Fierce Dawn

by Scott, Amber

  Breanne sat before him and waited for acknowledgement. Finn trotted after a flitting object that she hoped wasn’t a fairy. Of all the magick this grove held, a fairy would be the best to see true. All things secret, Heremon promised, would reveal themselves in time. With less than two years remaining in her tutelage, she couldn’t see why all the things she worked for still failed to happen.

  “We have much work to do,” Heremon said and joined her on the mossy forest floor. “I have received the prophecy and we must prepare. A stranger will join us, become one of us.”

  His pale eyes bounced as he spoke. Was he still in a trance? Her cleared head flooded with unease.

  Breanne watched and waited for him to continue. Her stomach tightened up with the same sick feeling from before when she had listened in shadows to Niall O’Donnell’s words. A husband will protect her.

  She would protect herself.

  “He is yours to keep,” Heremon said. “See the emeralds, know the key.”

  Breanne’s mind halted. Her heart skipped. She knew better than to read the literal into any vision’s meaning, but several ideas formed in her head unbidden. Surely, his words could not be linked to Niall’s.

  Heremon had assured her that once she began seeing, she would better understand the nature of second sight and that it in fact made the future less clear than before. But, how could foreknowledge not help in life? She hoped to soon know the truth for herself.

  “Tell no one.” Heremon’s hands shot out, clenched her knees. She moved back, startled. His eyes danced, looking through her. “Protect him.”

  Another presage, or did the first continue? Protect what? It would be pointless to ask as he would not recall his words. He never did. By the look of his eyes, it wouldn’t be long. The cloudiness in them receded, the shaking slowed. Within a moment, Heremon’s irises returned to dark green and focused on her face, adjusting to the light.

  “Breanne.” He blinked at her with surprise. “When did you arrive?” He let go of her knees as though they’d not been touched at all.

  “But a moment ago. You greeted me, Heremon. Do you not remember?”

  He looked past her and tilted his head as though listening to the wind.

  “The storm last night,” he said.

  “Yes, it has passed already. The sun shines clear with not a single cloud.”

  He looked back at her, his forehead wrinkled with trouble. “I’ve promised you a lesson, haven’t I?”

  Not again. She nodded patiently. His graying red beard was a tangled unkempt mess and helped distract from the fraying, torn blue cloak he preferred. Distraction seemed his nature of late and still he had managed to become the wisest, oldest Druid priest in all of Ireland, well, leastwise the north of it.

  “We are scheduled to review my Grimoire, my most recent attempt to free Finn, and you were to give me five new herbals.” She left out her least favorite, gathering, hoping he’d forget, and refused to feel bad for taking advantage of his daze.

  “Yes, yes. We haven’t much time, though.” His voice faded with each word. “We will meet again tonight at the spring. The moon is waxing to fullness. The end of it nears.”

  Breanne scowled, not only because he seemed about to cut their lesson short, but because his words weren’t making much sense.

  “The end of the moon? Not near at all, Heremon. For if the lunar cycle has a fortnight to wane….”

  “What’s this? Are you still here, then? Off with you. We mustn’t tarry.” He shooed her with his hands, standing briskly.

  Breanne’s frown deepened. Heremon was truly out of sorts. With last night’s failed experiment and a week since the last lesson, which she was hardly able to sneak away for with of all her mother’s nuptial arrangements, she couldn’t help feeling keenly disappointed.

  She stood, ready to argue for at least an hour of his time. She needed it. With all the husband discussion and wedding plans and changing friendships in her life, the one thing that kept her levelheaded was her Ovate training.

  Breanne took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Heremon blew out his candles and tossed each into his deerskin bag, dropping one in his haste.

  “Heremon, I can see you have important things to attend to and I can’t relay how truly appreciative I am of all your time and wisdom, but I beg of you, please allow me my lesson,” she said, trying to sound at once imploring and firm.

  He didn’t reply as he scooped up the fallen candle, shoved it inside and cinched the drawstring.

  “At least tell me of the herbals,” she said, her hands wringing, voice trembling. Breanne bit her lip. She was not going to tear up.

