by Sonya Bria
A Kingdom of Souls book
The Story of Ian and Sophie
SONYA BRIA
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Harmony
Copyright © 2012 by Sonya Bria
Cover design by E. Todd Thompson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
ISBN-13: 978-0985725419
DEDICATION
To my own Ian for his unbelievable faith
and tenacious encouragement in writing what
moves me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a book and putting your soul into it, takes a lot of faith—faith in yourself, and faith in others that when they tell you it’s good, you believe them. There are so many individuals that I need to thank for keeping me on the path of writing and finishing this book, when there were times that I just wanted to give up.
First, thank you to my husband for his vision, emotional support, and most importantly financial backing (just kidding or am I?) in getting Sophie and Ian’s story ready for publication. I couldn’t have done it without you.
My wonderful girls for patiently putting up with cases of ramen noodles, my crazy ranting directed at my laptop of “where did my manuscript disappear to???”, and every other injustice they endured by my constant talk of all things vampire. That can be fixed in therapy, right?
A huge thank you to all the students in Mrs. Taylor’s eighth grade creative writing class (you all know who you are). Thank you for reading some of my early chapters, and falling in love with my characters. If anything, I was inspired by your stories.
Special thanks also to Channy for her perspective on my first draft, and Facebook reminders that she was patiently waiting for my book. I love your name (and your mom) and you will be a character in my next book.
Thank you Mom for encouraging me to read, and passing on your love of all things British, really, I am obsessed…ask my kids.
A shout out to Todd Thompson for designing the cover of Harmony, updating my website, and tweaking my blog— it’s absolutely stunning!
Finally, I couldn’t have finished this book without the direction of my editor Allison. Boy, am I glad that I found you! Thank you for understanding my voice, cleaning up my dialogue, and insightful comments on character development. You are simply a genius and I can’t wait to work with you on the next one.
And last, but not least, all my friends for encouraging me at all stages of writing and production—this one’s for you all. Enjoy!
At the Mid Hour of Night
At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
To the lone vale we lov’d, when life shone warm in thine eye;
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air,
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there,
And tell me our love is remember’d, even in the sky.
Then I sing the wild song ’twas once such pleasure to hear!
When our voices commingling breath’d, like one, on the ear;
And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls,
I think, O my love! ’tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls,
Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.
Thomas Moore
1779-1852
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
DREAMS
CONVERSATIONS
THE PAST - GUARDIANS
TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (SIGHT)
CONFESSIONS
REVELATIONS
RAVENS
THE HUNT
FALLEN ANGEL
GRAMS
DESTINY
LEGENDS
DISCOVERY
FORESHADOW
CONNACHER
CLIFFS OF MOHER, COUNTY CLARE
HARMONY
THE DANCE
THE CHASE
NIGHTMARE REVISITED
CHOICES
FATE
FINAL ENCOUNTER
GRADUATION DAY
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Desperation was all she knew. She was cold, wet, and her cloak no longer provided any comfort from the beating rain. She ran her horse like a mad woman, leaping across swollen streams and trampling the muddy ground beneath. She darted in and out of the trees, flinging her arm as branches and limbs tore at her face; she had no concern for her own safety. As tears streamed down her cheeks, she brushed them aside with the cuff of her wedding dress.
I was too late! She thought in despair. Too late! Only moments before on the bluff above the valley, she had watched in horror as something horrible and indescribable ripped her beloved Naois to pieces. He was dead before their vows. She must have screamed, because that was when it turned and saw her. No! It couldn’t be! The monster wiped blood from its face and bounded after her like some possessed fallow deer, crashing violently through the trees. Driven by pure instinct alone, she turned her horse and raced back to the castle. Her anguish was soon replaced by anger and immense hatred, the like she had never before known. The anger coursed through her body, fueling her desires for revenge. And revenge she would have. She vowed she would not rest until she saw the monster Connacher and all he loved destroyed. “Quickly!” she yelled to her knights, as she rushed through the gate, dismounted, and raced to the tower. “Lower the portcullis!”
She reached the steps and frantically began climbing, tripping on her skirts, and scraping her hands along the rough stones as she scrambled to reach the door to her chamber. She paused momentarily to catch her breath; she could hear Connacher laughing as the bodies of her knights were thrown against the walls of the castle. She winced at the sound of bones breaking, men screaming for mercy. Grief stricken for all the pain she had caused, she barred her chamber door with what she could both physically and magically. Frantically, she mixed herbs and potions in the cauldron situated before her. The ancient ritual passed down to her from the Celtic druids—it was her last hope, her last attempt at warding off the evil below.
Druids had long been their spiritual guides and judges before the allure and corruption of Connacher. Most now sought only to increase their power through the use of black magic. Druids no longer served justly or for the benefit of her people. Only the Red Branch remained.
As she frantically cleansed her mind and body, the door was ripped from its hinges, and the wild beast of a man stood before her.
