04 Sphere Song - The Isle of Destiny

by Tricia O'Malley

  Together, the two cars left the B&B and trundled down the dirt road through a small village. Neala craned her neck to see if there were any women’s shops around, and wondered just where Dagda had managed to find green silk panties from. She caught him smiling at her as though he knew what she was thinking, which immediately set her into a pout.

  “If Declan and Fiona found us so easily, how come the Domnua haven’t? Doesn’t it seem eerily calm?” Neala asked.

  “I texted Declan,” Seamus piped up from the backseat, quickly ending the line of thought that Neala had regarding some sort of fae internet or otherworldly telecommunication system. “He’d already contacted me when we were rescuing Clare.”

  “You said Sasha is the difficult one?” Neala asked, and Seamus blew out a breath.

  “Sasha is awesome. But initially, yes, she was difficult. She’s a super tough badass woman who owns a specialty shop.”

  “Oh, neat. What kind of shop?” Neala asked, already drawn to this woman.

  “Swords and daggers. Antiquities to present-day. She’s also an expert swordsman, and a martial artist. We do not mess with Sasha.”

  Neala let out a low whistle, and imagined what this woman would think of her own pastry-puff of a business.

  “Her treasure, naturally, was the Sword of Light,” Dagda said.

  “Aye, and it was a beauty of a treasure at that,” Seamus said. “I like her and Declan together as well. He’s patient with her rough edges. And she’s learned to be vulnerable to him. All in all, I’d say they’re doing well together.”

  Neala kept quiet as they wound along a narrow cliff road, then smiled when they turned a corner and the sea spread out below them.

  “I’ll never get tired of looking out over the water,” Neala said.

  “There’s the island – only one hundred inhabitants.” Seamus pointed over Neala’s shoulder to an island shrouded in mist on the horizon.

  “And how are we getting there? Do you know a guy?” Neala asked, glancing at Dagda. His lips quirked in a smile but he just shook his head no.

  “We’ll have a chat with one of the locals; I’m sure we can arrange passage. Also, there’s probably a ferry,” Dagda said.

  Within a few moments, they’d pulled into a small carport and parked their cars, all piling out into the damp mist. Grateful for the sweater coat Dagda had purchased for her, Neala pulled it on and snuggled into its softness. It was almost like being cocooned by the man himself, she thought, but forced her mind away from those thoughts.

  He was her protector, not her man. It would serve her well to remember that they were both loners, and a relationship didn’t factor into either of their lifestyles.

  “It’s going to be another night search,” Bianca said, crossing the gravel lot to where Neala stood looking out at the increasingly foggy skyline. Moments before they’d been able to see the outline of the island, but now it was nothing but grey and white swirling mists. Neala didn’t trust what they’d find buried in the fog either, which made her anxiety kick up a notch.

  “Are you certain we should cross in this? It looks quite dangerous,” Neala said, chewing on her bottom lip as she studied the horizon.

  “The local lads should know what they are doing. I think we’ll be fine,” Fiona commented as she joined them. “Though it certainly looks menacing.”

  “You’re coming with?” Neala asked in surprise, glancing at the older woman.

  Fiona had pulled a grey wool sweater over her shirt and a tightly-knit wool cap over her head, tufts of white hair poking out from beneath the brim. “Naturally. Anything I can do to be of help. We’re all in this together,” she said briskly. “And I’m stronger than I look, my dear.”

  “I’m sorry,” Neala said, immediately contrite. “I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t. I guess I’m just worried for everyone’s safety. This is supposed to be my quest, and here everyone is throwing themselves into danger.”

  “It may be on you to find your treasure, but it involves all of us. We all love Sasha and if you think we’d not help rescue her, you don’t really understand the meaning of family then,” Bianca said tersely. Then she slammed her palm into her forehead. “Ugh, open mouth, insert foot. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know you don’t really have a family. That was an insensitive thing to say.”

