I coughed loudly the moment the bony fingers left my throat. “Banquo,” I cried again and rushed to the tunnel where I’d seen him. The black smoke was gone, and so was Banquo.
“I told you not to wander,” Andraste said.
“Where did he go?” I demanded.
“Home, I’d guess. Talented, your druid. No one has found this place in hundreds of years. But then again, he knows the shadowlands. Light,” Andraste called then traced another rune in the darkness. Once again, blue light followed her finger. “Light,” she called again after the shape was made.
At once, the cave sprang to life. Blue fires lit the square sconces all around the circular space. I finally saw the room clearly. It was filled with skeletons. And the man from my dream, the Lord of the Hollow Hills, still sat on his throne. His body had decayed to nothing more than bones, tatters of cloth hanging from his frame.
Andraste bowed to him then turned to me. “Come, girl,” she said, beckoning me to her. “Give me your hand.”
I did as she told me.
“Raise only your index finger,” she told me. Then, taking my finger, she traced a rune with my finger on the palm of her hand again and again. “Now,” Andraste said, letting go of me, “point your finger to the heavens.”
I did as she directed.
“Select one,” she said, motioning to the skeletons lying on the floor. “But not him. Stubborn fool. You are dead,” she said, referring to the skeleton from the priest’s temple. “And not him,” she added, motioning to the Lord of the Hollow Hills.
“That one,” I said, eyeing a skeleton that lay at the feet of the dead lord.
“Of course you would select her,” Andraste said, then laughed. “Point to the heavens. Tell her, ‘wake.’ Make the rune then command her ‘wake’ again.”
I knew what Andraste was teaching me…wizardry…necromancy. My body shook. I lifted my finger to the heavens, and this time, I felt power rush into my fingertip. It was like a bolt of lightning was racing into my finger and through my body. I shivered. “Wake,” I told the skeleton. I made the rune in the air. The same blue glow followed my finger. “Wake,” I said again.
The skeleton rose.
Andraste grinned as she took in the scene.
The skeleton’s bones clattered as she shifted. Dust swirled around her. She took two steps toward me. Then the undead thing reached out for my hand. I was struck by the memory of my dream.
“Now what?” I asked Andraste.
“Now she is yours to command. She will do anything you ask.”
I stared at the skeleton. Its dark eyes looked expectantly at me, its hand still outstretched. I shuddered. “I want it to go back to sleep.”
Andraste took my hand. Again, she drew a rune in her palm over and over again. “Speak the word. Make the rune. Speak the word again then release the power back into the ground by pointing your finger downward.”
“Sleep,” I told the skeleton. Then I made the rune Andraste had showed me. “Sleep,” I said again, then pointed my finger down.
The skeleton fell to the ground with a rattling crash. She lay on the ground before me, inanimate, though her arm lay outstretched, reaching for my hand.
Chapter 27
I spent the next several days working with Andraste, who taught me more of the mysteries of the Dark Goddess. One of the most important subjects Andraste taught me was history.
“This place is just one of many of the islands that exist in the otherworld. Surely you have heard the names of Atlantis, Lyonesse, Hy Brasil, and even Avalon.”
It was then that Nimue, who had been sewing a hole in her cloak, looked up. She stared into the distance; her gaze was far away.
“You were a priestess of Avalon,” I stated more than asked.
Nimue turned and looked at me. Her eyes were watery. “Yes,” she whispered then went back to her sewing. She said nothing else. One day, I would be like her, forever mourning a life I’d missed hundreds of years ago. By the time I understood the Dark Goddess’ magic well enough to master it, Banquo would be long dead. And it was clear now, neither Andraste, nor the island, would let him come to me here. But then again, if what Andraste was saying about the other islands was true, then maybe there was still hope…still, a chance.
“Are there others, like us, on the other islands in the mist?” I asked.
Nimue raised her head and stared at Andraste.
Andraste smiled. “That’s a good question. Perhaps.”
“Could we reach them?”
Andraste shrugged.
“You haven’t tried?”
