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

  “You do help people,” he reassured me and the others. “And that is just what you were doing right now, wasn’t it Scai? You were taking that basket of food to poor Ellen. Why don’t you go and do that?” Father stepped back so that I could move from the circle.

  I looked gratefully at Father as I slipped past him. He gave me a reassuring smile, but the look in his eyes told me to get away fast. To run, if necessary.

  And I nearly did.

  I dared to take one look back but turned right around again. They were all watching me.

  Chapter Three

  Nimuë’s fingers were tingling. It was time. With every sense in her body, she knew it was finally time.

  She had been waiting for this for almost two hundred years. It was a rather long time to wait for three children to be born and grow up, but it would be worth it in the end. In the end, she would be the unquestioned ruler of the world of the Vallen—and soon after that, the human world as well. It was only right that the Vallen, a powerful race, rule ordinary humans. Why this was not already so, she couldn’t fathom.

  And as soon as those children were dead and no longer a threat to her, she would be the most powerful Vallen. It would most certainly be worth such a very, very long wait.

  Anticipation sent a luscious shiver through her as she opened her cabinet. Reaching to the very back, she pulled out her fine silver bowl and water skin. The bowl gleamed, reflecting the sun’s rays throughout the room, as she unwrapped it and set it on the table. Carefully uncorking the water skin, Nimuë poured the precious liquid into the bowl.

  As its scent wafted up to her, her senses were overwhelmed with memories of home. The smell of the flowers and rich earth, the taste of the most delicious fruits and the sweetest vegetables. Her ears rang with laughter and song—everything that spoke of happiness.

  It was Avalon. And it was something Nimuë had not experienced for a very long time.

  Her eyes stung momentarily with unshed tears, but she blinked them away. This was no time for sentimentality. She had much more important work to do.

  Focusing on the sacred water of Avalon, Nimuë willed the faces of the three children to be shown to her. Despite the distance of seven generations, her connection to them should still be strong enough.

  Slowly, the world around her faded away. The pounding from the armorer below, the thumping of horses’ hooves on the compacted dirt of the courtyard, even the room around her disappeared from her vision, just as the Isle itself had faded into the mists. The only thing left was her own reflection shimmering in the water before her eyes. Softly, Nimuë blew a ripple across its glossy surface—and through the undulating water, another face appeared, replacing her own reflection.

  The face was of a pretty, young woman. She was in her late teens, if not older. Her brilliant blue eyes stared out at Nimuë, laughing, full of love and happiness. Freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. A hand appeared, pushing back bright red curls behind her ears. Seeing the clarity of the image sparked a nagging worry in the back of Nimuë’s mind. If they all appeared this clearly in her scrying bowl —could they already be too schooled for her to defeat? No! That could not be. Even though they were adults now, they had not yet discovered who they truly were, nor, even more importantly, found each other. She refocused on the water. And she couldn’t have killed them while they were still children. Even she had limits.

  The scene behind the girl dissolved into recognizable buildings—Gloucester. A slow smile crept onto Nimuë’s face. She had been to St. Peter’s Abbey not too long ago. Now, it looked as if she would be paying it another visit.

  Nimuë stood back from the water for a moment. The young woman did not look like a killer. She did not look like a powerful Vallen either, but looks could deceive. Nimuë smiled wryly as she reflected: no one would have ever thought that she herself could be so… determined.

  But there was something else in this face. Something familiar. Nimuë did not know what it was, and she did not have time right now to try to figure it out.

  She blew another gentle breeze over the water and watched as the girl’s face dissolved into another. Her own—no, wait. Not her own, but one so very much like hers it was uncanny.

  Her own green eyes stared up at her, set above the same high cheekbones as hers and a nose that, although a bit larger, was very familiar. Even the smile, holding a hint of pain, echoed her own. It was the jaw line, distinctly masculine, that distinguished this face from Nimuë’s. This was a young man, who despite his meager years—certainly not much more than twenty—had known sorrow and distress. And yet he smiled at her as if he beheld something very pleasing to his eye. What was it that he was looking at that made him smile in this way?

  Nimuë shook such ridiculous musings from her mind. This boy was destined to kill her! Did it matter who he was or what made him smile? No. What mattered was that she find him before he found her.

  But where was he? Unremarkable scenery gathered behind him. Green trees made up his surroundings, that and a swiftly flowing stream. There was nothing to mark his location. He could have been anywhere in England or Wales. But this did not deter Nimuë. She would find him; she had no fear of this.

  Once again, she blew across the sacred water of Avalon and willed for it to show her its third child. But this image was indistinct, the features hazy and indeterminate. Long, straight blond hair was all that she could make out, and even that was uncertain as it fluttered in a breeze against a brilliant blue sky.

  But why was this one so unclear? Did she not know who she was? Of what she was capable? Even at this age—for the girl, like the boy, must be in her early twenties. It must be that. There was no other explanation.

  With nothing else to see, Nimuë sat back and closed her eyes in exhaustion. It was not easy seeing into the waters of Avalon, and she was out of practice. One arm dropped uselessly to her side, the other resting on her rapidly rising and falling stomach.

