Page 42 of The Rowan's Stone
After putting on my hiking boots, we set off with the cadre and the two dragons following us. According to her, we’re about ten miles away. I offer to open a portal, but she refuses, assuring me it’s best to go in quietly. Good thing we all work out regularly, and I’m doubly glad Daire offered to carry my bag. I glance back at him and grin. He smiles in return.
It’s an absolutely beautiful walk through craggy hills and deep green grass, with the occasional blue loch popping up every couple of miles or so. The air is so crisp and clean, I breathe in deeply every chance I get.
Glynnis is a talker, and the sheer amount of knowledge she’s accumulated is astounding. She tells me stories about how the land used to be filled with MacAllisters and dragons. Equally powerful in their own way, they provided complementary services and protected each other. Few supernaturals dared to cross into the Kingdom of Dragons, which allowed the witches to live in relative peace here for a long time, and with such strong magic users living on their lands, the wars plaguing dragons for much of their history dwindled.
“Do you know what happened that day?” I ask tentatively, not wanting to bring up bad memories or break the peace between us.
She dips her chin in sadness and stares off in the distance. “Aye, it was terrible. I’ve never seen anything like it. First the old king goes mad, killing one of Agnes’ daughters, her granddaughter, Moira, and everyone else in their immediate family. Then, in the middle of the night, magic crossed into our lands, seeking out every last MacAllister witch, including Agnes, and killed them all. The worst part of it was, we didn’t even get a chance to bury them or remember them in any way. There were no bodies, no belongings. The magic erased every trace of them. In that moment, they ceased to exist.”
Valerian had been listening intently. “Wait, why didn’t I know? I never heard a word about the massacre. And who is Agnes? My father killed Moira’s family.”
She gazes up at him. “Most dragons only remember the death of her granddaughter Moira and the rest of the immediate family because your father and his men killed them, not magic. But the witches killed by the magic, almost nobody remembers them. Agnes gave me a charm a long time ago and made me promise to wear it for the rest of my life,” she explains, pulling out a thin leather strap with a medallion on the end of it. “She said it was the only way to remember her. I thought it was a joke, until I realized very few could remember the MacAllisters, and only those given charms, like me.” She studies me. “She knew what was coming, didn’t she?”
“Yes, a seer told her,” I explain, telling her about Gemma and her visions. “It’s why I’m here today, to start piecing together the remnants of the past.”
She stops and points at a nearby tree. “The rowan blooms here all year round. Agnes planted it to help me find the path. She used to say, ‘The Rowan will seek the rowan. All you have to do is show her the way.’ You’ll find a set of steps at the base of the tree which will lead you down into a cave. A spell surrounds the cave and tree. Only a MacAllister can enter until you invite the others. I’m going to sit with my grandsons.” She waves a hand to the two men who have been following us. “They’re fine-looking men, don’t you think? You wouldn’t be single, now would you?”
I hear several grumbles behind me. Ignoring them, I answer, “I thought witches and dragons were taboo?”
“There’s some opposition, it’s true. But you’re not just a witch, are you?” She peers into my bright green eyes. “And if a dragon was lucky enough to find themselves a mate like you, they’d be a damn fool not to claim you. My grandsons are not stupid dragons.”
I laugh, but honestly, I agree. “Thank you. I’m honored, but I’m also taken, sort of.”
She shakes her head. “A woman should know without a shadow of a doubt when she’s no longer single.” Pivoting on her heel, she starts walking toward her grandsons but stops and stares at the cadre. “Damn fools, all of you. Especially you, boy.” She jabs a finger in Valerian’s direction and sighs. “I thought we’d finally landed ourselves a smart king. Guess not.” Her grandsons come over and grab her by the arms, hurrying her away from us.
I laugh at her antics, but I’m the only one. They’re all scowling, except Astor. He seems to be in deep thought. I decide to ignore them.
Walking toward the rowan, I feel the air change when I hit the spell marking the boundary. I take a step back. “Stop here. The spell covers a pretty large area. Glynnis said a MacAllister must enter the cave first, then I can invite you inside. I’ll come back for you guys.”
They protest loudly, but they know it’s the only way. I step over the boundary and head to the base of the tree. When I get within a couple of feet, stairs appear, going down into a dark cave in the ground. Pausing, I create a sphere of witchfire in the palm of one hand, and in the other, I grip my sword. With a deep breath, I descend into the darkness. Cobwebs catch in my hair and on my skin, making me shiver. Blood and gore don’t bother me, but bugs and spiders… I hate them.
When I get to the bottom, a torch sits in a holder by the entrance. I sheathe my sword and use regular fire to light it. Deciding to keep the ball of witchfire, I cautiously make my way forward. About ten feet into the first cave, a second cave appears. Where the first cave was small, dark, and narrow, this cave is significantly larger and taller. I find several torches along the wall, and with magic, I guide the fire from the first torch to the others, lighting them all. My eyes dart from corner to corner, but I don’t see any threats. The air is musty and still, as if it hasn’t been disturbed in a long time. Extinguishing the witchfire, I walk closer to the middle of the room.
The two caves seem natural, as if they’ve stood here since the dawn of time. Agnes didn’t create them, but their location underground, hidden from all, was certainly ideal. Made of dark grey stone, the walls are smooth in places, indicating water ran through here eons ago, but they’ve been dry a long time, based on the amount of dirt on the floor.
The second cave feels more like a chamber. It’s roughly a large circle, with rock benches lining the walls, where I assume witches sat for their ceremonies. Walking to the center, I find a pentagram engraved deeply into the floor, cut from the very rock itself.
You could probably fit thirty or forty witches around the outside of the circle and maybe another ten close to the pentagram. I wonder if there’s a pentagram at Witchwood? I’d bet money on it. I’ll have to ask Henry.
Loud shouts break into my thoughts. Hurrying back up the stairs, I pause at the threshold. “As a MacAllister, I invite the Imperium Cadre to enter.” Buzzing pierces my skin for a second, then the spell clears. I pop up at the base of the tree and wave them over.
When we’re all in the cave, I motion to the next. “There’s a larger ceremonial chamber here, but I haven’t found anything else yet.”
Astor whistles and heads to the back.
I follow. We need a spell to reveal what’s hidden, but which one? I hurry over to Daire. “Do you have my bag?”
He hands it over and I open it, then dig through until I find the parchment.
Holding it up, I cross my fingers, hoping this works because if not, I don’t have any idea what to do next. “Are the MacAllister journals in this location?”
Yes.
“Do you have a reveal spell for the MacAllister journals?”
No.
Frustrated, I blow a hair out of my eyes. “What do I need to do to make the MacAllister journals reveal themselves to me?”