“What have you become?” she screamed. “Have you no soul left?”
The man slowly stalked around her, snickering and sneering. “Do you not like what Cathbad has made me into? I feel more powerful in this form.”
She was repulsed and spat out, “The Knights of the Red Branch will hunt you down for what you’ve done.”
Connacher merely laughed. “Did you not see how poor Naois begged for his life? He pledged all sorts of things to me if only I’d spare his life.”
“NO! You lie, I know Naois!”
“He even offered up the secret hiding places of the knights.”
“He would never betray me!” she screamed.
Connacher hissed, “You naïve woman, it has been foreseen you and I. You will join me or die.”
She looked around in despair. She did not want to die, but resigned herself to the fates of the gods. There was only one thing left to do. If she could bestow one last gift to humanity, Connacher would not possess her and all that she represented. She climbed upon the window ledge and looked briefly at her impending doom.
“What are you doing?” Connacher grabbed for her, but was repulsed by the light shining forth from her palms.
“I leave you this vile creature; for that is
what you’ve become, Connacher. For lest you forget, I’ve too foreseen what shall come.”
With the strength she had left, she summoned all the powers of nature bestowed upon her by the ancients. The sky was illuminated by thunder and lightning. Swift winds picked up her skirts, as if to raise her to higher ground. Her crimson hair flowed, and her eyes glowed like the light from the sun at noonday. Connacher could scarce behold her power and beauty. Stretching out her arms, she spoke with clarity the prophecy of the ancient Druids:
One more powerful than I will come,
To the valley where my love begun.
Though tragedy and death she’ll know;
She alone will break the spell.
Until such time you will be damned,
Cursed to roam from land to land—
From the ashes of Ulster
Nature and gods be appeased.
With her as guide the dark will align,
And light and dark will once again unite.
Upon the last words, she smiled and said, “I go now to meet my sweet Naois.” She flung herself from the window as Connacher grasped the ledge and wailed, “Deidre! What have you done?”
DREAMS
Nighttime as a child was always met with great reluctance on my part. It was when I felt most vulnerable to thoughts not of my own making. It was always the same dream. I was with my mother pleasantly walking in a beautiful meadow. We were picking flowers, singing and carefree. I loved these moments with my mother. It was apparent that she felt that way too. I would chase a butterfly that darted amongst the wildflowers, teasing me as my mother sat by a stream. Then suddenly, as if out of nowhere, IT would somehow permeate my dream and completely take it over. What IT was, I did not know, but it felt like my nightmare was stalking me.
Clouds formed darkly overhead, and mist rose from the ground, enveloping me in a strange, eerie world that I couldn’t comprehend. The terror that gripped me froze me in place. I desperately reached for my mother’s outstretched hand, but I was powerless against the entity’s dark power. I never fully understood what my nightmare’s face looked like, because a fierce yet gentle male voice always came pulling me away. Now his voice was intoxicating to my soul and hard to resist.
Sophia. That sweet, Irish lilt filled my mind, soothed my senses and enticed me to turn. Sophia. Turn away, come to me. Relief washed over me as I followed his voice as any obedient child would a parent; all the while, IT hissed and snickered that it would be back. Tears formed, but no sounds escaped my throat. I was hollow inside, for my mother was gone. His powerful, comforting arms encircled me as he gently rocked me back and forth, singing a familiar and haunting tune, until the nightmare was gone. I was once again alone in my dreams.
Over time, I conjured up a beautiful figure to match the soft, velvety voice I had grown so accustomed to hearing in my dreams. As I grew, his appearance became more breathtaking. Perhaps, it was my overactive teenage hormones that made him the prince of my dreams, the defender of my honor, and my knight in shining armor. Whatever he was, my mind’s eye always had him perched upon an old, mahogany chair, the leather worn and comfortable in a room surrounded by books. Often, I would interrupt him while he was deep in thought, a book resting idly in his lap. It was always the same. My figure had strong features. Definitely Irish, or what I assumed the typical Irish man to look like from the books I’d read. His face was not old, but weathered, like one who’d spent many summers near the ocean. It was gentle and soft, despite the perfect lines and contours that made him resemble a figure from mythology. His hair was black like coal; he wore it long and gently curled at his neck. Yet, it was his eyes that stole my breath. They were a deep, chocolate brown with flecks of caramel. I learned to read his thoughts by the intensity of his stare. The darker his eyes, the more passionate he was. The lighter they became, he was more temperate in mood. I couldn’t decide which I preferred. He became my constant companion in the night, warding off my nightmare or whatever IT was.
