Page 24 of Highland Warlord
The flames that had weakened it were extinguished by the tumultuous downpour as lightening illuminated three figures in the arched doorway.
The Wyrd Sisters.
They manifest as maiden, mother, and crone, a blasphemy of the sacred Goddess from whom they drew their power and then twisted it into something dark and self-serving.
They, too, were chanting as they slinked in oily progression toward Malcolm and Morgana. Their language was older, their spells more ancient, yet so far, their powers clashed against the Moray Druids like the waves against a cliff.
“Give us what is ours,” Badb, the crone, lifted a gnarly finger from beneath black robes, indicating the Grimoire. At her gesture, the book slammed open, its pages flipping in the wind with startling speed before landing onto the most dangerous ritual in history.
The Curse of Four:The seven seals.
The ritual that would bring about the Apocalypse.
“Nay,” Morgana yelled. “It wasneveryours. It will neverbeyours.”
The girl stepped forward, more than a child, not yet a woman.Nemain. Her angelic face and golden hair made all the more horrifying by the sacrosanct lust in her eyes as she stared at the book. “The Grimoire belonged touscenturies before it came into the hands of you Highland Picts,” she informed them condescendingly.
Macha advanced, her body sheathed in a form-fitting gown made of all curves and womanly seduction. “We are the Moray’s of Eyre, and it is our right to enact the Curse of Four and awaken the Horsemen.”
“Why?” Morgana demanded. “Why would you do such a thing? Why end the earth upon which you live?”
“With destruction comes rebirth.” The crone said cryptically, and a chill of terror kissed Morgana’s spine at the vacant darkness in her silvery eyes. “With rebirth comes a realignment of power.”
“It isnotyer right,” Malcolm insisted, never breaking contact with Morgana. “It is not the time. The earth is not done with her cycle. This I know, she has told me.”
“It is not only our right, it is our destiny!” Nemain drew fire from the inferno in the fireplace and snaked it toward Malcolm, igniting his robes.
Morgana broke the contact of their hands to reach out to the rain, drawing the deluge toward them and drenching her brother until only steam rose from his scorched and tattered robes.
“Fool!” Badb pushed the girl, Nemain, behind her. “The prophecy says there has to be four Druids. Four Elements. We needhim.”
Macha, the mother, stepped forward and thrust her hand toward Morgana. A dread stole through Morgana’s veins, as did the woman’s dark water magic. Her blood was no longer hers. It belonged to the evil woman with mirroring powers. Macha froze her in place, slowed the flow of her life until she could barely stand. Barely breathe.
Malcolm drew a heavy stone from the ground and hurled it, but the crone knocked it away in a powerful gust of wind. “Try that again,KingMalcolm, and we’ll stop your dear sister’s heart forever.” Badb approached Malcom, her rheumy eyes glowing with malevolence. “You see, she is expendable. We have our own Water Druid.” She motioned to Macha. “And we have fire and air. What we’re missing… is Earth.”
“Ye know I willna perform the ritual.” Malcom’s voice was cold as the stones beneath them.
“Not even for her?” Badb drew a long, jagged fingernail across Morgana’s throat.
Malcolm’s gaze locked with hers, and Morgana put all her words into her eyes.Don’t you dare,they screamed at him.Just let them kill me.
“Youknowhow persuasive we can be.” The old woman cackled as Malcolm’s face drained of color, but he stood his ground.
“Never,” he vowed, in a voice so dark, Morgana didn’t even recognize it.
“That remains to be seen.” The crone turned from him. “But for now we need the book.”
“And men in hell need water.”
“If you do not give…” Macha put her other elegant hand out, and Morgana fell to her knees. “We will take.”
For the first time in her life, Morgana wished she could feel her heart pound with terror. Wished that she could sense the blood surge through her and heat her skin in a flush of emotion and pain. For now, facing the end, she could feel none of those things. It was as though her life slowed to a trickle. She could feel her heart struggling to find its fuel, her lungs trying to force oxygen into the almost non-existent flow. Muscle and tissue screamed for want of it. She was shriveling up from the inside. She knew she should be worried about the Grimoire. Knew she should be mourning for an earth that might never be if they failed. But all she could think about was how she’d never get to tell Bael the one thing he needed to hear before the end.
That he was worthy. That he was accepted. That he could be loved, if he’d allow it.
And now it was too late.
Chapter 12
