Awen Rising Read online

  “Think of Life, all life, as Energy with a capital E. As a scientist you understand this, Emily Bridget. Every element vibrates at its own frequency; each rock, leaf, drop of water, puff of wind, lightning sizzle, and creatures large and small. Each has its own unique vibration.”

  Emily nodded.

  “Now imagine the elemental energies of nature and life as a vast, crystalline web that pulsates light—eternally active threads of pure Energy, each also vibrating at a different frequency, creating the patterns of Nature. The patterns of Self. As we change, the web changes, too.”

  “Yes, I get that.” The concept had been proven by science.

  Hope purred, “The web and the ever-changing patterns of its interwoven processes are known as the Wyrd.”

  “Not word?” Emily interrupted. “Like ‘in the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God’?”

  When she was younger, her mother had taken her to Sunday school at whatever Methodist church they happened to be near. Drawn to the teachings, Emily still attended from time to time.

  “Exactly!” Hope stood and circled the rug. “Only again, different spelling. Wyrd with a wye, not oh. The Anglo-Norman derivation of Wyrd means both ‘law’ and ‘earth’.”

  “Ahhh.” Emily was beginning to see where Hope was headed.

  “Because we are an essential component of the Wyrd,” the Elder continued, “druids craft our lives and spells to honor the whole. We are individual, but interwoven, threads. You. Me. Our people.

  “It is imperative that we are responsible for our actions and our craft. Every transformation we make, everything we do, affects the entire web. Which brings us to today’s lesson.”

  “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” Emily pouted, ready to be done.

  “Yes, but this is the lesson part. The first essential law of druid magic is:

  ‘Harm none,

  do as you will,

  for the good of all,

  insofar as you may see.’”

  “Kind of a ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you’?”

  “Exactly. And the more experienced a druid, the more profound the effects she has, and can have, on the crystalline web.”

  “What about the darkness?” Emily pondered. “Is that also part of the web? Or Wyrd? Is the darkness of God?”

  Hope’s mouth stretched wide in a feline smile. “That has been a topic of debate for time immortal, Emily Bridget. The druid belief is—yes. What is dark to us is not to the darkness.

  “Even darkness that has no discernable ‘good’ plays a part in the Wyrd. Things like war, hate, greed, and the like pervert the spirit but are not of the spirit. The Wyrd is composed of the light and the spaces in between. Do you understand?"

  “Yes, I think so,” Emily nodded. “Just as humans are inherently good, so also is that which might appear to be bad.”

  Hope lifted her head and wailed, a long, eerie caterwaul that sent chills up Emily’s spine.

  “What?” she asked. Had she done something wrong?

  Hope bowed. “You, Emily Bridget—and those like you—are the reason the light shall prevail. Why the light shall always prevail. You have a pure heart and can fathom nothing less in others.

  “That belief, that purity, is key. It holds the power to transform and the power to deflect darkness. To disarm it, turn it off. It also has the power to seek out good and turn that on. Awen had this power. Now it has passed to you.”

  Hope’s declaration triggered a sudden, paralyzing fear in Emily. She cowered in the armchair, mind and heart galloping down a frightful path littered with death and destruction. She tucked her knees under her chin.

  “B-but what if I fail? If my past is any indication, I will mess this up. The world will explode and everyone—you, me, my new family—will all die. It’s too much. I can’t do this.”

  In a stern tone, Hope commanded, “Emily, look at me.”

  Underarms clammy, Emily obeyed.

  The Elder’s tone softened, but remained firm. “I am here for you. The druids are here. When the time comes, the Awen will be here. She’ll awaken inside you and then you will be ready. Plus, there are others.”

  Others? What others? Before Emily could ask, the doorbell trilled, followed by three raps, then three more.

  Druid in Training

  A fter the philosophy lesson with Hope, Emily had time to snatch a quick sandwich. Arthur arrived soon after to introduce Emily to divination. The Arch Druid towered over her, with a physique reminiscent of Artaois the bear god, for whom he was aptly named. In contrast, Arthur’s voice was like velvet and he spoke in a calm, even tone that put Emily at ease.

