Chaeli’s expression changed at once, a flush of worry evident. “Shayla, what is it?”
“You can’t see him?”
“See who?”
A sudden breath escaped Shayla and she collapsed in a wingchair. She pointed at him. “You glow, like a ghost,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
“Don’t be afraid, love. I’m not dead. Believe me. Please tell mum I’m here.”
Hesitation registered on her face, and then Shayla pulled her eyes away. “Chaeli.” Her breath hitched.
“Shayla,” Joseph said. “What are you trying to say? Take a deep inhale and relax.”
She closed her eyes and sat back, breathing deeply for a few moments. “Kal. He’s here.”
Meekal’s grandparents, mum and Harry looked at her in disbelief.
“A ghost?” Chaeli’s voice cracked.
“He says no.” Shayla’s demeanor changed. “Where are you?”
“I’m somewhere in the Highlands. Shay, go to the Chalice Well. You will find the information you seek there. Tell the others you must go alone. The shadows shelter my location. The water spirits can guide you.” He sensed himself fading. “Use caution and bring CIARANLEXISS. He has been here before. I must leave now.” Fading fast, he sent his gaze to his family. “I love you, Shayla. Tell my family I love them.”
[19] Shadow Run
Cool damp night air hugged Shayla within the deep confines of the Chalice Well. She knelt on one knee between the circular stone wall and a circle of black water.
Silver moonlight skimmed over the water. Wetness penetrated her jeans, saturating above the knee. For several moments she stared at the motionless surface of water, preparing her mind. “Belief, faith and intention,” she murmured low. The echo of her words passed over chilled skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake.
The still surface of the water mirrored the moon, its reflection glancing off as though a portal to another realm. The resulting light brightened the stones around her with lunar divinity. Shayla swallowed back the thought of such an unknown, portals into mystery, and knelt. Her presence here beneath the surface of the earth was a matter of life or death. She knew that. The moon, shining down from the circular opening above, reminded her of images she had seen of the human perception of God’s ever-watchful eye.
The sound of the eternal spring, which fed the well, brushed over her with a soft musical hum. She allowed its resonance to calm.
The vial she held, containing flint and hematite, ready for submersion into the sacred well, felt heavy in her hand. She let out a soft breath and whispered to the water spirits. “Blessed be. Come forth unto me.”
With slow deliberation and focus, she began to lower the container toward the depthless black. No planning or thought could prepare her. She could only go forward with faith in the outcome of her mission.
She felt a nervous twinge in her fingers when they met the embrace of cool water. She submerged the glass vial, pausing just before the container’s lip disappeared under the surface. She hesitated, allowing the magic to build power.
Warmth vibrated at the hollow of her throat where the concentric circle pendant rested. In memory, Meekal’s voice caressed her mind. “I’ll explain, but first, I want you to wear this pendant, Shayla. It will protect you.”
She answered that voice with a soft whisper. “I love you. Hang on, we’re coming.” She finished the slow descent of the vial into the water, stopping just under the surface, allowing a gentle cascade of the magical essence to flow into the earthly elements of flint and hematite within the glass. “Ancient spirits come to me.”
The flow into the vial intensified. Swirling into a small vortex, the motion caressed her submerged hand, growing in power and strength. She pulled her lower lip in, biting back anticipation even as confidence welled within her heart.
The motion of the water began to form into two separate entities, rising up from the black surface. She pulled her hand out, the vial full, and sat cross-legged on the ground, allowing the closeness of the curved stone wall behind to embrace and steady her with its agelessness. Her hand trembled as she placed the vial between her and the Well. Dichotomy.
A voice, wet with timelessness, spoke from the form on the right. “You have need of us?”
She nodded, wordless in her awe for just a moment. “Yes,” she managed to say after a deep breath. “I seek your council tonight because my love has been captured. We must save him so that your power will remain for the good of those who come here seeking healing and spiritual growth.”
“We know of this threat from the Wraythe,” the form on the left said, in a feminine tone.
