Ravenheart

Melissa Johnson

Description

Ravens change into dragons, and unicorns roam the woods. Humans battle magical beings and Bernie is the only hope the humans have.
Bernadette is suddenly swept up into Cullan’s plans. His goal is to put together a fighting force to challange the queen. Bernie is on the move with a small group of warriers, Druids, men and Slig, who are relying on her and the special magic she has to win the first battle and ultimately the war. But the queen is gathering a force of fighters such as haven’t been seen in Scotland for hundreds of years, the Fianna, warriors with godlike strength who have been in the underworld for centuries, and Bernie has never been in a war, much less as a warrior.

Sujets

• Martial Arts
• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Magic: el encuentro
• Medieval Scotland
• Magic
• Fiction
• Action
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Balboa Press
• Date de parution: 24 octobre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9798765235560
• Langue: English

Extrait

RAVENHEART
BOOK II






MELISSA JOHNSON










Copyright © 2022 Melissa Johnson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.



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ISBN: 979-8-7652-3555-3 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-7652-3557-7 (hc)
ISBN: 979-8-7652-3556-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018910849

Balboa Press rev. date: 10/18/2022



CONTENTS
Chapter 1 A Message
Chapter 2 Wu
Chapter 3 Siege
Chapter 4 Plans
Chapter 5 Dragon Flies
Chapter 6 Battle Engaged
Chapter 7 Feast
Chapter 8 The Castle
Chapter 9 Deserters?
Chapter 10 A Teaching
Chapter 11 Fighting
Chapter 12 Barrow
Chapter 13 The King
Chapter 14 Out And Away
Chapter 15 Away
Chapter 16 Dream Place
Chapter 17 Plans
Chapter 18 Piskies
Chapter 19 King’s Man
Chapter 20 A Dark Night
Chapter 21 On The Water
Chapter 22 Ride To Glasgow
Chapter 23 Glasgow
Chapter 24 Trodaiche
Chapter 25 Malcolm
Chapter 26 To Battle
Chapter 27 Fiach’s Tale