  In spite of her lack of formal training, Emily soon learned that she was fairly adept at rudimentary divination. The hints and prods she got from the Universe, those flashes of intuition that told her to take her raincoat, not to follow a particular route, or leave Venice Beach posthaste, all were signs telling her what to do. Or not do.

  If she attuned to these signs, she could pay heed and choose her actions accordingly. To Emily’s mind, divination was nothing more than intuition and she said so.

  “Exactly,” Arthur cheered. “Intuition equals divination. The magic comes in extending the senses to people and situations unrelated to the diviner’s Self. By placement of intent, you can shape and filter the information you receive. Like channels on an old-fashioned radio or television. You ‘tune-in’ to a question or situation and ask, preferably out loud, “What next? Or what does this mean?”

  “But isn’t that just asking and receiving? Like in prayer?”

  “Exactly!” Arthur’s face shone. Hope sauntered into the library. “Hope, you’re right. She’s a natural. There won’t be much to teach this one, other than technique. And how to manage and direct what she already knows, while applying her skills to a larger arena.”

  Hope’s satisfied purr filled the room.

  **

  Lugh rapped on the door of the carriage house. To his surprise, Arthur opened it, letting himself out. Lugh grinned at his bowling buddy and bumped knuckles with a fist the size of a grizzly’s. Arthur grabbed him up in a bro hug that nearly lifted Lugh off the stoop. Letting go, he waved to the warm interior. “She’s all yours.”

  “If only,” Lugh mumbled, and stepped through the door.

  **

  Emily returned from the bathroom and paused, dazzled by the sight of Lugh MacBrayer standing in her library. Their eyes met and Emily’s brain froze. The room suddenly felt very small. And very warm.

  Thrusting a hand out in greeting, the priest murmured a polite, “How do you do?”

  Emily recovered sufficiently to reciprocate. He took her hand gently, but instead of a warm shake, Lugh deftly flipped her to her derriere without warning or provocation. She landed on the rug with an indelicate thud, grunting in a most unladylike manner. She scrambled to her feet, anticipating another assault, and backed away in defensive posture.

  “No fair!” she grumbled, rubbing her tush. “I wasn’t ready.”

  Whereby, Lugh bowed, a smile playing on amused lips. “There will be no warning from our enemies, Miz Hester.”

  The drawl, while attractive, infuriated Emily. Lunging at her combat teacher with the intent of showing him a thing or two, she ended up on her backside again. For a moment, she sputtered, breath knocked out, then she twisted upright and crouched in a defensive stance, sucking air.

  Nonchalant, Lugh turned his back and held his hands to the fire.

  “That’s it?” she gasped, seeing red. “Is that all you’ve got?”

  “Hardly,” the druid priest glanced over his shoulder. “Just testing your mettle, seeing what you’re made of.”

  “And?” Emily ground through her gritted teeth.

  Lugh turned to face her, dark eyes hard.

  “You’re too soft, Miz Hester. Too trusting.” The eyes narrowed. “If we don’t change that soon, we are all going to die.”

 
But wait. Hadn’t Hope said—?

  Contradiction or not, she had no time to argue. Lugh’s foot slammed into her chest.

  **

  Emily soaked in hot water spiked with Epsom salts and lavender oil, hoping it would calm her jangled nerves. Her muscles ached from the trouncing she had received at the hand of Lugh MacBrayer. Her ego suffered too, despite having excelled at all the rest of her lessons. Emily lathered her shoulders and indulged in a private pity party.

  Turns out, the man she’d been romanticizing was really more pirate than priest. He’d attacked without warning and shown no mercy. Worse, he had declared her too soft, too trusting. Which was doubly confusing, considering Hope had professed Emily’s pure heart as her greatest asset only hours earlier.

  Which was it? Saving grace? Or the world’s downfall?

  She stepped from the tub, exhausted from no sleep and the sheer volume of data thrust upon her that day. She toweled dry, dressed, and stoked the red-room fire. When it crackled and blazed, Emily climbed into bed, damp hair curling around her face.

