Air: Merlin's Chalice (The Children of Avalon Book 1) Read online

  Scai is not a witch

  In one day Scai has gone from being considered just unusual by the people of her little Welsh village to an outcast fleeing for her life. Left on the church steps as a baby, she knows nothing of her history—or her abilities. Did she really stop the rain just by wishing it to stop? But she is determined to learn all she can. Travelling alone to find her family seems to be the only way she’s going to find the answers she seeks.

  Her journey leads her to the comical old knight Sir Dagonet, who tells her that she is one of a magical people called the Vallen. Together they continue on, joined by the handsome Dylan and the fiery Bridget on a new quest—to find the fabled Merlin’s Chalice, said to hold all the power of the entrapped wizard. Together, Scai, Dylan and Bridget discover that they are the long awaited Children of Avalon, destined to save the world from power–hungry Lady Nimuë—unless she kills them first.

  Along the way, Scai finds magic—both in the wind and air that she can control at will, and in the sweet ache of a first love that she cannot.

  Air: Merlin’s Chalice

  Meredith Bond

  Copyright 2014 by Meredith Bond. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by Nina Banerji

  Editing by Alicia Street at iproofreadandmore.com

  Formatting by Anessa Books

  Merlin’s Prophecy

  Ten score years shall darkness helm

  The vessel of King Arthur’s realm,

  Wending through time’s storm–tossed sea

  To ground upon this prophecy.

  This shadowed epoch shall conclude

  By the might of the seventh brood.

  Of Avalon, the children three

  Will restore right and harmony.

  Hark ye to the Lady’s line!

  The sixth of seventh will assign

  Herself to perish with the wind,

  Helping to save all mankind.

  Seven of seven will blaze

  A path through time’s dark’ning haze.

  Her heirs will be the ones to heal,

  And renew sorcery’s appeal.

  The seventh from my own blood

  Will ride the crest of magic flood.

  Blending with the powers’ peak,

  He will bring the peace we seek.

  But the mightiest in the land

  Will be She – who by her hand

  Condemned me to my earthen tomb.

  She will see her talents bloom.

  Her growing might will presage

  The dawning of the golden age.

  Unmatched power shall wield she –

  Unprecedented sorcery.

  But Avalon’s child will not fail

  To discover my stony grail.

  Then one, wielding the power of three,

  The greatest earthly force will be.

  My power will render her accursed,

  Unless the trio all die first.

  Or she will be, I prophesy,

  Destroyed by one and children three.

  Chapter One

  Tallent, Wales, 899 AD

  I couldn’t stop shaking. I was cold. So cold—and soaked through.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe.” Dylan’s soothing voice warmed my ear.

  Relief eased through my body, relaxing my tensed muscles, letting me breathe, finally. But I still couldn’t stop the tears from coming. I hated to cry, but I’d been so terrified. I’d been so certain I would drown. That I’d never see Dylan again. Never… It had been too close. If he hadn’t…. But he had. He’d come back and saved me.

  I rolled over, snuggling closer into his arms, letting his soothing words calm me. He was warm and he held me tightly.

  He smelled of the water—ever so slightly fishy, but clean and fresh. I loved his smell, and right now there was nothing so comforting. I rubbed my cheek against his soft skin, against the strong muscles of his chest.

  “I didn’t think you would come,” I said, trying to stop the sobs that were still shuddering through my body.

  “I will always be there for you. You know that,” he murmured into my wet hair.

  Dylan’s arms were tight around me, his body so warm. But I couldn’t stop shaking…

  I was wet. Soaked through.

  Why was I wet? I took a deep breath. I couldn’t smell him anymore. What was that smell? Wet feathers? That wasn’t right.

  I opened my eyes. Bound in my blanket, I could hardly move. But I was still soaking wet, still shivering with cold. I blinked, trying to clutch on to my dream as it began to fade away. My tiny attic room was the same as ever. My wardrobe stood on one side of the door, the table with its basin on the other. What was the dripping…? Oh.

  I looked up. Through the thatch of the roof came a near steady stream of water, falling directly onto my bed. After two weeks of nonstop rain, the water had finally found its way through the roof.

  I groaned. Whoever that man in my dream had been, he’d felt so good, and now he was gone and fading from my memory faster than I could stop it. I could no longer even recall his name. I’d known it in my dream, but now all I could pull up in my memory were his dark curls and how nice it had been to snuggle up to him. Now I was cold and had to get up before I got deathly ill from lying in a puddle of water. And there was the prayer meeting to prepare for. I sighed.

  I unbound myself from my blanket, rubbed myself dry and threw on a woolen dress. I didn’t care that it was still summer. The autumn was coming, and the mornings had become too cold to run about in thin cotton anymore—and the rain wasn’t helping.

  Chapter Two

  Hallelujah,” Tomos exclaimed, dropping to his knees. The careworn farmer rocked fervently back and forth. “Hallelujah!”

