Concentric Circles (18 page)

For several moments, there was stillness from those present in the Gardens. The sound of water falling into the circular basin of the Well mingled with birds adding their melodic composition, surrounding them with Divine presence.

The Chilkwell family stepped into the center. They formed a mini circle within the outer circle. Linking hands with her father and son, Chaeli spoke. “Thoughts are things. Please take a moment to clear your mind.”

Shayla inhaled in unison with the others as she closed her eyes. She released the breath, allowing her thoughts to flow out with her air.

Chaeli continued. “Breathe in deeply; let it out, fully clearing your lungs.”

Shayla relished in the peaceful feeling that washed over her, carried on the breeze by the resonance of Chaeli’s voice.

“Now, focus on your heart beat. The color of the heart chakra is green. Envision green expanding and growing around you, opening your inner soul to the endless possibilities of love.”

Boundless love encircled Shayla. She continued to breathe in a regular rhythm even as her heart picked up its pace in excitement. Flashes of memory passed through her mind. Laughter with her friend Barb, her mother’s singing, Meekal’s easy smile and messed black hair after a tryst. The spiraling air of the White Lady’s arrival brushed the edges of her mind. Shayla sighed when the sound of an osprey encircled them. She felt the uplifting sensation as though she were going to take flight. Exhilaration.

“There is an age old saying here in Glastonbury. ‘Where the light is brightest, the shadows are darkest.’ Shadows are not always evil. They can show us the way to our lighter side. They are the very essence of each of us.”

“Today, we bring forth shadows from our pasts, pieces of our families to tighten the wards around this sacred place. Throughout history, this place has had significance. May its healing powers continue into the future for the good of all creatures and humankind.”

Emelia Chilkwell stepped forward. With a quick slice from C
IARAN
L
EXISS
, she added several drops of her blood to the sterling bowl holding the elements of the ward. She placed a small stone within. “This stone comes from Raven’s Gate. It’s engraved with Pictish symbols of love, protection and truth. May they shine forth, even from the deepest shadows.”

Chaeli smiled at her mother as she stepped forward. Placing a book on the stone alter, she explained, “This is my personal journal. I have written in it since my sixteenth birthday. It contains my thoughts and feelings during times of teenage angst, deep love, Meekal’s birth and the loss of his father, Jerome Black. I dedicate the power of the written word, its essence to the heart of this new ward. Blessed Be.” Chaeli raised C
IARAN
L
EXISS
, swished him through a container of alcohol and lavender, and then pricked her left index finger.

Everyone watched as three drops of crimson red dropped slowly into the bowl. Shayla bit her lip, hoping the extra blood added today would serve to protect Meekal. Would Syther figure it out? She watched as Joseph raised her
sgian dhu
and cut his palm.

“Today’s blood contributions will not only serve to protect the Well, they will help protect our legacy.” Joseph smiled at Meekal and motioned for him to step forward.

Meekal moved to the stone and placed his Crusader’s helmet in the center front. “Thank you, sir. Ian Chilkwell wore this helmet during the first Crusades. He volunteered his service despite warnings from Raven to stay out of the conflict. As the second son, he felt it his duty. He returned to Glastonbury safely. We have kept this helmet here in the Manor as a constant reminder of the dual duties of our legacy which must continue into future generations.”

Meekal took C
IARAN
L
EXISS
from his grandfather and cut his left palm. Squeezing his hand tightly over the silver bowl, he allowed several drops of blood to drop upon the white rose petals, mingling with those of his family. His gaze rose, locking with Shayla’s.

Shayla’s heart flipped at what she saw there. The window to his soul, beckoned her. Without realizing what she was doing, Shayla stepped forward. She watched, mesmerized as Meekal cut her left hand.

“Love’s blood,” he whispered, and then clasped their hands tightly together. A soft moan escaped as she stared while their mingled blood flowed into the bowl, sliding along silken petals to form a small pool in the center under Tebalour Doomstar’s bone.

Meekal moved their hands slightly; their blood fell on the carved bone. It sizzled, and then smoked. Shayla gasped. Their blood branded the remnants of the evil wizard. From somewhere distant, Shayla heard a feral scream.

“What have they done?”

[11] Wraythe’s Rite of Misery

The voice screamed once again, “What have they done?”

