Prologue
LATE WINTER, AD 1286, AN ISLAND OFF THE SCOTTISH COAST
Marcus woke from a deep sleep with a scream tightening his throat. He caught himself before the sound escaped and sat up on his pallet. Sweat poured from him, and he pushed his hair back from his face as he climbed to his feet. Staggering in the dark of his hut, he found the jug of ale and downed a good portion, trying to ease the terror inside him. His heart raced in his chest, and his thoughts filled with danger and turmoil . . . and fire.
He pushed open the door and walked out into the cooler, misty air of the night, hoping to regain his calm and clarity. Taking deep breaths did not help, and he found himself shaking as sheer and absolute terror filled his mind, heart, and soul.
This could mean only one thing, and he dreaded even thinking of such a possibility. Marcus shook his head, denying the thought before it could form completely. The crunching of leaves underfoot startled him, and he turned toward the sound.
And her.
Aislinn stood before him, her eyes glazed over and her body not her own. She was a seer of immense power, sent by her mother to him when still a child to train in the old ways. Her skills and power grew as she matured, and now she began to speak in the language from ages ago. The language of the time when priests like the two of them had served the old gods. The words floated into his mind, and he memorized them as she spoke them in the singsong voice of prophecy.
“When the threat is revealed, the sleepers awaken. A Warrior seeks the truth while Fire burns away the deception. Begin in the East, then North, then South, then West. . . Find the true gate among the rest.”
Marcus’s rising blood told him that this was the moment they’d trained and prayed for throughout their lives and the lives of the generations of priests before them. Now he waited for the rest of the words that would give them guidance in their task to save humanity from the darkest evil they would face, but none followed. Instead Aislinn opened her eyes as if she were waking and stared at him in fear. She rarely remembered the prophecies or knowledge she gained, but she understood the import of what had come to her this night.
“Marcus? Is it begun?” she asked, walking to his side.
He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close, both giving and receiving comfort in the physical gesture. “Aye, I fear it is.”
“And she is . . .” Marcus put his fingers to her mouth to prevent her from speaking about her prophecy anymore. They could not afford to discuss it openly.
“Aye,” he repeated.
In the silence, he felt the heat of his powers rising in his blood. It replaced the fear and gave him the clarity to know what they must do, or at least whom they must seek. He knew that Aislinn would lead them throughout their quest, and as he watched the emotions flash across her face, he realized she must be feeling the same thing.
They had valuable weapons for their battle against the ancient evil one. For thousands of years, they’d prayed and worshipped the gods who had been forgotten or transmuted by other, newer religions. They’d studied the old legends. Marcus doubted that anyone in the outside world was as prepared for the bloody battles and tremendous displays of power that were about to unfold.
Suddenly, the skin of his forearm burned, and he raised his arm to look upon it. Aislinn did the same. A mark appeared in the same place on both of them.
They watched by the light of the moon as the ancient image of a small man burned a patch into his skin. Hissing against the searing pain, he nodded as others left their dwellings to join them in the center of their village. Each held out their arm as they were marked with the symbol of their power. Only Aislinn’s was different— the silver crescent moon marked her skin. Would she be for some higher purpose than the rest?
“It has begun,” he said, meeting their gazes and then closing his eyes in silent prayer. “Ready yourselves for the journey.”
As he watched his followers obey his instructions, he knew that some would fall, some would stand, and some would die in this war against true evil. Marcus offered up new prayers to the old gods, hoping they could still hear the pleas of those who remained faithful to the old ways.
By daybreak they were ready to leave their island for the first time in generations. Standing on the shore, staring into the thick mist that protected them from discovery and kept outsiders forever away, he uttered the words to disperse that fog. Four boats—twenty men and women—would leave on this perilous journey while the rest remained hidden here, protecting their knowledge from the outside world.
Marcus watched the island disappear from view as they crossed the miles to the mainland, where they would face dangers unlike any they had faced before. As he turned away from the island, he realized one cause for his fear—the seer had never finished her prophecy.
Gods help them all.
When the threat is revealed, the sleepers awaken,
A Warrior seeks the truth
while Fire burns away the deception.
Begin in the East, then North, then South, then West . . .
Find the true gate among the rest.
ChapterOne
LATE WINTER, AD 1286 YESTER, SCOTLAND
With the morning’s cool mist long burned away by the strong rays of the midday sun, Brienne waited until the villagers were all seeing to their daily chores and tasks before deciding that this was the day. And it was—she could feel it in her bones and in her blood.
