“Rain?” Steffie’s voice brought her back to the dark noise of the bar, worlds away from where she’d been in her mind. “Oh my God, you look awful,” her roommate said. “What’s going on?”
Her expression felt as blank as her thoughts. “I have to go home.”
3. Isle of Parthas – The Following Night
The ferry ride from the mainland was just as unsettling as Rain remembered, right down to the brooding captain of the vessel and the misty shrouds that enveloped the village docks. She would’ve been glad to disembark, if the destination was anywhere else in the world except here.
She pulled on her backpack and strapped her shoulder bag in place as the ferry bumped alongside the landing zone. The captain grunted at her when she climbed the ladder to the dock. She assumed he meant goodbye, so she waved a bit, and he nodded.
It was an oddly effective conversation.
The docks seemed deserted. That was unusual, considering it was just past dusk—too early for this place to shut down for the night. True, it was the only village on the island, but there’d always been some activity regardless of the time.
But everything was so quiet. The place almost felt abandoned.
She walked slowly down the dock and stood at the edge of the shore. The small collection of wooden buildings here appeared empty, and the path to Bairnskill Village seemed somehow darker than she remembered. She could see a few lights from homes far in the distance, and the forest beyond.
And, of course, the castle.
Aislinn Castle stood at the top of Taran Tor, the highest point on the island. It had been deserted for decades, and most of the village residents believed the place was cursed. Her father had more specific ideas. He claimed that Aislinn Castle belonged to King Arthur, and the Isle of Parthas was actually Avalon.
Even being raised as a druid and knowing that magic was real, Rain wasn’t buying that particular theory. Arthur Pendragon and his knights had never existed.
She stared at the castle a moment longer. It was a beautiful place, thousands of years old and breathtaking in daylight, but slightly ominous at night when it was little more than shadows sketched against the sky. Abandoning a place like that to the ravages of time was almost a tragedy.
Just as she thought that, a light came on in one of the castle windows.
Her heart stopped. That wasn’t possible. She forced herself to focus, to see the light for what it must be — a flash of moon, a coincidental reflection, something normal. But it remained steady, a warm orange-yellow glow that spilled through the arched stone opening and painted shadows down the slopes of the tor.
And then a figure crossed in front of the light.
“Rhiannon Finlay.”
The nearby voice made her jump. She snapped toward the sound and saw a young man about her age, with dark red hair and clear brown, smiling eyes, standing just off the path. He was dressed in jeans and t-shirt, a canvas military-style jacket, and heavy black boots. And he looked familiar.
She blinked. “Kincaid?”
“Got it in one.” He grinned and strode up the path toward her, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “Wasn’t sure you’d remember me,” he said. “It’s been a long time, Rhiannon.”
“Rain,” she said.
He frowned and glanced up. “Don’t think so. Sky seems clear.”
“No, I mean … call me Rain. Everyone does.”
“Not here they don’t,” he said with a smirk. “All right then, Rain. But your father isn’t going to like that.”
“Ask me if I care.”
“All right. Do you care?”
She surprised herself by laughing. Kincaid hadn’t been much when she left — just a kid, really, the same as her. Still learning the ways, still trying to discover his own gift. But he’d definitely grown up. He was tall and solid, with an easy air of self-possession and a confident stance. It helped that he’d managed to lose the freckles.
“So anyway,” he said. “Your father sent me to escort you to the camp.”
“Of course he did.” Not that she particularly wanted him to, but he couldn’t be bothered to come himself? They hadn’t seen each other in five years. Apparently he wasn’t interested in reconciliation — and if that was the case, it was fine with her. She was just here to find her Poppy, and then she’d be gone for good. Again.
Kincaid raised an eyebrow. “You ready or what?”
“Wait.” She suddenly remembered the castle. “When I got here, I saw something—” She looked up as she said it. And the light was gone.
“What?” Kincaid said. “Tell me what you saw.”
The eagerness in his voice startled her, and it also put her on edge. “Um. I guess it was nothing,” she said.
“You sure? Because if it was the ghost, others have seen it too.”
She stared at him. “What ghost?”
“We’ve got a ghost on the moors.” His mouth flattened, and he looked past her to the sea. “Too much has happened, all at once. The disappearances, the ghost, even the weather’s gone sideways. We’re in a bad way here, Rain.” He gave her a sad smile, and said, “I’m glad you’ve come. We could use all the help we can get.”
She couldn’t bring herself to say she was glad to be here, but she smiled back. “Thanks,” she said. “And I’m ready, so escort away.”
“Happy to oblige.”
She followed him down the path, but it wasn’t long before he stopped. “Here we are,” he said, gesturing at the lamp post just ahead. “You want the black helmet, or the red?”
She looked where he pointed. “That’s a motorcycle.”
“Aye. ‘Tis.” He walked over and ran a hand along the leather seat. “Beauty, ain’t she?”
“A druid riding a motorcycle.”
“Can’t hold with that grim procession nonsense,” he said. “Takes too bloody long.”
She laughed. “I guess it does. But why didn’t I hear you come up on this?”
“Oh, I’ve been waiting a while,” he said. “Must’ve been watering the lily when you got in. Didn’t mean to startle you, but I thought you’d never stop staring at that castle.”
“Right,” she said slowly, and shook herself. For some reason she didn’t want to mention the light in the window. Maybe she’d been hallucinating or something. She’d just keep it to herself for bit, until she knew what actually happened. “Okay, I’ll take the red one,” she said.
“All yours.”
Kincaid handed her the red motorcycle helmet, and she strapped it on and climbed onto the bike behind him. This was going to be an interesting ride.
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Dance of the Dead (The DeathSpeaker Codex) Page 5