  Weather Witching

  T he eye pain had eased from rip-roaring to a manageable ache. Shalane nudged the clouds again, intent on seeing San Francisco’s usually-hidden vista. The veil receded and both the Golden Gate and Oakland Bay bridges appeared.

  “Ahhh,” she purred, “there you are.”

  Outside the bay window, morning sun glistened on dew-kissed flowers bobbing in a capricious, offshore breeze. Tiny butterflies like pale moonlight skipped from bloom to bloom. Ruby-throated hummingbirds pillaged gloxinias overflowing the suite’s window box. On the post of a nearby lamp, a multi-hued windsock flapped and danced. Shalane was glad she had insisted on flying to San Francisco instead of making the interminable trip by bus.

  She poured a cup of freshly-brewed coffee and sank into a cushioned settee. She folded her legs in lotus pose and savored the rich brew. Her gaze wandered the still-emerging cityscape. In the distance, Mount Diablo stood guard over the bay, a rare sight for visitors to San Fran. Luckily, Shalane had an in with the weather gods. She sighed all the way to her toes.

  It was at times like these that Shalane most missed her grandmother. A master weather witch, Camille had made learning fun. And special.

  Shoving the memory aside, she considered her new concubine. She was itching to teach Patty a thing or two, but the girl slept like a mummy. Too bad it wasn’t Emily in there in Shalane’s bed. Ten days had passed since news of that one. But who the hell was counting?

  Relinquishing her coffee to the end table, Shalane closed her eyes and breathed in the earthy essence of the city, letting it fill the inner space that longed for her grandmother.

  She grounded for meditation, sending roots into the earth and staying vigilant for signs of danger. Buoyed by a flow of iridescent energy, Shalane relaxed. No frightful apparitions lurked here today. Nothing dared approach Shalane the High Priestess.

  Roots touching Mother Earth, she gently pushed off for the surface, erupting through the brittle outer crust, spirit soaring high into the sky and out through the universe until her tendrils made contact with Divine.

  There, Shalane paused for an ecstatic moment, letting the golden light fill her with love. Then down the cord she descended to her earthly body, bringing the light of heaven back to merge with that of Earth.

  Turning her attention to the pain behind her eye, Shalane examined its texture and quality. Rough and jagged around the edges, the diffuse crystal had needle-like tips, each making Shalane’s life a living hell as the mass rotated through its axis. The crystal throbbed, fueled by a force determined to incapacitate Shalane.

  She dove into the mass and peered out through its surface. Each point was a prism, each prism an alternate reality, mocking Shalane with the brilliant suns of a thousand earths, each growing larger as she hurtled toward them through space and time.

  Shalane’s energy body morphed; she was not human but a gargantuan with wings as long as she was tall and as wide as the sky. She tumbled from the heavens, locked in battle with another like her. Glimpses of knowledge flew past, painful darts that avoided capture.

  Wrenching out of the other’s grasp, Shalane reached for the shiniest, sharpest barb and understanding dawned. The other was Ebby. They were best friends—both mighty creatures of God.

  But dissent had broken out in the heavens. They had quarreled. Chosen sides. Opposite sides. Both believed they served the light. One was deceived. It had to be Ebby.

  A sickening suspicion arose within Shalane as she careened through the void. Was it she who’d chosen wrong?

  Then she was on the settee in the Twin Peaks chalet. Random feelings caromed off others that rebounded and hit home. The alternating bouts of attraction and animosity Shalane felt toward Ebby were not new, but ancient. Shalane was ancient.

  Were they angels? Celestial beings? Come to earth to continue the fight? Shalane’s hand shook as she reached for her cooling coffee. Were they expelled from heaven? Or some planet shattered to smithereens on the last high note of the celestial choir?

  The almost-memory faded. Left behind were the feelings, especially the righteousness Shalane had taken as her shroud. She was God’s warrior, the bespoken of Archangel Michael. She couldn’t be evil. It was Ebby who had chosen incorrectly. Just one more reason her lovely nemesis should be punished.

