“Oh, it’s Rowan! Do you want your spirit guide drawn while we wait?” she asked her friend, dragging her over to a stand where the walls were covered with beautiful paintings of various animals, druids, shamans, and what looked like faery people.
“Hi Rowan! We’d love to have a spirit guide drawing done today – both of us if you can fit us in?” Rhiannon said, voice a little breathless. “You can do my friend first.”
He glanced at Carlie, and his face paled for a moment, before he quickly recovered. “Okay. You first though. Your friend can come back in half an hour.”
Turning nervously to Carlie, she raised an eyebrow in question, scared she would say no to having to wander off on her own, but her friend just shrugged and said she’d be back soon, and headed off down the aisle. Rhiannon breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the young druid artist.
She’d had a crush on him ever since she’d seen him teach a seminar at a festival she’d gone to with her mum a year ago, and she’d read as many magazine interviews with him as she could find, and seen photos of his incredible artwork, each one speaking to her in a profound way. She could feel the magic of each piece, no matter what the subject matter was. He was amazing – so talented, and so charismatic. And, well, he was gorgeous too, she thought with a grin.
She knew from reading about him that he was a very well-respected healer too, admired even by older, more experienced wisdom keepers, and he was also inspiring a new generation of young people to explore spirituality. It was an honour to be able to have a session with him, and she couldn’t believe her luck that they’d found him before he got booked out.
“You can come in Rhiannon, and take a seat,” he said softly, and she stared at him, embarrassed. Had she just totally zoned out and been ignoring him?
He grinned. “It’s fine. The energies are always a bit weird here,” he offered, and gratitude swelled within her, that he was putting her so at ease. “Now just relax, and breathe,” he said, voice gentle, and she felt her body becoming softer, more languid, as she lowered herself into the chair at the back of his booth. Her mind started drifting, and for a moment she wondered if he was working some magic on her.
“Nothing specific, but I’m connecting with your guides, asking them what you need to know, so they are around you, cocooning you, holding you safe while you lower your guard to reveal your inner self and inner heart to us.”
Making the decision to let go, she allowed herself to float upwards. For a moment she was afraid, as she gazed down at her body, and at Rowan standing at his easel watching her, but eventually her whole body seemed to sigh outward and then relax into it, and she rose up out of the exhibition hall, above the city, and flew, following the curves of the river, then relaxing on a fluffy white cloud. Soon she was darting this way and that with an eagle, then diving back down to the water and landing on the back of a gorgeous white swan.
It was crazy, but she felt a kinship with the proud white bird, and she leaned into its neck, cuddling up against the softness of its feathers. Then, with a shock, she felt its mind reach out to her, and open up to her – and then it began to speak, and she almost fell off into the water.
“Dear girl, I am here to remind you that you must figure out how to balance your family commitments and school work with friendship and play, and find a way to recover and re-energise, so that you do not lose yourself.”
Before she could wrap her head around the concept of a talking swan, she was suddenly drawn down under the water, under the ground, into the centre of the earth. She wasn’t scared though, because she felt strangely at home, and very much at peace, and was soothed by the nurturing darkness.
After what felt like hours, she rose up, above the surface, and was flying again, but she was no longer in London. In an instant she’d been transported to a beautiful green meadow. A small white horse stood in the corner, under a shady tree, and it lifted its head and whinnied softly before trotting gracefully over to her, lowering its head so she could pat the velvety nose. Leaning towards him, she closed her eyes and placed her brow to his, and felt a cascade of golden light flashing before her darkened eyelids.
“Perfect trust,” the horse said softly, and inexplicably she understood him. “You are safe beloved, and you are worthy of love.” Happiness washed over her, until she felt her body dissolving, transforming into golden sparkles, and for a while she and the horse’s essence danced together in the sunshine, their souls merging, and her consciousness lifting with the sheer joy and sense of freedom she felt. Time stopped, and the whole world slowed as she swooped around the glade, free of her body, of physical pain, even of grief.