  Looking from Tomos to my guardian, Father Llewellyn, around to the other men and women standing in the prayer circle with me, and back to old Tomos next to me, I was ready to drop to my knees as well. I was suddenly weak and tired, almost out of breath, and my fingers were tingling.

  It must have been all that praying. It was the only explanation for why I felt as if I had just run the length of the town and back.

  But then I stopped and listened.

  Something wasn’t right. The room was absolutely silent.

  I turned and followed the farmer’s eyes to look out of the window—and lost my breath again. The sun was shining! There was bright sunlight where just a minute ago there had been driving rain.

  I ran to the window to be absolutely certain, but my knees buckled under me and I dropped into Father Llewellyn’s chair at the sight of a sky so blue. The brilliant sun was pouring down its light and warmth onto the village green—just as I had imagined it in my mind, not a minute ago.

  As the warm humidity seeped over the windowsill and into the room, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes against the brightness of the morning, just smelling the sunshine. A laugh burst out of me and I held my arms out, wishing I could embrace the beauty of the suddenly fine weather.

  After so long it was finally, finally clear! Two weeks of rain. Farms had flooded. Crops were ruined. The river had been running wild, overflowing its banks so much that even the mill, which relied on the steady flow of water to turn the
wheel and grind the grain, couldn’t run properly. Stocks of flour were running low. Tempers were running high.

  And now, it was clear. Blue sky. Sunshine.

  I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Letting out a whoop of excitement, I jumped up and turned back to join Tomos in his calls of thanks. But Father Llewellyn’s eyes caught me—I froze in place. Suddenly I didn’t feel like celebrating any more. Like a cold breeze, Father’s serious expression blew the happiness right out of me.

  He was staring, not past me out into the sunny morning, but straight at me. All of my joy crumbled into a dry uneasiness. It was an odd light I saw in Father’s eyes. The chill of it brought goose bumps to my arms. I had never seen anything like it before in my guardian’s face.

  The five other people in the room were also looking at me, although none stared at me in quite the same way as Father. I shrank uncomfortably under his gaze. Had I done something wrong?

  “What is it, Father?” I asked, moving away from the window.

  Father’s eyes shifted for the briefest moment to the other people in the room, but then he softened into his regular repose. He smiled at me, but it wasn’t a true smile, no matter how hard he tried to make it so. “Nothing. It is nothing, Scai. I’m just so happy that God has finally answered our prayers.” Father stole another quick glance around the room. Giving my arm a pat, he said quietly, “Why don’t you go and deliver that basket of food to Ellen now? You’ll have a lovely walk in the sunshine.”

  I wanted to question him more. There was something he wasn’t saying. But he had turned back to talk to the others, and I got the feeling that now wasn’t the time to probe further. Father would never reprimand me in front of other people, but I didn’t know what I had done wrong.

 

  I put aside my fears for the time being, determined to be as bright and happy as the brilliant sunshine warranted. Already the heaviness in the air was dissipating as I walked across the village green. The sun felt wonderful, its warmth beginning to soak into the drenched earth. I almost regretted the woolen dress.

  Margaret stepped out of her shop just ahead of me, her face lifted to the sun. The older woman had an expression of such unquenchable joy as she took in a deep breath of sunshine that I couldn’t help but laugh and join in with her joy. But as I did so, she caught sight of me. The woman paused for only a moment, her face losing all of its happiness, before she turned and went back into her shop.

  I, too, stopped at the woman’s abrupt departure. She must have remembered something, I told myself, but a chilly breeze slipped past me as I walked by Margaret’s shop.

  Taking a step into the bakery just next door, I smiled as my senses were filled with the deep, rich smell of bread so good I could taste it. “Good morning, Nye, isn’t it glor…”

  “Yes, glorious, Scai. What are you up to today? Not getting your nose into anyone else’s business now, are you?” the middle–aged man asked. He narrowed his little eyes at my basket.

  I raised it and pulled back the cloth so that he could see inside. “I’m just bringing some food to Ellen to help her— ”

  “And you want a bread to go in it, I suppose? Don’t have much today. With this rain…”

  “I would be very grateful. Ellen—”

  “Yes, yes. All right. For Ellen, poor thing.” He reached past his bulging stomach to hand me a loaf of bread from the nearly empty basket at his side. “Be off with you now, and stay out of trouble.”

  I paused, hurt at the man’s brusque tone and angry that he was still treating me like a child. But the warmth of the sun was on my back as I stood in the shallow shop, so I shoved aside my pride and smiled, giving the baker a small curtsy before continuing on my way.

  The sky was a touch duller as I walked toward Ellen’s house at the very edge of town. Still, the day was brightened by the shouts of children, finally released by the sunshine from their rainy prisons.

  I felt eyes on my back and glanced behind me to see both Nye and Margaret standing outside of their shops watching me.

  It wasn’t the first time they had stared at me as if they suspected me of doing something. I didn’t know why they did this, but I wasn’t going to let it bother me. Not today. I pulled the warmth of the sunshine around me and continued on.

