Chapter Thirty-Two
Kyan
‘DO YOU THINK THE DRUID COULD HAVE BEEN HERE, THAT day?’ Kyan asked, the wind lashing his dark coat.
Callum stood a few feet away on the same rise, surveying the inky expanse of the Welsh island of Anglesey and the distant lights that winked along the night-drenched coast.
Before them, around the burial mound filled with standing stones and past a drop of silver rock, glinted the dark Irish Sea. If the view had been clear, would he have seen Ireland across the water? Kyan could already feel its distant call, like a lost song on the salt-snapped wind.
A song of gods and heroes, and a home reduced to ashes.
Callum made a thoughtful noise. ‘I think you’d be the best equipped to tell me.’
But Kyan had been so used to putting his past away, he could recall only pieces of it.
After the Druids of Ireland had been slaughtered, ones in Anglesey were targeted by the Romans.
It had been a battle fraught with magic, the hot spray of blood, the metal ringing of weapon on weapon, and the unearthly scream of the Druids.
The resulting fear from the Roman forces had flooded the island with a stark, driving scent that had hit Kyan like a tidal wave.
Until the soldiers breached the beach and started hacking.
Until they nearly won.
Now, the forests were long gone. Not just thanks to that night and day, but to the world’s steady march onwards and the cloaking of supernatural history into fable and myth.
But the feel of it was still here, that low thrum of natural power; beating subtle and deep in the damp, loamy soil. It was cool against his skin as he knelt and dug his fingers into the earth, seeking that thread of magic.
Kyan took a breath and fought the urge to keep the memories suppressed like he’d been trained to do, even as it tested something raw and vulnerable inside him, like the edge of a blade, pressing too hard against that tender, secret part. But he let it press, and press, until it bled.
There.
Like he’d tapped into a hidden vein in the soil.
Magic.
It wasn’t as subtle as he’d expected. It felt like the tremor of a plucked string, which didn’t move unless it was triggered, played.
Which meant someone had been here.
Kyan rose, rubbing the dirt between his fingers, and followed the pulse as his heart beat a little faster, then headed up the sloped path into the circular burial chamber of Barclodiad y Gawres.
The first lopsided stones in the entrance tunnel were green with algae.
A metal gate barred the rest. Callum tossed him the set of keys they’d got from the local keeper.
As he unlocked it, he tried to recall the snippets of the Druids’ blood rituals he’d seen as a boy, done in secret woods as sacred rites.
He remembered more about the stars, divine words and the thrum of magic in the earth that pulled up and out into the waiting Druid’s palms.
Despite his mother’s status and power, he’d had his first transformation young, so was sent off to the palace at Emain Macha, then later to train with Scáthach, instead of learning the Druids’ ways.
Inside, the stones continued, more clustered beneath the domed ceiling above.
Callum’s phone torch caught the swirls and patterns in the stone, but Kyan’s eyes were drawn to the blood on the dolmen.
Not ogam, but an almost reverential mark.
So different to the slaughter in London and so distantly familiar it prickled a strange duality along the nape of his neck.
Fear, and … relief? Shock? It was so strong that he scanned the tomb’s dark curves for watching eyes.
This could be the result of a fake Druid, a creature, or even a human capable of seeing through the varnishes over the stones. But it wasn’t just the dark stain that convinced him otherwise, it was the echo of a magic he hadn’t felt in around two thousand years – not even at the sacrifice.
His throat constricted, his fingers hovered over the stone.
His mother had felt like this.
His people, his childhood. The most sacred and safest parts of his life.
The Wake had been right. He was the only one who would know for certain if there was a Druid still living, having clawed their way through time. This blood, this magic, was the confirmation he needed.
One Druid had survived, despite all the odds.
And the deep green of Ireland lived in their magic.
Kyan stalked back out for air, Callum’s thoughtful silence following.
