Fate's Hand: Book One of The Celtic Prophecy Read online

  Tentatively he breathed in the heady smell of crushed ferns, reached out to touch the tender fronds, heard the calling of birds and the rustle of brush as animals scurried through it, and finally opened his eyes to see glistening motes of dust float and settle around him. A soft pink light spread its dusky fingers through the dense canopy to kiss dew drops sparkling in rainbow luminescence on the surrounding foliage. He breathed deep of the scents of the forest and began chanting.

  Grant me Thy Sight

  Tha’ I might see th’ Truth.

  In th’ name o’ th’ Crone, who guides my wisdom.

  In th’ name o’ th’ Mother, who gave me birth.

  In th’ name o’ th’ Maiden who may come to love me.

  I seek th’ passion o’ th’ Lady.

  I seek th’ wisdom o’ th’ Lady.

  I seek th’ magic o’ th’ Lady.

  I seek th’ blessings o’ th’ Lady.

  Grant me Thy Sight

  Tha’ I May see th’ Truth

  As th’ Ageless Ones dae in Tir-Na-Nog

  And all spirits both shade and light

  On each day and night

  Grant me Thy Sight

  Tha’ I may see th’ Truth.

  Cold prickled his skin as he watched the motes dance and swirl in the light, transforming into glistening, tiny, winged creatures. Wheeling and swooping in unison, they glided through the hazy light as if to a rhythm that only they could hear. Faster their wings beat, weaving in and out, as they flew closer to one another in tight formation. Light reflected off their mirrored wings projecting a kaleidoscopic image of colors and shapes before cleaving to form ethereal beauty. A statuesque woman with long, flowing, auburn hair that spilled over her shoulders stood before him, clad in a diaphanous gown glistening with a cascade of diamonds. Her face was flawless, with slightly slanted light blue eyes over high cheekbones, ending with captivating full lips.

  Nimue, goddess of the Moon, waved an elegant hand and whispered to the wind, drawing Alex’s attention to the vision of his other form sitting, legs crossed, back in his apartment living room. His mortal body fell to the floor in slumber, and the vision vanished, leaving him solely in Tir-Na-Nog. “Come. We ha’ much ta discuss,” she said as she turned.

  Alex watched with fascination for a moment as she walked away, her dress fluttering in the breeze, her footfalls leaving no print on the forest floor. He fell into step a short distance behind her. Light punched through the canopy in places illuminating the flowers of the lush undergrowth against deep green shiny leaves. Birds sang in the trees even as the bear spirit emerged, an enormous grizzly with rippling muscles under its thick fur coat. Their eyes locked in acknowledgement and acceptance as the spirit fell into step with him.

  A while later as silence continued to reign between the three, Alex heard the calling of the hawk, and looked up to see the spirit circling lazily in the sky above. The goddess and the bear stopped in tandem turning back to look at him. Alex braced himself as the bird dove and perched on his outstretched arm. It clacked its beak, ruffled its feathers, and tucked its head under its wing in relaxation. The bird sported the spectrum of browns and grays, feathers mottled and spotted on its wings, then fading to a warm ivory across its breast. Nimue gave a slight nod and strode ahead.

  The woods they traveled through were changing now, becoming darker where overhanging branches reached to further intertwine, blocking much of the diffused light. Almost no light came directly from above; the floor was lit instead by bioluminescence emanating from the foliage. He could see his surroundings clearly still, but there were growing shadows. In the near distance, he heard a cat hiss and he knew that his leopard would be joining him in moments. The leopard appeared over the next hillock and waited from them to approach. The woman passed the animal, running a hand down its flank. Alex could see its soft spotted fur give to the weight of her hands and the surface muscles undulate in pleasure. The leopard’s chest rumbled as it purred, falling in step with Alex.

  Cresting a hill, he could see the last of his spirits, the wolf, waiting, eyes intently upon him at the edge of a clearing. The goddess entered the glade and called to the animal spirits. Only then did each leave his side to take positions loosely around her. “Do ye ken whaur ye are?”

  Alex shook his head, “I am unfamiliar with this part o’ th’ forest.”

  “Of course ye are, child. Come with me.” Taking his hand, she continued, “Just beyond this clearing, sheltered by hazel trees, lies th’ Well o’ Segais.”

