Awen Rising Page 13

  “I am honored, Hope the Wise, and gladly accept your kind assistance. It is most welcome, I assure you.” To the others she announced, “The animal Elders visited my dreams last night. Each offered magical aid. I am ashamed to admit that I tried to run, but that bought me nothing but a wakeful night. Each Elder persisted until I was forced to listen.”

  Chuckles arose around the room. Apparently, the other druids had tangled with them, too.

  “You probably don’t know this, but I am a trained disaster specialist.” Emily waited to let that sink in. Mitchell cleared his throat, a habit she had come to despise. She ignored him and continued, “What Hope says is true. I have evidence that supports the Elders’ claims.”

  The stubborn attorney muscled in front of her, ignoring Hope’s previous warning. “Look, Hamilton Hester brought me into this Order. It is my intention to follow his instructions.” The icy demeanor dared the druids to defy him.

  Clearly unimpressed, Hope stretched and yawned.

  Wainwright paced the floor, a lawyer gearing up for opening remarks, commanding the eyes of judge and jurors. His next words dripped with disdain, “Nowhere in Hamilton’s command to me, nor in the hierarchical structure of this Order, does it recognize or even mention the authority of talking cats or animal Elders.”

  A collective gasp went up from the druids. Hope’s head was buried to mid-thigh, licking her already impeccable fur. Emily resisted an urge to giggle, wondering if the cat did it to disarm her opponents. Hope straightened to stare at the attorney, the tip of her pink tongue caught between her incisors. With an air of practiced tolerance, the Elder said, “Are you finished, young mouse?”

  Apparently not. Mitchell opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Not a squeak, not a word, nada. Hope leapt from the armoire to the back of Arthur Creeley’s chair and down to the floor where she padded toward the apoplectic attorney. Wainwright winced but stood his ground, sullen lips pressed together, veins pulsing in his temples.

  Emily had a fleeting vision of the attorney clutching his head and falling to the floor, dying from a burst aneurysm like some actor in an old movie. But before anything of the sort could happen, Hope sidled up to him and whispered something only he could hear. His black brows beetled and a deep shade of vermillion suffused tanned cheeks. Mitchell Wainwright did not keel over. Instead he shriveled like a stomped violet, zombie-stare plastered to his black, shiny shoes.

  An angry stain spread to Mitchell’s throat, stirring Emily’s sympathy. As Hope had said, in spite of the man’s despicable, no-good rottenness, he was responsible for bringing her to Wren’s Roost. And for that she was thankful.

  Hope’s fat tail swished as she made the next pronouncement. “Mr. Wainwright, you will continue as the Order’s attorney. But that is all.” She turned on the wilted lawyer. “I recommend you stick to what you know, young mouse. Leave the rest to the druids.”

  The attorney paled, but his gaze didn’t leave his patent-leather shoes.

  **

  The Komodo dragon awoke and tested the air. An excitement long dormant rippled through him. Something was happening.

  He slid from his man-made bed and shuffled outside the artificial cave in Zoo Atlanta. Stretching hoary bones, Tienu yawned and looked to the sky. Dawn approached, that magical time when light beat back the dark and for a few fleeting moments, the veil between the worlds thinned.

  The dragon swung his head from side to side, surveying the small structure that had served as his home for the last years. He took his fill of tepid water and devoured the bland dinner he’d left sitting the night before. Purple rimmed the brightening sky. Birds whistled a waking song. Animals called to one another in low, morning voices, knowing zoo handlers would soon appear bearing food.

  Draig Tienu plodded up the rise and draped his puny body on the fake promontory. He let his world-weary lids sag and sank into the Otherworld. Soon enough, the erstwhile fire dragon’s suspicions were confirmed. Draig Talav was awake and nearby. Ooschu was crossing the Gulf of California bound for a wormhole east. The fourth Keeper, Draig a-Ur, was beyond Tienu’s ken.

  But it was the dragon master who drew his attention.

  The Awen was back. And in close proximity. Soon Tienu would be returned to his own body. Or so he hoped.

