Truth Seer (Irish Mystic Legends Book 3)

by Jennifer Rose McMahon

  Maureen stood and moved to the fire. She poked some coals with one of Ryan's iron rods. "The line between science and religion is very fine, dear," she started. "Blurred, in fact. Humanity has had thousands of years of explaining the unexplainable. Be it through religion or science, we still find the same answers."

  I shook my head and looked away.

  She went on, "Be it the wrath of God or the wrath of man. Either way, destruction is inevitable. The signs are unfolding before us."

  "The martyr!" Ryan grabbed a newspaper from the pile near the hearth. The headlines of "The Martyr to God" filled the front page. "The one who's starving himself to bring attention to the children who've been abused. God's children. He's sacrificing himself, in the name of God, to bring justice to the children."

  "My god," Maureen gasped.

  Maeve lifted a paper to the light and nodded her head. "He could be the fourth sign."

  I grabbed the paper from Ryan and scanned the story. They called him mentally ill. An extremist. But in our hearts, we knew he could be the one.

  "How do we stop it?" I asked. "He's across the country in Dublin." I continued to scan the article.

  Ryan hopped on my laptop and began searching for more details. "It's already been a long time. I wouldn't be surprised if..." His mumbles faded as he searched the glowing screen. “Ah, there’s a group at the Dublin university. They’ve organized a vigil for the martyr.”

  “Paul has colleagues there,” Maeve interjected. “Maybe he could get us access to him.”

  “And then what?” I asked. “Tell him he’s one of the signs of the end of the world. Shit.”

  I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, but we were getting ahead of ourselves.

  I shook off my skepticism and added, “You’re right. Let’s see if Paul can reach out to someone who has contact with the martyr. It’s a good start.”

  Ryan clicked more links on his laptop. "And it wouldn't hurt if we could figure out when the next goddamn eclipse is happening.” He typed in his search bar and hit enter. “It says the next lunar eclipse is over a year from now.” He turned his screen to me and I looked at the chart.

  “But things are moving faster than that,” I said. “Maybe the timing isn’t lining up right with the prophecies. Maybe our actions are already causing a shift. There’s just no way to know.”

  My heart raced like we might be getting closer to our goal, yet if felt so far away.

  “Wait,” I interjected. “What about the next solar eclipse? They’re much more rare, but check it anyway.”

  Ryan searched for info on the next solar eclipse and the laptop found only cryptic jargon.

  “Something’s wrong with my browser,” he snarled as he struck the return key over and over.

  Moving back to the table, I looked at Maeve. "What are the final two signs leading up to the eclipse?"

  She shook her head. "They're missing some bits of information. I can't quite decipher their meaning."

  "So what do we do?" I pushed.

  She pressed her lips together and stared into my eyes. "I need to search the tomb for more symbols. A connection. Something to link these together.”

  My stomach twisted. There was no doubt it was time to return to the tomb now.

  She passed the bottom page to me. "I can't be sure, but these final two prophecies have enough Druid symbols throughout them that it looks like an army is coming." The paper shook in her hands. "And judging by how fast things are moving, they'll likely be arriving very soon."

  Her words generated a flash in my mind, like déjà vu. A strange familiarity coursed through me as I pictured the horrific scene of an ancient Druid army advancing on us. The face of the leader lingered in my sight like an afterimage, permanently burned into the back of my eyes.

  They were coming for us. Their presence felt close.

  And I needed to be more prepared.

  I grabbed my phone and searched for the next solar eclipse but nothing came up, only a white screen.

  Memories of failing technology gnawed at my gut as frustration mounted.

  There had to be another way.

  There had to be something in the tomb, hidden in that secret chamber. Something to help us defend ourselves against their attack.

  Shields. Swords. Armor. But medieval tactics wouldn't be enough. I needed to rely on my gift and its power to connect time. That was my warfare. And my life depended on it.

  "There’s something hidden in the secret chamber. I’m sure of it," I said to Maeve. "If we can get inside it..."