But then a fierce wind surrounded her, enveloping her completely. Panic jolted through her and her heart raced, until she felt a soothing hand on the place where her shoulder would be, if she had a body anymore, and slowly the sensation of peace returned.
“Rhiannon,” said a chocolate-smooth voice, and she felt it guiding her back to London, back to the hall, back down into Rowan’s booth, and back into her body. Slowly she opened her eyes, blinked, and saw the artist peering at her, his hand on her shoulder, a gentle smile on his face. “Welcome back.”
She blushed, worried about how she’d looked and what she’d done when her whole soul, her whole consciousness, had deserted her physical self. But he was gazing at her calmly, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Perhaps he was used to people vacating their bodies while he worked.
Worked. Her drawing. What would it look like? Eagerly she stared at the back of his easel, desperate to see it, and he laughed. “Don’t panic, it’s all done,” he said, and she blushed again at her impatience. It was weird, that he knew every single thought she had. Kind of creepy, if she thought about it too hard. Although, oops! Would he have heard that as well?
Hiding his smile, he turned back to the easel and lifted the sheet of paper, then held it up for her.
She gasped, genuinely shocked, and impressed, and delighted, all at once. “Oh my god, Rowan, it’s gorgeous!”
In the centre was a vision of Rhiannon in a flowing white dress, her long blonde hair floating around her, and her body merging somehow with a proud white swan, the details of the feathering so intricate, so subtle, that at first you didn’t realise that she was half bird. The words of the swan echoed through her mind, and she stared at Rowan in awe. How had he known?
He shrugged, dismissing what an incredible feat it was, and she turned back to the drawing, her gaze sweeping upwards to the top right corner, where a small white horse was depicted, with a trail of golden stars travelling from the middle of its brow to the middle of Rhiannon’s forehead.
Her mind whirled as she recalled the sensation of merging the golden sparkles of her soul with the white horse she’d met, and she actually felt teary as she gazed on its wild, innocent beauty. But they were happy tears.
“The wild, innocent beauty is yours Rhiannon,” he said softly. “What you saw and experienced, it was all just a reflection of you.”
Her heart swelled, and she looked at him with gratitude.
“The swan will be with you when you need strength, and will remind you of your purpose when you feel lost. It represents beauty, balance, commitment, dignity and grace, and is about finding balance between work and play in your life, letting go of pain, and focusing on hope. It wants you to be fearless, and to defend what is right,” he explained.
“And the white horse is one of the goddess Rhiannon’s animal companions, and is a symbol of love, grace and dignity, and enduring through hardship. Surviving pain to gain wisdom.”
Shaking her head, she tried to take it all in, but it was tough. Had he somehow seen her visions?
“Not your visions, but the swan and the horse came to me, and shared with me what they wanted you to know, so I could incorporate it into the artwork, to remind you always of what they told you, and what they mean to you. They want you to see and recognise your own grace and beauty, your own strength. They want yo
u, not to forget your pain and your grief, but to let it transform you, let it push you forward, and open you up to a whole new level of understanding and of compassion.”
Nodding, she tried to commit every word of his to memory, but when she glanced again at the amazing picture, she knew she would remember every time she looked at it. That was the power of his art, she guessed, that the symbols were worked so deeply into his illustrations, so that simply glancing at them brought back the immensity of what she’d experienced.
She was still floating, submerged in the images, when her friend returned, and her time was up.
“It’s beautiful,” Carlie conceded, clearly surprised at the incredible skill and depth of emotion expressed in the artwork.
“I know, it’s amazing!” Rhiannon said excitedly. “Thank you so much Rowan, I really love it!”
He inclined his head graciously in acknowledgement, and she handed over the money, then wandered off so Carlie could have hers done. For a while she wandered aimlessly, head filled with swirling visions of all she’d experienced, and eyes skipping over all the colourful stands without being able to focus on any of the details. Until she stopped abruptly at one that sold dresses, drawn by something she couldn’t explain. Curious, she ran her hands over the velvety fabrics, which felt as delicate as swan down to her heightened senses.
