An Average Curse (The Chronicles of Hawthorn, Book 1)

by Rue

  Copyright © 2016 by Rue

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America by Sittin’ On A Goldmine Productions, L.L.C., Arizona. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any manner whatsoever, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Sittin’ On A Goldmine Productions, L.L.C.

  info@sittinonagoldmine.co

  www.sittinonagoldmine.co

  This 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.

  Rue

  An Average Curse : a novel / by Rue, —1st ed.

  ISBN: 978-0-9973118-1-5 (Paperback) / ISBN: 978-0-9973118-9-1 (Electronic Book)

  [1. Witches — Fiction. 2. Magic — Fiction. 3. Fantasy — Fiction.

  4. New Zealand — Fiction. 5. Maori — Fiction.] 1. Title.

  Smashwords Edition

  Printed in the United States of America

  For Morgan

  Because you made me believe in magick

  Contents

  Title Page

  Map

  Prologue The Courage of Kahu

  Chapter 1 The Forgotten Birthday

  Chapter 2 Winter Solstice is Coming

  Chapter 3 Beware of Friendly Faeries

  Chapter 4 Who’s for Dinner

  Chapter 5 Winter Solstice

  Chapter 6 The Initiation Tests

  Chapter 7 Under Fire

  Chapter 8 Training Begins

  Chapter 9 The Herb Hut

  Chapter 10 The House of Magickal Items

  Chapter 11 All About Grounding

  Chapter 12 To the Fields

  Chapter 13 What Will Spring Bring

  Chapter 14 Into the Forest

  Chapter 15 Is This the End

  Chapter 16 The Day Before

  Chapter 17 The Night Before

  Chapter 18 Pass or Fail

  Chapter 19 Promotion Ceremony

  Chapter 20 An Unexpected Guest

  Chapter 21 Not What It Seems

  Epilogue Back to the Herb Hut

  The Saga Continues

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Enter Flynn Hawthorn’s World

  I first heard this tale when the blush of youth still softened my cheeks, but long after that glow faded, this memory remains bright. As the keeper of legends, the oldest crone, it is my duty to share this saga with you—to keep this story alive. The eighth daughter, Kahu, bore the weight of the ages on her young shoulders. The threat of the Shadow Coven of Southeil inevitably advanced toward her people, and the only thing that could prevent her land from plunging into the darkness would be her daughter. Devastatingly, the young Kahu could not conceive this child of prophecy, and her anguish led her to take one final desperate risk. Here is what my mother told me…

  Kahu lay on the precipice, her body twisted awkwardly in the clear moonlight. The silent shudder of her young shoulders served as the only evidence of her weeping. A cloud passed in front of the expectant moon and her head jerked hopefully upward.

  She wiped her tears and scanned the heavens for some sign that her journey had not been in vain. Kahu drew inspiration from the intention of the powerful High Priestess she longed to become, and let the song pour from her soul.

  The words she sang were in an ancient tongue, but the strength of her plea transcended time.

  Oh, Dunedin, winged master of the sky.

  I call you down from your duties on high.

  Grace me now with your shadow’s fertile gift,

  Bless my belly with the child to heal the Rift.

  Blow upon me your warm breath of new life,

  End my barren battle and empty strife.

  She poured out her sorrow—her efforts to conceive and the children lost while still in her womb.

  Kahu’s melancholy gossamer voice wafted through the night, penetrating the protective mist cloaking her island and unknowingly weaving the captain of a passing vessel into Dunedin’s plan.

  The captain, Flynn Cook, heard the angel’s voice and felt compelled to take a small complement of men, in a longboat, to investigate the heartbreaking sounds.

  His men rowed into the thick mist around Aotearoa, unaware of the magick woven into the fog, and they were instantly lost. Huge waves smashed the wooden craft to splinters below the cliffs, offering the men to an angry sea. Greedy megalodon sharks knifed through the water toward the scent of blood and crushed the lost sailors in their dagger-toothed jaws—save one.