  “You’re right, I don’t really understand family. But I do understand loyalty and friendship,” Neala said, and reached out to squeeze Bianca’s arm. “You’re a good friend.” She looked up to catch Fiona’s warm brown eyes studying her closely. “Yes?”

  “I like your spirit,” Fiona said, then turned away to meet the men who now strode across the small car lot to meet them. Neala felt oddly warmed by the compliment, though she had no way of knowing who or what this Fiona woman really was. However, there was something about Fiona that made Neala appreciate her approval.

  “We’ve got a fisherman who’ll take us over. He’s just delivering his catch and heading back home – he lives on the island. He has no problem going out in the fog, says he navigates it like this most days,” Declan said, zipping his jacket against the damp.

  It didn’t take long for the fisherman to deliver his catch and soon he was back at his boat, grateful for the unexpected extra income for being a water taxi service. A jovial fellow named Michael, he entertained them with local tales in his thick Gaelic accent as he helped everyone onto his rickety boat and settled everyone the best he could. Squeezed among some lobster pots and a crate of what smelled like seaweed, Neala peered up at him.

  “You’re certain you’ll be fine with crossing in this fog, then?” Neala asked.

  Michael beamed down at her. “Aye lass, ’tis nothing I haven’t done a million times before. Could do it with me eyes closed,” he laughed, “but I won’t, I promise ye that.” With that he untied the boat and motored slowly out onto the water, periodically hitting a cowbell that dangled next to the wheel.

  “Why the cowbell?” Neala wondered out loud.

  “We’re all but flying blind here. He’ll be using sound and coordinates to navigate now,” Dagda said, then held a finger to his lips to indicate she should be silent. In truth, she hadn’t noticed that the chattering fisherman had gone dead silent as soon as they’d begun the ride, but now she realized he hadn’t spoken for several minutes.

  And so they rode in silence, but for the low rhythmic clang of the bell and the water slapping the hull of the boat. Neala felt anxiety creep its way up her spine until she huddled herself into her sweater and looked down at her feet. Just days ago her biggest worry had been whether she could afford to open a second bakery, and here she was huddled on a smelly boat, quite possibly being shuttled to her death.

  Glancing up, she caught Dagda staring at her steadily, the mist shrouding him slightly, making him seem almost an ethereal warrior. His gaze held hers, and he smiled – just a hint, but enough to reassure her. It was as though he could sense her anxiety and was sending her good vibes to calm her down. It worked, for she was able to breathe a little easier, and for some reason, having him near made her feel more reassured about whatever awaited them on this foggy, all but uninhabited island.

  “Shore’s ahead; grab the pole,” Michael called, startling Neala from the stillness around her. She watched as Declan held a pole in front of him while Michael and whomever was on shore did a series of clangs back and forth on their bells. Then a hand reached through the mist and grabbed the pole, tugging the boat to a dock. It amazed her, the unique way these people had figured out how to live, Neala thought. But wasn’t that the lesson of ingenuity? People don’t always know how to solve a problem until it presents itself to them.

  Which should be a lesson for her about anxiety, Neala thought. She’d always figured out how to solve any problem that came her way – and why was this venture any different? Granted, it was deadly and there was magick and all sorts of things she probably didn’t even know about, but when it came down to it – she had a team of pe
ople to help and she had a can-do attitude.

  Historically, that had been a winning combination for her. She could only hope that history would repeat itself.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They proceeded single file into the fog, declining Michael’s offer of a place to stay. He’d been smart enough – or paid handsomely enough – to not ask any questions, Neala noticed, and he quickly hurried away after offering explicit instructions on which paths to take around the island.

  They trudged along, the going slow, their headlamps barely making a dent in the fog. Neala wondered what they were looking for or how they would even know where Sasha was being held. How were they to find this woman when they could barely see a meter in front of their faces? She wished the wind would pick up and blow this fog away.