  **

  For Emily, the initiation was anticlimactic. Robes were passed around for the group to don. Like the other garments, hers was crafted of soft, spun silk, white and ankle-length. The druids marched in single file with Hope in the lead, followed by Emily, Lugh, Arthur, and the rest, in order of rank. Wainwright brought up the rear, impassive mask abandoned for a disgust he didn’t bother hiding.

  The clearing was a good hundred yards across and ringed by birches, like the ones guarding the fountain in the park. With Emily in the center, self-conscious and spooked, the group formed a loose circle around her. Lugh led the brief ritual, similar to the one her Da had performed from his hospital bed.

  When instructed, Emily held her right hand in the air and repeated the words. But rather than Lugh’s sultry, southern tones, Emily heard her Da’s tenor, brimming with love. A tear trickled down her cheek, followed by another. When the ceremony was over, the druids gathered close, congratulating Emily and welcoming her to the Awen Order. Each declared fealty to their new Grand Druid.

  All except Wainwright, who stood off to the side, face averted. As usual, he disapproved of Emily, though she’d done nothing to deserve his disdain. Except exist, she reasoned. He treated everyone that way.

  After a while, the druids meandered toward Wren’s Roost and Emily was left alone with Hope. The Elder reiterated the instructions conferred earlier; Emily was to remain in the clearing through the day and night, spending time in prayer and meditation, with no food or drink except a flask of water.

  It sounded like, and turned out to be, something of a vision quest. But early that night, starved of sleep and unable to keep her eyes from closing, Emily curled on the grass and fell asleep. Nothing else happened until the wee hours of morning when in the vault of the heavens, the constellations rotated into place.

  The Elders appeared, ghostly outlines filling the clearing. One by one, they heaped blessings on their new Awen, each animal promising protection and aid against the Darkness and the troubled times ahead. As dawn approached and the veil between the worlds thinned, the spirit animals slipped back into the Otherworld.

  In parting, each whispered the same counsel, “Arise, Priestess. Without you, all is lost.”

  The Awen stirred, but Emily slept on, unaware.

  Able to fly unhindered between worlds, the owl, Callaich Oidche, and Bran the Raven remained perched in separate birches, hooting and weaving spells until the crack of dawn when Emily awoke. She rose with a wide, sleep-soggy yawn and rubbed the night from her eyes. Peering about the clearing, she wondered if she was supposed to feel any different. If so, she didn’t.

  Disappointed, Emily trudged from the clearing to her four-poster bed, barely noticing the birds keeping pace overhead.

  Conquest

  T he Marilyn lookalike sprawled across Shalane’s hotel bed, legs entangled with hers. The girl had never been with a woman and was resistant at first but had given in once Shalane feigned tears. She studied the girl whose name, as it turned out, was Patrika.

  “Sweet, delectable Patty,” she murmured and stroked the girl’s slender thigh. It trembled beneath her touch. A fat tear rolled down the girl’s cheek. “What is it sweetie?” Shalane brushed it away with her thumb, solicitous now that her lust was slaked.

  The voluptuous lips moved but no sound came out. She tried again and squeaked, “Why did you do this to me?” She cleared her throat and her voice was stronger. “I was a good girl and now I’m not. I’m a whore. A lesbian whore.” The last whooshed out in anguish.

  Shalane cackled, not hiding her amusement. The girl pulled away, aghast. “There, there sweet Patty,” Shalane coaxed in a low voice. “You’re not either of those things.
You are a woman, awakened to the world of sexual prowess. You enjoyed it, didn’t you? You sure seemed to." The girl nodded, eyes squeezed tight.

  In the hypnotic voice Shalane used to address the masses, she cooed, “Sweetie, sex, like love, is given to us by God. We were meant to have both and enjoy them.”

  “But you’re a woman and lying with a woman is a sin,” the girl cried.

  “Who told you that?”

  Patty bolted upright. “The bible! It says so. My church says so.” Her now-wide eyes held an accusatory glare. “My family will disown me. They’ll never speak to me again.”

  “Then they’re not a very good family and you’re well rid of them.” Shalane thought of her own parents and how they’d abandoned her. She touched the girl’s cheek and said contemplatively, “You can come with me. I’ll be your family.”