  Could she be getting old? The thought made her chuckle. No, thank goodness, she was not old, and if she could help it, she never would be. Just as Merlin had been forever old, Nimuë was determined to stay forever young.

  But to do so, she would first have to rid the world of these three. That they had come to her individually was a good sign. That meant that they had not yet found each other. She still had time to kill them off before they discovered each other and their destiny. But she would have to act fast, of that she was certain. She was nearly too late.

  Chapter Four

  I walked as fast as I could, keeping my eyes firmly on the ground in front of me. My feet kept time with the pounding of my heart. I watched my shoes appear and disappear out from under the hem of my dress as I strode up the hill toward Ellen’s house.

  The thin wooden door of the house appeared before me sooner than I anticipated and I almost walked straight into it.

  It swung open in front of me. “Oh! Scai, you scared me out of my wits.” Ellen took a step back into her house, but then stopped, clearly not moving to invite me in. There was a noticeable lack of cooking smells coming from the house. Ellen should have been well into preparing the evening’s meal by now, but the only smell was the stale air from the windows being closed for too long.

  I took a small step into the doorway but didn’t go any further as Ellen took another step backward as well. Surely Ellen didn’t think… no, I wouldn’t think about Margaret and Dafydd’s accusation. I was not a witch. I was a compassionate person, and I was here to offer my condolences.

  Holding out the basket, I said, “I’m sorry, Ellen. I was just about to knock. I brought you a basket of food. I am so sorry about Hugh. He was a good man.”

  Ellen brushed her hair, now liberally sprinkled with gray, out of her face. “Thank you so much. You are a good girl, Scai.” Her eyes swam with tears, but she blinked them away before any could fall into the deep pouches under her eyes.

  I handed her the basket with one hand and gave her arm a friendly squeeze. “I kno
w that you’ll be all right. You’re such a strong woman, Ellen. I can’t tell you how much I admire your strength during such a difficult time.”

  Ellen now truly looked as if she was going to cry, but she held her lips firm.

  “And if you ever need any help looking after the little ones, I do hope you will call for me. You know I would be happy to help out in any way that I can,” I continued.

  “Thank you,” Ellen whispered. “Thank you, and God bless you.” The woman met my gaze for the briefest moment, before turning away to put the basket inside.

  Ellen, too, thought there was something odd about me.

  But there wasn’t! I wasn’t a witch.

  I clenched my fists and spun away from Ellen’s house. How could they think that of me? I loved helping people. I’d never hurt anyone. I’d only ever helped people. Why couldn’t they see that?

 

  Without a conscious thought, my footsteps started in the direction I needed to go, but by the time I was halfway there my fear broke into tears. I lifted up my skirts and ran the rest of the way.

  Aron was hammering away at a horseshoe when I ran into the large empty yard by the river. At twenty–two, only two years older than me, he was the youngest blacksmith the town had ever had. If it hadn’t been for Hugh’s accident the previous week, he would still be an apprentice. Now, he had all of the town’s work to deal with on his own.

  I stopped a few yards away from where he stood behind a huge anvil in front of the river. Although I was panting and crying, I knew to keep my distance from where Aron was working. The smoldering fire by his side belched out heat—I could feel the intensity of it even at a distance. As I stopped, he looked up, his hammer paused mid–air.

  The hot iron screamed as it was dropped unceremoniously into the pail of water, and within moments I was enveloped in Aron’s hot, comforting arms. The worn leather apron he wore was soft against my cheek as I sobbed into his chest.

  “Hush. Hush, now.” He soothed me, just as he had when we were little and I would come running to him when the other children had taunted and teased me. I couldn’t imagine not having Aron in my life to comfort and protect me.

  The memory of my dream tugged at me. Warm arms of comfort; a strong, bare chest under my cheek; and a hot kiss turning me into a breath of want and need. The memory of it teased me. It hadn’t been Aron in my dream. I’d only kissed him once, and that had felt strange and awkward. Who was it, then? I couldn’t remember. I supposed it didn’t really matter now. It was just a dream.

  My sobs dissolved into soft hiccups as Aron’s comfort settled into me. Now that I was with someone I could trust, it would be all right.

  “Come inside,” he said, taking my hand and guiding me into the barn where he both worked and lived.

  Aron rested his hip against his worktable as I hoisted myself up onto it. I took my time, knowing he would wait patiently until I had calmed down enough to tell him everything.

  It was much cooler in here, away from the warmth of the late morning sun and the blacksmith’s fire. I brushed back strands of my blond hair, so fine they stuck to my face with my drying tears, and concentrated on forming the words in my head that would not sound too stupid or melodramatic. But before I could even complete the thought, the words were out of my mouth, tumbling over themselves like leaves caught in the breeze.

  “All of the townspeople think I’m a witch because I know what people are thinking. I know what they’ve done or haven’t done and what they mean to say but don’t. Father even thinks I made the sun come out this morning, although he didn’t say so. We all prayed for the rain to stop, he himself said we did, but…”

  “Hey! Stop.” Aron laughed.

