Contents
Acknowledgement
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
The
Heartstone
Lisa Finnegan
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
copyright © Lisa Finnegan 2009
ISBN 978 1 4092 6872 7
All rights reserved.
no part of this publication may be reproduced stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without the prior permission of the publishers.
Acknowledgement
Many other writers helped me on this journey, a special thank you to Morgan Llywelyn who guided my steps in her workshop and then listened to me on the phone while encouraging me not to give up and to Alexei Kondratiev of the Irish Arts Centre, NYC, for his Irish lessons. Thanks also to the students and teachers at the Gotham Writers Workshop and for the many hours of exercises and discussion with Alex Lamb, Joan Conwell and George Konetsky. I trust they were not in vain.
This book would not have been written without the loving support of my parents, Keith Nelson and Leda Serey and also my sisters Kirsten Cunha, Raina Roe and Erica Roe. I would like to thank Kim Sharp for his gentle encouragement over the long first draft process. And a heartfelt thank you to Lori Fraad, my best friend for over twenty-five years, who will always be there for me in spirit.
Dedication
To my husband James
&
The Splinters, Alex, Joanie and George,
who helped it all come together over coffee
all those years ago.
Chapter One
Ariana had just curled up on the couch in her oldest jeans and faded UConn sweatshirt with a bowl of light popcorn and her, “American in Paris” video. Sleet bounced against the window from sullen January clouds. She was fast-forwarding through the previews when the buzzer rang.
It was her first Saturday off in three weeks, now what? Sighing she freed herself from the mauve and blue mohair blanket draped over her lap. The buzzer rang again. She stopped the machine, brushed the crumbs off her hands and put the bowl on the end table.
"Alright, I’m coming." Slipping into sneakers, she pushed back her hair, tugged her shirt down. She listened a moment to the static garble on the intercom and buzzed the door open.
The place was a mess. She’d had no time to clean yet, tomorrow she promised herself. Still, the hardwood floor was swept. The door to her bedroom safely closed. The desk was a wreck. Papers were everywhere amid the clutter of Chinese take-out cartons and a huge pile of mail overwhelming her computer. She tried not to look, dimming the track lights in that part of the room. At least there were flowers in the vase and framed posters added vibrancy to the white walls.
It would have to do. There was a knock. She opened the door with a bright smile that faded quickly. A bored young man stood there with a box tucked under one arm. He checked his delivery slip.
"Ariana Cameron?" He held out his clipboard.
She signed, and put the box on the couch. She sat down studying it. It was wrapped in brown paper, heavily taped and covered with "Air Mail" and "This side up" in Aunt Fiona’s precise handwriting. She was always so meticulous. The present was early; Ariana’s birthday wasn't until next week. She considered waiting to unwrap it.
Inside, on top of Styrofoam peanuts, rested an ivory envelope. The face of the card was a sketch of a cliff with the sea crashing against it. Fiona was an artist; every year she created a different design for Ariana’s card. She smiled, inside the note simply said, "Happy birthday! This was your mother Julia’s. She wanted you to have it when you turned twenty-five. Happy quarter century! Love always, Aunt Fi.”
Fiona wasn't her aunt by blood but by affection. She had been her mother Julia’s best friend. After her mother died, Fiona helped Ariana through her rebellious teenage years. They'd lost touch when she moved to New York, but Fiona always sent a birthday present.
Under the peanuts rested a wooden jewelry box with an inlaid Celtic knot on the lid. Mingled wood and silver spirals chased around the sides of the box. She recognized the box. It had rested on Fiona’s dresser as long as she could remember. It had been Mom’s. Fiona had never let her touch it. She looked at the box sitting on her lap. Why now? The note didn't explain.
Taking a deep breath she turned the clasp. As the clasp unlocked and the lid rose, the silver detailing writhed and turned brilliant for a moment. She let go of the lid and leaned back. The box was empty except for a huge crystal on a silver chain resting on velvet, colors prismed through it. Her ears rang and the room receded. The ever-present street noise of New York faded to a whisper. The room dimmed. Her head spun.
This had been Mom's? There was a sharp pang in her heart; she would have loved to see her wear it. Ariana cradled the jewel in her palm. Slowly the cool polished surface warmed until she couldn't tell where her hand began and the stone stopped. She hesitated then clasped the chain around her neck.
The stone was heavy. It dragged her down. She sank to the floor. A galaxy of colors spun on the end of the chain. She felt drunk or fevered. Her stomach churned as the room shifted. What was going on? Her hand swept the table clear as she tried to rise. Popcorn arced through the air like missiles casting rainbows behind them.
The floor changed the solid oak liquefying, sucking her down into a whirlpool, spreading out to encompass the whole apartment. She clawed for solid ground but there was nothing to hold onto. Sliding into the funnel dragged from the familiar world, there was no time to scream. Passing into the swirling mass, it felt as if a thousand bees stung her at once. She screamed, but made no sound. Everything went black.