  “Th’ well o’ knowledge. I thought th’ it was just a myth.”

  “It has been sought more violently than th’ Sacred Hallows: th’ Spear o’ Lugh, th’ Cauldron o’ Dagda, th’ Stone o’ Fel, and th’ Sword o’ Light together. In its depths, one can gain Knowledge. We ha’ let it slip inta human myth after a millennia o’ watching men kill each other over it. Th’ quest ta find it, ta control it…” sighing, “We grew weary o’ man’s desire. It became predictable. The Well itself though…” She touched a low hanging branch lovingly and pushed aside the branches to reveal a lovely secluded spot, dappled in shadow. “The Well has always been haur guarded by th’ forest.”

  Hazel trees ringed the small glen and sharp rocks were littered everywhere, but Alex could see that, at the center, water surged up from a narrow crevice in the Earth and bubbled over the rocks, collecting in a shallow pool.

  She released his hand leaving him staring, mouth agape, at the famed spot. All of his recollections and the various myths he knew from all the sources did not prepare him for the complex simplicity of the scene. It was a peaceful spot, but he had seen others just as peaceful, maybe even more so. That was its strength. It was unremarkable to the practiced eye, and easily overlooked by the untried.

  When he was finished gawking, he carefully picked his way through the maze of broken shards of stone and crystal to join her at the edge of the pool. “Ye had no need o’ this knowledge until noo,” she said as he squatted down next to her. “Ye were born with th’ Shaman’s abilities. It was yer ancestral right: All knowledge o’ ancestry, practice, and ritual was reincarnated intact within yer memory. Ye, like all th’ others afore ye, access it instinctually. Thaur is no memory o’ when this ability came ta yer line, it just always has been. This has served ye in th’ past; ‘tis not enough noo.”

  “Tell me, was it desperation or fear tha’ made ye act? That forced me ta… ta rape Brenawyn?”

  “Rape? Ye didna force yerself. She initiated th’ encounter.”

  “Aye, but would she ha’ if not imbued with th’ pantheon—

  “It wasna all of us.”

  “Do ye ken tha’ makes it better? Is it no’ enough tha’ I have sacrificed my life? Forsaken all earthly connection: wife, children?”

  “Ye can still ha’ tha’.”

  “Nay. Leuk at me.” Alex implored. “I am eternal prey for th’ Hunt. I am no longer a man. I ha’ hunted and slaughtered on th’ Grounds for survival; I ha’ tortured and maimed others at th’ behest o’ th’ pantheon. Feels like I ha’ spent more time in th’ form o’ my spirits than as a man—felt th’ rush o’ soft vulnerable throats, felt th’ gush o’ blud when I ripped them open, th’ bludlust… ah, th’ bloodlust! My skin itches and my heart craves th’ transformation, just thinking about it! Resurrected dozens o’ times, I am stronger, faster; instinct rules, more than logic. I am no’ worthy ta ha’ a family. All it would take is for ye ta get th’ notion ta turn me inta one o’ these spirits in th’ wrong place—I could kill my family, the one ye said I could ha’ so nonchalantly.”

  Nimue reached down to draw her fingers through the water. Silt from the bottom stirred at the movement, swirling around lazily forming a transparent reflection of Brenawyn’s bedroom. Alex’s eyes grew wide and he leaned toward the surface of the water.

  Brenawyn lay on the bed, her body curled slightly. Her dog nestled behind her legs, head resting on her thigh.

  “Wha’ ha’ ye learned about her a
bilities?

  “Nay, no’ yet. Ye ha’ identified her already as th’ priestess. Ye used her as yer vessel and made me…tying her fate with mine and th’ rest. Wha’ if she is no’ th’ one?”

  “Tell me, child. Wha’ ha’ ye learned?”

  “She can call th’ elements in a way only a few ever ha’ been capable o’. Even though she hasna been indoctrinated, she is grounded and able ta quell her inner spirit, so she can be a vessel. Ye ken this though, but she kens o’ our ways only as tricks and lies.” Alex spouted as he paced away from her. “She has nay concept o’ th’ truth o’ it and will likely violently refuse ta believe it. How will I convince her tha’ she must go back?”