When the woman running the stall saw her, she gasped, then pulled a dress from the rack behind her and handed it to her. “This one is for you sweetheart,” she said, ushering her into the tiny cubicle. And as soon as she pulled the soft, flowing white fabric over her head, she realised with surprise that it was. It swooshed around her ankles, caressed her legs and her arms, and felt as light and delicate as feathers.
Grinning, she came back out and paid for the dress, then glanced at her watch. Time had mysteriously flown again, and it was time to return to Carlie. But no matter how well she recalled the stands at the top of Rowan’s aisle, she just couldn’t find her way back to his stall. Fear jolted through her, and her mouth went dry. God, would Carlie think she’d abandoned her? Finally, totally flustered, she found a way through, but her watch said she’d been gone for an hour.
“I’m so sorry Carlie, I don’t know what happened,” she cried, panic and confusion in her voice. “I started heading back after twenty-five minutes, but I just couldn’t get here – it was like this whole aisle had disappeared. And I know that sounds crazy, but I promise, I wouldn’t just leave you here.”
Carlie smiled. “It’s okay, I think time went crazy everywhere. And Rowan only just finished my picture, so you’re not late.”
Rhiannon wondered what they’d been doing for the extra half hour, but she forgot her suspicions when she caught sight of Carlie’s drawing. “Oh wow, it’s beautiful,” she gasped, awestruck as she took in the swirl of colour, of faces, of buzzing bees. “You get better every year,” she gushed, turning to Rowan in astonishment.
Again he shrugged off her compliment, seeming a little flustered himself, then turned back to Carlie. She was trying to pay him, but he refused, and after another attempt and a moment of indecision, she nodded and held out her hand to shake his. Instead, he took her hand, drew it towards him, pressed his lips to it and kissed it, then turned away. Rhiannon’s eyes widened with surprise, as she took in Carlie’s blushes and Rowan’s discomfort. What was going on between them?
After they’d pushed through the crowd to the cafe, and placed their order, Rhiannon stared at her friend. “What was all that about?” she demanded. Carlie squirmed in her seat, and blushed, but was saved from replying when the waitress brought their tea and scones.
As she added honey to her cup, Carlie changed the subject and asked about her reading. Rhiannon smiled, feeling the sensation of freedom and peace wash over her again as it had while she’d been communicating with the swan and the horse. She tried to put it into words, then gave up and showed Carlie the gorgeous swan-inspired dress she’d bought instead.
Once they’d finished their tea, they got back to shopping, wandering up and down the aisles, stunned by the beautiful clothes, crystals and jewellery on display, and intrigued by the many alternative healing methods on offer. When they saw a past life therapist’s stand, Carlie hesitantly asked her if she believed in them, and Rhiannon nodded.
“I love the idea,” she began cheerfully – then noticed that Carlie was blushing again. “Wait, why do you ask? Do you believe in them?”
“I don’t know, I’d never actually thought about it before. But Rowan said something about us knowing each other from a past life...” she admitted shyly.
Rhiannon stared at her. “What did he say? Come on, spill!”
Hesitantly she revealed that Rowan had told her that he was once King Arthur and she was Morgaine, his soul mate and magical partner in Camelot, and that before that they’d been high priest and high priestess in Avalon together. Then she laughed.
“He was just being nice, trying to make me feel better after I broke down and cried on his shoulder,” she insisted.
“You cried on his shoulder?”
Her friend shrugged. “Yeah, I started crying when he was asking about my parents, and he gave me a hug.”
“I think he really likes you!” Rhiannon exclaimed. “He never touches people, let alone claiming that they’ve been lovers throughout time,” she added, her voice a strange mix of disbelief, admiration and jealousy.
Carlie scoffed. “That’s ridiculous!” she insisted – but she looked relieved that the beep of Rhiannon’s watch brought their conversation to a halt.