Surprise jarred though Shayla. “You have communicated with the Wraythe? How is that possible?”
Deep masculine laughter greeted her. Still laughing, the form on the right said, “I am Prester. We, as water spirits, are all one. This is a concept that is lost on most humans. The seas and waters of the earth share energies. Only a few can hear our whispers. You are, of course, one who can hear, although you have never listened.”
“I…” Her voice vanished in the night air. The passage of her life denying magic flashed before her mind’s eye. She remembered times spent at the Gorge Park, its own sacredness embracing her with mother earth’s love. “I didn’t know.”
“Do not fret over Prester’s words. We are familiar with your sheltered past. Knowledge of your presence has been with us since before your birth. We knew you would come when the time was right.”
Incredulity spread through her like wildfire. “You knew?”
This time the laughter was feminine. “Yes. I am Naias. Serendipity happens,” she said with a smile upon her watery face. “You must not fear. We understand the urgency of your situation. Your young warrior is captive at a place called Shadow Run. You must go there yourself to retrieve him. Only you can save the line of Guardians.”
“How do I find Shadow Run?”
Naias and Prester shared a look and then pointed in unison to the silvery moon’s reflection on the water.
A shiver traveled through Shayla as realization dawned. She must go into the Well. Two voices spoke within her memory, “It will protect you.” Then, her mother’s angry tone, “Shayla, you don’t know what is behind the magic you use.” Discovery that Shayla implemented gifts received through her lineage before birth caused parental anger and disapproval. It pulled a tightened band around her heart.
She gazed into the wet depthless black. The glistening moon glow beckoned at its center, a portal to her future. “All right. How do I do it?”
“It will be simple.” Prester’s voice gave her confidence. “Step into the Well and we will take you. You will find it different from your wind-riding experiences.”
“I’m ready.” Shayla lifted the vial to her lips, taking a sip of the healing elixir. Then she set it on the ground and reached in to pull the hematite and flint out. The hematite would serve for grounding and the flint to provide extra protection and retribution to her enemy. She clenched them in her fist and stood.
Naias moved to the side, allowing room for her to step into the Chalice Well.
She swallowed her nervousness at the comprehension that she would be succumbing to the water’s power, and moved forward.
Like the legends of old telling of willing clerics and their brush with death’s nirvana, it was her turn. Faith. The toe of her boot broke the surface, and then she stood, balanced between Naias and Prester, their watery arms encircling her body.
Without warning, the bottom dropped out from under her.
There was no sensation of drowning. Instead, her very adamantine particles, joined by a body composed of water, blended with her wet surroundings. The sensation of air brushed over her, and then the earth appeared, solid under her feet.
She coalesced from the night’s mist, arriving in the highlands. Somehow she knew, without question, that was where she was. What now?
Naias’ laugh sounded within her mind. “Follow your
heart. Be safe and well, my child. If you have further need, just call.”
“Safe journey,” Prester said, as they wafted away on a cool night breeze.
After they left, she stood in a quandary, surrounded by Gnomonn inspired darkness. “Where should I begin?”
“Follow your heart,” Naias said.
Shayla closed her eyes against the suffocating powers of Gnomonn’s swarthy black shadow. She focused on the essence of her heartbeat. Breathing in deeply, gave a magical calm to its rhythm. Now centered, she had a vision in her mind’s eye of Meekal trapped within a wall. She cupped her hands and whispered, “I am here.”
“Shay, no. Go back. The shadows. It isn’t time yet.”
“No.” Stubbornness roiled within as she heard the sounds of wind through the trees. She opened her eyes.
“BEHIND YE!” CIARANLEXISS said.
She spun.
Three Thyrza stood within a moving shadow. “The Fae bitch has arrived.” The sneering voice cut across the darkness with sheer evilness.
