Folding onto her knees on the damp pebbles, she examined the stone. With its regular submerging in the salty water with the incoming tide, it ought to be more weathered than it was. Its sides, though, were smooth and shiny, marked only by the carvings that had been cut into it.
“So my ancestors made you, eh?” she said. “How did they do it, I wonder?”
Jenna closed her eyes and took slow, steady breaths. This close, she could feel the energy of the stone pulsing through her like a second heartbeat, slow and ancient. She had felt things like this before in the twenty-first century, in stone circles or fairy glades—fading remnants of a once-powerful magic that clung on stubbornly despite being long forgotten by those whose ancestors had once lived by it.
Hesitantly, she reached out a hand and placed her palm flat against the stone. To her surprise, it felt slightly warm and her skin tingled slightly. The energies in the stone shifted, seeming to concentrate on her hand, as though they were aware of her presence.
Do you recognize me?she thought.I’m a MacFinnan, just like those who made you. What do I need to do to fix you? Tell me.
Opening herself up to her own magic, she sent her awareness spiraling into the stone. At once, she became aware of the web of magic she’d first encountered at Bail Nan Cnoc. It appeared in her mind’s eye like a golden net spreading out across Skye, shimmering like ropes of flame. She saw the dark spots too where the net wasbroken, but here, anchored as she was by the stone, she was in no danger of losing herself as she had before.
Three lines of power converged on the anchor stone, two that stretched out along the coast in both directions, and one that went inland, towards the nexus at Bail Nan Cnoc. All three lines of power were weak, but not broken, and Jenna was pretty sure that if she first strengthened the magic that emanated from the stone to the level it should be, she could work her way out from there, repairing the whole web.
Not for the first time, she wished that her aunts were here. She guessed that in the distant past the MacFinnan spellweavers had not worked alone. In fact, there had probably been a whole group of them, aided and supported by others who lent their strength.
But Jenna was alone. She was all this place had. She had better be up to the job.
“Right,” she said aloud, shaking herself down and trying to loosen any tension in her body. “Here goes nothing.”
Slowly, she began feeding magic into the anchor stone. To her delight, it responded immediately, like a man dying of thirst suddenly offered water. It drank the magic; the symbols etched into its surface began to glow, and in her mind’s eye, the three lines of power anchored to it began to shine white-hot.
Bit by bit, Jenna began to push the magic farther out, towards the other anchor stones in the net, strengthening and brightening the lines of power that radiated from them one by one. Finally, she reached one of the dark spots in the net and paused. Here there was no magic left to work with, only the dark void in which she’d nearly lost herself the other day, so merely trying to strengthen it wouldn’t work. She would have to build a bridge across it somehow.
Teasing at the magic at the edges of the void, where it was shorn away as if sliced by a knife, Jenna began gently coaxing it out, like pulling out the threads of some garment. When the threads of magiccame free, she channeled her energy into them, and slowly, slowly, they began to grow. It was slow going. Jenna could feel her strength beginning to ebb as the tendrils of golden magic began to slowly inch their way across the gap, like the roots of some thirsty plant reaching down through the soil looking for water.
She began to feel lightheaded, and the back of her throat was raw and parched. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she gritted her teeth and pushed on. Had she called Arran MacLeod stubborn? Well, that was nothing compared to the stubbornness of a MacFinnan. She wouldnotbe beaten. Shewouldcomplete the patch, damn it!
Inch by inch, the tendrils of magic grew across the gap. Jenna’s arm began to shake, and her lungs burned as though she’d run a 5K. Still, she didn’t let up. The tendrils had almost reached the far side now. Just a little more. Just one final push…
With a cry, she poured the last of her strength into the magic and the tendrils finally reached the far side of the hole, where they meshed with those already there, forming a patch over the gap in the net.
Triumph washed through Jenna. Yes! She’d done it! Who said she needed her aunts’ help? Who said she wasn’t strong enough for this? Ha! She was a MacFinnan spellweaver and she could do anything! She could—
With a silent concussion that sent a shockwave right through the island’s bones, Jenna’s repair suddenly snapped. Like an elastic band pulled too tight, it rebounded back towards its maker. Power struck Jenna in the chest with the force of a mule-kick, and she was suddenly flying through the air. She didn’t even have time to scream before she slammed into a pile of driftwood and lay there stunned, staring up at the cloudless blue sky.
“Jenna!”
She heard her name shouted but it sounded far away, faint and distant. Blackness filled her vision and suddenly she was falling, falling,falling—until something caught her. Strong arms grabbed her shoulders, tilted her up, and her vision cleared. She blinked and saw a figure above her, blocking out the sky. It took a moment for her to recognize Arran’s concerned face. He was kneeling beside her, one of his warm hands around her upper arm, while the other cupped her face.
“Jenna?” he said hoarsely. “Are ye all right?”
Gingerly, Jenna scanned her body, testing for injuries. She found nothing worse than a few bruises although she’d whacked her head when she landed and she suspected she’d have a lump the size of a duck egg come the morning. But it could have been worse. The driftwood she’d landed on had been half rotten and had crumpled under her weight, taking the sting out of her landing. She supposed she should be grateful, but all Jenna felt was annoyance.
Damn it! What had gone wrong? She didn’t have to be touching the anchor stone to know that the lattice of magic that covered Skye had once again reverted to its shriveled state. She could feel it with every fiber of her being.
“Lass?” Arran said. “Did ye hear me? Are ye well?” His blue eyes were intense as he stared at her, his brow furrowed with concern.
“I’m fine,” she croaked, struggling into a sitting position. A wave of dizziness swamped her, and she grabbed Arran’s arm to steady herself. It felt as strong and reassuring as an oak tree.
“Ye dinna look fine. What happened? When ye were thrown across the beach like that I thought—” He swallowed before continuing. “Well, I feared the worst.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Jenna said, waving a dismissive hand. “We MacFinnans are made of strong stuff. It will take more than a little tumble to do me any harm. But the magic?” She snorted, shaking her head. “That’s another story.”
“Yer plan didnae work?”
Jenna turned to glare at the anchor stone. The tide had turned andalready the bottom part of the stone was submerged beneath frothing waves.
What happened?she asked it.What did I do wrong?The stone stared at her, impervious to her questions.