  “Thaur is time. Observe her and teach her th’ ways. She already has one o’ th’ priestess’ five sacred foci in her possession, though it remains undiscovered. Ye must help her track down th’ other four: the bracelet, ring, specter and athame. By the time ye find all, she will be ready.”

  “I am missing important information. Why would a normally innocuous ritual ha’ such a strong effect on her? It should no’ ha’ been strong enough ta bring her latent abilities ta life.”

  “My son, thaur are many things ye doonae ken, things tha’ were kept from ye.”

  Roused from his musings, Alex looked up. “Wha’ things?

  “This well has much magic, but it has been commonly misconstrued, and the most valuable asset of it has been overlooked.” She held up a nut. “The fruit that sinks to the bottom is th’ knowledge o’ all things. To eat it,” she cracked open the water-softened shell, “is ta open yerself ta that infinite knowledge. From the beginning o’ time to its end, knowledge will always be power. In the Auld Ones’ great intuition, they granted favor in this well, but it doesna come easily. For a prize such as this, th’ effort of will is necessary to seek the truth.”

  She put the nut into her mouth and swallowed in two bites. A milky film began to creep across her eyes, and her voice boomed out ensorcelling Alex in a trance.

  I ha’ erstwhile seen woman taken and made with child,

  By th’ horned god o’ th’ hunt and th’ wild,

  Th’ Woman blessed until th’ day bled

  And committed a deed most dread.

  Sunk in mud in a ditch she cast th’ Phoenix,

  Worms and vermin th’ only witness,

  Cast from her th’ child yet unborn,

  To th’ Winds of Change and Uncertainty torn.

  In a rage, she was blighted ta serve th’ rest o’ days,

  In Nothingness for her transgression and evil ways.

  In a rage, casting exchange denied,

  To th’ Will o’ Fate but not yet died.

  I ha’ erstwhile seen woman take and save her own.

  With help from th’ gods but to her unknown,

  Five stones set a beacon ta a specific age.

  And replaced a dying soul, so did th’ mage

  Th’ destiny o’ hope from tha’ day,

  Sleeping, waiting, innocent until wha’ may.

  So Chance intertwined th’ fates o’ those famed

  To be rejoined and set right when legacy is reclaimed.

  She drifted off, the eerie cadence of her voice disappearing, and it took a moment more for Alex to awaken from the trance. “Th’ legacy reclaimed, that’s obviously th’ seat o’ power; I ken this. Wha’ am I no’ seeing?”

  “Time is fluid. All things happen in an instant. I can see when ye were born and when ye will die, just as I can see th’ day o’ the Earth’s first dawn and its last. It is life, and for ye ‘tis yer mortal coil—wha’ makes ye and all of humanity so unique an’ desirable.”

  “Aaricht, th’ Phoenix cast th’ soul o’ th’ woman’s bairn out inta th’ universe and it was called inta th’ body o’ another centuries later?”

  “Th’ Phoenix is a spell for willing sacrifices forfeiting their own soul for th’ preservation o’ our Ways. Upon completion o’ th’ soul transfer incantation on tha’ fateful day, several banshee attendant ta th’ nearby families heard th’ desperate call for aid and, in chorus, began ta wail. Th’ combined cry o’ th’ spirits was heard by all, including th’ lord o’ th’ Underworld, who up ta this point kent nothing o’ th’ pitiable state o’ his mortal lover.

  “He didna comport himself well. He lashed out at his lover, Brighit, no’ understanding her motive. Her captors fed by th’ ire o’ Cernunnos carried ta their ears by th’ winds o’ change, they starved, tortured, eviscerated, and then burned her alive. They were increasingly incensed by her hold on life, living in ignorance of th’ forces tha’ manipulated them and kept her alive. It was…brutal.

  “After th’ rage o’ th’ Horned One settled and he found reason once again, he found tha’ she had done it out o’ love—perverted th’ ways intended for th’ working ta offer her child a chance. It was too late for her. Ravaged by mortals and her god, she sits in th’ Underworld endlessly screaming, recognizing no one. It is said tha’ he goes ta visit her daily, holding her as she screams, hoping tha’ one day it will stop, and she’ll recognize him, and be able ta find peace. In part, th’ quest ye are on has roots thaur. He thinks that if she sees th’ girl, she will recognize th’ soul and find peace in th’ fact that her ultimate sacrifice of body, mind, and spirit was no’ in vain.