1
A MESSAGE
I t was a fine, clear day; we kept to the forest rather than the heavily traveled road from Edinburgh. I rode with nine men. Four of the race, we called Sidhe but who called themselves Slig Maith. One of these was their leader, Cullan. They were the remnants of our ancient gods and possessed powers that, so far, I was not totally knowin’ of. They used them sparingly or to antagonize their human neighbors. They could come and go in our realm, but we could not come and go in theirs. Ru, who looked like Cullan, was lanky and tall with black wavy hair and a dark sunburned complexion. Halvar and Mick were not unlike the other two but shorter and stockier.
There were three Scotsmen, led by their clan chieftain, Faolan, the only one with bright red hair, and two brothers, Brian and Niall. Then there were the Druids. I had ne’er seen such men. They were covered in blue-black skin paintings so that Dragan had the face of a snake and Bran had a raven face. It did take some gettin’ used to. Their scalps were also painted, but black hair was returning, and now the paint was harder to see.
We did not want to create a scene to be talked about by the villagers along the way. So we kept to the woods and rode through the tangled tree branches, fallen trees, and shrubs of the ancient forest. The thick green moss covering the ground hid holes and rotting fallen limbs, creating slow-going for the horses—even the magical horses ridden by the four Slig Maith and myself.
These horses had partnered with the Slig Maith long ago; they were related to the Kelpie, the meat-eating water horses that sometimes plague the edges of a lake, enticing children or adults to ride. Their favorite food was human flesh. The horses we rode had discontinued murdering in some ancient time. Mine had been given to me by the queen of the Slig Maith. He was so big I had yet to learn how to get up on him, but once I was on, I would not fall off. Our connection was very close. His name was Ciaran.
We were riding toward the Isle of Bute and the Castle Rothesay. Cullan believed the castle to be safe by virtue of a small number of his men having infiltrated the garrison there. The plans of the Seeley Court, led by the queen, who was Cullan’s mother, were to wage war against the inferior race, the humans. It was her plan to rid the world of all humans and create a paradise for the Slig as they once must have had. Cullan was gathering his own forces on the side of humans, arguing that both races were necessary for the balance of nature.
Then there was myself, a seventeen-year-old witch, as the men would call me. I did not consider myself a witch. I learned my skill from a traveler from Ming, a country I had no idea existed until he educated me about the world. His name was Liu Shen; it’s a long story.
Just before the sun dropped, we made camp. It would be a short ride into the wee village of Wemyss the next day. For some reason, the men chose a large depression in the ground, almost like a small pond. I suppose because no trees had fallen there and the mossy floor was free of obstacles and obstructions. It did look inviting. The forest was all around us, and the moss grew in weird shapes up the sides of the trees and over buried dead wood and rocks, making just about everything green. The sound of the breeze through the tree branches high overhead made me wonder about the whispering I was hearing. It swirled from tree to tree, all around us. I did not like it.
There was something wrong. It was nothing I could see. None of the Slig, with their elvish senses, seemed to have any issue. They moved about normally setting up their camp. Niall and Faolan went off on foot to hunt for dinner, and the others busied themselves as was their habit. I found myself wandering in and out of the strange hollow space. I went out into the woods, but there was nothing I could grasp on to that was dangerous. I saw no suspicious item or feature, and with no call to take care from the others, I walked further out into the woods. The sound of the wind grew louder and created the image of curious little people peering around every tree.
Ciaran called into my mind, “All is well for ye?”
I did not see him. His blackness matched the creeping darkness of shadow in the ancient forest despite his large horse-shaped body.
“Aye,” I answered. “But I fear something and do not know what.”
“’Tis the banshee wind,” he said. “I am on guard.”
“As well am I,” I replied.
After our day of solid riding, we had grown inseparable. Our minds were like one mind.
As I continued to walk over the soft mossy green, a great tiredness began to engulf me, and I struggled against it. My eyes tried to close of themselves, and my arms hung from my shoulders like heavy branches. My shoulders drooped, my back bowed, and my knees buckled. I collapsed into a heap under an ancient yew tree. Its peculiar bark caught my attention as I fell. A strange and uncommon tree to find in a wild wood, I thought briefly. The earthy, fresh smell of old oak and hazel and the growing green floor of the ground penetrated my senses. A subtle smell of putrid decay mingled in my mind. The magic of the yew tree seeped into my skin; I was unable to move. But it was not an unpleasant feeling. I was becoming the ground that I lie upon. I felt so heavy and solid. I sunk into the moss as if it were a feather bed until I was mostly submerged; only my eyes could move. I looked out onto nothing but green through half-closed eyes, which, slowly and gently, closed themselves.
I wasn’t becoming the ground; I was being absorbed into it. Strangely, I was not afraid. My limbs would not move. My mouth could form no words. I tried to make a simple sound, but no air would release from my throat. I seemed to be breathing, but I could not move. I was in a dream. I became the soft green moss. I thought to reach out for Ciaran with my mind, but I could not raise the ambition to do it. What is wrong with me?
I gently sunk, closing my eyes and ears into sleep or something similar. I was aware of myself as moss, with its small inhabitants and its wee movements, seeking nourishment and growth. I had not a care. No desire, no issue to concern me. No memory of my comrades or my purpose.
Until, with a thud, I landed on a hardened floor. I lay there like a fawn hiding in the grass. I felt my distinct self again, but my eyes were blind or covered. All was the deepest black. The dark was so thick, nothing penetrated it. I had no sense of a beginning or an end.
I was struggling to stay calm. Maybe I was dreaming? Was I dead and had gone to hell? Or had my eyes been left behind at the yew tree? My breath began to come quickly, and I wanted to scream. With some effort, I tried to calm my thoughts. I made slow movements and discovered that there was a floor. I raked my fingers across it. It was either hard-packed earth or very dirty. The movement helped. The place had a musty aroma as if it had been sealed from outside air for a long time. It smelled of soil and roots, and the familiar yew odor of death mingled with the dust.
I reached out my hand, encountering nothing. I lay on my back and reached up, nothing again. And there was nothing b