  Cook washed ashore below the lamenting woman—badly wounded and barely conscious.

  High above him a great black-winged beast circled and surveyed his design.

  Kahu ceased her song and drew her athamé. The folded skymetal blade flashed as she hacked a lock of her moonlit hair and held it to the night. “Dunedin, I command you to come to my aid,” she shouted to the moon and sea.

  A gust of wind at her back flung the bits of hair into the void and nearly pushed her over the cliff’s edge. She jumped back from the precipice and felt hot breath at her neck.

  “You do not command me, one-day-priestess.” Dunedin’s thick nostrils flared, his hooves scattered rocks as he pawed the stone, and folded his great wings against his sides. There he stood, the massive winged horse known as the mythical keeper of the moon and the only solace of the childless woman.

  Kahu dropped to one knee and bowed her head. The tales of Dunedin paled in comparison to his physical presence. Magick rolled off his inky black feathers like the waves of heat rising from the rocks in the midday sun and her skin tingled with each pulse. His power stood outside of time and the legends of his gifts gave even the hopeless a reason to live.

  She focused on her duty to the Coven of the Sacred Wood—bear the ninth daughter of the ninth daughter—the savior of her people. She had worn the mask of the Earth Mother in five Spring Rites and had three failures and two stillbirths, both boys, to show for her efforts. Her only hope of salvation would be Dunedin’s gift, and desperation made her reckless.

  “Dunedin, I must have a feather from your right wing. I must bear a daughter, I must save my people from the darkness that rises in Southeil and threatens to swallow our land.”

  Dunedin rose up on his hind legs and snorted with laughter. “Must? The only thing you must do, flesh-child, is die. The rest is but a trick of light in the foam on the waves.”

  She turned to face him, her back to the roaring breakers below. He could push her to her death with one flap of his powerful black wings. “If my daughter is never born, the halves of the great Book of Shadow and Light will never be reunited and your magick will fade as the dark witch Magdelana smothers the last flicker of light in this world.” She stepped closer to the beast and looked up into his silver eyes. “I must have that feather, Dunedin.”

  His eye fixed her with a steely gaze. He slowly unfolded his right wing and pulled her close to his shimmering flank. “Pull the ninth feather,” he nosed her arm toward his wing, “from there.”

  She counted carefully and grasped the slick black plume with both hands. “Now?” She pulled firmly and stumbled to her knee as it wrenched free.

  Dunedin pawed the ground with his front hoof and puffed a great gust of steamy breath. “Climb onto my back, she-witch.”

  Kahu hesitated, but he scooped the carpal joint of his wing under her and pushed her upward. She clutched at his mane to keep fr
om falling straight over the other side.

  “Hold tight.” Dunedin lunged toward the sheer drop, and without warning heaved himself off into the moonlit night.

  A scream ripped from her throat and she hastily braided her fingers deeper into his ebony mane. The rictus of fear on her face melted to slack-jawed awe as Dunedin’s powerful wings turned them toward the glowing full moon.

  He banked and plummeted toward the rocky shore.

  Kahu delighted at the damp sea air racing over her skin. Her grip loosened as she gazed up at the cross-clustered Guiding Stars and marveled at their nearness. She tumbled roughly to the coarse sand when Dunedin unexpectedly trounced to a landing on the narrow strip of beach below the high Cliffs of Tapu.

  She rolled over to scold her winged tormentor, but stopped short when she heard the moans of an injured human lying in the sparkling swash. Her healing instincts overtook her and she ran to the form.

  Her eyes scanned the tall, ebony-haired man, his face young, but weathered by the sea. She knew him instantly to be an outsider, a seafarer from beyond the mist. She checked him carefully for cuts, or worse, and discovered his large muscular body mostly unharmed, save a deep cut on the side of his head.

  She tore a strip of fabric from the edge of her cloak, reached into her medicine pouch, and rubbed black nightshade extract on the cloth. Cradling his head in her arm, she carefully wrapped the cloth over his wound, to slow the bleeding and dull the pain.