“Really?” Her question sounded strong even to her own ears. In a lightning fast move, she flung her wrist as though throwing a Frisbee. The hematite and flint flew through the air. The shiny black stone hit one Thyrza in the temple with the grounding power of hematite’s magnetic magic. He froze, glued to the earth, unable to move.
The other Thyrza did not fare so well. The flint embedded in his heart. Realization of death passed over his countenance, and then he shimmered to the ground, eyes still wide, reflecting the unexpected appearance of the moon.
Surprised at the sudden appearance of lunar light, Shayla glanced at the luminance in the sky. Wailing drew her attention back to the dead man’s face. Death’s shadow swept his soul away. “Must have been a contributor to the umbra power,” she said, frowning at the man’s pale face.
The third Thyrza, recovered from his surprise, pointed his wand, and began to curse her.
“Alalia!” She stopped the curse in mid-utterance with the spell Meekal had taught her.
Terrified silence greeted her. While the man scratched frantically at his throat, she reached down and pulled the sharp flint from a stilled heart. “Ugh! Blood.” She shook the feeling of absolute repulsion away and stiffened. Then, repulsion transformed into relief. In the face of death, she had survived. She reached for the voiceless Thyrza, holding his sleeve in a death grip. “Take me to your lair. Now.”
Fear emanated from him as he gave a swift shake of the head, his only response to her demand.
“Fine then,” she replied with determination. “I’ll just follow my heart and this newly spilled blood. Did you know that blood itself isn’t evil? It’s one of the essences of life and flows freely without judgment. Ever think of that?” she asked, making casual conversation.
Wide-eyed silence answered back.
“No? Well, now you can, because you will have plenty of time to contemplate while I rescue Meekal.” She let go of his sleeve. “Hematite.” Sudden coolness and the weight of the stone felt comforting in her palm.
The Thyrza jumped away in his effort to flee. The magnetic pull of the stone proved too much for him. He froze in place, facing his partner in crime—grounded within a bodily prison.
“Wicked,” she said, allowing a tonal British accent to flourish while she studied them. The aberration of shadows around her moved almost in response to her voice. She spoke confidently to the night’s demons. “You may as well disperse. Although I may appear to be alone, that’s a fallacy. Gnomonn have no influence over me since the last time you emerged. Be gone.”
The night shapes moved, howling their misery at the sudden loss of power. The absence of fear and Fae based magic of the elements earth, water and fire, carried the essence of the Gnomonn away on the night’s chilly air.
She blew out, assisting them in their dispersion. Once more, she closed her eyes and focused on her heart. There, Meekal’s heart beat in tandem with her own.
“I know you’re still here,” he said within its rhythm.
“Yeah. You think I scare that easily? You have a lot to learn about me, baby.”
Meekal responded with a grunt. “I already know. You’ll have to slip in by the use of air. But let the mists carry you instead. They are expecting you to wind-ride to the outer walls.”
“How many are there?”
“Last count, twenty.”
“Well, now they’re down to seventeen.”
“What?” His surprise echoed within her ears.
She raked the frozen Thyrza with her eyes and spoke aloud so they would hear. “I captured two. One is dead.”
“Bloody hell.” Meekal’s voice traced itself through her, reflecting both awe and surprise. “Still, use caution. There may be more outside the castle walls.”
“A castle huh? So the maiden comes to save the knight.” She chuckled. “Who’s going to write this story?”
“Funny. Have CIARANLEXISS ready. Remember, I told you; he has been here before and can guide you. I best be silent, they may pick up magically on our communication.”
She froze when realization of his missing voice pulled her attention around to the hills surrounding her. The wind pushed against her face, chilling to the spine. Shayla squinted into the surrounding deep shadows, positive more danger lurked. Naias.
The night mists comprised of Naias’ energy returned, swaddling them in a tight cocoon, hiding their presence from the arrival of several more Thyrza. From within the foggy embrace, Shayla counted five Thyrza, two women and three men.
Naias’ essence caressed her mind. Move forward. You are safe now.