  The sound of men’s voices raised in anger had me lengthening my stride up the hill. Old John, the craggy–faced wheelwright, and the farmer, Dafydd, were standing nose to nose just outside the wheelwright’s shop. Dafydd clutched a wheel in his thin, strong hands, grasping and shaking two new spokes. “You call this sturdy? This wheel’s got to take the weight of the wagon, the grain, and put up with—”

  “The wheel is sound!” Old John curled his hands into fists, ready for them to make his point for him if necessary.

  “Good morning,” I called out in my most cheerful voice. I narrowed the distance between them in a few quick skips.

  The two men turned to look at me, Old John taking a step back from his threatening position in front of Dafydd. “Good morning, Scai, what brings you here?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in my direction.

  Dafydd looked at me with a nervousness in his eyes. Lowering the wheel to the ground, he shifted away from me.

  I ignored the man’s body language, certain that Dafydd would forgive me later. Holding up my basket, I said brightly, “I’m bound for Ellen’s.” I turned to Old John and asked as gently as I could, “John, you don’t need payment for mending Dafydd’s wheel immediately, do you?”

  “Payment?” Dafydd exclaimed. “I have no intention of paying for such shoddy work!”

  “Shoddy work, now, is it?” Old John said, taking another menacing step toward Dafydd.

  “Dafydd, you know that Old John’s work is as good as ever. Now that the rain has stopped, the river should be back to normal within a few days. Your grain will be ground and sold quickly and then you’ll have the money you need to pay for the wheel.” I turned back to the wheelwright. “It would be all right if he doesn’t pay you until next week, wouldn’t it, John?” I gave him my most charming smile, completely ignoring Dafydd’s wide eyes and the fact that his ears and cheeks had turned absolutely scarlet.

  Old John’s eyes flicked from me to Dafydd and then back again. Dafydd had begun to look madder than an ox with a thorn in his hoof, but he kept his mouth shut in a tight, grim line.

  “Is that what it is, then? It’s just the rain that has kept you from grinding and selling your barley?”

  “And how did you know that, Scai?” said a voice from behind me. I turned and saw Tomos there, along with some of the people from the prayer group, Nye from the bakery, and Margaret as well. Some of them shifted or looked away when I moved toward them. One man turned his head away so I couldn’t look into his eyes. But most of them stood their ground, glaring anger and accusations at me.

  I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how I knew that Dafydd didn’t have the money. It had just been there, in his eyes.

  “Well?” Old John prodded.

  I turned back to Dafydd. He looked at me, but said nothing—just waited with the rest for my explanation.

  I wished I had one to give. “He…” I started.

  “I never said a word about not having the money, did I, John?” Dafydd interrupted, turning to the wheelwright.

  “No, you never did,” the other man concurred.

  “And little Michael never said a thing about taking a jar of honey from my shop last week, and yet Scai knew he’d done it. And she wasn’t even there when it happened,” Margaret said, coming out from between some of the men.

  “You made the sun come out today. I could see that Father thought so,” Tomos said, coming closer. They all began to surround me. I took a step back, but Dafydd was there, frowning at me.

  “I didn’t, I couldn’t… I can’t make the sun come out. That’s ridiculous!” I stammered, trying to laugh. My eyes flitted from one person to the next. Surely, they didn’t think I had anything to do with the weathe
r?

  “You prayed for the sun to come out, didn’t you, Scai?” Father Llewellyn asked, as he walked into the crowd surrounding me.

  My eyes locked onto those of my guardian. Thank God he was here! Safety and support resonated from his eyes. “Of course I did, Father. We all did.”

  Father Llewellyn nodded. “We all did,” he said, indicating the people who had been there. “We all prayed for the sun, and our prayers were answered.”

  I looked around at the others, but my momentary feeling of security was gone as soon as I did so. Why didn’t they believe me?

  “We all prayed for the sun,” I repeated, hoping to get through to them.

  “I still say that you’re a witch,” Margaret said, glaring at me.

  “What? No!” I moved closer to Father Llewellyn. He would protect me. There was nowhere for me to go.

  “You’re a witch, admit it,” Dafydd growled.

  I spun around to face my accuser, secure with Father right behind me. “I’m not! Father…”

  “Scai is a special young woman,” Father said, putting his hand reassuringly on my shoulder, “but to call her a witch after all that she has done to help each and every one of you? She is a kind and caring girl, who helps others whenever and however she can.”

  A breath of relief escaped from me. They wouldn’t hurt me, not with Father there. But that didn’t mean that they weren’t thinking about it. I could feel them—feel their anger, their fear. They wanted to hurt me. Thoughts of witch burnings slipped through their minds. A woman had been drowned a few weeks ago in a neighboring town, accused of witchcraft. They could do the same to me.

  “You all know me,” I pleaded with them. I tried to keep my voice calm, but my legs had begun to tremble and feel weak.

  “Yes, and we all know that you always know too much,” Old John said.

  “Witch!” Margaret hissed, taking another step forward.

  “No! I just try to help people,” I cried, trying to hold back my tears. I turned to Father. He would help me. He had to.