  "Not alone, you're not," Ryan interrupted.

  The worried command in his voice made me smirk.

  "No, not alone. We need everyone." I said to him. "Rory and Paul, too."

  Maeve sat up taller.

  Ryan exhaled louder than necessary. "Building your own army?”

  I sent a guilty smile his way.

  “Exactly.”

  Flashes of the Druid leader's face haunted my mind every time I blinked. And with each afterimage, the background behind him revealed others. In taunting flashbacks, his eyes bored into mine like he wanted me dead. Facing him, and the rogue clan that filled the hazy space behind him, terrified me to the core. There was no way I had what it took to fight against a two-thousand-year old militia. Not without full understanding of the scope of my gifts, anyway.

  Of all of our gifts. Combined.

  Joining forces against our enemy was where our power hid. Together, we had a chance.

  Finding their weakness and exposing their vulnerability was critical. Leveraging it against them would be our assault tactic.

  My own personal army took form in my head as I imagined us suited up for battle, each with our own gifts at the ready. Together, we’d be a force.

  All six of us.

  Maeve. Jayne. Ryan. Paul. Rory. Me.

  Together, we would face the greatest battle of our lives. One that had been looming in the shadows, gaining momentum. The enemies who had been tracking us every waking moment, for years, would finally be confronted.

  Their intent to end us was as vivid as the prophecies that unfolded before our eyes. But we had foresight. The prophecies warned us of their arrival and set us up with an advantage. I silently thanked the honorable Druids for carving out the predictions in the slab stone of the tomb. Their message had been sent thousands of years ago. And it was finally received.

  The signs of the coming of the secret order proved, though, that they knew their first attempt at stopping the progression of time had been foiled. Why else would they have a plan B? At the solstice, we were able to end the original curse that had set modernization back on itself, halting technology. I’d been sure our success was final. Our mission done. Maeve was back. Technology was moving forward again. And the seers, well, our gifts had grown strong again.

  But our success at stopping their curse had made its way back to them. Back, thousands of years. And with that knowledge, they were able to set forth a more powerful plague. One that would not only stop the progression of time, but would end the world as we knew it, turning time back on itself.

  It would end us along with it, and everyone we loved.

  They were terrorists. Extremists from medieval times, seeking to strike fear in us and cause us to yield to their demands.

  Not happening.

  Modernization had its problems. No doubt about that. But I had to believe in hope. I had to believe that new ideas were on the horizon. That there would be discoveries and ways for people to embrace what the original Druids valued, while moving forward in our knowledge of the universe.

  The original Druids would help guide us. We just had to derail the rogue group who favored intimidation and dictatorship. It wasn’t going to be easy.

  "It’s time we get some sleep," I said. "Tomorrow is our day. The day we pull together a force ready to face our enemy."

  Maeve stood and smiled. Her shoulders squared as she inhaled the idea of a new day.

  Ryan nodded. "
Strength in numbers. It certainly sits better than sending you off on your own."

  We turned to Jayne, who slept soundly by the fire. Her role in all of this had taken me by surprise. But not completely. I always knew our connection was powerful. I just had no idea it could be so deeply woven into the mystery of my story.

  I had full faith in her ability to fight in our army. Her spirit was strong. She may have been stripped of a vital part of her existence, her soul, but I would do everything in my power to get it back for her. Her inner fight was bigger than any I'd known. Especially now that I knew she was fighting with a near empty vessel. What had been stolen from her was now exactly what I was fighting to get back.

  Our lives.

  Getting Paul and Rory on board had proved to be a bit more difficult than expected, like they were done with all of this and hoping to leave it behind them. After each shocking event of the past, they were more than willing to accept things as they were and to have life return to normal. But it wouldn’t be that easy. And now, they knew they had to step up again.

  Convincing them to join the army was nothing, though, compared to facing Gram and Declan.

  I sat at the kitchen table watching my grandmother preparing a snack for Maeve and me and thought of Declan and Gram’s efforts at sheltering me. At hiding me from the truth.