Shayla floated away on the mist. The stones of a castle keep loomed. Before leaving the moist air, she murmured, sending her voice upon the mist. “Keep them at bay, please. Thank you, Naias.”
“Prester has captured four others in muddled, foggy confusion.” Laughter tinged Naias’ feminine voice. “They will not find their way back for some time. Blessed be, Shayla.”
“Nine and three. Humm, that evens the odds more. Thank you, and tell Prester for me.” The stone wall proved no barrier to her advancement. She wafted through an open window.
“Scottish night mist. Maybe a trap?” She posed the question generally to anyone or anything that would listen as she dispersed her life-force energy from the damp air and her boots found the steadying stone floor.
Sheitan’s breathing and purr greeted her.
“Hello, black angel,” she said, reaching out and scratching a silky ear. “Some guard you are. Do you suppose Syther knows about our bond?”
Sheitan licked her fingers in affection.
A soft laugh bubbled up from Shayla. She reached into her jacket pocket and retrieved a special treat.
Fast footfalls approached in the corridor on the other side of a heavy carved oak door. In reflex, Shayla moved back to blend in with the shadows around the tied back draperies of a window.
“No!” Meekal yelled. “Stay away from the walls! Skirr instead.”
“Huh?”
He gave her an exasperated sigh. “Sacred Travel in the Wizarding World, page three hundred ninety-four. Mask your presence.”
“You have it memorized?”
“You’ll still be here, yet unseen,” he said with deliberate quickness. “Do it now. Spin a doorway.”
She spun her hand in a spiral. An opening materialized and she stepped through just before Syther entered with Dragar close behind. “I don’t remember you telling me about that one,” she said, stepping away from Syther’s path. “Remember, you wouldn’t let me read the book?”
“Aye. There wasn’t time.”
Dragar paused, his hand on the black iron door latch, and then in apparent glee, shoved the heavy oak back against the wall. Bang! He guffawed in amusement, its resonance enhancing the continued abusive attitude toward the wall.
Meekal grunted in pain. “Bloody hell! Ouch! Told you, but Harry,” he said and paused in his speech to pull in a deep breath. “He was t
easing you about Indians.” Although he laughed in the end, his voice faded.
“Meekal!” Confusion swirled in her mind. “What’s happening?”
Another painful grunt, and then he answered. “They’ve been abusing the walls on purpose. I feel everything. You wouldn’t believe. Ow!”
“Meekal, talk to me.”
He responded by hissing through his teeth. “When I get outta this wall.”
An eager look of wicked anticipation rested on Syther’s face. “So, when do you suppose she will arrive?” He flicked his lethal bone wand, sending shiny black sparks at the stones behind his minion.
The wall shimmered even as more sounds of pain came from Meekal.
Dragar shrugged and glanced around the chamber, gaze falling on Sheitan. “Who knows? When she gets here, I want a piece of her.”
“Don’t we all,” Syther said, and then he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, calling his panther to his side. “Hello, my sweet little evil angel. Did you miss me?”
Shayla snorted as the panther purred and pounced playfully. “Berk. If only you knew.”
“We don’t want him to know yet, Shay. Before this is over, he will.”
“Yeah,” she replied, finally pausing to look around the well-appointed chamber. “So this is the noble house of Sir Syther, the Quitch.” Ancient portraits lent an air of nobility. Shayla frowned when a woman, dressed in formal eighteenth century attire studied the place where Shayla stood. She lifted a finger to her lips, giving the universal motion for silence, and added a quirked brow.
The woman shrugged and turned away.
“Aye,” Meekal said, answering her comment, his voice coming forth more British than she had ever heard it. “Except Syther isn’t a member of the Peerage. Although he’s descended from a sister of an earl. A magical Pict.”
She pondered on the thought of his accent. Is it genetics or a combination of living in two different worlds?
“It’s a combination of all of the above.”
“Oh. Guess I forgot you’re in my head at the moment. What do you mean about a magical Pict?” The two men held her attention as she waited for Meekal’s answer.
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