Chapter Twenty
Jenna did not like the feel of this place. Not at all. To the naked eye, it looked peaceful. Beautiful even, with its calm waters and golden beach. But that beauty was deceptive. There was something here that felt… wrong, like the stench of rotting meat hidden by expensive perfume.
The feeling had been building the closer they rode to the place Merrick had marked for them and now she was here, it was so overwhelming she felt sick to her stomach.
“Jenna?” Arran asked. “Are ye all right?”
His big hand settled on her shoulder, and she jumped. “What? Yes, I’m fine. It’s just… just…” She swallowed down the bile that was trying to rise up her throat. “I’m fine.”
His expression suggested he wasn’t convinced.
There was no sign of the raiders, thank all the gods.
That meant she had time. Time to find whatever it was in this shrine that was blocking her magic, and destroy it.
Time to stop the coming battle before it ever began. Time to stop Arran from getting hurt.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The sun was warm on her face, the wind a gentle caress across her skin as she reached down into her magic and sent her senses questing wide across the bay, searching, searching for that sense of corruption and wrongness.
Her eyes opened with a gasp, and she stumbled. Arran was there immediately, hands going around her waist to steady her.
“What is it, lass?”
She raised a shaky finger and pointed at the far cliff. “There. It’s over there.”
Arran’s expression tightened. He drew his claymore, the blade flashing in the sunlight. “Let’s go.”
They marched down the beach towards the dark cliff and with each step, the sick feeling in Jenna’s stomach intensified.
By the time they reached the rock face, she was stumbling in the sand and Arran had to hold her up with one arm.
A shelf of rock sloped gently out into the sea in front of them, with waves lapping at its farthest end.
Arran helped Jenna up onto it and she saw that it was littered with seaweed and small pools.
At high tide, it would likely be completely submerged.
Which is why the raiders are coming now, she thought. At low tide. So they can access it.
She turned, gazing behind to where the shelf of rock ran back into the cliff.
At first she could see nothing out of the ordinary, but slowly, as her eyes adjusted, she spotted something.
A darker shadow against the base of the cliff, a patch so black it seemed like a void.
It was from there that the sense of corruption came, wafting on the breeze like the scent of carrion.
She clutched Arran’s arm tighter and pointed. “There.”
Together, they made their way towards it. Then suddenly a call went up from the cliff top above.
“Raiders!”
Jenna’s heart jumped as she spun to face the horizon. There, still far out to sea, but coming this way, Jenna saw sails. Many, many sails.
Arran growled a string of curses in Gaelic. “We have to hurry.”
Jenna nodded, and they hurried towards the hole in the cliff.
It was a cave much like the one in which she’d encountered Lir.
This one though had none of the reflected light of the waves or the smell of salt.
Instead, it was as dark as a tomb and smelled of stale air that hadn’t been disturbed for centuries.
Jenna halted on the threshold. The sense of wrongness thrummed on her senses like a note played out of key, a wrong chord in a vast orchestra. The back of her neck tingled.
“I’ll go first,” Arran said, holding his claymore in a double-handed grip.
“Wait.” Jenna grabbed his wrist to halt him.
She reached inside herself, grasped her magic, and used it to craft a small sphere of light, no bigger than an apple, that formed on the palm of her hand.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough to light their way and stop them tripping over and breaking their necks. “We’ll go together.”
Arran nodded. “Aye. Together then.”
Side by side, they stepped forward. Jenna found herself holding her breath as they moved into the cave, half-expecting something horrible to jump out and grab them.
But nothing moved, and as they crossed the threshold, her light finally chased away the shadows and revealed the interior.
It wasn’t large, more of a depression in the rock rather than a true cave, but the floor had been smoothed by the passage of many feet and the walls curved above them, giving the space the impression of a bowl.
And in the center of that bowl stood the thing they’d come to seek.
Rising out of the floor was another anchor stone.
Only this one wasn’t like the others. Instead of bearing the whorls and glyphs of Skye’s ancient magic, this one was marked with spiky runes that looked like slashes carved into the stone’s skin.
The stone itself was not smooth but cut into sharp angles and sloping planes and as black as coal.