  Neala stopped so suddenly in her tracks that Dagda ran into her, his arm coming around her waist to stop her from toppling over at his feet. For a second, her body molded to his, and a delicious shiver zinged through her before she stepped forward and cleared her throat.

  “Um, so this wind thing that I can do? Call down the wind?” Neala began, and Fiona murmured something indecipherable from behind her. “Can I do that now? Like at any time? Can I clear the fog, or am I only able to call it down during battle or in times of extreme duress?”

  “Give it a whirl, darling, and see,” Dagda said and the others encouraged her to do so as well.

  “But how? What do I do?”

  “Close your eyes,” Fiona’s voice reached her through the fog and Neala did as instructed. “Now, feel deep within you. Search for your power. You’ll feel it like a warm ball of light in your core – or perhaps a humming ball of music. We all feel it a little differently. Once you find it, you’ll know.”

  Neala kept her eyes closed and went deep within, feeling safe in doing so with Dagda hovering at her back. She let her mind go loose and took a few deep breaths until she centered on a sparkly ball of energy that lit her core.

  “It’s glittery,” Neala gasped.

  “Of course it is,” Dagda drawled, and Neala almost lost the ball of light because she wanted to laugh.

  “Now visualize using that light, that power, to push the fog away so that we may see clearly on our journey,” Fiona continued. “Or because it’s glitter, perhaps you can visualize sprinkling it on the fog like rain and making it disperse. It’s your own personal choice. Just do what feels right and see what happens.”

  Fiona’s tone was confident and encouraging. Neala could see her being a good teacher, as she empowered people without intimidating them.

  Neala closed her eyes again and then envisioned her glittery ball as a big powdered-sugar shaker. She shook the glitter out onto the fog, forcing it gently from the island in her mind. When she heard Bianca gasp, she opened her eyes to see silvery specks falling from the sky in a blast of wind, which completely dissipated the fog that clung to the hills around them.

  “It’s like being in a snow globe,” Bianca whispered, wiping glitter from her face. The men didn’t seem as amused, especially when Neala craned her neck to look at Dagda.

  His beard, once brown, was all sparkly silver, and Neala slapped a hand over her mouth to control her laugh. It didn’t matter – between his dangerous look, the glitter beard, and Bianca’s chuckling behind her, Neala snorted and threw her head back and roared in laughter.

  “Perhaps a different vision next time?” Dagda asked, shaking his beard and ridding himself of most of the glitter.

  “I think it’s charming,” Neala said, reaching up to brush a piece from his cheek, but pulling her hand back before she touched his skin. The moment held a beat too long before she turned away and mentally kicked herself for forgetting what she had lectured herself on earlier today. They were both loners. No family, no attachments, forging their own paths. And that’s what she needed to stay focused on.

  Perhaps her attraction to him was because she’d given up dating almost a year ago to focus on growing her business – which meant it had been just as long since she’d enjoyed any companionship or intimacy in her life. Women had needs, just as men did, Neala reminded herself. And her needs had been largely unmet for quite a while. Reassuring herself that this was obviously the reason for her tug of attraction toward Dagda, she continued down the path they were hiking, delighted to be able to see ahead of them now.

  The sun was just setting on the horizon, sending a warm glow across a rolling green hill and the craggy cliffs that jutted out into the ocean. Lights twinkled from a few houses scattered in the cliffs on one side of the island, but the rest of the island was largely barren, aside from what looked to be some stones or ruins tucked among the cliffs at the high point of the island. Which would make sense, Neala thought. If she were to build a fortress, it would be in that spot.

  “There,” Declan pointed, and turned to Neala. “You agree?”

  “Aye, I agree.”

  “It’s an hour’s walk at least. Do we have any food?” Bianca moaned. “Our breakfast got interrupted.”

  “I’ve got sandwiches in the pack. Why don’t we take a short break, fuel up, and begin the climb?” Fiona said, and paused to put her hand on Declan’s shoulder, “We’ll do you no good if we are fatigued and running on zero energy. Nor will you. Don’t be foolish.”