  The girl sobbed and fell into Shalane’s arms. She stroked her hair, making shushing noises and drying the tears. Patty’s innocence had awakened something new and terrible inside Shalane—an overwhelming need to protect. Gathering the girl close, she rocked her, whispering, “Come with me, Patty. Let me take care of you, be your family. Just say the word and I’ll make it so.” The sobs eased to snorts and sniffles. A new light sparkled in the girl’s tearful eyes. Shalane’s heart leapt; Patty was considering the offer.

  “Are you rich?” The question caught Shalane by surprise.

  “As the Pope,” she chuckled.

  Patrika Tolbert eyed her with speculation. “You can get me out of this hell hole?”

  Shalane nodded.

  “Then I’ll go. But only if you’ll give me a good home and whatever else I might think of. Do that and I’ll come with you.”

  Satisfaction tickled Shalane’s lips. The vixen was very much a child, in spite of outward appearances. She would be easy to mold and bend to Shalane’s will, where Ebby Panera had not. In a vague sort of way, Patty reminded Shalane of Ebby. But only a little. It was that innocence thing. If it worked out, Shalane would teach Patty everything. Well, not everything. She would not be teaching Patty the death-fuck.

  The Wyrd

  “E xcellent,” Hope purred from her perch atop the quartz boulder.

  Emily’s bruised ego soaked up the platitude, in desperate need of positive reinforcement. The Interrogation, or so Emily had dubbed it, was taking place in the library and had lasted for the better part of two hours. Other than a begged-for bathroom break, Emily’s trainer had been relentless.

  “So, to recap,” Hope said, “you meditate. You are trained in both jujitsu and aikido. You sometimes sense things before they happen. You have an affinity with animals and birds, and they with you. Same with broken people. They gravitate to you.

  “You are happier near the ocean or water, but not in it. Strange phenomena take place in your presence. You have been told by healers and shamans that you have supernatural powers yet you insist you have no knowledge or control of these powers.” The cat’s amber eyes gleamed. “Did I miss anything?”

  Chuckling, Emily rose from her cross-legged position and grabbed the quartz boulder to keep from pitching sideways. Her foot was asleep.

  “Probably, but I think you got the meat of my answers.”

  She tapped her toes against the floor. The lump of nothing registered a slight tingling. Letting go to hop backward on the good foot, she collapsed in the plump chair. Lavender wafted into the air, left behind from Mary’s cleaning spree.

  Emily slung her leg over the stuffed arm and bent double to rotate her numb foot with her hands, kneading the feeling back into her toes and instep. Hope bristled, her ears pinned back.

  “Emily Bridget, please. Sit up and pay attention. This is serious business.”

  Doing as instructed, Emily wondered for the umpteenth time why she let the bossy cat order her around. Hope padded to the hearth and turned her tail to it.

  “I will give you the good news first.” Dreading the bad news, Emily twirled her waking foot in the air. “It appears your mother wasn’t as remiss as we had thought.”

  Gulping, Emily sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

  “You have been trained in martial arts with an emphasis on self-defense. Your intuition has been encouraged and developed, as were your independence and love for all things living. Your affinity with the animal world is strong. Plants lean toward you. Spirits speak to you, though you dismiss their words as wanderings of your own mind.”

  It had never occurred to Emily to think of her mother’s inattention as an asset. And it disturbed her to think that the thoughts in her head might not always be her own.

  “To set the record straight,” Emily said, “plants and critters are my thing. Animals ran from Mama. And plants died in the car on the way home from the nursery rather than submit to her torture.”

  Hope snorted. “Nevertheless, you are not as hopeless as we had feared.”

  In spite of the obvious insult, Emily’s mood lifted. She wasn’t as useless as they had believed. Anticipation rushed in. A new adventure. She leaned forward.

  “So, now what?”

  “Now, we begin.” Hope’s amber eyes danced. “Each day you will start with philosophy and history lessons from me or one of my designees. Then an hour or two with Arthur Creeley studying divination and learning how to recognize the signs you receive. And how to get in touch with, and embrace, your powers.