  Tears would seem weak, desperate even, and though she was weak with desperation, such displays would not build Heremon’s confidence in her. The tolerance of a woman learning anything, let alone studying the old ways, lessened with every passing year and she considered it her duty to never appear unsuitable because of an inability to control her emotions.

  Heremon walked past her, his gaze on the mossy ground, head tilted. His mouth moved silently.

  “I will write down the herbals and study them for our meeting tonight,” she said to his back, following after him.

  He didn’t answer her, didn’t even glance up and acknowledge her. Breanne stopped and let him go. A single tear slid down her cheek and she clenched her hands into little fists.

  “That was fast,” Finn said.

  Breanne swung around and pinned him with her eyes.

  “What?” he said, a licked paw hanging mid-air.

  “He left.” She threw her hands up. “Simply rescheduled our lesson, gathered his ceremonials, and walked away as though I wasn’t standing right here in front of him. In all my days and nights, I have never seen a person act so strange. Not a soul.” She threw her hands again, letting them fall hard and heavy against her gown.

  “The man is old, Breanne. His mind likely went soft and I assure you he was never quite right,” Finn sounded unconcerned.

  She might’ve stamped the grassy dirt, but to what good?

  “I feel something terrible may have happened,” Breanne said. “Or will. If you’d seen him, you’d not be sitting there as though you haven’t a care in all the world. You’d be after him and frightened.” Breanne’s voice rose with each word, but the cat wouldn’t stop looking so damned unaffected or take her seriously.

  Finn blinked. “You feel?”

  “Heremon had a prediction and is now wandering about, talking to himself, as though he didn’t see me or hear me.”

  “When will you meet again?”

  “He said tonight, but I am not sure he knew what he was saying. I will not be surprised if I come tonight, assuming I am able to sneak away with all the clansmen underfoot, only to find the forest empty.”

  “The grove is never empty,” Finn said, his gaze fixed in the air rather than on her, tail swishing arrogantly.

  Breanne blew a stray hair from her brow. “You know that I mean--Heremon not present. I canno’ believe he knew what he was saying, not with the way he said it. Had you not wandered, you’d have seen with your own eyes.”

  “And I didn’t. Can we return to the keep now? I’m hungry.”

  Breanne turned around and eyed the barely discernable path Heremon left by.

  “No,” she said.

  She jutted her chin upward and trounced after the old sage, telling herself that something was very wrong and he needed her. And if she happened to secure a quick tutorial on the five herbals, secrets that would potentially--finally--unlock her own potential, all the better.

  The idea quickened her pulse. Her long formed hope to practice true magick had recently taken on a desperate feel. Instead of sheer excitement over dreams of the magickal and wondrous accomplishments, the threat of an uncertain future loomed like a hungry wolf in a dark corner where light used to shine.

  Heremon’s path wove in and around pine and the occasional blessed oak tree, deeper into the forest, toward the coast.
Her worry grew as her irritation with Finn dissipated. She wished she’d grabbed the cat. She could have snatched him up and under her arm without a scratch in seconds. If she had, she’d now be happily arguing with him instead of fighting to keep prickling fear at bay.

  She’d not taken this path before. She knew where Heremon lived, in theory, knew the lay of the land she’d been born to and explored through to adult years. So there really was no reason to be frightened. And she had her sheathed boline dagger strapped to her thigh as well as the confidence to use it lethally if necessary.

  Thinking of the blade and imagining lifting her skirt, retrieving it, and slashing through whomever or whatever happened upon her in the dense foliage, worsened the quiver in her veins. She stopped her careful tracks and palmed the sharp weapon, paying no mind to her fingers’ slight tremble. The action helped a bit, as did a long deeply indrawn breath and prayer to Morrigan.

  Continuing after the trail of winding footprints and sunken moss spots that mapped Heremon’s path, Breanne’s fingers traced the carved pattern on the dagger’s handle. The side she felt held a pointy-tailed, horny dragon. A lion adorned the other side, but she needed the dragon, which represented the Otherworld, magick, to her. Mayhap its ever-elusive magick, a protection better than any man, would aid her.