“Oh, it’s time for our readings with the psychics,” she said, excited again, as she fished out their tickets from her bag.
“Yours is with Isabella, and mine is with Carmen,” she added, as she grabbed her friend’s hand and excitedly dragged her through the crowd to the back of the huge hall.
They split up, Carlie finding her reader near the front of the room, while Rhiannon walked to the back, where a cheerful-looking woman wearing a gorgeous purple scarf over her hair and holding a deck of tarot cards sat.
“Welcome child,” Carmen said, her voice low yet commanding. “How can I help you today?”
Pulling out the small chair, she lowered herself gingerly, and folded her hands on the table. “I’m not sure what I need to know, or hear,” she began, voice a question.
“Or perhaps you don’t know how to ask what you want to know?” Carmen suggested, and she nodded uncertainly.
“We can start with a general reading, how about that? Here, take a deep breath, calm your mind and shuffle the cards,” the psychic said, handing over a well-used but beautiful deck.
Rhiannon took them reverently, closed her eyes and let the feeling of freedom and peace course through her again, then she carefully shuffled them and handed them back.
Sadness crossed Carmen’s face for a moment as she held the cards, then it brightened as she turned the first one over.
“Oh child, you have lost so much, and yet you haven’t let that defeat you. You haven’t stopped believing in the good of the world, and the potential for goodness in your own life.”
Rhiannon stared at her, perplexed, thinking back to just after her mum had died, when she’d been so selfish and thoughtless. But the psychic shook her head.
“Do not dwell on that. It is the past, and you did what you could with what you had and what you were faced with at the time. You need to let that go now. It doesn’t mean you’re forgetting your mother, she will always be with you, but she wants you to start living your life.”
Rhiannon paled. How did this woman know her mother had died? She hadn’t said a word about anything – not about losing someone, and definitely not about who she’d lost.
“She is with you child,” Carmen said, her voice so confident, so reassuring, that Rhiannon felt the words wrapping around her, soothing her heart, and filling her with a sense of potential and an urgency to start making a difference.
Carmen smiled at her. “
Yes child, now you’re starting to get it. And as you see, so will you be seen.”
Puzzled, Rhiannon stared at her, trying to understand.
“New love,” the psychic said. “I see a tall, fair-haired and handsome guy sweeping you off your feet by Christmas.”
A smile slid across Rhiannon’s face, and a sliver of hope lodged in her heart. She wondered who it could be, and whether she’d already met him, or if he was so far a stranger. Could he be an existing student at their school, or maybe someone who would transfer there next term? Or would she meet him out somewhere? But where would she be going? Where could she go? She barely socialised.
For a moment she felt frantic, panicked that she would somehow squander her chance, but she tried to rein it in – and then she was hit by a wave of guilt. The same question came back to her. How could she be worthy of love, when her mum was dead? Surely she should be grieving too much to crave the respite that love would bring her?
“Oh my child, of course you are worthy, and you have no reason to feel guilty about it, I promise. It will be a nice distraction from your pain, and a well-deserved one.”
Rhiannon’s mind whirled, flitting from doubt to belief and back again. She’d been battling this duality for a long time, and she couldn’t help but feel it was too hard a balance to strike – living her life, trying to plan for the future and enjoy the good things that came along, while still honouring her grief and not wanting to forget the one she had loved and lost.
“You are stronger than you realise,” Carmen said. “You will know what to do when the time comes. And he will help you. He has very kind eyes.” A memory of the blond guy from her dream flitted into her mind, and she smiled.
When the girls met up back at the cafe afterwards, Rhiannon hesitantly shared what her psychic had said, alternating from excitement that she would meet somebody soon, guilt and grief over her mum, and anger that Beth would miss everything, from her school ball to her wedding day to meeting her grandchildren – not that she was anticipating the last two happening any time soon.
Into the Storm: Into the Storm Trilogy Book One Page 37
