Wicked Paradise (2 page)

The Sacred Stones stood in a ring, thirteen statuesque knights guarding the meadow from the encroaching forest. Awe crackled in her magic core. Intact and unfathomable, the stones’ energy spiked the air intensely. The surrounding land’s energy was raw, unpredictable. Certain days of the moon phase placed the stone circle off limits to all human inhabitants. For caution’s sake, Morgan shied away from the stones altogether.

Gwilym beckoned impatiently from the center of the behemoth pillars. Slow, deliberate footsteps carried her across the carpet of grasses and wildflowers into the ring beside him. Power engulfed her, raising goose bumps over her entire body, drowning her innate powers. Morgan touched his sleeve for reassurance. “Why are we here?”

He placed his herb stained hands on her shoulders. Pride replaced the sorrow that flashed across his face. “This is the first day of your destiny, my gift to you, to all the Druids.”

“I don’t understand. Why are the stones involved in my destiny?” Emboldened, she confessed her long-held secret. “I have seen my fate. I’m prepared to die today.” The partial truth bumped off her tongue as her gut churned.

Gwilym smiled proudly, but his smile failed to stretch to his gray eyes. “Yes. The day marking your birth is also one of death.” He grasped her hands in his cool dry fingers. “When your mother died at your birth, she foresaw your death and your rebirth at an indefinable point in the future.”

Air lodged in her throat. To share a prophecy with the mother she never knew—a powerful seer—made her fate all the more real. She looked heavenward.

A lone raven circled overhead, hunting food for its young tucked in a nest atop the highest pine. The hunter issued a haunting, forlorn screech, knowing its offspring were ready to flee the nest for a life of their own. What did the bird of ill omen herald? Morgan shivered at the foreboding refusing to release her from its grip.

Shielding his eyes, Gwilym glanced up at the sun. His agitation rode the air so thick and heavy it bogged down Morgan’s heart.

“We have little time. Listen to me.” He squeezed her hands gently and rushed on. “Druid magic is dying off everywhere. Avalon holds the last sorcerers of the ancient blood.”

Morgan sucked in her middle. She knew matters had worsened on Avalon, but she hadn’t anticipated magic disappearing elsewhere. “How did this happen? How can we stop it?”

“It is more severe than our sorcerers losing magic to dying bloodlines. This loss worsens throughout time, contributing to mankind’s devastation far into the future.”

Morgan dug her heels into the grass. “Are you certain it was foresight?”

“You know my visions always come true in one form or another.” He brushed a loose tendril of hair off her face. “Dead humans and animals litter an arid future land. Fresh water is tainted. Trees and foliage are dead. Buildings, monuments crumbled. A wasteland of death.”

“I don’t understand.” She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “How did the loss of
magic
cause such devastation?”

“Fomorians, the gods of chaos and destruction, will rise again and multiply over the years. They will become a blight on the lands of the future, growing stronger from the magic in their paths.”

Fomorians! The violent, evil beings who had oppressed the Tuatha dé Danann?
“I thought Merlin slayed the last descendant of Balor the Fomorian King before he died. How can
I
help these future people if you have already seen their destruction? You know we cannot change the future.”

“Even the wise and powerful Merlin was fallible. The future will happen and you cannot save everyone. The strongest sorcerers will fight off the Fomorian uprising. You can help the survivors rebuild, to start a new life free from further demon threat.” Gwilym stroked her cheek lovingly. “Do you remember how Merlin rid Avalon of the strongest Fomorian from Balor’s line? How he used Avalon’s magic to bind it on a hidden island?”

Tentatively, Morgan shook her head once, her eyelids fluttering rapidly as the old tales jumped into her memory. “I remember the bards’ tales. What does that have to do with me?”

“I have discovered a means for you to leave Avalon and fulfill your true destiny. Most notably, I have found a method for you to halt the loss of magic.”

The vigilant raven let out a croaking caw above their heads, masking her horrified gasp. “Do you mean...” Stars wavered before her and her knees watered. “The magic necessary to keep the half-Druid, half-Fomorian—WindWraith—in its prison is faltering?”

“Yes.” Gwilym’s throat bobbed several times. “The shadow island bound to Avalon reaches far into the future.”

