan something I thought I might have overheard earlier but wasn't certain of - that he had been dealt the same tribulation that I had - a platonic affection for women, but a preference for other men with which to bond intimately.

I contemplated the possibility that he might be a fallen angel, purged from heaven for his proclivity.

This assumption that was not only reinforced by his subsequent admission that his presence in Doran was unplanned and a result of thaumaturgy, but also by his inability to return to where he came from by conventional means, as I established in a later conversation.

That night, we were visited by one of the sidhe, although the reason for the intrusion remains unclear. I suspect it may have been connected to the fire in some way. But whatever the motive, I was grateful for Aidan's presence. He drove the creature away with his magic - his actions convincing me that he was not in league with them, at least.

The following morning, we stayed on the farm, helping my neighbour with her daily chores. I was grateful that Aidan took on the heavier work, since my injuries from the fire were limiting my movements.

But my body has not been the only element of me that has been suffering. My emotions have also been in turmoil since the blaze, and I know that sleep would have been difficult to achieve on my own. Fortunately, Aidan has been attentive and percipient in every regard, which was sufficiently soothing to create enough somnolence within me to enable several hours of relaxation on both of these last two nights.

As for our waking moments, today was a scheduled market day, since Doran market opens for business on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. It is normal practice for the various residents to set up stalls and sell their wares in the centre of the town, and many of those that had no such merchandise could be found hunting for bargains. The neighbour that has been providing us with shelter wanted to vend a selection of her farm produce, and so Aidan and I accompanied her to the central hub, where she organised her goods, ready for trading.

Meanwhile, I joined my mysterious new friend in his exploration of the available commodities offered by others.

Aidan seemed to be captivated by even the most mundane of items, as if he'd never encountered such articles before. He spent a good portion of time examining everyday objects, from ceramic bowls to fresh flowers, as if they were priceless treasures, with an intense and bizarre fascination that I found difficult to fathom.

Still, I was elated that something so simple could bring him such obvious joy, and so I encouraged him to venture further into the heart of the marketplace so that he might inspect additional knick-knacks.

In hindsight, perhaps this was an error in judgement. A handful of locals took umbrage to the possibility that there may be a witch in town, making their feelings on the matter of Aidan's presence very clear.

It appears that word of his magical abilities travelled quickly.

Luckily for us, at least one of those in attendance believed the converse to be true. After helping us fend off the witch-hunt, she requested Aidan's assistance, to which he consented.

Our ally's home was just a short walk from the market. Once there, Aidan created a breach in the air by way of magic, using the resulting fissure to share with us images that aided our companion.

I will not share the details of such orphic visions in my writing, for it was clear that I wasn't the intended recipient. In truth, the nature of the tidings he brought were so personal in nature that I should have averted my eyes. But having never encountered magic so powerful before, I'm ashamed to admit that I found myself transfixed.

When asked whether there was anything he might want in return for his help, I noticed that Aidan took nothing for himself.

While I may not know what he is or where he came from, the events of today have left me in no doubt regarding his ability to perform feats of magic.

But, while others have presumed that he is a malevolent sorcerer, with the intention of causing trouble, his selfless nature and compassionate disposition have led me to draw a different, and undoubtedly controversial, conclusion.

Aidan is no witch.