  Closing her eyes, Shalane reached energetically for Ebby’s Elemental. It was faint but there, swirling in a mist of murky green. She rose from the sofa and hurried outside to face Mount Diablo, ignoring the early-morning passersby.

  Arms in a wide vee, Shalane reached for the sky. Power from the heavens poured down. Her energetic Self grew wider and taller. Grinning maniacally, Shalane shot past the treetops and continued rising, above and beyond the clouds.

  From this vantage point, she looked to the north and spied a weak storm front. She gathered it between her massive hands and swirled it with the Elemental into the shape of a cyclone.

  Spinning three times, Shalane released the whirling dervish, hurling it like a bowling ball down the alley for a strike, then stood to admire her handiwork. The tempest skimmed the mountains outside Vegas and tumbled across the country toward Atlanta, gathering strength as it skipped along its drunken course.

  Not satisfied yet, Shalane crossed the continent in one long stride. She reached into the Gulf of Mexico to fan the air, then watched with delight as the wind gathered upon itself. When it drew enough moisture and energy from the equator-warmed waters, she flung the second Elemental toward Ebby.

  Cackling with glee, Shalane rubbed her hands together. Combined, the two storms would pack one hell of a punch.

  **

  A ding interrupted Nergal’s scrutiny of Shalane Carpenter’s recordings. Across the screen scrolled the data he had requested on Ebby Panera.

  Born in Pasadena, California to mother Alexis Brown Cabot and father Jonah Cobb Cabot in June of 2012. Mother divorced father and moved repeatedly with daughter, changing names over the years. Both parents deceased, no siblings. The Panera woman’s last known address, Five-Eleven Ocean Blvd, Orange, California.

  Nergal tapped the keyboard, sifting through the sparse ancillary information. Ebby Panera had worked for the U.S. Disaster Recovery Agency until her discharge last year. No information was available on her past that date.

  Not satisfied, Nergal instructed the computer to dig deeper.

  Answers in the Wind

  E mily exited the house at a trot, anxious to escape the interminable lessons. Halfway down the block, she realized her brain was busy categorizing information from the last two weeks and had to chuckle. Her brain must do what her brain must do, even when she aimed to derail its machinations.

  Determined to quiet the whizzing processor, she increased her pace and focused on the late-afternoon ambiance of Druid Hills. An abundance of rain had graced the south since Emily’s arrival. With the advent of warmer weather, the landscape had transformed in a prodigious displ
ay of greenery and flowers.

  Catching a delightful scent, she spied a patch of wild azaleas blooming at the edge of a wooded lot. On her first encounter with the native shrub, Emily had mistaken the frilly flowers for honeysuckle. Their delicious aroma enveloped her for a moment, prompting a grin that sent endorphins all the way to her toes. She had to admit—spring in Atlanta was utterly enchanting.

  A raven croaked in a nearby pine reminding Emily of her first night in Georgia. Many times she had retraced her steps in daylight hours, but she’d never come across the ramshackle houses or the grove with the shimmering fountain.

  She had become intimate with the parks outlining the fifteen hundred acres of Druid Hills. Designed by Frederick Law Olmsted and his progeny in the early twentieth century, the series of linear parks threaded through several neighborhoods and boasted shrubs and flowers native to the South.

  Old-growth oak interspersed with birch, beech and elm trees formed a tender green canopy over slender streets. Driveways threaded behind late-Victorian homes and bungalows carved into the rambling, ofttimes steep, hillsides.

  Lavender thrift tumbled over terraced rock walls. Even the added landscaping was mostly native. But what were their names and healing properties?

  “Animals, plants, and trees, oh my!” Emily groaned out loud.

  So much to learn and so little time. Wondering again whether she was up to the task, Emily bounded up the trail skimming Deepdene Park and fought the urge to make like a tree and leave.

  Make like a tree and leave? She stopped in her tracks. That was something her mother would say. Well, to hell with that. And all of her mother’s clichés. Trees also grow roots.

  She was staying in Druid Hills with the Hester family. Her family. So, what if they were slightly demented? Emily fit right in. They might want her to save the world, but at least they believed in her.