* * *
“She refuses to eat.She grows paler each day. Soon she will be too weak to even sit in a chair.” Sorcha stood before Faolan, wringing her hands as she nodded toward the untouched tray of food the chambermaid had just returned to the kitchen. Quail eggs, parritch, even Sorcha’s finest scones, and tea: nothing tempted Dierdra to taste a morsel.
With a dismal sigh, Faolan pursed his lips and glared at the plates of uneaten food. He hadn’t spoken to Dierdra since the day in the garden when he’d found out her true identity. From what little she’d told him; he knew what she was doing. Dierdra was anxious to leave this world. As one of the touched, Dierdra would never think of violence to separate her soul from her body. She would just stop eating until her body ceased to function and began its journey back to the dust. Then her soul would be free to pass from this realm and all the pain she’d always known.
Faolan had made her as comfortable as possible in her own set of rooms in the farthest wing of the keep. He’d carefully chosen which maids would tend to her needs, and ensured only the kindest of servants surrounded her. He felt sorry for Dierdra, almost as bad as he felt for himself. Both of them were miserable. All he could do was ensure her physical comforts were met and keep her safe from harm. And now he couldn’t even guarantee that was done. “Don’t trouble her or try to force her to eat. Just give her the peace she requests.” With a heavy sigh, he turned and left the kitchen, returning to the northern tower. He and Keagan were searching through every written record for the path to where Ciara had gone. If Dierdra had decided to end her life, the only way he might save her was to find Ciara and return her to the keep. Ciara would know how to ease Dierdra’s troubled mind. Ciara always had the answers.
With a heavy heart, Faolan climbed the steps to the tower, raising his torch high against the darkness. Even though he and Keagan had practically lived in the library, Faolan had ordered the tower remained sealed off from the rest of the clan. The winding stone steps were forbidden to everyone except Keagan and himself. Faolan still blamed the mysteries for his shattered heart. Magic was his enemy. He only resorted to the powers now in an attempt to recover the woman he loved.
The fact that Ciara was an immortal also troubled his mind. But he’d deal with that later. He just wanted her back. No matter the cost.
He paused at the doorway. A sense of pride swelled in his chest as his gaze rested upon the bent head of his son. Keagan was relentless in the search. He was as determined as Faolan. Most boys of his age would’ve already given up, would’ve decided to move on with their lives. However, when Faolan looked into Keagan’s eyes, he saw the wisdom of an ancient soul. Keagan’s body might be that of a now eight-year-old boy, but his mind and soul held the wisdom of the ages.
Keagan didn’t look up at the sound of his father in the doorway. He pored over the yellowed pages of the leather-bound parchment opened on the table before him. He moved his finger just above the page, his lips moving the tiniest bit with each of the words he read.
“This is the way.” His voice an excited whisper, Keagan moved his finger back and ran it back across the passage. His hand moving faster over the words, he repeated the verse aloud. Finally tearing his gaze away from the tome, his face lit up with hope. “I’ve found the way, Da. But we must act soon, before the Feast of Beltane.”
Striding around the table to peer over his son’s shoulder, Faolan studied the pages beneath Keagan’s hand. As he scanned the page, his brow knotted into a worried frown as he read the troubling words. Should they do this? Even for Ciara? His gut clenched at the thought. This smacked of sacrificial magic. “Keagan, this is a blood ritual. Do ye understand what this rite entails?”
With a solemn nod, Keagan closed the book after marking the passage with a faded ribbon. “Dierdra wishes to leave this world, Da. It will end her pain as well as ours.”
Blowing out a breath, Faolan stalked around the room, then finally turned to face his son. “What ye’re suggesting is cold-blooded murder, son. Dierdra is an innocent. We canna do this rite.”
Keagan rose from his chair, tucked the book under one arm and jerked his head in disagreement. “It takes the pure blood of a true believer or an innocent to open the portal. ’Tis the only way to gain passage to where Mother must be. We can take Dierdra to the stone and place the ritualsgian dubhin her hands. Her mind will clear when she sits upon the altar. The light of the waxing moon will temporarily pull her from her confusion. Then the choice to open the portal will be hers and I know what path she will choose.”
Faolan stared at his son, amazed at the boy’s wisdom. “How do ye know these things, Keagan? I know that wasna written in any of these books.”
Keagan swallowed hard, his wide eyes troubled, as he hugged the worn leather journal to his chest. “Mother’s voice speaks to me in my head. I feel her presence inside my heart. I think she passed her wisdom on to me when she found out she was going to be taken away.”
“And once we open the portal? What then, my wise son? How do we succeed in stealing back your mother?” This worrisome unknown had gnawed at the back of Faolan’s mind for days. He’d felt sure Keagan would find a way to open the portal. Of that, he had no doubt. However, what were they supposed to do once the gateway opened? How were they supposed to find Ciara on the immortal plane?
Keagan stared down at the sputtering candle as it flickered on the table. He seemed not to have heard Faolan’s words since he didn’t immediately respond. He just stood unblinking, staring into the flame as though the energy of the fire spoke directly to him alone.
Faolan didn’t interrupt him. He’d seen that type of look once before when his mother, Rachel, had sent herself into a trance. She’d instructed all of her children that it would endanger her if she were disturbed while in such a state.
So, Faolan waited. He watched over his son while the minutes passed into hours. As the candle burned out and the flame disappeared into a trail of smoke, Keagan blinked and raised his head. He looked at his father and responded to the question as though Faolan had just asked it.
“We will tell the goddesses to return her. And as long as a mortal with MacKay blood flows in their veins walks upon this reality, we shall ensure the legends are never forgotten.”
“And if they refuse?” Faolan asked, knowing the answer before Keagan replied.
“If they refuse, we obliterate every icon, legend, and text we can find referring to the Auld Ways and the goddess religions. We have the power to erase them from all mortal memory. The goddesses fear being forgotten above all else. Without believers, they cease to exist and will evaporate with the mists.”
With a decisive nod beyond his young years, Keagan turned and walked out the door.
* * *
The ancient stonealtar stood upon the highest crag of MacKay land overlooking the restless sea. It consisted of a huge limestone rock hewn into a rough-edged rectangle big enough to hold a slaughtered bull. It lay flat upon the hilltop like a massive table awaiting its ceremonial sacrifice. Two other stones had been erected on either side, nearly the same size as the over-large rectangle, but these stones had been balanced upright on their ends. The result was a great stone archway looking out across the water. As the moon rose out over the sea, the dark gray obelisks framed it in its climb to the highest point in the sky.
Not used since the time of the ancient Druids and their ritual sacrifices to honor the gods and the goddesses, the black weathered stones still stood strong against the harsh elements of time, silent testament to what used to be.
Dierdra had grown so weak from her refusal of food; Faolan had to carry her up the narrow path. When he’d come to her rooms, she hadn’t spoken a word of protest or even questioned where they were bound. He wondered if she somehow sensed her time of release was near. Her drawn face had lit up with anticipation.
Keagan followed close behind, the ceremonialsgian dubhwrapped in fur beneath his arm. It too had waited among the shelves in the mystical library, the ancient blade stained with ritual blood from sacrifices long ago. Whenever the blade was in view, Faolan sensed the energy surging out from deep within its core.
Under Keagan’s other arm, he toted a heavy woolen plaid shimmering with ceremonial threads of silver and gold. The plaid would cover the stone altar where Dierdra would lie and later would become her burial shroud.
The night was warm for so early in the year. The Feast of Beltane was but three weeks away. Spring was nearly full upon the Highlands. The energy of new life waited to burst free of the earth. The greening of the world floated heavy in the air. All paused for new beginnings.
