Return of the Legacy (Portals of Destiny Book 1)

by KH LeMoyne

  They walked along the isolated path at a brisker pace, until they’d left the village far behind. But she mulled over Hefin’s comment. “His seers haven’t detected my presence in the nine years I’ve been here. Why would they take an interest now?”

  “There’s talk. Trouble stirred by a new seer. She promises renewed strength for The Mackinnon’s arsenal, along with rumors of a mysterious mage of uncertain power. Her visions have aroused interest in any rites and activity near the stones. They’re searching through the blasted past.” He gave her a quick glance from beneath his bushy white brows. “Too much talk about old stories when we don’t want curious eyes and minds searching here. There’s also word of a new battle for the throne. The Mackinnon will take care of the spies who cross his borders, but not before they cause damage.”

  “I don’t want attention drawn to you or Grainne for helping me.”

  They’d found her drenched, crouching inside of the Balliscate standing stones in the middle of a stormy night. Not everyone would shelter an unknown sixteen-year-old, caring for her as one of their own. However, Bri’s mother had always insisted that if she trusted in the goodness of souls, they would give back twelvefold. On that night, she’d been correct. However, her mother believed in a great many things that required too much faith for Bri. But she didn’t dare be lax about threats to Grainne and Hefin.

  “Don’t let me hear any foolishness on your worries for us, lass. You fed my sister’s life with purpose, coming as you did after her husband passed. Kin are the people of your heart, Briallen. Remember that.”

  She reached for his arm and squeezed. The pat of reassurance he returned gave her as much comfort as his lecture.

  “Did you see any other strangers in the village?”

  He turned with a stern look. “I’m guessing you did?”

  “A man,” she added quickly. “Not a seer or scout. No cloak either. Just a man.”

  Hefin said nothing, but she looked away from him before he pressed further.

  She let him lead as she considered what she’d seen. He’d distracted her—the man standing in the chapel archway. His broad shoulders had filled the width of the doorway. He’d bided his time and assessed everyone like a hawk searching for prey, then he’d retreated into the shadows too fast for her to distinguish out his features.

  Ah well, she had no time for strange men. Other than staying out of their way. Her only mission was finding her brothers. And again, she’d found no sign of them. But what had she expected? Just because she desperately sought them didn’t mean her wishes would be answered.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the man and she calmed, as if the powerful, unforgettable sense of him triggered a soothing balm over her nerves. Though danger surrounded him, it was coupled with a strong, vital presence. What had unnerved her was his color—a shimmering ribbon of silver strung between them. A link that filled her with longing. But with only the powers of sight and scent aiding her, she had no answers as to who or what he was.

  Her gift only detected the elements of the soul and recessed parts of the mind. Her powers didn’t lend themselves to manipulating elements. Yes, she pulled from everything around her: the inanimate, the earth, the sky, the essence of all living things. She could hear the unspoken, interpret the sublime, and render a few bits of worthless low-level magic.

  None of those skills had helped her or her family.

  Though stranded here for nine years, she’d had plenty of time to hone her craft, pitiful as it was. Her gift held no real power, leaving her with the mere human skills of diligence and cunning.

  Without the distraction of the stranger’s presence, she might have confirmed Hefin’s sighting. At least he’d been aware of other concerns around them while she’d been preoccupied. She needed to refocus and search for ways home and her brothers.

  With their powers, they’d stand out too brightly in this world. A threat, since people with strong skills were culled and placed into service, either by choice or by force, for their territory lords. Nevertheless, she credited her siblings with enough stealth to stay below even the visibility of the laird’s seers.

  In that respect, she’d been lucky. With her obscure powers, she’d avoided detection by the local mages. Thanks to Grainne’s help, she’d learned basic healing talents. One of the few safe professions left uncensored. If forced to live out her existence in this dimension, she could support herself. At the dismal thought, she inadvertently squeezed Hefin’s arm.