I was still terrorized nightly, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore. I knew the nightmare would pass, and he would be there to gently guide me back. I almost looked forward to the horrific dreams, just to be able to converse with him and listen to his voice. He always hummed that haunting song that reminded me of my mother. I called him Ian. Oh, what conversations we had over the years! We would often talk about the most ordinary things imaginable. He wanted to know whether bananas were better on peanut butter sandwiches or my favorite, corn chips. He wanted to know my favorite color, what I liked best about such and such book. What were my favorite flowers? Our “chats” were the highlight of my day. He was my confidant and my soul; I could tell him anything. It wasn’t a big deal that I had an imaginary friend, but as I grew, I quickly learned that not everyone was comfortable with my imagination. Grams didn’t really mind; I think it amused her, but most of my friends started looking at me differently, wondering if I’d be normal, despite my horrific dreams, and abide by the social norms of school. Peer pressure could make one do the craziest things. So, I consciously made a decision not to talk about Ian anymore. A part of my mind was sad, but by the end of high school, Ian was all but absent every night. As if by some divine intervention or miracle, the nightmares ceased to bother me. Occasionally, I’d have a stray thought about previous conversations and reminisce on what Ian would think of this or that, but with my hectic school schedule as a senior, I didn’t dwell long upon the childish fantasies I created.
Until this morning, when something most peculiar happened.
Ian was back.
CONVERSATIONS
The alarm clock on my night stand sounded off. I glanced up at the time; its fluorescent green numbers displayed six o’clock. I reached for the snooze—five more minutes of sleep. I’d had a long night finishing my English paper.
You’re going to be late.
“I know, I know,” I whined, “just five more minutes Grams.” There was no response to my plea. I lifted my head from my pillow and looked up, fully expecting Grams to be there opening the blinds. “Huh, I must be more tired than I thought,” I mumbled. I could have sworn that Grams was talking to me. The alarm clock sounded off again. My extra five minutes wasted on my delusion. I sighed, “All right, I’m up.”
My routine hadn’t changed in years. I was a creature of habit. I showered, dressed in whatever clean clothes I could find, usually jeans and a t-shirt. I liked being a no-frills girl. I just didn’t see the point when there was no one, and I mean no one, that I wanted to impress. I’d given up on meeting any one new or interesting this year after the debauchal at homecoming with Josh. Jefferson High was in dire need of some fresh blood! I looked in the mirror. Hair dried. Straight or pulled back? I sighed. Definitely a ponytail today. I’d forgotten to wash my hair; I was so distracted this morning.
Mom.
I hadn’t dreamed about my mom and her death in awhile. Why today? It must be the end of school stress, I thought. Sure, I missed my mom and maybe I was a little bit sad that she was not here to see me graduate, but Grams made sure that I had plenty of stories about my mom. I knew deep down that she loved me more than anything. I didn’t clearly remember her death—hence the nightmares. Grams saved the newspaper clippings for me on her accident, and I used to read them often to see if any details would surface, but I remembered little. Apparently, the trauma from watching your mom assaulted by thugs—as Grams called them—left me incapable of processing what had happened. I mentally shook the memory from my mind. Time to let the past go Sophie.
I rushed downstairs—Grams was a lifesaver. She’d left toast and juice out for me. Grams was the early bird, already up and gone to her job at the florists. I scribbled a quick “Thank you, see you after school,” grabbed my bag, toast, and keys, trying to balance it all as I locked the front door.
Careful! Why are you always in such a hurry?
I spun around, dropping everything. “Great!” I muttered. “There goes my breakfast.” But no one was there. �
�Okay, nice joke. Is that you, Max?” Chills ran up my spine. “Max?” I ventured, peering around the porch. “All right, ha ha you got me. Can we go to school now?” My gut told me that someone was playing a trick on me, but I knew no one was there, and I didn’t want to confirm my current suspicions that I was, at this very moment, hallucinating.
You can be so stubborn!
It took me a minute to register that voice. I knew that voice! Ian. I rolled my eyes. “Not today! Of all days to go bonkers…” Opening the car door I said to myself, “Not a good day, Sophie. Not a good day. Math test in twenty minutes.”
Ian laughed. I’m sorry. While it’s amusing to listen to you talk to yourself, get going or you’ll really be late. Don’t worry, the paper for English is great.
“How…?” I stammered. “Right.” My subconscious. I could easily explain this all away. My subconscious merely had a name. I shook my head and pulled out of the driveway. I justified my delusion. “I stayed up late, and I’m not delirious, just talking to myself here.” I could hear laughter in my mind. “Seriously, are you laughing at me?” I was more than annoyed.
Sorry, just ignore the man behind the curtain.
Great, a subconscious with a sense of humor. I sped off toward school. As I pulled into the school lot, I saw Emily. I put the old Chevy into park, grabbed my bag, and got out. “Wait up!” I yelled across the lot to Emily.
“Hey, Soph! Did you finish your English paper?” Emily asked.
“Yes, just barely. I’m so exhausted I think I’m hearing things,” I added.
“I know what you mean,” Em started. “Just think, two months and we are out of here! Oh no, don’t look now, but Bethany and her minions are coming this way,” Emily said, dragging me aside.