  Their mission involved one thing only. And it had nothing to do with ending an ancient Druid curse and everything to do with keeping me safe. I had to wonder what they truly knew of my visions. Was it more than I realized?

  Their current frustration with my evasive comings and goings was the least of my problems though. Declan and Michelle wanted me to walk away from it all. To start living a normal life, now that Maeve was back. They had no idea of the depths of the horror that lay ahead.

  And Gram. She continued to deflect the bombardment of gossip about me and the rumors of Sister Margaret's unending quest to expose me as the true witch she believed me to be.

  But Sister Margaret’s attacks didn't worry me anymore. Compared to the evil ways of Sister Francis at the institution, she was mere child's play. But still, having two nuns with clear agendas focused on ending me was nearly as jolting as the army of hell-bent Druids traveling through time to obliterate me.

  Nearly.

  I shook my head.

  "What?" Maeve looked at me with pinched eyebrows while Gram set scones on a plate for us.

  "I don't know." I huffed. "Second thoughts, I guess."

  "Well, it's a little late for that," she jabbed.

  "Yeah." I pressed my knuckles between my eyes. "It's just annoying doubt creeping in. It has a way of doing that at the most inconvenient times."

  Maeve pushed away from the table as if to distract me from my doubts. She scanned the photos on the mantle and stared into a family portrait in the center. Then she looked back at me with a smirk.

  "Aww. You were so cute," she teased.

  I glanced at the picture of Declan, Gram, and me. It was taken on the day of my Holy Communion.

  Gram bent her head toward us as she dropped tea bags into a pot. "Don't let her fool you. She was a right rogue that day," Gram said. "Had to near pin her down ta get the dress on her."

  I thought back to that day. The details were hazy but Gram was right. I wanted nothing to do with it. Even at that age, I wasn’t buying the whole religion thing.

  Maeve stared into the photo again.

  "There's absolutely no family resemblance. Look at you and that blonde hair and fair skin. Like an imp sent from the fairies." Maeve chuckled.

  It wasn't the first time I'd heard that comment. She was right. I looked nothing like Declan or Gram. I didn't even fit in my own family. I'd grown used to it, I supposed. But still, hearing it again brought back the same feelings of insecurity I'd grown up with.

  "Sure, I'd say you were adopted," she teased.

  I punched her arm and gave her a playful shove.

  "Come on, into the dining room for your elevenses," Gram interrupted. “Sure, yer brother doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

  I was silently grateful that Declan was too busy to stop by. His protective instinct would go through the roof if he picked up on our plotting in any way.

  Maeve pushed me back as we went to have tea with Gram, as if banding together with our new-aged army, preparing for combat, wasn't the next click on our itinerary.

  I glanced back at the picture for one more look at my ten-year-old self. I hardly knew her. I'd changed so much since then. But still, the thought nagged at me.

  I hardly knew her.

  My eyes squinted as I tried to recall what I was like as a young child. Before the bullying started. Before I turned inward to protect myself from the pain of exclusion. But I couldn't remember. I'd shut so much of it out. It was lost to me now. My memories of those early years, gone.

  "I suppose I don't even want to know why you need all this... what, camping gear?" Gram waved her hand at the pile I'd collected from my room and from the shed.

  I wasn't sure what kind of supplies Maeve and I would need for our army, but what I had gathered was a good start for us, and Jayne too.

  My short-lived Goth phase had paid off, offering us leather pants, high Doc Martens, and a biker jacket. Then remnants from my failed athleticism: mouth guard, lacrosse face mask, and hurley stick topped the pile off, generating deeper insecurity in what we were conspiring.

  We planned to bring all the gear back to the cottage to add to whatever the guys had to offer the collection. Our real weapons would be our abilities, but I figured some solid real-world gear couldn’t hurt either.