‘The Druid is Irish,’ Kyan managed. And they had resurfaced at the exact time he and Nicole had uncovered a conspiracy in blood about the organisation that rose to power at the twilight of the Druids … it wouldn’t be a coincidence.
It couldn’t be.
To the north, lightning forked like the veins of a god in the dark.
‘What do you think this blood revealed to the Druid?’ Kyan asked a silent Callum, who’d been gazing up at the stars.
His friend sighed. ‘That depends what they were looking for, and what blood it is. Could be anything, I suppose. Trying to reach a long-lost god? What had they needed from a blood divining? Why choose Anglesey instead of the sites in Ireland?’
Kyan wasn’t sure there were any in Ireland that weren’t in ruins, but now he would have to check those too. Go back to the place his family was killed. He was uncertain he’d be able to find it. The thought twisted, hot and shameful in his stomach; around his heart.
He didn’t want to go back. This place reminded him not just how he’d failed as a protector, but how a sacred magic had been snuffed out under his watch.
He was supposed to be their wall against the threats of the world, against the lusts of power-hungry royals and invaders.
Against any supernatural monster that might have sought them out.
‘I’ll have to check the Irish sites before Logan can,’ Kyan said.
‘You should have time. I doubt the Wake know the exact location.’
True. Logan wouldn’t know any of this. The idiot would hunt based on the supposed Druid sacrifices alone. But Kyan knew Druids. He just needed to open up to the memories, the magic, again.
He pulled out his phone. It was times like this that he would have updated the Wake, but today his grip near strangled the black device.
‘We might need the Gáe Bolg,’ Callum said thoughtfully. ‘Just to ensure that if we have to kill this mutated Huntbringer, it sticks.’
Kyan grunted in response. ‘Scáthach hid it somewhere in her Isle. It might take me weeks to find.’
‘Since she didn’t teach me how to use it, you’re the best one to try,’ Callum said with a smirk.
Kyan felt his lips twitch. It was true. The Gáe Bolg was a weapon made from the bones of legendary sea creatures. It was so deadly that Scáthach had taught only him how to use it. No other warrior would know how to activate its secret and most violent interior blades.
‘And if Freya is the Huntbringer?’ Kyan asked.
Callum smiled grimly. ‘Hope she’s saveable, or that one of her kids will take the shot.
Otherwise, they’ll never forgive us. Though I suppose there are other ways to subdue an immortal, we just have to get creative.
’ He began to list a macabre array on his long fingers.
‘Oaths; drugs; sleeping draughts; enchanted sleeps; turning someone into an animal—’
‘Most of those aren’t exactly easy to enforce, and the last one isn’t even a real option.’
‘The Children of Lír beg to differ,’ Callum said, but smirked, handing Kyan a piece of paper with a string of numbers on. ‘Here.’
‘What’s this?’
‘The security code to the little cabin I have near the Druid ruins.’
Kyan’s attention snapped to his friend’s face. ‘You have a place there?’
‘They were the only beings able to contact the gods; their land is sacred. I wanted to keep an eye.’ He looked off to the north-east where the Palmers slumbered in Kyan’s townhouse. ‘When you go, take Nicole with you.’
‘We don’t know where her next clue is yet. We might have to split up again.’
‘Perhaps. Which reminds me, I’m going to check on Luca. He has a plan to help turn the prying eyes of CCTV away during their little harp heist.’
Kyan frowned. ‘Do you think it’ll work?’
‘Luca seems to think so, and he’s very good at what he does. But I’ll be back for the Speakeasy, and whatever you discover in Ireland.’ Callum put his hand on Kyan’s shoulder, surprisingly serious. ‘I’ll be here to talk about it, if you need me.’
Kyan’s throat grew tight. ‘I’ll be all right.’
Callum’s eyes winked with interest, tinged with uncertainty, before fading to his usual charm.
Despite the unease of the last few weeks, Kyan was grateful for his friend’s infectious confidence.
‘In that case,’ Callum said, ‘Ireland is calling. And I think it’s finally time you answered.’