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
“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