  As we carried the supplies out to the driveway, waiting for a pick up from Ryan, Gram packed extra scones for us in wax paper. She followed us out and reached for the old rucksack I'd placed on top of the pile. I hadn't used the pack since I was little, but it was a perfect size for navigating the tight spaces of the catacombs. Gram opened the top flap and tucked her parcel of goodies into it.

  Her eyebrows shot up as she felt around, deeper in the pack. She slowly pulled out an old garment that looked like it must have been tucked away in there for centuries.

  "Would ya look at this," she said as she gave it a shake.

  It was the dress of a young girl, but nothing like what you would see in any shop today. The fabric was rich and heavy, like woolen burlap. The stitching was pristine in its uniformity, but clearly done by the hand of a master.

  We stepped closer in intrigue and Maeve gasped. She reached for it and stroked it, as if touching a lost loved one.

  She turned to me as her face went pale. "It's like my clothing. From..." She hesitated. "From my other time. In the past."

  I shook my head in confusion.

  And then she added, "It's a dress from medieval times.” She stared at me as I froze in place. "Isobel. Where did you get that?"

  Chapter 9

  The damp mist that hung in the air soon fell heavier in large wet droplets as I stared at the medieval dress. Maeve and Gram scrambled to gather items from the pile and move them back inside before they got soaked while I stood frozen in time.

  The sight of the dress sent nervous twitches through me, then evoked the disturbing images waiting just behind my eyelids. The Druid leader. My assassin. His gnarled face flashed with new clarity and detail. Hate radiated from his pupils.

  I stared at the dress in frozen disbelief. It taunted me with threatening images of my tracker, somehow triggering his incessant presence in my mind.

  He was getting closer.

  Droplets trailed down my cheeks and I couldn’t be sure if it was the wet rain or tears of terror. Just in that moment of unknowing, Ryan pulled up in the truck, and I ran for it.

  Piling our makeshift military supplies into the back row of the cab, we filled the space with our items of armor and weaponry. Facing an army of ancient Druids without any form of defense was not how we intended for this to go down. For the first time ever, if I was planning to engage in one of my
episodes or visions, I would be prepared with modern protection.

  Looking back with a final wave to Gram was regretful, every time. Her pleasant wave and vibrant smile was always belied by the harrowing look deep in her eyes. Like she never knew if this particular time would be the send off that would be my last.

  Wedged between Ryan and Maeve, I stared out the windscreen through one of the spider-webbed cracks in the glass. The shattered maze broke the view into a million different perspectives and I struggled to know which one to focus on, each one offering a different outcome.

  I chose the one in the very middle. The one that offered me clear focus while the other options expanded out from it in purposeful, dizzying confusion.

  Keep focus, Izzy. I just had to keep focus.

  "Rory and Paul will meet us at the cottage in an hour." Ryan's voice shocked me out of my focused trance. "You should see the shit they've got for us." A grin lit up his face.

  His words shot confidence through my veins. Insecurity had started to poison my composure but the idea of all of us working together, and being prepared, reawakened my inner warrior. I welcomed her back with a huge life-giving breath.

  Rain poured down on us now, making visibility through the already compromised windscreen near impossible. The wipers beat across the glass in hyper-speed as Ryan navigated the roads mostly by memory.

  As we pulled down the grassy lane leading to the cottage nestled by the sea, the pounding of the rain deafened us, turning conversation into short bouts of shouting.

  "Leave the gear in the truck for now," Ryan yelled. "Let's just get inside."

  Once parked in the back, we ran for it. The few steps from the truck to the back door were enough to soak us as the whipping wind hurled saturating rain from every direction.

  Dripping like drowned rats, we shook off in Maureen's kitchen as she gathered a pile of tea towels for us.

  Jayne sat on the couch smacking her lips with an entertained smile. She looked well rested. More rested than I'd ever seen her.

  She watched us as we patted ourselves down, laughing at each other's soaked condition, and then she hopped up. In a swift motion, she moved to the front door and pulled it open. She launched herself into the yard and lifted her face to the sky. Her arms reached up as she offered herself to the rain, daring it to soak her.