Andraste shook her head. “I never had a reason.”
I looked at Nimue. Excitement flashed across her eyes. In her, I knew I had a partner.
* * *
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about necromancy, and dreams, and my feelings about Sid, Banquo, and the dark-haired man. The more I worried about getting back to Banquo, the more I missed Sid, the more I puzzled over the dark-haired man, the crazier I felt. It was like I had a whirlwind in my head. I wanted to learn the things Andraste was teaching me, but I also wanted to go home. I felt conflicted. Annoyed with myself, I got up. While I knew I shouldn’t walk through the city, I also knew I could handle any skeletons that might come my way, thanks to Andraste.
“Come on, Thora,” I said, stealing quietly out of the temple. I stopped at the top of the temple stairs and looked the city over. It was tragically beautiful: dark, covered in wisteria, fire-scarred. I hated being brought here against my will. Hated it. But there was something about the place that I had come to love. If the dreams and visions were true, I had been here before…with Sid and the dark-haired man at the very least. As Boudicca’s memories lived in me, my memories of this place were starting to come back to me.
I headed down the main city street toward the docks. Nothing was moving. The skeleton was not back at the priest’s temple. I hoped that meant he was still sleeping in the Lord of the Hollow Hill’s throne room. As I neared the docks, I saw evidence that this really had been a nautical society. There was an open square where ships sat mid-construction. Several of them had fallen and were smashed, some burned, but they were still there. Heaps of wooden fishing traps littered the ground. What was missing, however, was the smell of the ocean and the call of sea birds. There was no roar of waves. I spotted the piers. Then, I saw the sea.
Three ships sat on an ocean of black smoke. Piers, at least thirty of them, jutted out into blackness. It was then that I really sensed the size of the fleet that had been lost. The ghost ships, their red sails hanging slack, sat in a sea of nothingness. Fearless, Thora ran up the steps and onto the main pier. I followed behind her.
The first ship I came across looked, up close, much like a Viking ship. The masthead was ornately carved. It was made of tan wood, and true to my visions, the sail was crimson in color. Age had dampened the brightness of the sail’s hue. I jumped when Thora barked at the empty vessel.
I followed her gaze. The ship was moving. It pitched as if it were sitting in water, bouncing up and down as if small waves moved it. I looked over the side of the pier. The bottom of the ship was not visible. It was covered in black, and the blackness stirred, making swirling designs. The sea was still alive. And if it was still alive, that meant I could sail to the other isles.
Lifting a plank, I set it on bulwark. Thora jumped on the plank and bounded into the boat. Her feet on the rail, she looked out at me.
I laughed. “Okay, I’m coming,” I told her. More careful than my dog, I shuffled up the plank and lowered myself into the boat.
I was surrounded by things I didn’t know what to do with. There were pulleys, ropes, and other devices I couldn’t name. I walked the length of the boat; it seemed sturdy. I entered the small captain’s quarters. On the table was a map; its edges were yellow and crumbling. Thereon I saw other islands and the tip of the mainland. Some of the islands had names, but not the island of the Dark Goddess. I sat down in
a chair and closed my eyes. A name. I needed to know the name of this place. I lay my hand on the map. It spoke to me in an ancient and dead language but one I nearly understood. Everything around me felt hollow. I felt like I was surrounded by cobwebs. The map below my hand began to feel hot. I started sweating. Through my mind’s eye, I looked at the map. It was glowing with a red light. Names began to burn onto the map: Hy Brasil, Atlantis, Lyonesse…and then I saw it, the name I had been searching for: Ynis Verleath.
I was shocked. Yes, that was the name. I knew it. I remembered it. Ynis Verleath. I bounded out of the captain’s cabin, off the ship, and down the pier. I rushed back to the temple. When I got to the steps, I shouted, “Andraste! Ynis Verleath!”
A few moments later, Andraste and Nimue emerged at the top of the stairs. “I remember! Ynis Verleath,” I called to her.
“Come, Cerridwen,” Andraste bade me. She had a serious look on her face.
