What Was Left Behind

This article is a part of Spooktober 2023 and is still a work in progress.
Written for the Epitaph prompt.

Grass and fallen leaves crunched underneath his boots as Darragh picked his way through the thick underbrush. He had landed in Ireland a month ago in Dublin, the first place he had decided to go once his fate had been decided by the Elders. Free of Ebio and in control of himself for the first time in just over a century, his first want had been home.
Of course, after a century, home was long gone.
While the land in Kerry had grown, the farm his father had owned and worked was still a long way outside of any heavily populated area. The roads that had once led there were all overgrown and most of the other places he had known were gone. Even where he had died, weak and struggling in the dirt behind the Mac Uallacháin barn, was gone. Torn down long ago to be replaced by a new building for whoever now owned the land.
Darragh, however, still remembered the direction to walk from the Mac Uallacháin's to get home. After standing a long time in what he knew was close to where he had died, he had started walking. Now, he was pushing his way through the thick underbrush, eyes roving for any sign of what was left. Stones or wood or anything.
After he rounded a tree that he vaguely remembered as being barely twice his own height and now towered above him, Darragh found it. There was the outline of a house before him, most of the stones that were left of the walls covered in moss and vines that hid them. The inside was open to the elements, roof either fallen in or blown away years before, no signs of it remaining.
He picked his way to the crumbling doorway and reached out to touch the stones, his hand trembling as he touched them. Tears welled abruptly in his eyes and his throat tightened, loss and rage almost overwhelming him.
This is where he had been born, where he had been meant to live and die. Their father would have one day either given him the farm or died, allowing it to pass into Darragh's hands. He would have worked the fields and taken care of the animals, probably allowing Daman to stay however long he would have wanted.
Instead, he had been stolen and turned into a monster.
Darragh spun away from the house abruptly, breathing hard even though he didn't need breath, as the emotions in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gritted his teeth, trying to hold everything back but it was too much. He finally collapsed, knees going out from underneath him, and fell into the thick underbrush as a scream of anguish and rage tore out of him. It felt like it echoed in the air in this forgotten place, clinging to the stones as much as the plants were.
When the sound finally died and his throat felt raw, Darragh stumbled to his feet. He staggered back through the underbrush, trying to find his way back out. Given the level of overgrowth and his now frazzled state, he couldn't figure out how to get back the way he had come in.
Instead, he found himself.
At the base of what was left of the stone wall that had marked the edge of the property, Darragh found two distinctive shapes. Pushing his way towards them, he brushed at the moss and vines covering them until he felt etched stone underneath his fingertips. He felt the distinctive curve of a U followed by what seemed to be an i and double ll and began to tear at the vines in what was almost a frenzy.
When he finally freed the tombstone from its covering, Darragh collapsed to his knees before it and clasped the edges of the old stone between his hands. The name Uilliam Ó Conaill was clearly visible and he looked mournfully at the date etched beneath it. 1611 - 1664 was worn but clear and he traced the numbers with his fingertips as his lips trembled.
He had been taken in 1663 and their father had died the year after. Daman had only seen fourteen summers the year that Darragh had been stolen. Then, at fifteen, his little brother had been alone.
Their mother had always said that her family back in Great Britain was dead and what was left of the Ó Conaill's had shunned their little family when their father had married her. Daman had had no one.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, lovingly touching the stone. "I should have been a better son. A better brother."
There was some other text etched on the tombstone but it had long ago been worn away. Darrah then remembered there was another similar shape next to it and reached out, tugging at the vines covering it. These were slightly harder to pull away but revealed a somewhat more preserved tomestone underneath. His throat clenched as he saw his own name, Darragh Ó Conaill, on it and the dates 1641 - 1663 beneath that.
He had only seen twenty-two years. Now he was only two years shy of being a full century older than he had been the year he had died.
Darragh cleared more of the vines and moss clinging to the tombstone away and found that this one still had the extra text on it preserved. However, it was beneath grime that clung to the stone and he had to run his fingers over the letters one by one in order to read it. When he did, he slowly slumped over the stone, eyes tightly clenched shut as his body was wracked by almost violent sobs.
The last thing Daman had ever said to him was that he hated him. That he hated who he had become and wanted his real brother back.
Etched into the stone, were two lines of text: You were always my real brother. Come back.

The tombstone of Darragh Ó Conaill, created using Playground AI

Timeframe: 1783
Location: County Kerry, Ireland
Event: Darragh Ó Conaill returns to Ireland to see what was left behind when he was turned by his sire, Ebio.
Consquences: Darragh Ó Conaill discovers that someone placed gravestones for himself and his father...but there isn't one for his little brother.

Related Historical Events

• 1783
  Darragh Ó Conaill Returns to Ireland