Shayla gasped, stomach flipping repeatedly. “What now?”

“Shayla, what’s wrong?”

In response, she ground her teeth while grasping Meekal’s hand to anchor and ground her here in the garden.

A serene sound passed through her mind. “Shayla, my child, you must go.”

“
No
.” A burst of sudden wind carried her in an onrush of dreaded anticipation. Shayla landed hard within a semi-dark cavernous chamber. Her knee cracked when it crashed on the stone ground. “Ouch!”

She scrambled to stand, hobbling on her injured knee and looked around, realizing instantly they were not in Syther’s lair. Anger surged through her. Why did she have to be the one?

The smell of underground springs and something rotten assailed her senses. With an angry shake of her head, she attempted to put her full weight on her leg. Pain shot upward, inducing an agonized yelp. Growling and swearing, she stumbled to a rock, sat down, and lifted the white robe’s torn fabric and scowled at her bloodied knee. “Damn.”

Syther’s anger cut through her misery. “I want to know what they’ve done!”

“Berk,” she said, grunting. “Can’t you figure it out?”

Dragar leaned over, squinting at Syther’s wand lying on the ground. “It looks the same to me.”

Syther kicked him.

Dragar grunted painfully while still scowling at the wand.

“I can tell, idiot!” Syther’s voice ricocheted around them. “They have tampered with the other wand.” He kicked Dragar again. “First, that Fae bitch shows up and steals my wand. Then Chilkwell kills Zubird. He will die!”

He snarled and shoved Dragar aside. “We must continue our Wraythe’s Rite of Misery, regardless of what has happened.” He bent over and picked up his wand, shifting it from one hand to the other as though it was hot.

Shayla crinkled her nose. Wraythes. That was the putrid smell assaulting her. The Wraythes were a lesser Gnomonn from the underworld.
Gagh!
Shayla shuddered. The things you learn when you have to do a quick study.

Why did the White Lady want her to come here, anyway? Shayla blew on her scraped knee, a trick learned in her youthful days of tree climbing. Leaning back, she studied their environment. Ensconced within a cave, four black flamed torches emitted glistening light, reflecting off stalactites dropping from the ceiling. Water flowed through the cavern’s center, whispering around calcified rocks on its journey through the earth.

The only other sounds were Dragar’s heavy breathing through a congested nose and Syther’s rapid chanting. Shayla listened as Syther spoke in an ancient language she did not understand.

Black blobs rose from the water, spinning as though a whirlpool. Four blended into two, and then slowly transformed into something resembling wet, tar-like human forms.

Prickles of apprehension laced her skin. She knew her reaction was a direct link to the Wraythes. One of them locked eyes with her. She hissed, unsure why she reacted that way, and held his gaze boldly, feeling relief that Syther could not see her.

The Wraythe on the left spoke with distain. “Why do you call, human?”

Syther gave a regal bow.

“Ever the minion, eh, Syther?” Saying his name gave her a bad taste in the back of her mouth. She tried to swallow it away and shook her head in absolute disgust.

“Have you heard the news, Wadd Sapropel? Zubird has been vanquished.” Syther waited, watching the two Wraythes conversing in a language unknown to humans.

Shayla tilted her head, trying to hear. Parts of what they said made sense while others proved utterly indiscernible. Tension in her forehead grew when she understood one word, Fae.

The Wraythe on the right looked her way again. His facial features contorted.

Surprise? Fear?

Wadd Sapropel made a sound that reminded her of a flushing commode. “Why tell us?” he sneered, voice dripping misery. Eyes narrowed, Wadd raked Syther with depthless black penetrating orbs. “We are unconcerned with human endeavors.”

Syther growled under his breath, jaw moving as through he ground his teeth. Angry silence ruled for long moments.

The Wraythe waited, unperturbed by human emotion.

Motioning with his hands, Syther insisted, “Wraythes are most content when creating misery. You tell me this is unimportant? Zubird was your link with humans. The only reason I could summon you today is that I have his wand.” Syther pointed to the wand held tightly in a talon, hovering over the moving waters of the underground calcium spring.

The Wraythe on the left made a peculiar gurgling sound as though laughing. “That is not the only reason we come. You are a foolish human who knows nothing of what he deals with. I suggest you give up your plot.”