  “Fine,” Declan bit out. They all found shelter behind a tall group of rocks, and Declan helped hand out sandwiches to the group.

  “Neala, walk with me a bit,” Fiona instructed, and Dagda rose as well. “Not you, Dag. Just Neala.”

  “I must protect her,” Dagda protested.

  “I’ve magick as well, you know. We won’t be far. I need to speak with her privately,” Fiona said. She stared him down until he nodded a brisk assent, though he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

  They walked ahead in silence for a moment until Fiona finally turned and smiled at Neala.

  “I knew your mother.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Time seemed to stand still for a moment as Neala felt the air whoosh out of her and a weird tingling begin at the base of her neck. Was she going to faint? O’Riordans didn’t faint; they were made of stronger stock than that, she reminded herself. She’d just called down the wind and made freaking glitter fall from the sky. Learning about a mother she’d never known and had long since buried in her mind was not something that should shake her so.

  Neala shrugged a shoulder, pretending nonchalance as she turned to stare out at the horizon, where the last light of the day was being claimed by night.

  “She didn’t abandon you, you know,” Fiona continued, turning to walk shoulder to shoulder with Neala, giving her time to absorb the information. “None of the Seekers were abandoned by their mothers.”

  “None of the Seekers have mothers?” Neala asked, intrigued by the concept.

  “They have families who took them in and cared for and loved them, but no, not their actual mothers. You see, you’re magick,” Fiona said, turning to Neala with a brilliant smile lighting her face.

  Neala could see where once she must have been very beautiful – and, interestingly enough, the years didn’t detract from her beauty. Instead, when she smiled, they only enhanced it.

  “I’m magick?” Neala said, doubt ringing in her voice.

  Fiona laughed, delighted with her. “You just called down the wind, my dear. What did you think that was?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe something just given to me by the fae for this quest?”

  “You are part fae, and part goddess as well,” Fiona said.

  Neala drew up short, turning to look at the older woman. “I’m part goddess?”

  “Of course. Your mother is a goddess. That makes you a demi-goddess.”

  “I… I have no idea what to say right now.”

  “Your mother was the goddess of home and family – her power was in nurturing others,” Fiona said.

  “And isn’t that ironic?” Neala asked, feeling the old bitterness swell at the way he
r father had treated her.

  “Aye, I understand from what Bianca said in the car that you have no family to speak of. Your father has passed on?”

  “From drink. And bitterness, I suppose,” Neala said, shrugging a shoulder once again.

  “You’re angry. I can feel it,” Fiona said, pressing a fist to her chest. “With both of them.”

  “I guess I am. I’m angry at my mother for abandoning me and I’m angry at my father for never accepting me for who I was. He constantly tried to force me into being what he wanted me to be,” Neala said. She realized it felt good to talk about it. She so rarely examined those feelings she had tucked deep inside of her.

  “Your father did the best he could with his limited world view. The drink clouded his vision. We all have our own battles to fight and our own lessons to learn. It is part of our journey and path in this realm. He struggled deeply. Perhaps, with time, you’ll be able to step back and view him with empathy instead of anger,” Fiona said, her tone gentle.

  “I’m not sure I know how to do that,” Neala whispered, feeling a sheen of tears prick into her eyes. “I just wanted him to love me, but as me – a woman of her own opinions, beliefs, and dreams. Which doesn’t make me a bad person.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But to some, especially those who only know one way or thought process – it can be threatening. It’s not easy to change your beliefs. It’s even harder if you’re escaping into a bottle daily. At the end of it, he led a lonely and sad existence that he created for himself, and his soul will have to learn its lessons in another realm now.”

  “Can you tell me more about my mother?” Neala asked, and followed Fiona when she indicated two large boulders they could perch on. They settled themselves with their backs to the rock wall behind them, sheltered on all sides so that they had a cozy, private nook in which to talk of magickal relations.