Nimue looked pale and worried.
“Come,” she called again.
My stomach dropped. Something was wrong. I nodded and headed up the stairs, Thora walking beside me. Andraste turned and headed into the temple. Nimue waited for me at the top of the steps.
“What is it?” I whispered to her.
She shook her head but took my hand. Together, we walked past the broken goddess and the flame of the Morrigu toward the cauldron courtyard. I could hear Andraste speaking to someone in low tones.
“Cerridwen?” A voice called.
It was not Andraste who’d called my name. Thora barked excitedly, and dodging around Nimue, she raced ahead.
“Cerridwen?”
When we passed the arbor, I was shocked to see Sid standing there. A green light glowed on the far side of the courtyard. Sid must have cut a door. If she could do that, why hadn’t she come before? I realized then that Sid look frightened.
“Sid?”
She smiled weakly at me. “Hello, Raven Beak.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Uh…” Sid began hesitantly, sounding uncertain. She passed a glance at Andraste. “Nothing is wrong, sister, but you must return. A bridal contract is confirmed for you. Madelaine is here with us. She will wait for your return, but you must come at once. Mind the time.”
A bridal contract was confirmed! At last, Madelaine had secured my marriage to Banquo. I closed my eyes and sent out a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother Goddess. “But the Morrigu…I never thought she would let me go so soon.”
“So soon?” Sid asked. “Oh, my dear, I know your pains,” she said with a sympathetic smile but then added, “It was the Morrigu who sent me, plucking me up with her talons and dropping me in the otherworld.” Sid looked at Andraste. “I wish your mistress did her own bidding.”
Andraste shrugged then sat down. “She loves for her own ends. Now Cerridwen will do her work in the mortal world.”
“Cerridwen, my door is fading. I have to go. Come at once,” Sid said, then stepped back into the swirling green light behind her, disappearing.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Andraste and Nimue exchange glances.
“I can go,” I said astonished. I had learned so little, but it didn’t matter. Finally, I could return to my love. “I can leave!”
“A pity. A desperate pity,” Nimue said, her voice filled with disgust.
Andraste shot her a sharp look. “Come, Cerridwen.”
Andraste and Nimue led me to my room where Nimue gently disrobed me then re-dressed me in the plain dress I had worn the day I arrived.
“I’ve washed it,” Nimue told me.
“It will make no difference,” Andraste mumbled as she shoved the silver box containing the raven torcs into a bag which she handed to me.
“No,” Nimue said bitterly. “You’re right.”
I didn’t understand their words. “Why not?”
Andraste grimaced oddly, casting a passing glance at Nimue. “There is thunder, lightning, and rain. Now, where is Graymalkin?”
“By the cauldron,” Nimue replied.
We went back to the courtyard. Andraste came to stand before the space where Sid had stood. Opening her arms wide, Andraste whispered secret words and a portal opened. Black smoke swirled in a spiraling oval. It made my hair blow all around me. From within, I swore I could smell the scent of earth and rain.
Nimue pulled me into an embrace, kissing me on the cheek. “When shall we three meet again?” she asked, turning to Andraste. Her eyes were welling with tears.
“When the hurly-burly’s done. Now, the world of man calls,” Andraste said, and taking my hand, she led me to the portal. “My girl, remember, what’s fair is foul and foul is fair,” she said with a sympathetic smile. Her expression both surprised and worried me. “Now on with you into the fog and filthy air.”
I turned and looked into the portal. I was going home. The Morrigu had set me free. Taking a deep breath, I entered the portal. I felt a strange pull as I was swept back to my world. But in the split second before I left Ynis Verleath, I heard Andraste speak. Her voice was full of sorrow.
“Something wicked this way comes.”
Thank You
I hope you enjoyed Highland Raven. If so, would you mind leaving a review and let other potential readers know you enjoyed the story? Great reviews really help to bring visibility to a series. Other readers want to know what you think. Thank you so much.