  “All things happen in th’ same instant, as I said afore. Th’ other spell was worked in ignorance, but th’ same desperation rang out through time. So as Brighit was casting th’ Phoenix, and th’ banshee were singing their dirge, th’ other gods saw th’ true sacrifice of both women and bade it be so. Th’ innocent soul cast out found a home in another in need. Th’ reason th’ ceremony o’ thanksgiving had such a profound affect was tha’ fate recognized th’ soul through th’ precise stones used.

  “This emotion, love, has th’ capacity ta break down th’ strongest and strengthen th’ weak—most curious. These emotions…they seem ta be more compatible with mortals. Th’ sheer force o’ love intertwined these two bludlines. It has combined and strengthened th’ link.

  “Both children were fated ta take their place within th’ Auld Ways. Each was gifted with her own separate affinities and talents. Those two lines are entwined within one body and spirit through th’ actions o’ others, because o’ love. This female, whom ye ken familiarly as Brenawyn, is th’ strongest high priestess o’ Druidism in th’ record o’ time, but her abilities are unknown ta Fate. Her legacy must be reclaimed. All is dependent on it.”

  The wind shifted and the animal spirits raised their heads to it. The surrounding forest became still. Motes of dust and leaves falling from the trees hung suspended, birds were pinned motionless in the air, the Well of Seagais lay tranquil. The animal spirits gathered tight around Alex and stood at the ready—hackles up and teeth bared, facing outward. At once they bellowed, belting out a plaintive lament that shook the ground.

  Nimue stood, and for a moment she was shrouded in tiny sparkling motes that were once the gown; now with a toss of her head, the gown was replaced by resplendent jeweled armor. “Go. The Vate is close. They will find her.”

  Alex fell back on his living room floor, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. He was unprepared to be forcefully hurled through the veil between the worlds; his chest constricted and he lay prone on the floor until the stabbing pain subsided.

  “Did ye ha’ a nice visit with yer mother?” Cormac yawned.

  With a hand still clutched to his chest, “Cormac! Do ye no’ hold with locked doors? Maybe as a message that yer no’ wanted?” Alex gained his feet and advanced upon his unsolicited visitor.

  Cormac sat back in the chair and shooed Alex away with a wave of his wrist as he casually assessed the apartment’s door over his shoulder, “Well, that’s o’ nay concern and if ye truly wanted to keep me out, ye would ha’ used a stronger barrier and layered the wards.” A smile played at his lips as he shifted positions to sit on the edge of the seat, “Tell me, are ye getting old? Ability slipping perhaps? I
always disagreed with th’ decision ta pass th’ mantle o’ Shaman ta ye.”

  Alex had once counted him a friend, but that was long before he was chosen. They had grown up together in the same village, competed for the same pretty lasses, though Cormac tended to go for those that Alex’s good sense told him to steer clear of. There was none that could take them if they stood together in a fight. If that was all there was, it should have been all that was needed; Alex would have thought himself lucky to have the love of a good woman and the bonds of brotherhood. But then came the vows. Pompous arrogance, or rather ignorance, spoils a righteous cause. Alex and Cormac were both narcissistic and blindly turned the staid initiation ceremony into a parade when they had heard that it was to be overseen by the goddesses Aerten and Caer Ibormeith.

  They had taken the vows kneeling shoulder to shoulder in Tir-Na-Nog, and were branded as part of the warrior’s caste securing them places amongst the Coven to uphold the traditions and practices until the priestess was found. All would have ended well if not for Cormac’s daft-headed idea to call out Caer to have her relay the prophecy; and to add to it, Alex’s senseless notion to reach out to stop her when she didn’t pay Cormac any mind. He knew his mistake immediately and the thought of it now still made him tremble, as she rounded on him, her light blue eyes already clouding over with the vision.

  I ha’ erstwhile seen ye Shaman made,

  By yer ill-advised actions many years will fade.

  Hunted and hounded, separated from wha’ ye hold most dear,

  Joined in th’ eternal Hunt ye shall find fear.