* * * * * *
There was a high metallic shriek cut off abruptly, then silence. A bright yellow and red light played behind Ariana’s closed eyes. Someone moaned. She wished they'd stop. “Shut Up.” She mumbled through thick lips. The moaning stopped and she realized it was herself. Her head was thick and swimming and her stomach heaved.
Gingerly she opened her eyes; sunshine lanced her from a Technicolor sky. She lay flat on her back: coarse grass hummocks lumped under her: trees canopied overhead instead of the walls of her apartment: birdsong replaced sirens. Where was she? What had happened?
She remembered putting the jewel on and the apartment disappearing, then the horrible pain, now she was here. Her stomach surged: Ariana rolled over vomiting. Wiping her face, she sat up. The only other time she remembered feeling like this was when they took out her appendix.
She'd been drugged somehow, kidnapped and brought where? Tall trees surrounded her, gnarled mossy faces peering from knobby trunks. Young leaves pushed forth from hoary branches. Roots thrust into the rich earth and a carpet of tender grass spread out toward her. Bramble bushes filled with purple red berries and jewel toned birds bridged the gap between old giants and new growth. The sun caressed her face.
Even the air tasted green, a fresh earthy tang reminding her of that trip she’d taken to Ireland a few years ago. This must be upstate. Ariana tried not to imagine what lurked in the forest, just trees, some birds and Bambi. Fear insisted on bears and copperheads. Taking a deep breath trying to calm down like they'd
taught in that meditation class she'd taken once. Where were her kidnappers? Why was she alone?
The grass around her was burnt in a four-foot circle. She was covered in fine ash. Ariana frantically inspected her skin, patted her hair; no burnt frizzy ends. Her hands shook as she brushed herself off. She whimpered. Her head spun, she felt sick to her stomach. The forest blurred. She blacked out.
She woke up parched. It was late afternoon. She was still alone. By now, Ariana would have welcomed some company, even the mysterious kidnappers. Birdsong filtered down through the treetops. Was she the only person here? There was no traffic noise. There wasn’t the slightest sign of any human habitation. Standing up, weaving on her feet Ariana moved out of the burned circle and walked around the perimeter of the clearing.
How had she been brought here? There was no way any vehicle could have gotten through the tangled underbrush. Ariana looked for tire tracks anyway. She was beginning to doubt her kidnapping theory.
There was a narrow track barely wide enough to pass through. She started down it a few steps then stopped, looking back. She had to get back to civilization, staying in the clearing wouldn't help. Resolute she turned and walked away.
The bushes rustled. At every noise, Ariana expected something to crash through the underbrush. But nothing attacked. Walking was a slow progress; brambles caught on her clothes. She clambered over deadfall. Sweat stung her eyes. The trail grew slippery with mud then dead-ended at the bank of a stream.
Ariana knelt and rinsed out her mouth. The water was frigid. She drank greedily until her teeth tingled, feeling her mind clear. Finished, she washed some of the grit from her face; finger combed her hair, and felt marginally better. Sitting down on a large rock on the shore Ariana tried to decide on her next move.
Follow the stream. It was her only guide. At least she'd have water. Plus there were usually towns near rivers and streams. Tonight she'd need shelter. She doubted there was a Holiday Inn nearby. The thought of being alone in this vast forest chilled her. She'd heard of people being lost for months in the Adirondacks. If only she had her cell phone. Her stomach rumbled.
Some of the small blue and green birds had congregated around a berry bush nestled on the far bank, she stone-stepped over to it. The berries were crimson and fragrant. She tasted one, juice squirted into her mouth. Ariana stripped a few from the nearest branches and devoured them. Distracted, she didn't hear the rustling in the bushes behind her.
A deep male voice called out. Ariana turned, dropping the berries on the rocky bank. A dark haired man slipped from the underbrush. He held a bow; a quiver was slung over his shoulder.
Ariana screamed and fled, splashing through the rocky streambed almost twisting her ankle sliding on algae covered rock. She stumbled, water spraying as she righted herself. Reaching the bank, she flung herself up the steep muddy shore.
She stopped as an arrow impaled the muddy bank in front of her. The arrow quivered in the dirt, inches from her fingers. She flinched back with a cry.
Carefully Ariana drew her hands back and stood up. She could feel her heart pounding waiting for the next shot that would hit between her shoulder blades. Slowly keeping her hands in the air Ariana turned to face the bowman. She froze. Another arrow was notched on the string, pointing straight at her heart. He gestured for her to move away from the bank. The cold water numbed her feet but she didn't dare disobey. This guy was tramping around the forest like some crazy Renfest reject. Ariana didn't want to set him off.
"Listen," she started, "What's going on? Is this a joke or something? You could really hurt somebody with that thing. Just let me go and I promise I won't tell anybody, I mean the authorities or the government or anything."
He looked baffled. Wow he was in really deep. It was just her luck to meet up with some wacko para-military group. She'd never get away. Ariana started sweating. Heat spread through her body radiating out from the gem under her sweatshirt. It felt like a nail was being hammered into her skull. She felt faint.