  My words stopped short. I took a breath and looked up at him. The smile on his face faded as my words settled into him. Grasping my shoulders, he looked me straight in the eye. “Everyone in town thinks you’re a witch?”

  The disbelief in his voice mirrored my own exactly, and an air of relief blew through me. I knew he would feel this way. I could always count on Aron.

  “I know. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, beginning to feel better already.

  But Aron was no longer laughing, not even a smile graced his handsome face. He was staring at me as if he was really considering whether it could be true.

  “Aron!”

  “No, Scai, I’m thinking about this.” He let go of me and stood back, staring down at the floor for a minute. He began nodding his head. “Yes. It does make sense.”

  “Aron! No.” How could he betray me this way?

  “But, Scai, wait. You have to admit that you always know things that others don’t. Haven’t you ever wondered about it?”

  “I’m intuitive,” I said, with a lift of my chin.

  He shook his head. “No one is that intuitive. Do you hear people’s voices in your head? Can you read their thoughts? How do you do it?”

  I widened my eyes. He really believed that I was a witch! “No. I don’t.” But then I saw that Aron wasn’t looking at me as if he were scared. He looked…well, he looked interested, even curious.

  Aron was my friend. He was my best friend. Could I not be completely open with him, even if I had never been so with myself?

  I closed my eyes and tried to remember the first time I’d been aware that I knew what others were thinking. It had been so long ago I didn’t think I could remember. But then a hazy scene flitted through my mind… playing on the village green, the other children moving away from me when I said aloud what each one was thinking. They wouldn’t play with me after that.

  I had sworn to myself right then that I would only use my gift to help people—and I had. But no one seemed to remember that now. They only remembered that I was odd and knew things that I shouldn’t.

  So how did I know what someone was thinking? I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know; I see it in their eyes. I just look at them and there it is: whatever they’re thinking is in my own mind.”

  “Do you know what I’m thinking right now?”

  I looked up at Aron. A lock of his long brown hair had fallen into his eyes, but they stayed focused on me. “You’re…you’re fascinated with how I know what someone is thinking. And you wish you could do the same thing. And you need your hair cut.”

  Aron burst out laughing. “I was not thinking that I needed my hair cut!”

  I grinned. I couldn’t believe it, but I actually smiled. “No, you weren’t thinking that, but you do.”

  He laughed as he brushed his hair out of his eyes. “But this is incredible, Scai.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward me to whisper, “You’re a witch!” As if it was the most wonderful thing in the world.

  And for a minute, I thought it was, too—until reality caught up to me. Then all the good feelings I had been sharing with Aron blew straight out of me.

  “No! I’m intuitive. I see what people are thinking, that’s all. It doesn’t mean I’m a witch.”

  “Scai…”

  “No. Aron, this is ridiculous.”

  He shook his head. “Why don’t you want to believe this?”

  “Because it’s wrong.”

  “Scai…”

  “It’s wrong, and ridiculous, and…” I blinked away the tears burning in my eyes. How could he? How could he betray me like this? Aron was supposed to laugh at this with me, not take it seriously. I wasn’t a witch!

  “…and it’s dangerous and frightening,” I finished in a whisper. “Witches are the spawn of the devil. That’s what Father Llewellyn taught us, and I believe it.”

  “But that doesn’t mean that you…”

  “Oh, no? How do you know?”

  “What? You are not the spawn—”

  “I don’t know what I am. Father Llewellyn found me on the church steps.” I jumped down from the table, coming close to landing on Aron’s foot, but I didn’t care. I wanted to hurt him for even thinking that Margaret and Dafydd might be right.

&
nbsp; “I don’t know who my parents were. All I do know is that I am not a witch,” I whispered furiously, before running out of the shed and heading back to the rectory.

  Chapter Five

  Father?” I called as I entered the house. I looked in the drawing room, but it was empty. With a shiver of apprehension, I left the room.

  The town had seemed empty on my way back from speaking with Aron. It had been very strange. Usually there was someone about. But now there was no one. It was as if they had all gone to hide from me.

  And now Father was gone, too. Dafydd and the others hadn’t hurt him, had they? I raced through the house, searching, my heart pounding with the sharp stab of fear.

  I found my guardian sitting in his study at the back of the house. Relief sent me flying to him. I threw myself at his feet and clutched onto his legs just as I used to do when I was a little girl.

  I had spent too many afternoons like this after being teased by the other children for being different, or because my parents hadn’t wanted me. Aron had always tried to defend me and had ended up in too many fights because of me. But Father had taught me to turn the other cheek, and so I had always ended up here.

  And now, just as he had always done, Father Llewellyn gently stroked my head and murmured words of comfort. When the fear loosened itself from my throat, I whispered, “Father, you don’t think…”

  “No, I don’t think, Scai,” he began, and relief rushed through me until he added, “I know.”

  My heart clenched in my chest. “But…”

  “No. Hush, my child, hush. I am sorry I’ve never said anything, but I’ve known since you were a little girl and able to repeat what was in anyone’s mind—even when you clearly didn’t understand what it was you were saying.”

  He gave a little laugh as he remembered. “You were such a funny child. But I could protect you then.” He grew sober once again. “I don’t know that I can anymore.”