Page 20 of Druid Cursed
CHAPTER
After a fierce argument, Kellen yielded to Caedmon’s insistence that they both be weighed down with defenses before investigating Sorcha’s misdeeds at the graveyard.
The multitude of silver charms around his neck to ward against all manners of spirits, imps, and fae bounced in time with his gelding’s rhythmic gallop.
Heavy, protective iron cuffs forged in spells by their ancestors circled his wrists.
He’d even agreed to swallow a nasty potion to shield him from the most powerful witchery.
Allegedly. The foul taste still coated his tongue.
He cast his twin a glare, which Caedmon feigned to ignore, his fingers tight on the reins, his gaze set determinedly ahead.
He suspected the potion Caedmon had imbibed consisted of whiskey and naught else.
Pushing his horse to full speed, Kellen headed for the ley line marking Ravenwood land and the graveyard nearby.
As much as he savored walking, the communion with his bare feet on the ground and in the embrace of trees, the spirit of the land guiding him, he wanted to reach their destination before dark, gauge the extent of Sorcha’s corruption, and assess the damages made to the second ward.
And yet he could not suppress the spark of joy at the wind whipping through his hair and snapping in his cloak, cold on his skin. ’Twas a sense of freedom, of abandon, fleeting but true. He closed his eyes briefly, drinking in the moment, carving it deep into his memory.
Twilight purpled the sky by the time they reached the cemetery. Kellen dismounted and strode with Caedmon through the weathered headstones and cracked statues, searching for signs of the crone’s nefarious doings.
“Ugh. Wicked witches and the stench they leave behind.” Caedmon covered his nose with his arm, using the sleeve of his wool coat as a barrier.
Kellen could not disagree. A sickening-sweet residue lingered on the air, the reek of dark magic and decay.
Withered leaves crunched softly beneath their boots as they passed through monuments to ancestors long dead.
“What would Sorcha want in the Ravenwood Cemetery? Bones of our forefathers would hold no power against us.”
Mayhap ’twas to hide or procure one of the two objects left for Maggie to find, either the rock or the key. Whatever game Sorcha played with her descendant, ’twas not merely for entertainment purposes.
“The sooner we discover her intentions, the better.” Caedmon moved deeper into the rows of gravestones and growing gloom, his features set in concentration.
“She came this way.” Kellen crouched beside a crumbling stone marker, the name faded from age, and he traced the remnants of a footprint in the moss.
A yew had taken root next to the grave, its trunk twisted, bare limbs clawing the sky.
Fitting, for the sacred tree represented the cycle of death and rebirth, everlasting life.
In its branches, a spiderweb glistened and shuddered beneath the desperate struggling of a moth and the hunter scuttling toward its prey.
Life and death, an endless, unforgiving cycle.
“Yeah, I found something, too.” Caedmon had halted at the very center of the graveyard at a stone cross they both knew well, his hands in his trouser pockets, his shoulders stiff.
Their mother’s grave.
Kellen joined him, ignoring the shiver coiling down his back.
A dead raven hung upon the monument. Its wings had been staked to the stone, spread wide in supplication.
Its neck crooked at an impossible angle, broken, and a delicate golden chain wrapped around its throat like a noose.
An acorn-shaped locket lay gently over the raven’s breast, chillingly familiar.
Kellen’s heart thumped a fierce beat. He could number every dainty line, could describe the scratch underneath the clasp made by an iron nail in a boy’s inquisitive fingers.
The pendant had belonged to his mother. She had pressed it into his hand as the druids had dragged him and Caedmon away, struggling and weeping, reaching for her as she smiled from the doorway and assured them all would be well.
’Twas the first time he had detected dishonesty in her.
’Twas the last time he saw her alive.
His hands shaking, Kellen freed the chain from the raven’s neck, twisted the top seven clicks of the acorn pendant, and pressed the stem in. The locket snapped asunder, and he paused before opening it.
“In the first year with the druids,” he rasped, “the memories kept inside this locket were my one source of comfort while apart from you, frightened and alone.”
Caedmon squeezed his shoulder, and even through his cloak, he felt the tremor in his brother’s hand.
