This can’t be happening. I can’t let this happen.
Inside she was screaming and feared that at any moment she’d start to do so out loud.
Irial’s hand came to rest on Neala’s shoulder. Calm seeped from her into Neala, driving back the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. Part of her didn’t want to let go of the panic. It felt as if by letting go of it, she was letting go of Donal.
More than just calm started to fill her, making it hard to fight. A profound sense of belonging snuffed out the panic. Her connection to Irial felt like a physical link that couldn’t be severed. It was more than just Irial though. Neala felt her connection to Liam, and Cian, like cords wrapped around her power, strengthening it, becoming an integral part of it. If she left them she’d never be whole again. The feeling of needing to go with Irial felt pushed upon her, but she couldn’t fight it. She didn’t have the strength.
“We can’t lose ye too Neala,” Irial said.
The agony in her Rector’s voice broke down the last of Neala’s resolve. She couldn’t bring herself to cause her friend any more pain than she had already endured. Besides, if Donal was alive he would be here. Nothing would keep him away, she was sure of that. It felt like her heart had been caught between an anvil and a hammer. There weren’t even pieces of it left; it had been reduced to powder.
When Irial took her hand and led her onto the ship she had no energy left to resist. Once on deck she endured the embraces of her parents and Cian before making her way to the railing. The cool breeze that blew up off the river swept her long hair back and helped her breathe a little easier. It was too warm, everyone was too close, and she was starting to feel trapped.
Though she knew it was hopeless she couldn’t help watching the people moving along the docks and streets. Without the members of her Order touching her, panic was free to wrap itself around her again. She gripped the wooden railing before her so tightly that it creaked in protest. The clinking of the anchor chain being drawn in fed her panic until it filled her. With the panic came an odd clarity. She realized it was so hard and hurt so much because the cord of power wrapped tightest around hers was Donal’s.
Then it hit her; Donal wasn’t dead. If he was, she would have felt it in her power, her being. Then she did feel something; a pull coming from the crowd in the street below. The muscles of her legs bunched in preparation, fed by the power she poured into them.
“Neala no!” Irial yelled.
Feet thundered upon the wooden deck but they would be too late. Neala launched herself over the railing and sailed through the air. The twenty foot drop to the dock was nothing with her power to cushion her landing. If anyone noticed how strange it was that she handled such a drop effortlessly and without injury, she didn’t care. As soon as her feet touched the worn and faded wood she started running. Cries echoed behind her.
“Don’t untie that line!”
“Stop the launch!”
“Woman overboard!”
The voices faded as the crowd swallowed Neala up. She dodged around carts and wove through people, following that pull. Urgency moved her feet faster, guiding her along the docks. It wasn’t so much a fear of the others chasing or stopping her as it was a need to run. Through a gap in the crowd she saw something that was both impossible and yet somehow expected.
Standing before a small cart, the reins of the horse harnessed to it in his hand, was Bren. His face was haunted and haggard but he was alive. The pulse of his power made her think he wasn’t just an illusion caused by her hopeful mind. But could she trust what her destroyed heart told her was real?
Walking alongside the cart, next to the horse, was a tall, broad figure obscured by a hooded cloak. Power with the feel and deep color of the forests of Ireland pulled at her like a rip tide, and it was coming from the cloaked figure.
A powerful relief sucked the strength from her and stopped her in her tracks. Could it really be? Did she even dare hope? Her heart already knew the answer, though. The figure pushed his hood back and Donal’s dark green eyes settled upon her and flew open wide. He ran to her and scooped her up. Even wrapped up in his arms and crushed to his chest, Neala wasn’t sure he was real. He certainly felt real enough, but she could be dreaming. If it were a dream though she was fairly sure he would have smelled better.
She pulled back enough to look at his face. Despite the traces of ash and smears of dirt and blood, he appeared to be the breathtakingly handsome young man who had stolen her heart in a matter of days.
“Is it really ye?” she asked.
“
Tá
, if I were a dream I wouldn’t smell this bad,” he said in his wonderful deep voice, a sound she never thought she’d hear again.
For the first time in days, she laughed. It was definitely him. Only Donal would know exactly what she had been thinking. He cupped her face in his big hands and drew her in for a long, deep kiss that ignited an inferno within her. She couldn’t get enough of the feel of him, the taste of him. It didn’t matter that they were surrounded by people who would no doubt think she was kissing a slave. Let them talk, it mattered not.
“Bren! Ciara!” Cian shouted from somewhere behind them.
The kiss ended with Donal’s hands in Neala’s hair and their bodies pressed close. Sometime in all the commotion Neala realized Ciara and Dierdre were sitting in the horse drawn cart. Pulling back from Donal’s arms made her ache but she did it anyway. She had to see Ciara. As soon as Cian let go of his sister, Neala climbed on board the cart and embraced her.
“I’m so glad ye’re all right,” Neala said. Over Ciara’s shoulder she shot Bren a smile. “And ye too.”
Dark circles made Bren’s eyes look bruised and deep set, but there was a joy in them Neala had never seen before. Something was different about his power too. It was brighter, and filled with the same joy that was in his eyes. Neala realized why. There were touches of Ciara’s power running through his, and traces of his running through hers.
Neala clutched Ciara’s hand tight. “Ye two bonded, that’s wonderful.” Surprisingly, the realization made her very happy. It felt right.
An almost timid smile came over Ciara. “Thank ye,” she said so quietly Neala almost didn’t hear her.
Bren’s shoulders relaxed and his lips almost pulled up into a smile. “Turns out I just needed to relax and let me heart decide. Thank ye,” he mouthed the words.
The lovely pressure of Donal’s power touched Neala a moment before his arms wrapped around her. The intimate feel of his power brushing hers took her breath away and made her wish they were alone.