“You know nothing of my plans,” Syther growled, moving forward with menace. “I will not give up. Malvenue was the greatest magical mage in the twentieth century!”

“Fool!”

Shayla had the feeling of water crashing off a steep cliff. She stood, ignoring the pain in her knee.

Syther raised his wand, threatening.

Wadd Sapropel shook his wet head from side to side. “The Fae Princess is powerful. You know nothing of Wraythes. We honor and answer only to her from this moment forward.”

Syther roared, “Scathergal!”

Harsh mocking laughter sounded. Wadd Sapropel remained unaffected by the curse. He began to spin with rapid intensity. In one final move of defiance, he waved his arms out, covering Syther with the darkest wet sludge from the pits of the earth.

Shayla felt the beginnings of wind that would carry her back to the Well. Determination gripped around an idea. Holding her hand out, palm up, she tried something on the spur of the moment. “Zubird’s wand.”

The wand vanished from the talon.

The Wraythes lowered back into the water, swashing into fusion.

Syther screeched and turned to face her, black Wraythe sludge oozed from his hair and clothing.

She was aware that for a brief moment, he could see her. The wand felt heavy as she raised her other hand, wiggling fingers in farewell. A fast spin and she arrived back at the Lionhead Fountain.

“Shayla, where did you go?”

Head still moving in circles, she grunted relief and leaned against the alter stone. “The White Lady took me to an underground cavern. Syther was there.” She held Zubird’s wand out to Joseph. The first time she really had a chance to study it; she noticed it was wood, wrapped with leather and copper. Obsidian beads and raven feathers hung from a leather thong embellishing its handle.

“Why would the White Lady take you to Syther?” Joseph asked, reaching for the wand.

James distracted her from answering. He knelt, looking at her knee.

She pulled away.

“It’s all right, Shayla,” he said, with gentle insistence. “I can heal you.”

She watched amazed as James raised his hands and held them close to her injury. Warmth and a tingling sensation similar to when an arm or foot awakened from falling asleep passed over her. The knee healed without a trace of scar. “Thank you,” she whispered, filled with awe.

James smiled and lowered the hem of her white robe.

There was no dirt or tear from her foray into the cavern. She sighed and looked back up at Joseph. “Syther used Zubird’s wand to call Wraythes. He was determined to use them as part of his plot.” She paused, frowning. “Apparently, Zubird was the only one who could summon them until today?”

“Yes.” Joseph glanced down at Zubird’s wand. “I was unaware that Syther could.”

Shayla chewed on her lip, and then began to shake her head. Trust runs both ways.

Joseph Chilkwell stepped backward, eyeing her closely after her silent response.

“What is it, Shay?” Meekal asked, concern etching his voice.

“They didn’t appear because of anything Syther did. Well, not really.”

“Shayla.” Meekal said gently, concern reflected in his eyes.

“They appeared because I was there. At first, I was mad that the White Lady took me there. Then, I realized it was because she wanted the Wraythes to know about me.” Shayla lifted a lock of her hair, waving it. “They saw me and refused to obey Syther.”

“Aye, but why?” Meekal’s eyes locked on the black-red strands between her fingers.

Amusement surged through her. “Something you forgot to tell me?”

Meekal’s frown deepened even as realization came to Harry expression. He snickered, earning a glare from Meekal.

Shayla huffed in annoyance. “Fae Princess?”

“Oh,” Meekal said, looking sheepish.

Joseph laughed. Chaeli and the others joined in. “Come on,” Joseph said. “Let’s go back to the manor. Mari will be holding breakfast warm for everyone.”

* * * * * *

A lively fire in the oversized fireplace warmed Shayla when she stepped into the dining room. Flames crackled and danced, giving heat and solace. The sideboard called, covered with all manner of delectable temptations. The heavenly scent of teas and croissants came to the instant attention of Shayla’s stomach. It rumbled loudly.

Harry grinned and passed her an empty plate. “Here, cous. Breakfast is a casual affair around here when we don’t have guests. The Foxhill’s left this morning.”

Shayla surveyed the buffet. She didn’t know where to begin. The breakfast fare proved to be an elegant selection of coffees, teas, croissants, and breads, including French toast, omelets, scones, and eggs Benedict. Finally deciding on French toast and Earl Grey tea, Shayla took a seat next to Meekal.