  He stirred. He moaned softly and murmured, “An angel.”

  She did not understand his language, but she heard the rumble of gratitude in his deep voice. Kahu glanced back to ask Dunedin if he had understood, but the keeper of the moon had disappeared.

  She smiled when the man opened his golden-brown eyes.

  His damp sand-speckled hand brushed her cheek.

  The touch of his fingers brought a flush of heat to her face and she lowered her eyelids to cover her curiosity. Kahu felt the stranger’s energy pulling at her soul.

  He gently touched her chin, slipped his hand into her soft hair, and pulled her parted lips toward his eager mouth.

  A pulse of emotion flooded through her heart. She had never experienced this burning need. He tasted of the sea and things beyond the mist. She wanted more…

  The moon had slipped low on the horizon when Dunedin returned and nudged Kahu from her dreamy slumber. “It is time to return to your people, Priestess.”

  Kahu blinked her eyes and looked up and down the glimmering shoreline. “I saw a man—I tended his wound—what—where?” She pulled her cloak around her shoulders and brushed the sand from her hair.

  “I returned him to his ship beyond the mist. He served his purpose.” Dunedin bore the witch on his back and deposited Kahu atop the jagged cliffs.

  She turned to thank him for the gift of his feather, and remembered his words on the beach. “You called me ‘Priestess’, does that mean—?”

  “You will name your daughter, Flynn,” Dunedin called to the Priestess as he took to the air.

  With one hand Kahu rubbed the golden key she had stolen from the stranger and placed the hand holding the obsidian-black feather on her belly. “I will,” she promised.

  In the days of Kahu’s service only she and her mother, Kapowai, the former High Priestess, knew this whole truth.

  The remaining inhabitants of our cloaked island of Aotearoa believed the carefully crafted story our line of High Priestesses told us. Kapowai and Kahu hid the truth about the outsider that may have diluted the magickal bloodline, and led us all to believe that the ninth daughter, Flynn, could not access her magick because of a curse.

  Rumors swirled and we all feared that a Watcher, without magickal prowess, could never face the evil Magdelana and hope to defeat the Shadow Coven. Our only chance of reuniting The Book of Shadow and Light lay in finding a way to lift the curse from the Hawthorn heir.

  But that is Flynn’s story…

  The cloaked island of Aotearoa lay dormant in the frigid clutches of winter. Usually the promise of the Winter Solstice festivities brought a cheery energy to the island’s largest village, but this season had been harder than any in recent memory and the icy winds dampened the spirits of the villagers in Moa Bend. The heavy grey sky threatened the second snowstorm in as many weeks and the High Priestess, Kahu, rushed to prepare a welcome for the resulting early arrival of the envoys from The Hagathorn.

  From the small, but functional kitchen where Flynn washed the breakfast plates and mugs in a large wooden basin, she overheard the booming voice of Thelema, Mistress of the Firmament.

  “The signs all point to something unnatural, Kahu.” Thelema pulled her thick wool cloak over her voluminous form. Her skin hung in loose folds that strained to keep their precarious hold on the withering skeleton buried inside.

  “Winter is never pleasant, Thelema. The warmth of the sun will return, as always.” Kahu stood, squared her strong shoulders, and nodded to the venerable seer, “I must attend to the preparations for the oak and mistletoe, Mistress. Can you see yourself out?”

  The mountain of a woman made no effort to rise. “You remember the blight in Hokitika this past Harvest? And now some sorcery infects their water?” Thelema licked her thick bluish lips, savoring the taste of her words.

  Kahu took a deep breath, smoothed a stray lock of red-blonde hair, and replied in an even tone. “I received word this morning from their Priestess, Elenora. They will not be sending a delegation to the Winter Solstice, due to the water contamination problem with the village well. They are quite close to the sea, Thelema. I’m sure a skilled Priestess like Elenora can deal with a little brackish water.” Kahu shook her head and moved toward the door. “A simple matter of digging a new well.”