Continue The Celtic Blood series with Highland Blood:
Again, many thanks (seriously, see the Author’s Note that follows. Thank you. Mean it!)
Best,
Melanie
Author’s Note
Did you know that Shakespeare’s play Macbeth is usually referred to as The Scottish Play because many believe the play is cursed? There are numerous superstitions surrounding Shakespeare’s tragedy. Some say the witches’ lines are a real spell, others say the Goddess Hecate cursed the play because of how she was depicted (which leads many productions to exclude her character and lines), and others believe, very simply, that the play is unlucky due to all the deaths, theater closings, and unfortunate events that have surrounded its production. If you are an actor in the play, you must never say Macbeth inside the theater. It curses you. But not to worry, if you make a mistake it can be mended. You can spin around three times (note the number) or leave the playhouse then reenter to get rid of the curse. Regardless, Macbeth is a tale with power lying just under the words. Many times, I felt like my version of Macbeth was jinxed. And even in the hours before this book reaches launch, things are still going wrong. Hecate, take it easy, sister.
Bringing Highland Raven (formerly titled Lady Macbeth: Daughter of Ravens) to light has been a labor of love. In 1997, when I was a student at Penn State, I took a Celtic history class with renowned scholar Dr. Benjamin Hudson. When he lectured about the real Macbeth, it poured water on the seed of an idea. This wasn't the first time I’d thought about writing a novel on Lady Macbeth. My high school English teacher and I once discussed my idea. Was the real Lady Macbeth misunderstood? Could she be presented more sympathetically? How might Lady Macbeth’s changing times relate to Shakespeare's vision?
I started writing and researching this novel in 2000. I won't claim this novel is an exact historical retelling. The amount of historical information on Gruoch is limited, and scholars disagree about some aspects of her lineage. I've done my best researching and piecing information together, but also I didn’t want to drown the story in unnecessary historical detail. This saga contains the important elements of Gruoch’s real life in addition to my creative embellishments.
I finished writing the novel in the early 2000s and started querying agents. I got a lot of encouraging responses. One agent, however, told me they had a client who was working on a similar book and couldn’t consider me. A few years later, the talented Susan Fraser King published Lady Macbeth: A Novel. At the time, I was totally crushed. King (as a diligent researcher should) even consulted my former professor for her rese
arch. I was done. The jinx got me. I stuck my novel in a drawer and forgot about it.
In 2005, I shared an excerpt from this novel in a writing workshop. It got a positive response. I started working on the novel again. I knew King’s Lady Macbeth novel was different from mine. My novel was about love and magic. My novel was fantasy. I got back to work and worked, off and on, (even during a long stretch of writer’s block…jinxed again!), over the years.
In 2012, I published my first novel, The Harvesting, a dark fantasy/zombie mashup. Publishing was a great experience, and Gruoch still held a special place in my heart. I decided it was time for her to come onstage. I spent a year revising The Celtic Blood Series (formerly The Saga of Lady Macbeth.) In earlier versions of this novel, I called Gruoch by the nickname Gru. Thanks to Despicable Me (which came out in the interim), Gru was never going to work. Jinxed. Gru became Corbie (though I still call her Gru in my head).
This novel is a bit different from my other works. Highland Raven is the first flame in a slow burn leading to an inferno. I thought it was important for readers to see Gruoch from the beginning. Her early life, growing up rough and devoid of love save for Madelaine’s, profoundly impacts the decisions she makes in this book (where she is a rash 16 year old) and later in the saga. Gruoch is someone who desperately wants to be loved. That need, sometimes unconscious, blinds her to many things. In some ways, she is an unreliable narrator. She doesn’t really know herself very well. Highland Raven also shows Gruoch just beginning to access her power. In later books, readers will see her wrestle with the dark forces inside her. And, of course, we will see Macbeth very soon. I look forward to sharing the next two books in this series with you.
In the playhouse, there is another way to remove the Macbeth jinx. If you cite some lines from another Shakespeare play, the curse can be lifted. So, without further ado (or, perhaps, this is much ado about nothing), let me just say:
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