  The copse of pines and birch gave way and glimpses of ocean took the place of sky in the gaps between them. Breanne slowed her pace and realized how hard she was breathing. She paused at the edge of trees and caught her breath, scanning the open area for a dwelling. When she found none she stepped further, feeling exposed but alone, and followed the remaining marks Heremon left behind.

  “Are you lost?” a whisper said.

  Breanne swung about, weapon ready, shards of panic snapping through her. To the left, the right, her eyes shot. Nothing. Nothing more than the trees and grass and sounds of spring humming met her searching gaze.

  A deep chuckle carried upward from her ankle and immediately Breanne’s fear changed to anger. “Finn! You scared me, you evil thing.”

  A deeper, purring chuckle with no apology. “I couldn’t resist after watching you sneaking along with that ridiculous excuse for protection held like your life depended on it. Truly, Bree, if you’d seen yourself….” His chuckle broke into coughing guffaws.

  Breanne could kick him, she really could, if not for the fact that he was stuck as a creature more helpless than she. And if she weren’t so nice a person as she was. Even so, the idea was worth fantasizing, however briefly and unrealistically as she could. Breanne dropped to the ground and wiped her sweaty brow, the boline forgotten.

  “I swear I dream of the day that I will no longer be the source of your twisted amusem—.“

  “Shh. Did you hear that?” Finn said, suddenly recovered and his ears pricked low.

  Breanne frowned, listening. The distant rush and crush of waves below the cliff, the chirp of birds and crickets, leaves rustling behind, no more. Her eyes narrowed on Finn. Paying no mind to her skepticism, he crept forward, nearing the cliff.

  Breanne watched and crouched lower herself, unwilling to move and risk the noise of her gown and limbs alerting someone or overbearing whatever the cat’s ears had picked up.

  Finn inched closer to the perilously sharp, rocky edge. Breanne breathed shallowly and strained her senses to detect something, anything within the sunny, spring day around her.

  He looked back at her then pranced sideways, arching his back. The hair along his spine stood up as he hissed at the cliff’s edge.

  Breanne crawled as close to him as she could, without allowing the deathtrap waters to reach her line of sight, on her belly.

  “What?” she whispered. “What do you see?” She couldn’t bring herself to look over the sharp edge.

  He hissed again and she slammed her head to the ground, heart pumping, and ready to retreat back to the woods fast. She closed her eyes. Something touched her hair. She screamed out the last stitch of air in her lungs and blindly raced back to the woods.

  Finn’s chortle of laughter brought her to a stony halt. She should have known. Not bothering to turn back around, she stormed through the brush and returned the way she had come. If she didn’t move fast, she might end up living out that kicking fantasy despite the threat of tumbling over the edge and plummeting into the bleak waters after him.

  Although, he would be tumbling first.

  Click HERE to Purchase Irish Moon!

  ~ ~ ~

  Acknowledgments:

  Fierce Dawn would not have been possible without the support of my family, encouragement of my peers and skills of my amazing editor. In particular, thank you Indie Book Collective for all your magic and support. Thank you Ann Charles for being the best laugh coach ever. Thanks to Karen Weirich for her ongoing support no matter what.

  Additionally, I’d like to thank Chris and Vicky Ackerman for their help in fight sequences and overall enthusiasm over the premise.

  Special thanks to Alyssa Willoughby, and Lyric Burt who read early drafts of Fierce Dawn. Lyric inspired the real Lyric.

  I have the best fans in the world. Thank you so much HOT Club for being so damned cool!

  ~

  Also by Amber Scott:

  Irish Moon

  Play Fling

  Love Lust

  Wanted

  Jessie’s Girl

  The Best Revenge

  Coming Soon:

  Enchanted Moon

  The Sweetest Fling

  Stealing Dusk

  Soul Search

  ~ ~ ~

  Fierce Dawn

  By Amber Scott

  Copyright ©2011 by Amber Scott

  Cover art by A.D. Holt

  Tholden Press

  Edited by Julie Murillo

  Fierce Dawn is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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