It looked wrong, like one of those impossible objects where the lines and angles didn’t quite add up. It hurt Jenna’s eyes to look at it.
Behind it, farther back Jenna saw a single standing stone no higher than her knee. This one was marked with the familiar symbols of Skye’s magic—the original anchor stone that had been superseded by the one placed here by Njord’s followers. She could feel no power coming from this at all.
“That’s what they’re coming for?” Arran asked, nodding at the black, angular stone.
“Yes.”
Arran’s eyes narrowed. He glanced around the cave, stance and expression wary, as if expecting an attack.
“It’s just a stone.”
Jenna shook her head. “It’s an anchor stone.
Can’t you feel it?” His blank expression was answer enough to that.
“But it’s not an anchor stone for Skye’s magic.
It’s Njord’s. It holds his magic. From here they could resurrect his power and his dominion over Skye. This is what they’ve been looking for.”
She knelt by the stone and hovered her hand an inch above its surface.
Something like electricity brushed against her skin.
Closing her eyes, she sent her senses questing outwards.
The golden web of energy that covered Skye flared to life in her mind’s eye immediately, shimmering like a net of woven corn.
The dark spots where the magic had failed were still there and she realized suddenly that the decay began here, in this cave. With the anchor stone before her.
An alien magic was emanating from Njord’s stone.
Instead of gold, the color of this magic was blood red.
She could see it pulsing from the stone and spreading out along the golden web, weaving its way among the strands so insidiously that it was almost undetectable unless you knew what to look for.
It was leaching poison into Skye’s magic, weakening it, burning holes in its essence.
Jenna had no idea how long it had been here. Decades, probably. It had sat here undiscovered, eroding Skye’s magic so slowly that nobody noticed until it was too late.
And now, Njord’s followers were coming to finish the job. If they succeeded, it would be over. Skye’s magic would be destroyed, gone forever, and there would be nothing she nor anyone else could do about it.
She opened her eyes and looked at Arran. “We don’t have much time. We have to destroy this.”
Arran nodded. “Then stand back.”
He pulled Jenna to her feet and pushed her behind him.
Then, grasping his claymore with both hands, he swung it with all his might at the stone.
Jenna flinched as it struck, an almighty clang echoing through the cave and sparks flying from the stone.
But it remained undamaged. Not even a scratch marred its angular surface.
Arran growled under his breath. Picking up a rock the size of his head, he raised it high above his head and brought it slamming down on the anchor stone with all his might. The rock shattered into pieces on impact, but the anchor stone remained undamaged.
“I’ll have the men bring chisels and hammers,” Arran said, turning towards the entrance.
Jenna caught his arm. “That won’t make any difference. Magic made this thing, and magic is the only thing that can destroy it.”
He let out a slow breath. “All right. What do ye need me to do?”
“Stay with me.”
He placed his hand over hers. “Always.”
Jenna stared at him, a hundred things she wanted to say crowding her tongue. But she only nodded.
She risked a glance outside. The raider ships were entering the bay, inching ever closer. She saw faces lining the railings, warriors wearing leather armor and carrying weapons. So many. Too many.
“Dinna look at them,” Arran said, putting his finger under her chin and turning her face towards him. “They willnae enter this cave nor touch a hair on yer head. I swear it.”
Jenna said nothing. How could she explain that she wasn’t afraid for herself but was terrified for him? For the people of Skye?
Taking a deep breath, Jenna knelt once more by the stone.
She closed her eyes and reached out, this time laying her palm flat against the cold surface.
The alien magic lunged at her like a snapping hound.
It was all anger and seething rage, ocean storms and the dark, angry depths.
She steadied herself. Took a deep breath.
And slowly, slowly, began to push her own magic towards it.
She wrapped the anchor stone in tendrils of golden power, laying strand over strand until it was covered in a glimmering net.
Then she began to contract that net, pulling the strands of magic tight against the stone and the alien magic within.
But it fought her. The magic pushed back and it was woven through the anchor stone so tightly that she couldn’t seem to get a good grip on it.
She was soon breathing heavily, and sweat was pouring down her face.
Come on! she shouted inwardly. Break, damn you!