Blasted blind Sight
. “So I’m to
die
on Avalon, merely to be reborn to save an already dead world.” Morgan wrung her hands, wishing to wring them around Fate’s scrawny neck.

“Love...” Her father reached for her, but she backed away. “You will save our bloodline, our people now and in this future time. There is naught else we can do. It must be enough.”

A hum began to radiate off one megalith sentry, moving to the next, until all thirteen stones created a low reverberation. Energy lifted Morgan’s hair and it floated around her shoulders in a live mantle. Her powers ascended, pushing at her bones, muscles, skin, as if the stones tried to draw the magic out of her. Disconcerting in one respect, in another it felt right, natural. The noise grew louder and the tips of the pillars crackled, shooting tiny lightning bolts into the sky.

Hands cupping her face, her father stared deeply into her eyes. Unblinking, she felt the telepathic intrusion into her mind, a cool breeze whooshing through her skull. “Remember the old tales of WindWraith.” She nodded. The dizzying effects of his spell trembled down her weakening legs. “They are true. Not the fables the bards made them out to be.”

The whirling liquid depths of his eyes pulled her into the visions he invoked in his mind. A strong telepathic sending thumped inside her skull, dumping a library’s worth of knowledge into her confusion. The horrendous story of Avalon’s Shadow—WindWraith—bubbled to the surface. An icy shiver turned her blood sluggish.

How could
she
save the Druid sorcerers and their magic? Or the world? Would Father banish her to an unchartered island prison to die alone, or worse, to allow the oldest and most powerful Fomorian to murder her?

Morgan wrenched out of her father’s hands, slammed her booted foot upon a spray of lupines. She inhaled the citrusy bouquet of the lavender-colored wildflowers, memorizing the scent. “None of this makes a lick of sense!” She wagged her head as if to fling off her father’s imparted knowledge. It refused to budge, swirling chaotically in her already fuzzy mind.

Gwilym glanced at the sun, the lines deepening around his troubled eyes. He pulled her into a fierce hug. “Hear me out.” Releasing her, his words flowed, giving her no time to voice her countless questions. “I possess enough magic to aid the Sacred Stones in sending you to defeat this malevolency, to mend Avalon’s connection to the hidden island, thereby saving our magic. In so doing, you will be able to awaken that island and build a safe haven for those sorcerers who survived the Fomorian conquest. You can rebuild our ancient bloodlines.” He touched her cheek, his callused thumb rough against her skin. “You will live a long life, which you would not otherwise enjoy on Avalon.”

“Alone?” She wanted to grab his shoulders and shake the madness out of him. “Will I kill Avalon’s Shadow by myself?”

“An assassin from the future, born from an ancient Druid bloodline that has survived time, will aid you. He stems from a bloodline that resists the Fomorian’s bite or magic, much like our own.”

She held up her hand, challenging him. “Did you foresee my...
our
triumph?” The words felt like jagged glass spitting out of her mouth.

“I foresaw your arrival on the shadow island and the island’s return to life.” The skin around his mouth drooped. “The rest was hidden from me.” A salty breeze wrapped them in edgy silence amidst the increasing pops and sizzles the stones secreted. From the leather pouch tied at his waist, he pulled out a vial filled with opaque, greenish syrup and uncorked it. “Drink this.”

Arms tight around herself, Morgan inched backward. Tears stung the back of her eyes. “You need me. Our people need me.” Thoughts cascaded into her head, and her heart felt as if a sword was slicing it into pieces. “I’m to replace you as High Sorcerer.” Her chest ached for the people of Avalon, the people of the world.

Remaining on Avalon was not an option for her, even if she lived another day. This task was her duty to their people. Now it made absolute sense why Father forced her to read the fascinating archaic tomes about ancient Ireland, Fomorians, demons, and their ilk during her final sorcery training.

Gwilym closed the distance between them. “Morgan, do you trust me?”

Without hesitation, she nodded. He was the one person she always trusted—the one who never failed her.

A tear spilled upon his weathered cheek. “Do you think I would not go in your stead if the Gods willed it?” Arm wavering, he held the vial out to her again. “Drink it. You will need the knowledge it contains to survive on the island, to understand your entire destiny.”