  “Mark my words, High Priestess, some evil yet seeps from Makutu’s Scar. That water is tainted with the very Shadow itself!” Thelema surged upward on the last syllable with the power of a tsunami. She flowed out the front door of the Hawthorn’s cottage, letting a long blast of cold air sweep in behind her.

  Kahu pressed her palms together and tapped the wedge of fingers on her forehead while she mumbled under her breath.

  “Will you cancel the celebration, Mother?” Flynn tucked her sleek black hair behind her ear and bit her lip.

  Kahu flung her hands into the air and spun toward her daughter. “I have the worries and exaggerations of our entire island on my shoulders, Flynn. I don’t need your childish whining added to the heap.”

  Flynn’s golden-brown eyes clouded and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I didn’t mean—but, the storm—the water. I want to help.” Her eyes darted up for a moment.

  “You?” Kahu shook her head and laughed bitterly. “You want to help?”

  The tone in her mother’s voice bit deeper than the meanest winter wind. “I’ll find a way to break the curse. I’ll find my magick—” Flynn stuttered.

  “Find your belt knife.” Kahu angrily interrupted. “The least you can do will be to take care of the oak and mistletoe when the delegation arrives from The Hagathorn.” The High Priestess paced back and forth across the worn wooden floorboards. “Make sure you are finished by sunset and properly cover your work. No moonlight must touch the talismans.” She turned and paced again. “And don’t move them once they’re complete, by the Goddess, don’t move them. I’ll send two of my acolytes to collect them and properly bless them before the ritual.” Kahu grabbed her thick winter cloak from a peg near the front door and secured it around her proud neck as she stormed out of the house.

  “And so it will be,” Flynn murmured to the empty cottage. She secured her belt knife, pulled up the cowl of her hand-me-down cloak, and dove out the front door into the frosty morning. Her mind wandered as she walked to collect the supplies her mother had mentioned.

  Flynn’s first Winter Solstice ritual had been the day of her birth, a legendary moment anticipated for hundreds of years. The gift of Dunedin’s feather had finally allowed the Priestess-in-waiting, K
ahu, to conceive a child during the Spring Rite, and the Mother Goddess had delivered that child into the world on the very day of the Guiding Stars’ alignment with Kopu, the morning star. The elders considered Flynn’s early arrival to be a good omen—a sign that the child anxiously awaited the opportunity to fulfill her role and deliver her people from the threat of evil.

  Every breath Flynn took had been publicly celebrated, but her earliest private memories contained the pain of disappointment. She recalled practicing for her mother’s dedication ceremony at the tender age of three.

  “Come and sit in my lap, sweet girl,” Kahu had called.

  Little Flynn toddled over and plopped down on her mother’s knee, her bone-straight jet-black hair a sharp contrast to her mother’s golden-red curls. “Feathers!” she shouted.

  “Yes, very good.” Kahu patted her daughter’s head. “Now Mama is going to teach you how to make the feathers float, and tonight at my dedication you can stand next to me and help me call the element of Air to the circle. Won’t that be fun?”

  “Fun,” little Flynn echoed.

  “First you must learn the word. Can you say ‘angi’?” Kahu prompted.

  “Angi,” little Flynn repeated.

  Kahu looked at her mother, the High Priestess Kapowai, and smiled. “Her pronunciation is perfect, Mother. Did you hear the way she held that ‘ng’ in the back of her throat? She’s on her way to be the powerful High Priestess that will finally fulfill the prophecy.”

  The High Priestess nodded her silver-streaked head. Weariness from carrying the burden of protecting Aotearoa for twenty-nine years, from the growing threat in Southeil, hung in the lines on her face. She eagerly waited to pass the wand to her own daughter, Kahu. The law prevented an heir from assuming the wand until she bore a daughter. The entire focus of the Priestesshood had been to continue the bloodline of eldest daughters and groom each heir to bring the people one step closer to the ninth daughter of the ninth daughter, Flynn—who would repair The Book of Shadow and Light.