“Seeing your face, Mother’s face, was all that gave me hope in the endless nights when the bruises and broken skin made it impossible to slumber, when the days passed in a blur of exhaustion and incessant labor.”
“I know.” Tears sheened bright in Caedmon’s dark eyes. “Why do you think I begged to have it for myself?”
“And you also know I can never deny a sincere request from you. Such a rare occurrence.”
Caedmon barked a laugh, yet his humor faded swiftly. “I wish she had told us the truth.”
“Aye.” Kellen swallowed the lump lodged in his throat.
They had been young men, risen to apprentices, before learning the truth behind their mother’s betrayal—that she had been ailing and believed only the druids could keep her children safe after her death.
Rather than trusting them with the truth or allowing the opportunity to find an alternative, she had sentenced them both to servitude whilst she perished alone.
They would have eventually found their way to the druids regardless, but as voluntary pupils, not bond-slaves for decades.
Only after they had survived the lessons and trials did they learn that the castle they had swept and scrubbed was rightfully theirs, the land their responsibility, their masters not strangers but distant kin.
With a deep breath, Kellen flicked the locket fully open.
Caedmon’s childhood image filled one side, his smile wide and innocent.
Age had faded and smudged the lines, and if he had not known the face belonging to the portrait, he would not have recognized his brother.
On the opposite side, the frame that had once contained his own image with his mother was empty, as if he had been erased from memory.
Gone, like their mother. A chill snaked through his bones, a writhing sense of foreboding.
“How did Sorcha acquire Mother’s locket?” Kellen lifted it to dangle in his brother’s face. The very thought that evil had touched so precious an heirloom set his teeth on edge. “You wore it faithfully after I gave it to you, did you not?”
Caedmon stared at the locket as if it were a viper, his face pale. “I lost it.”
An ugly suspicion wormed into his heart. Caedmon had not divulged the locket was missing. What if, in his absence, his brother had fallen deeper into darkness than he dared believe? Was he keeping secrets from him?
“How, pray tell, did you lose it?” He ran a thumb over the scratched metal of the locket. “Did you not wear it at all times?”
“I did. Always. Faithfully.”
“And yet Sorcha possessed it. Why did you not speak to me of losing it before?”
Caedmon lifted his chin. The slight flare of his nostrils gave his unease away. “I’ve had bigger things on my mind than a lost trinket.”
“Trinket?” Kellen could scarce believe what he heard.
“You begged to keep it, the sole heirloom we have from her. You admitted mere heartbeats ago that you wore it faithfully.” He stepped closer and loomed in his brother’s face.
“It does not take a great deal of imagination to puzzle out the deed. You bedded some strumpet who stole it while you slept. Do not insult me by pretending you did not notice the exact day it went missing or who you were with when it happened. What troubles me most is that it came into Sorcha’s possession. ”
“Obviously, she’s trying to make us doubt each other, brother.
” Caedmon spread his hands, the closest he would come to pleading.
“It’s confirmation that no matter what she says, she’s desperate.
We can’t waste time arguing or figuring out how she got it.
We don’t have much daylight left. Another day nearly gone.
She clearly left this as a distraction, a seed of discord. ”
Kellen rubbed his jaw. His brother spoke true.
Sorcha would go to any lengths to cause distrust between them.
But he liked it not that Caedmon had not confided in him and then feigned as if the locket meant little.
Losing the heirloom may be a small thing compared to other issues they were dealing with now, yet it was still important, deeply personal to them both.
A heaviness settled in his stomach. Whatever dark mysteries Caedmon kept could be saved for later deliberation.
“We will discuss the matter at length… after I am free.” He handed the locket to Caedmon. “Do not lose it again.”
Caedmon quickly slipped it over his head and settled it beneath his shirt, the matter set aside. For now.
“The raven lost its life on my account. ’Tis my duty to bury it.” Kellen gently freed the dead raven from its crucifixion. “Go ahead to the ward stone. I will meet you there in a moment.”
“Big brother knows best.” Caedmon turned away, his mouth tight. Hoofbeats quickly followed, soon fading into silence.