Page 203 of A Winding Wave of Magic
She looked around, like she thought someone might be watching, then grabbed my wrist.
Jonathan lunged forward with a snarl, pulling me out of reach and tucking me behind his back. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. In fact, everyone froze, except me and him.
It was only for a second or two.
But enough to feel the power emanating from him and into me.
Just as quickly, the world returned to normal.
Rachel smiled, and the sun peeked out from behind a cloud. “I was wondering when you’d start protecting your mate.” Then she turned back to me. “If I translate this for you, you must promise me something else.”
Careful, Jonathan said.She’s sweet, but she doesn’t take promises lightly.
In spite of Jonathan’s grip, I leaned closer. “Of course.”
“You will remember usall,” she said. “You will set the balance right.”
I gulped and stood up straight. Around us, the wind had picked up, whistling around the tomb’s front, like the dead themselves had gathered to hear my answer.
“I’ll try my best,” I said. “I’ll do what I can.”
“I suppose that’s all any of us can say.” Rachel stepped back and crossed her arms, and when she opened her mouth again, it was with poetry I’d never heard but knew in my soul just the same.
Nuair a thig an gaoithchear abhaile,
A draíocht iomlán arís,
Uisce rachaidh saor,
Gach ainmhí feicfidh,
Agus dóchas filleann an beatha ó bhás.
When the priestess returns home
Her magic whole again
Water will run free
All creatures will see
And hope will return life from death.
The Secret, translated. What it meant was a different questions altogether.
56
THE BRIGANTIAN
“When the language of its cradle goes, itself craves a tomb.”
— THOMAS DAVIS, “OUR NATIONAL LANGUAGE”
The Brigantian Academy was hidden in the depths of Northumberland, in an area that should have been less than an hour from Newcastle upon Tyne, but somehow took three to reach by yet another hired car.
Our interlude with Rachel Cardy had been weighing on me for the rest of the journey, on the flight from Dublin, through the car hire line, and then in the backseat of another Fiat while Robbie and Jonathan discussed my interview in the front.
“Callum’s the softest of the bunch,” Robbie reminded me for the fourth time. “And he missed Penny when she left. I think he’ll be on your side. But Miriam is a harder nut to crack, and Nsalu even harder.”