Angry and confused, she plucked the potion from his fingers and downed the contents in one swallow. Morgan hurled the bottle with all her might, barely throwing it outside the stone circle as the palpable energy pushed against it. Deep grass buried the wretched vial as the bitter liquid burned in her throat. She coughed several times to clear out the awful taste.

He tied a stuffed pouch on her knife belt. “Take these charms and do not lose them. Strong magic fills them. Once you are on the island, you will understand their purpose.”

The sun neared its zenith in the crystal blue sky. The air within the stone circle darkened as though a thundercloud blotted out the sun. Gwilym kissed her cheeks. “I love you with all my heart, my Morgan. Do not ever forget that.”

She flung her arms around his beloved lean frame. “Please come with me.” Inhaling deeply, she savored the scents of familiar herbs clinging to his tunic.

“I do not have your strength. The stones will kill me.” Gwilym clasped her upper arms and his trembling became hers. “Our people will need me once your task is complete. I must train your cousin Ceri to take my place.

“The Goddess has willed your fate. Your mother died to bring you into the world for a great purpose. I don’t see a greater purpose than this.” He released her with a flourish of his hands. “Stay strong and do not be afraid. You will not be alone in this task, trust me.”

Morgan choked down a sob. The great prophet told the truth. She felt it in her soul, and her father would never betray her. Given the chance, he would sacrifice his own life for hers many times over.

“You are the heart and soul of the Druids, my beautiful, courageous daughter.” Gwilym kissed her forehead. “We will meet in the Afterlife, and you can prove to me how right I was.” His thin lips spread in a wry, lopsided smile even as his eyes swam in tears.

Resolute, she gazed up through blurry vision into her father’s beloved face. “I love you.” She caressed his pale, dry cheek.

His shadow towered above the stones with the magnificence of his powers. A blue glow saturated the stone ring. The air sizzled and snapped. He raised his arms heavenward. Lightning bolts flared from the top of the pillars, merging with the force flashing in the cloudless sky.

A strange airlessness filled Morgan as if she soared above the ocean in her dream lover’s arms, carefree and happy. Gwilym’s tremendous magic flowed around her, through her, became one with her. The energy of the stones lit up her blood like flickers of fire.

In her emotional maelstrom, a sudden idea occurred to her. “Father?” she shouted above the din. “How will the Druid assassin get to the island?”

Wind blustered inside the pillars, and she heard Gwilym’s baffling last words in her head. “His charm has already been cast.”

“Cast? Whatever do you mean?” Morgan’s words vanished in the tempest.

Her cherished father disappeared. The Sacred Stones melted into one sky-towering column of radiant starlight. An abyss of destiny devoured Morgan, her father’s scratchy voice giving final instructions in her mind.

Chapter 2

Sunlight dappled through the canopy of trees, and Morgan squinted against the hazy light. A peculiar odor of fertile soil filled her nose as heavy heat weighed down her limbs. Disorder cluttered her mind like spider webs in an ancient, untouched forest. She sucked in air so warm and condensed it coated her tongue.

“Father?” she called softly, hoping she had suffered a nightmare to end all nightmares.

Harsh raven cackles and trilling bird songs were the only replies she received.

Dread blew away the cobwebs in her head, forcing her to open her eyes wide. A circling raven issued a warning caw. Surely, it wasn’t the same raven that trailed her on Avalon? Morgan peered through the seemingly harmless woods, wary of potential danger in the dense interior. A sharp rock poked her buttocks, forcing her to roll onto her side into a heap of dead leaves and twigs. The bird’s screeching pierced her ears, adding to her chaos.

“Bugger off, bird,” she said, tasting her father’s sour potion. She swished her tongue around her mouth, dredging up moisture to wash the vileness away.

The unfamiliar tropical woods gave validity to her father’s task.
Wretched destiny!
His last words haunted her more than anything else she learned in her last hour on Avalon. With countless unanswered questions, her father plucked her parting questions from her as the maelstrom whipped her through the alternating fierce heat and intense cold of space. “Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner? Will I ever return to Avalon?” she had hollered into oblivion before a suffocating weight pressed upon her and Avalon disappeared.

As she’d hurtled through dense air, his faint reply had echoed in her ears. “I sought a path to travel alone, leaving you here to rule. My Sight did not reveal to me until this morning that I could not go, that you had to travel alone.” His voice had grown fainter. “You will live your life on the island. You cannot ever leave.”