  “After that, spells and curses taught by Finn Foster and his sisters, Becca and Dana. Somewhere in there, Lughnasadh MacBrayer and whomever he designates will test and hone your combat skills.”

  A buzz went through Emily at the prospect of a hand-to-hand tussle with the man who looked more pirate than priest.

  “The headmaster, David Daniels, will instruct you on druid hierarchy, and along with your Aunt Morgan, familiarize you with the depth and breadth of the druid ranks and how they interact with agencies here in the United States and abroad.”

  Shocked, Emily blurted, “We’re international? The government knows about druids?”

  Hope blinked somber eyes. “Of course.”

  “Huh. If we’re so powerful and widespread, why doesn’t the general public know about druids? Before I came to Atlanta, I’d barely even heard of them, except for the books I found in Mama’s stuff.”

  As the words left Emily’s mouth, she felt a sinking sensation. She’d meant to keep her mother’s box a secret, though it was probably better to get it out in the open. Maybe it would help.

  Hope leapt to attention. “Alexis had druid artifacts?”

  Emily nodded, wary.

  “May I take a look? Some may be items that came up missing about the time Alexis ran off with you.”

  With a reluctance she didn’t quite understand, Emily led Hope to the red bedroom. Collecting her suitcase, she spread the druid items on the bed. All except for the manuscript. That, Emily left concealed in the false bottom. An excited Hope pawed through the books and trinkets. When she was done, she looked up at Emily expectantly.

  “Is this all?”

  Emily shrugged. “Yes.”

  Her insides lurched at the lie. The cat stared, and for a moment, she thought Hope was reading her mind.

  “Well, this is something.” Hope leapt to the floor. “Let me know if you remember anything else.” The cat padded from the room.

  Relieved, Emily repacked the suitcase and stowed it in the closet, rejoining Hope and Ralph in the library.

  “What about my question?” Her internal skeptic still balked at the idea of a secret subculture hiding beneath the public’s nose. For millennia. An organization with a peace-keeping mission and the power to influence world events. “Why don’t people know about druids?”

  “It’s a clever cover-up, really. Once druids were defeated and supposedly wiped from the face of the earth, they were relegated to legend. Like Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Who, by the way, relied heavily on a druid priest named Merlin.”

  “But there are tomes written about the
Arthurian legend,” Emily noted. “Plus, witches, werewolves, and vampires, too. The world’s literature teems with dwarves and elves and fairies and the like. Why not druids?”

  The cat’s hackles rose. “Peacemakers need no books or airplay for validation. Written documents fall into the wrong hands. The druid way has always been to pass our rituals and Earth-magic from priest to acolyte. It is fortunate for the world that a few, like Awen, survived to continue the druid lineage and traditions.”

  Emily thought of the ancient, hand-penned tome hidden in the bottom of her suitcase. Why was she so reluctant to share?

  “But how did that handful grow into a secret, worldwide subculture?” she asked.

  “By integrating into the very society we protect, Dru-y-en. Hiding in plain sight. Today, just as in the ancient world, druids are teachers and poets, musicians and entertainers, wordsmiths and artists, statesmen and warriors, lawyers and politicians. Our culture remains alive and vital by staying secret.” Hope turned a circle and plopped on the rug in front of the crackling fire.

  “Fine,” Emily huffed, though she still wasn’t sure her question had been answered.

  Hope blinked. “Myths and legends are rooted in history, little wren. History that others choose to forget—or hide. Any other questions?”

  There was that other thing. “Do I have to learn all these druid gods? Who they are and what they do? Or can I just insert ‘God’ for whatever god’s name I come across in the literature?”

  “If you must.” The Cat Elder looked amused. “Or you can imagine each as an aspect of the one God, just as every organism making up the Wyrd is an aspect of the one God. You. Me. The deep blue sea.”

  “The word?”

  “Wyrd, not word,” Hope corrected. “Capital double-u, wye, ar, dee. The Wyrd is the core of druid belief. It is the essential pattern of life, the crystalline web that makes up the Universe. Druidry is based on these ancient laws, the natural truths that govern all lives and the web within which we live—the Wyrd.” Waxing philosophical, Hope tucked all four legs and tail under her bulk.