“Sorry it took so long, but I had to bring them back to ye.”
The sensation of his breath upon her ear made her shiver and sigh as she leaned back against him.
“Thank ye,” she said.
Cian hopped down from the cart and shot them an impatient look. “We’d better go. Liam and Irial won’t be able to hold the ship for long.”
While she had no doubt Irial could indeed hold the ship as long as she wanted, Neala still hurried. The urgency that had been driving her earlier had returned, only it was different now. Her Order was back together and her heart was whole again, she wanted to keep it that way. Despite that, this time getting on the ship was even harder. Her mind was clear of her Rector’s calming influence and she felt the full force of leaving her homeland.
Each step further along the plank left her feeling more and more disconnected. Once aboard, dizziness forced her to grab hold of the railing as everyone greeted Ciara, Donal, Bren and his ma. Not even deep breaths or closing her eyes helped. As soon as Donal let go of her the world began spinning and she couldn’t ground herself. After what felt like forever, her Order had Dierdre and her precious cargo safely on board and came to rejoin Neala at the railing.
The disorienting feeling faded when Donal wrapped his arms around her. He felt so good against her that it almost hurt. A sigh slid from him as he laid his head on her shoulder and pressed his stubbly cheek against her.
“Promise me we’ll never be apart again,” she said.
His arms tightened around her. “Never again.”
The fervent words brought her a profound sense of peace. Their friends gathered close and the disconnected sensation that had swept over Neala when she boarded the ship, faded almost completely away. Together the five of them looked out at their homeland as it receded into the distance. The late afternoon light reflected off the damp stone buildings, giving the town a false sense of cheer and beauty. Now that she knew the true nature of the town’s people, Neala couldn’t think of it as beautiful. Part of her knew she shouldn’t judge them for doing what it took to survive but it wasn’t a part she could embrace right now.
Atop a hill that overlooked the town, stood a lone rider. Though he was too far away to make out, Neala could feel the weight of his gaze. It was Tyr, she was certain of it. Donal’s head lifted from her shoulder and he made a sound deep in his chest like a stifled laugh.
“May yer pockets be heavy and yer heart be light. May good luck pursue ye each mornin’ and night,” he said as he waved at the figure.
“Indeed,” Liam agreed.
The rest of them echoed their agreement and Cian repeated the blessing. Their kindness toward Tyr brought tears to Neala’s eyes. In that moment she knew it wasn’t the land she belonged to, but her Order, her friends and Donal. They would survive leaving the land of their ancestors because they had each other. Would Ireland survive the druids leaving it, though? Neala truly hoped so because someday she was going to come back home.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
There were so many people that held me up through the creation of this novel. This one took a lot out of me because it poured from my soul. Those who supported me throughout its creation deserve so much more than words, but I’m a writer so I will give what I can.
I must thank my husband first who engaged in seemingly endless discussions with me about what life was like in ancient Ireland and who helped me research the time period. There isn’t enough wine and chocolate in the world to thank my beta readers, Christine Fonseca and Linda Gray for all they did for me and Púca. And Karlene Petitt, thank you for reading parts of this novel in its infant stages and encouraging me. Not to be forgotten is my brain storming buddy Larry LaClair. Thank you to my dear friends the Indelibles. They have ever been an endless resource on the publishing process and have held me up at each step of the way. My friends in the blogging community and on Twitter have proven online friends are just as important as in the flesh friends. Their support of this novel even before its release has humbled me.
And thank you my fans, new and old, you are what keeps me inspired.
Other Compass Press novels by Heather McCorkle:
The series about the descendents from To Ride A Puca:
Channeler Series:
Rise of a Rector (coming in October)
Novella:
Keep reading for an excerpt of The Secret of Spruce Knoll.
About the author:
When she’s not writing Heather can be found on the slopes, the hiking trails, or on horseback. As a native Oregonian, she enjoys the outdoors nearly as much as the worlds she creates. No need to travel to the Great Northwest though, you can find Heather on her personal blog where she shares her author’s journey. Currently Heather is working on the final novel in the channeler series, look for it in the fall of 2012!
http://heathermccorkle.blogspot.com
The Secret of Spruce Knoll ~ an excerpt
The bus flew like a rollercoaster through the wooded landscape, flinging Eren toward a new, unwanted life. All too soon it pulled into the bus station of a tiny town on the outskirts of nowhere Colorado. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she and an aunt she’d never met were going to have to drive another hundred miles into nowhere to find the town of Spruce Knoll.
Eren’s stomach turned as she entered the tedious crawl of sweaty bodies exiting the bus. What if her aunt didn’t like her? Or worse, what if she was an unbearable tyrant who was furious that child services had saddled her with an unwanted niece? It was too much. She had to remind herself to breathe.
Clutching her duffle bag a bit tighter, she reminded herself not to overreact.
See the bright side until you’re forced not to
. That’s what her mother always told her. The memory helped slow her breathing and she was able to regain a bit of calm.
Not willing to stand in the press of rank smelling bodies any longer than she had to, she waited until the crowd around the luggage dissipated. When everyone walked away her big blue suitcase was the last one sitting on the sidewalk. Pulling it up onto its wheels, she turned to follow the retreating crowd toward the small bus station. The sight of a woman who could have been her dead mother brought her to a jarring halt and she sucked in a deep breath.
At five foot six, this woman was a bit taller than her mother and slender almost to the point of looking anorexic. Her black hair was cut into a cute bob that framed her round face. At first glance one would assume she was Hispanic, but a closer look revealed a more exotic ancestry that was harder to pinpoint. She was Maya, as was all of Eren’s mother’s family.