Page 21 of Druid Cursed

Cradling the raven in one hand, Kellen strode to the edge of the cemetery, where no grave yet existed.

He knelt on a patch of new grass and settled the bird beside him.

With his fingers, he delved into the tender ground and released a trickle of magic.

A fluttering of wings, faint and weak, revealed the lingering presence of the bird’s spirit, cruelly tethered by Sorcha’s spell.

The soil sighed as it opened up, welcoming the offering, a cold, hungry nip on his living flesh.

An earthworm wriggled away at the intrusion, seeking the darkness, the air unexpected.

With the hole dug, Kellen collected four pebbles and a single, orange leaf and returned to the raven. Gently, he placed the broken bird into the ground and arranged the pebbles one by one around the grave.

“For sky and earth, water and fire.” He took a handful of earth and let it sift through his fingers to the black feathers below.

“With this soil do I release thee from thy fleshly bonds. Fly unfettered to the otherworld, mo chara . Know your sacrifice is not in vain.” Once the hole was filled, he carefully set the leaf on the center of the grave and retracted his magic.

A silence fell, of relief, of thanks and peace. The bird was free.

When Kellen stood and wiped the soil from his hands, a scatter of raindrops fell.

He lifted his face to the heavens as he turned from the new grave toward the exit, reveling in the wetness on his skin.

How he had missed the rhythm of rain on the leaves and roof, the way mist curled along the ground and grass glistened afterward, the fresh, clean scent.

He swiped a sleeve across his wet jaw, then slipped through the iron arch of the cemetery entrance and reached for the reins of his patiently waiting horse. Before he could mount, the small hairs on his nape lifted. A residue drifted on the breeze like smoke from a distant fire, laced with power.

A spell.

His horse suddenly reared, jerking the reins from his grip. The gelding spun on its haunches, the whites of its eyes gleaming, wild with fear, then surged away, kicking up clods of earth, headed for the forest.

Kellen’s back prickled, and he whirled—straight into a sparkling cloud of dust. ’Twas far too late to avoid breathing it in. His limbs stiffened, useless. All the silver, potions, and iron, tokens that should have been more than adequate protection, proved utterly ineffective.

The dust cleared, and his heart thundered. While he only recognized Wendy from Caedmon’s enchanted screen, Sorcha’s evil smile etched into her visage was sickeningly familiar. No degree of youth or beauty could hide so wicked an old soul. “Enjoy your freedom, for it shall be your last taste.”

All the words he wished to spew remained trapped, silenced by her spell. As he trembled beneath the helpless rage boiling in his veins, she stepped close. Her unwholesome scent, of ash and bones, engulfed him like poison vapors.

“This Samhain, I come to husk Ravenwood of its life and quicken its decay. Long have I watched and waited for the coming hour, when the new moon aligns with the diminished veil and your final escape from my curse.” She met his gaze, and the unholy power glowing in her eyes drove needles into his skull.

“And the appearance of your fated love. Chuid den tsaol .”

The sacred words from Sorcha’s lips struck him like a blow.

At the mere hint of Maggie, fear rippled through him.

The metal cuffs at his wrists heated, the engraved spells flaming silver-blue.

Around his neck, the leather cord burned like steel straight from the forge.

Her energy should not be capable of reversing the spells of his forefathers, destroying his wards, rendering Caedmon’s concoction in his bloodstream useless.

The intensity of her spell vibrated in the earth beneath his boots and sent electrical shocks in his bones.

Somehow, she had twisted the stolen power and channeled it through the ley line to herself. Despite the ice in his soul, perspiration trickled down his back like spilled blood.

Through Wendy’s eyes, Sorcha glanced at the cuffs with a small smile. “No shields, no spells, no druid trickery can stop me.”

The ancient iron on his right wrist crumbled, followed by the second cuff. His skin crawled, as if insects scuttled along his limbs, seeking an entrance into his flesh, yet he refused to look away, unwilling to surrender the sole weapon he had.

“This Samhain, I come for more than your soul.” She dragged an icy fingertip over his throat, searing his skin, and reached into her cloak pocket. “I come for all that is Ravenwood. The land. The bloodline. Every living thing will be mine.”

No… She would destroy the natural balance. And his brother—

Sorcha blew a powder stinking of sulfur at his face.

Kellen’s knees collapsed, and despite his years of trials and druid training, darkness stole his senses before he hit the grass wet with new rain.