Did we say anything?”
“Nothing that made sense. I thought I heard what will be, must be or something of the like, but I’m not certain of it.”
Meaghan pondered that, as perplexed as Colleen seemed to be by the vision and its message.
“How long ago did this happen, Colleen?”
“A few days.”
“And why do you think . . . what does it mean?”
Colleen was silent for a long moment and then she said, “Saraid, she told me that the Book of Fennore had been found—found and opened. I didn’t believe her. The Book of Fennore is a legend. A myth.”
A myth like Ruairi of Fennore, Meaghan thought, swallowing a bubble of hysteria. Once Meaghan had considered the Book of Fennore a myth as well. The half-known bits and pieces of its history had drawn Meaghan’s curiosity for as long as she could remember. Like a dark fairy tale, the legend told of an evil Book that imprisoned a powerful entity, a twisted genie in the bottle who promised dreams and delivered doom.
Her mother’s first husband, Cathán, had been obsessed with finding it, convinced he could bend the entity inside it to his will. Instead—like Meaghan’s half brother—he’d vanished from the cavern beneath the castle ruins never to be seen by the good folk of Ballyfionúir again.
But Meaghan had seen Cathán again—when she’d found the Book of Fennore, he’d been there. She’d felt the terrible power of the Book and cowered before the entity that controlled it, wondering how anyone could be foolish enough to think they could manipulate such a great and terrible thing. Then she’d realized that Cathán had become one with that twisted power, an integral part of the evil that oozed from the Book’s ancient covers and blew in the breeze created by its fanning pages.
“The Book exists,” Meaghan said, remembering the cold light that had glittered in Cathán MacGrath’s eyes. “I’ve seen it. It is everything the legend claims it to be, only worse.”
“You’ve seen it?” she said with a wry smile. “And do you have visions as well?”
Meaghan shook her head and Colleen’s eyes widened at the implication of that. If Meaghan hadn’t seen it in a vision, then she’d seen it in reality.
“You’ve seen the Book of Fennore,” she repeated. “And where, might I ask, were you when this happened—No, never mind, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. But I suppose next you’ll say there’s an evil Druid afoot, too?”
Meaghan shook her head. “Did Saraid tell you there was . . . an evil Druid?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have made it up, would I? She said this Druid was the Book’s master and now he’s free. So tell me. Is it true?”
A shudder went through Meaghan at the idea that it might be true. “I don’t think so, but I only just got here. I don’t know. Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” With a snort of disgust, Colleen thrust Niall in Meaghan’s arms. “Hold the wee lad, will you now?”
As the weight of the baby who would one day grow up and become her father settled against Meaghan, she felt as if she’d splintered into a thousand pieces. She’d begun to hope that she might be able to deal with the shifting planes that had become her life, but all it took was this—the cooing infant in her arms—to send her into a wild tailspin. There was only so much one person could take, and Meaghan feared her threshold had been reached about the time she’d awakened in the cavern and seen Áedán staring at her with that complex and frightening look in his eyes. Holding her infant father in her arms breached it completely.
Unaware of Meaghan’s distress, Colleen dug into the pocket of her ugly brown dress and pulled something out. She held it in her closed fist for a long moment, as if unsure whether or not she meant to show it. Meaghan felt dread fill her in a chilled wash. Whatever it was that Colleen held, Meaghan didn’t want it. She didn’t even want to see it.
But she couldn’t bring herself to turn away. It
“Nothing that made sense. I thought I heard what will be, must be or something of the like, but I’m not certain of it.”
Meaghan pondered that, as perplexed as Colleen seemed to be by the vision and its message.
“How long ago did this happen, Colleen?”
“A few days.”
“And why do you think . . . what does it mean?”
Colleen was silent for a long moment and then she said, “Saraid, she told me that the Book of Fennore had been found—found and opened. I didn’t believe her. The Book of Fennore is a legend. A myth.”
A myth like Ruairi of Fennore, Meaghan thought, swallowing a bubble of hysteria. Once Meaghan had considered the Book of Fennore a myth as well. The half-known bits and pieces of its history had drawn Meaghan’s curiosity for as long as she could remember. Like a dark fairy tale, the legend told of an evil Book that imprisoned a powerful entity, a twisted genie in the bottle who promised dreams and delivered doom.
Her mother’s first husband, Cathán, had been obsessed with finding it, convinced he could bend the entity inside it to his will. Instead—like Meaghan’s half brother—he’d vanished from the cavern beneath the castle ruins never to be seen by the good folk of Ballyfionúir again.
But Meaghan had seen Cathán again—when she’d found the Book of Fennore, he’d been there. She’d felt the terrible power of the Book and cowered before the entity that controlled it, wondering how anyone could be foolish enough to think they could manipulate such a great and terrible thing. Then she’d realized that Cathán had become one with that twisted power, an integral part of the evil that oozed from the Book’s ancient covers and blew in the breeze created by its fanning pages.
“The Book exists,” Meaghan said, remembering the cold light that had glittered in Cathán MacGrath’s eyes. “I’ve seen it. It is everything the legend claims it to be, only worse.”
“You’ve seen it?” she said with a wry smile. “And do you have visions as well?”
Meaghan shook her head and Colleen’s eyes widened at the implication of that. If Meaghan hadn’t seen it in a vision, then she’d seen it in reality.
“You’ve seen the Book of Fennore,” she repeated. “And where, might I ask, were you when this happened—No, never mind, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. But I suppose next you’ll say there’s an evil Druid afoot, too?”
Meaghan shook her head. “Did Saraid tell you there was . . . an evil Druid?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have made it up, would I? She said this Druid was the Book’s master and now he’s free. So tell me. Is it true?”
A shudder went through Meaghan at the idea that it might be true. “I don’t think so, but I only just got here. I don’t know. Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” With a snort of disgust, Colleen thrust Niall in Meaghan’s arms. “Hold the wee lad, will you now?”
As the weight of the baby who would one day grow up and become her father settled against Meaghan, she felt as if she’d splintered into a thousand pieces. She’d begun to hope that she might be able to deal with the shifting planes that had become her life, but all it took was this—the cooing infant in her arms—to send her into a wild tailspin. There was only so much one person could take, and Meaghan feared her threshold had been reached about the time she’d awakened in the cavern and seen Áedán staring at her with that complex and frightening look in his eyes. Holding her infant father in her arms breached it completely.
Unaware of Meaghan’s distress, Colleen dug into the pocket of her ugly brown dress and pulled something out. She held it in her closed fist for a long moment, as if unsure whether or not she meant to show it. Meaghan felt dread fill her in a chilled wash. Whatever it was that Colleen held, Meaghan didn’t want it. She didn’t even want to see it.
But she couldn’t bring herself to turn away. It
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