Chapter 1
Chapter One
Seven Cairns
Highlands of Scotland
Mairwen shuffled the worn tarot cards. All the while, the holy water in the scrying bowl rippled as though eager to show her its secrets.
Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows of the Divine Weaver’s meeting hall, cutting across the eons-old table and enlivening the liquid, cleansing it to bring forth only visions of light and repel any threat of darkness.
She welcomed the light’s blessing on her endeavors, for this particular reunion of souls rent asunder by time and worlds had proven to be most difficult.
Grand Chieftain Mathison Shadowmist, once the mighty ruler of the Ninth Realm, the realm of the shifters, had sought relief from his accursed existence for centuries, and the Divine Weavers of Seven Cairns had yet to solve the cruel riddle foisted upon him by one of the clans he once ruled.
But they were getting closer. Mairwen felt it in her bones.
Her ancient oak chair softly creaked as she leaned forward and gently blew across the divination waters while holding the tarot cards to her heart. “Speak to me, my lovelies. Show me the path to help the chieftain and thereby strengthen the Highland Veil.”
Then she dealt the cards in her preferred spread, the layout that seldom failed to reveal to her that which she sought.
As she turned the cards over, the waters swirled as though gently stirred, then went as dark as the blackest ink.
Narrowing her eyes, she focused her disapproval on the scrying liquid.
“Dinna be stubborn.” She glared at the bowl, unleashing the fullness of her energies.
“I tire of this quest. Reveal the path to me. Now.”
The waters remained dark.
“Fine.” She turned her attention to the trio of cards she had placed in front of the bowl.
All were upright, and all symbolized hope, but a hope that had to be earned.
The Hanged Man, Strength, and Temperance—the holy trinity of hanging on and patiently waiting for positive change.
She turned over an additional card and breathed somewhat easier.
The Star. The most direct symbol of hope. At least there was that.
Wearied by the less-than-helpful results, she sagged back in the throne-like chair that was her right as the Master of all the Divine Weavers.
Grand Chieftain Shadowmist would arrive soon, as he always did, month after month, hoping those of Seven Cairns had found his fated mate, the woman foretold to break his curse.
The disappointment in the man’s icy blue eyes always cut through her like a shard of glass.
She had so hoped to give him better news this time.
“Mairwen!” Her apprentice Keeva burst into the room with Bedelia, the Master of the Love Weavers, gasping and struggling to keep up with the youngling’s energetic pace. “Bedelia found her! She is certain of it this time.”
While refreshing and uplifting, Keeva’s youthful exuberance could also be jarring, especially when it echoed off the rafters. “Keeva.” Mairwen used the tone she knew her apprentice would recognize as a gentle request to calm herself. “Decorum.”
The apprentice immediately slowed and tipped an apologetic nod. “Forgive me, Mairwen, but we have searched so verra long for Grand Chieftain Shadowmist’s other half.”
Mairwen straightened in her chair, hoping this wasn’t yet another false lead.
The Love Weavers, the discoverers of lonely, fractured souls, had searched for the woman for centuries, only pausing when other fated mates’ spirits cried out to be reunited with their other halves.
Even the other Weavers—the Divine Nine of Spell, Tranquility, Time, Dream, Conflict, Curse, Emptiness, Nightmare, and Hate—had offered their assistance to solve the chieftain’s riddle, but to no avail.
The curse placed upon the mighty Shadowmist was the strongest barrier the Council of Weavers had ever encountered.
She waved them forward, motioning to the chairs at the table. “Sit and tell me.”
Bedelia gratefully plopped her ampleness into a chair while patting her chest and fanning herself. “By all the stars and realms, let me catch my breath.”
“Keeva, fetch Bedelia some water since ye’ve nigh on caused her to overextend herself.
” Mairwen scooped up the tarot spread, set the deck aside, and calmly folded her hands on the table in front of her.
“Take yer time, Bedelia. We have searched for centuries. A few more moments will cost us nothing.”
“Here, Bedelia.” Keeva handed the Master Love Weaver a glass of water, then settled in the chair beside her. “Please forgive me. It’s just we’ve been working on this particular match for so verra long, and I know today is the seventh, the day the grand chieftain always comes to us.”
