Age of Druids by India Drummond

person once known as the Father of the Sky. Still, Rory didn’t trust him. Truth be told, he didn’t trust much of anyone these days.
     
    Placing his palm onto the carved pedestal, he called on his water magic, letting a pool form around his fingers in the hand-shaped indentation. Only druids could open this gate because only they possessed the power to make the sacrifice required. Rory didn’t understand how druid magic was different from fae magic, except that where faeries used magical flows, druids created and stimulated the power.
     
    He turned to Sheng. “Ready?”
     
    “Absolutely,” the Aussie druid replied. His brown eyes gleamed with anticipation. Sheng was the newest member of the Druid Hall, having only been with them a couple of months. He’d learned faster than any of them had, and he worked tirelessly. Rory was surprised he’d agreed to leave his current projects at Ceòthan, but Sheng said he didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to meet one of the original twelve draoidh.
     
    Flùranach entered the garden just as Rory had begun considering whether to leave without her. He wouldn’t, of course, but he indulged the thought anyway. “Sorry I’m late, my lord druids,” she said, lowering her eyes. He sensed in their half-formed bond that she expected to be reprimanded. She seemed to want him to scold her. All this time, and he didn’t understand her one bit.
     
    Rory turned to the gate. “Let’s go,” he said. With a nod to the Mistwatcher on guard, Rory stepped through. Sheng soon followed, and Flùranach came last. The transition was effortless, unlike journeys through their early attempts at gates. He did, however, require a moment to orient to the new surroundings.
     
    They’d arrived in a ruin of a city. Rory didn’t know what he’d expected: a forest, a desert, maybe some desolate wilderness, but not this. Grass was interrupted by patches of cobble. The spot where they stood had clearly once been a wide road. The shimmering image of the Mistgate stood and would remain open for a few minutes until Aaron came to shift the runes back to the original destination. Light gleamed from the reflected image of the gate, casting shadows over crumbling pillars and into darkened rooms on either side of the street. Vines and weeds covered many entrances and animals rustled. A cacophony of birds shouted at them from atop a nearby collapsed roof, then they all took flight at once.
     
    Sheng’s hand went to one of the talismans he wore around his neck. Rory wondered what good he thought they’d do. Neither of them knew how to delve into Flùranach’s magic the way Munro could. Without that ability, they were little more than human.
     
    The large moon shone blue over the rooftops, casting long shadows across the road. The place seemed strangely alive for a city so obviously abandoned. Rory turned to Flùranach. “Do you sense druids nearby? Or fae?” She had the useful talent of being able to detect druids, even those with dormant abilities.
     
    She nodded and pointed east, toward the rising moon. “He’s powerful,” she whispered. “His presence shines with the strength of many.” Rory didn’t sigh, but he wanted to. The fae all bought into the idea that the so-called Father of the Sky was a god. Until recently, they’d had no idea he was one of the original human druids, called draoidh, sorcerers in the fae tongue. Over centuries and millennia, the truth distorted. No matter that the reality of his origins had been revealed, the reverence was too deeply ingrained.
     
    “Let’s go,” Rory said. They followed the wide path between the buildings, which could hardly be called a road anymore, occasionally stepping around a tree growing through the remaining cobbles. He shivered, sensing eyes watching him. The creatures that had reclaimed this city would be unaccustomed to invaders in their home.
     
    The road darkened when the Mistgate disappeared behind them. Rory steeled himself.