"Who are you?" He had a thick accent. She could barely understand him.
"Where am I?"
"Why are you in the domain of Kievran Lord of Dun Caer?"
"What?" This guy was crazy; her palms started sweating. "No, really, what state is this? I don't have time for games. I just want to get out of here."
"I am Jarod of Dun Caer who asks. What is your title and clan?"
"Listen if you just point me in the right direction I’ll leave you all alone."
"What do you do here?" His finger tensed on the bowstring.
"I’m lost," she said quickly.
"What is your title and clan?" She thought for a second.
"My name is Ariana Cameron."
"Whence came you?”
"New York,“ she waited.
He didn't respond no sneering about the big city or anything. There was no recognition on his face at all. Her heart sank. Until that moment she'd hoped this was all just an elaborate prank.
"You’ve never heard of New York?" He ignored her comment.
"Come with me."
"No, wait a minute. I don't think so."
"You have no choice. You will come willingly or not." He drew the bowstring taut.
Ariana stood still. He would shoot her. She knew that. Walking up to her he looked her over. She caught the glint of silver from the intricate silver brooch holding his cloak and the torc around his neck. The icy water was soaking up to her knees. Her jeans were soggy around her legs. Looking at her clothes there was a question in his eyes. But he remained silent.
"Give me your word you won't run and I won't tie you up." She nodded.
"Come." He gestured with the bow. She didn't move. "Follow."
"Where are we going?" Her voice quavered, she coughed to cover it.
"Dun Caer." He strode away.
Ariana reluctantly slogged behind. The crushed berries stained the mud like blood and the birds swooped down to feast. They followed the trail that serpentined through the forest. Her heartbeats were loud in her ears. Questions buzzed in her mind like the midges swarming around their heads. This was just too weird. How had she gotten here? Where was here? Ariana tried to discard the wild thoughts that sprang into her mind. Jarod walked briskly and stopped impatiently to let her rest.
"How much further is it?"
"Not far." He gestured for her to keep walking.
"Listen, I didn't mean to trespass or anything. Please let me go. I promise I won't..."
"Be silent."
He glided over the trail. He walked with his head up yet didn’t make a sound. He blended into the forest. He wore a dun tunic, leggings and brown boots, the only splash of color the swath of dark green and blue wool over one shoulder. His brown hair was braided back from his face with a simple leather thong.
When she walked leaves crunched and her wet jeans flapped against her sodden sneakers. At least he held branches aside so they didn't smack her in the face. He hadn't tried to attack her but Ariana didn't trust him. She looked for an escape route; but the underbrush was thick along the trail. Even if she did get away he'd use the bow. Plus he was the only person here.
It was either stay with him or face this wilderness alone. Ariana shivered. She'd always loved the woods, but it had been in national parks along pruned semi-tame trails. This was different. The forest here was wild, dangerous. Ariana felt eyes on her as she followed Jarod like a beacon. The forest thinned, they reached the edge of a settlement.
This was no modern town. She'd hoped to find somewhere with a gravel road or a phone but no. Wooden buildings huddled between the trees, they looked hastily constructed and some leaned perilously. There were great rents in some of the walls and thatched roofs gaped with holes. Nearby a small patch of cleared land was filled with small gardens on one side and sheep and goats nibbled on the underbrush on the other. Blue smoke from cooking fires drifted into the sky. Pigs, dogs and children raced around.
Closer to the center of the large circular sett
lement, the buildings were larger. Colorful woven cloths waved in the windows and intricate carvings bordered the doors. Here the buildings were made of bright painted plaster and wood and the roofs were in better repair. People bustled about finishing the day's tasks.
They nodded and smiled at Jarod, but stopped and stared when they saw her. All the attention was unsettling and she kept her head down. As they passed, they gained quite a following of curious onlookers. Ariana glanced at the people surrounding her.
The men all wore the same type of clothes as Jarod but their plaids were more muted with plain brooches. The women wore simple cotton shifts with plaid overdresses held by elaborate pins. Ornate silver hairpins and combs threaded through their long rippling hair. Self-consciously Ariana pushed her straight dirty blonde hair behind her ears. Word spread about the newcomer and the crowd grew. Jarod turned.
"Are there no tasks waiting for you? You must plague me with your curiosity? Let be."
The crowd dispersed but eyes still furtively studied the pair walking to the fortress that dominated the town.
"Dun Caer" said Jarod.
A wall of reinforced logs encircled the fort. The Dun itself was made of stone. Every windowsill and doorway was covered in carvings, animals, and trees and entwined knots danced all over the fortress. They walked into the front courtyard; beaten earth packed flat from countless generations. A grand archway ornamented with interlacing dragons led to the great hall. Around the arched doorway the walls sprawled over a huge expanse. They walked past the carved oak doors that were the Dun's defense; the carved dragon sentinels peered at the intruder.
The Heartstone Page 1