Still fanning herself, Bedelia waved the apprentice away as she sipped the water.
“Never ye mind, Keeva. I am excited as well, just a bit older and rounder than yerself.” She set down the glass and nodded at Mairwen.
“We have found her. In the twenty-first century. An American planning to emigrate to Scotland.”
Mairwen was dubious. It couldn’t possibly be as easy as these two were saying. She decided to start with the simplest question first. “And why is she planning to emigrate?”
“Divorce,” Keeva blurted out before Bedelia could respond. Remembering Mairwen’s earlier gentle scolding, she shrugged deeper into her chair and bowed her head. “Sorry.”
The Love Weaver softly chortled. “Ah, to be so young and energetic again.” After another sip of water, she turned back to Mairwen.
“Aye, the lass is recently divorced. From what the Conflict Weavers and I were able to discover, the marriage failed early on for many reasons, but didn’t actually end until recently. ”
“So, she is wounded?” Mairwen frowned at the scrying bowl. The divination waters had started swirling again. The inky blackness had disappeared, replaced by a murky gray that resembled a bank of storm clouds.
“Aye, wounded by her former husband as well as by fate.” Bedelia sadly shook her head. “Her child died. Her daughter of seven years. It is my opinion that pain finally ended her union with the man who was not her fated mate.”
With such scars, this reunion of fated mates would not be easy, but then, they never were. Mairwen dipped a fingertip into the scrying bowl’s waters. “Show me this woman and dinna be slow about it. I command ye to cast aside the darkness and fight to bring healing to the Highland Veil.”
Muted tones and colors shimmered across the scrying bowl’s surface.
An image formed, out of focus and fuzzy at first, then sharp and clear as though a film had been peeled away and a barrier lifted.
A woman appeared. Her hair was long and dark, nearly black even, with a single streak of the purest white starting in the front at the center part, then curling down and framing the left side of her face.
She did not appear aged enough to possess such a sign of advanced years, but there was an unmistakable weariness around her hazel eyes.
“She is not an inexperienced youngling.” Mairwen knew that such a case could make the Weavers’ task of uniting this lass with Grand Chieftain Shadowmist even more challenging. “What is her age? Have ye divined that?”
“Nine and thirty,” Bedelia said with an apologetic tilt to her head. “But she is the one. The Dream Weavers also confirmed it.”
“How?”
“They tempted her with an image of the mighty chieftain. Her soul responded.” Bedelia shifted in her seat, appearing suddenly uncomfortable. “But her heart remained steadfast against him, and her mind also rejected him.”
“Understandable, considering her circumstances.” Mairwen eyed the woman’s image. “Have we done anything to ensure she comes to Seven Cairns?” she asked Keeva.
“I am luring her here with the cottage in the hills.” Keeva pulled out her phone and tapped its screen.
“I adjusted the algorithms where she is most active to ensure she is repeatedly tempted.” She gave a quick shake of her head.
“My tarot dating app won’t work this time since she is not looking for anything other than peace and isolation. ”
“Algo…what?” Mairwen hated it when Keeva spoke in twenty-first century riddles. It was as though she were the apprentice and Keeva the master.
The girl looked up from her phone, blinking as though waking from a dream.
“The algorithms of her social media accounts and email. She is quite active on several platforms as a person who repairs and restores items and shares simple solutions with others for their broken or damaged belongings. That is how she supports herself since she resigned from her chosen career, an FBI agent, when her daughter fell ill.”
“I see,” Mairwen said even though she really didn’t. “Anything else? Will the manipulation of her social media accounts be enough?”
“The other Weavers are also nudging her,” Bedelia said, “in whatever ways their powers permit.”
More reassured after hearing that, Mairwen touched the divination waters again, locking the image of the woman so as not to lose it. “The mighty Shadowmist should arrive at any time. The two of ye feel confident in what ye’ve discovered?”
Bedelia nodded, and Keeva turned her phone so Mairwen could see the screen. “Aye, Mairwen, and if ye dinna wish to freeze the waters, I can show him some of her posts and videos.”