Prologue

     Coira woke in darkness, the salty taste of blood coating her mouth.  The pungent smells of must and copper, of damp earth and blood filled her nostrils as her breathing bubbled forth wet, rattling. Blinded by darkness, her movements weak, she touched the side of her prison following the flat contour of the rough stone with her fingertips.  Her bare feet pressed against the other side of the small chamber.  A stone box held her captive.  

     Thoughts of Kieran, her husband, came instantly to mind.  He would already be searching for her and what then?  Would they harm him to end his inquiries?  Would they imprison him to silence his accusations?   Concern for him cleared the dullness from her mind and her hands once again searched the stones for some small opening. 

    A dull pulse of sound rose outside.  She strained to identify the low musical rhythm. Voices—Voices raised in a chant she could not define.  She had to be close to the stones.    

    Closing her eyes against the distracting darkness, she focused, reaching out to those around her.   She encountered coldness, slimy and repulsive, the very evil that had entrapped her.     

      She felt disoriented, unbalanced, and saw beneath her a dark hungry void reach up to suck her down.   She jerked back breaking the tie between her and the priest. Drawing in a sharp breath she was racked by a fit of coughing.  Pain ripped through her so terrible she could do nothing but curl tightly in on herself and ride its crest.

Afterwards, her meager strength spent, spitting blood, she faced the realization that she was dying.  The thought brought a momentary rush of fear that eased almost instantly into acceptance.  There was no death.  She would live again.  The Druid faith expected it, accepted it, and she knew in her heart that it was true.

She thought of Kieran.  Regret tore through her as painful as the coughing.  She didn’t want to leave him.  He was her heart, her lover, her husband, everything.  Tears flowed hot and wet down her face.  

The rising force from the ground beneath her throbbed an increasing beat.  Coira knew the worshippers would be stomping in beat to the chant, encouraging the rise of power between the priest and the elements as he called upon the power of the stones.  With them at his disposal her clan would be ripped asunder by the English Lords with whom he had aligned himself.  For what?  Why? 

     The answer came like a whisper upon on the wind. For control of it all. 

     “Nay.” The word, little more than a whisper, bounced off the close walls of her tomb.

     In times past a human sacrifice had been offered to insure prosperity and safety of the clan.  He had attempted to sacrifice her body for his own ends, but she had not died.  Not yet.

Coira turned upon her back, her movements clumsy and weak.  The pain the motion caused her echoed through her body and she bit back a groan. The ground felt soggy beneath her as she pressed her palms, her bare feet against the earth. Too weak to speak, she whispered an invocation. 

With my blood open the way for strength,

With my body open the way to peace,

With my blood open the way to unity,

With my body protect my people from the harm he would do them, now and forever more.

Her mind flew free beyond the stone confines.  She beckoned the force welcoming the warmth of the power within her. The familiar heat trickled beneath her skin, flowing from the earth beneath her, from the stones that surrounded her, from the air she breathed.  As it permeated her flesh the pain of her injuries receded and she grasped at the warmth that thrummed through her system like the beating of her heart.    

The small recess she lay in filled with light as the slab above her became transparent, as though she lay face up within a pool of clear water.  The sky spread above her clear and cloudless.  The priest stood before her, a hood covering his head, deep shadows hiding his face.  He raised his arms, his voice a shout of eager command as the followers parodied his words.  She was imprisoned inside the very altar she had worshiped before for so many years.

The patience taught through her faith had served her well in times past.  But now she felt the urgency to rush, to seal the stones from him.   A humming filled the stone altar, high pitched and insistent, the power of the stones reaching a fever pitch.

Stilling herself against the sickening sensation, Coira once again probed the priest’s thoughts and sensed his control wavering.   She imagined taking the hard strength of the stones within her holding it within her damaged body as wind whirled around her cooling her overheated skin.  The strength of the water beckoned her and she turned her vision to the loch.  The water glistened, the suns setting rays reflecting on its surface red-gold. 

“Come to me.”  The words were a shout in her head, but a whisper upon her lips. The humming became a whistle as though pressure inside the altar escaped from beneath the heavy lid. The worshippers shouts and movements became frenzied.   The ground rumbled beneath her like a great beast that had suddenly awakened and shaken itself from a dream. 

“Come to me.” Another stronger tremor struck as if the beast hoped to rise and the land began to ripple.

Coira saw great cracks appear within the earth leading to the loch. Water rushed forth in rivulets to fill them, nipping away at the soil and rock.  Another shudder dislodged a huge chunk of the bank and it fell into the depths of the water. Foaming swirling waves surged forth in great hungry gulps chewing away the rise that held it back.

 A collective cry went up as the worshippers staggered and stumbled riding the back of the beast.  They wreathed upon the ground caught in the animals grip.  The stones rocked and swayed as though dancing to the music of the wind.  A single monolith toppled, then another.  The writings carved on their surface glowed red hot in the dying sun as the last thin layer of ground crumbled away and the water rushed forth in a great wave. 

Having regained his feet, the priest turned to face it, his arms outstretched as though he would embrace it.  His hood fell back and for the first time Coira saw his face.

“Nay.” Her cry of pain and disbelief ripped its way upward from the depths of her heart as water surrounded the altar and covered the top.  Her vision faded and once again she was shrouded in darkness. Cold water spewed through the cracks wetting her face and slowly filling the altar. Her body felt numb, her mind disoriented after the release of concentration.

She laid panting, drawing short painful breaths of the thinning air as she waited to die.  A thought revived her for a moment.  If she would be reborn one day, then so would he.  He might again prove a threat to the stones, to her people.  With her last breath Coira whispered a spell, a prayer of protection for her people and the stones.