  “There now, lass. Perhaps you’ll have more luck next time. We’ll widen our search. Never give up hope, aye?” Hefin guided them off the trail, his footing sure, as though he could walk these hills in his sleep.

  Bri focused on the parallel path of crystalline blue seas and the billow of purple-bruised skies threatening rain and wind ahead.

  “Yes, we’ll find them.” She spoke with a confidence that fell short of certainty, and hoped the loyal, older man wouldn’t sense her doubt.

  “Lass, we should make haste. The storm is coming in, fast and hard.”

  A shiver rippled down her spine, and she shivered. Pulling her cloak tighter around her body, she glanced at the sea again.

  Yes, something was coming, though not a mere storm. She couldn’t classify its nature, but foreboding settled in her bones as the winds grew stronger and they headed down toward home and the valley below.

  Logan gripped the wet rock, steadying himself before he moved into the bow of the boat. The deep, ten-foot rowboat rocked beneath his feet. He released his hold and grabbed the edge near the oarlock. The one-handed maneuver almost pitched him over the side, but his other hand held the girl against his chest.

  He’d fought back revulsion at having to use Pheve’s long coat over the ties and blankets securing the child. But she needed a shield against the rain and more layers. Cold would kill her faster than filth.

  Picking up one oar, he lodged the end into a crevice and pushed back with the tide’s seaward tug on the boat. The movement barely offered just enough time for Robert to untie the rope and jump in.

  Through the diagonal sheets of rain, Logan spotted a green-and-white shoreline in the distance.

  “Across the water and up the hill to a cottage. You will find what you need there.”

  Logan waited. Asking questions had gotten him nowhere. He’d decided to let the voice run its course.

  “Make haste and take heed, for you are as close to evil now as you are to the answers you seek.”

  Not very helpful, but he wasn’t in a position to negotiate.

  “Logan.” Robert had settled into the boat, positioned to push off, and hesitated with a puzzled look. Then his eyes narrowed. “Is any of that blood yours?”

  Logan brushed over his injured arm and frowned at the bright red covering his fingers. Blood had seeped through the layers. “Just a little cut. What else did you see?” Logan craned his neck for a view of the coastline as they left their mooring. Sighting three hundred-foot towers, he froze. Rock turrets rose from each major jut of land. “Where the hell did those come from?”

  “Notice anything else odd?” Robert shouted as he pulled back on his oar handle, digging fast and propelling them away from their rock shelter.

  Logan squinted against the rain and tucked the jacket tighter around him, shielding the girl’s head. “Keeping the fire lit on top of the towers must take immense energy in this storm.”

  “There were no ruins from those things in our Mull travel brochures,” Robert added.

  Gripping the second oar, Logan swallowed through the tight muscles in his throat and mustered the energy to match Robert’s even stroke against the choppy current. He’d resigned himself that they weren’t home anymore the minute they’d been dumped into the cave by that time-ripping whirlwind. But reality didn’t have a solid hold yet.

  “The shoreline is similar,” he yelled. “There should be a beach landing on the other side of the spit. If those men follow us, we’ll be visible in about fifteen minutes
until we can get around the spit.”

  Not that the crewmen were their biggest problem right now. A turbine-level force pressed against his back, bearing down on him with a pressure unrelated to the storm’s winds. An intelligent energy was blocking their progress.

  Magic. Strong magic maintaining a solid barricade. The resistance that had slowed them when they’d tried to rescue the old woman was nothing compared to the immobilizing, steely strength pressing along Logan’s body.

  The currents tugging them back toward the cave weren’t helping either.

  Robert and Logan strained against their oars. The effort should have taken them farther from the cave, but between the backwash of waves and the cross currents from the island, they were moving at a snail’s pace.

  After several minutes, they worked into a rhythm that paralleled them with the force field, but kept them headed for the small inlet.

  “How far do you think?” shouted Logan.

  Robert pursed his lips and shook his head. “Storm’s getting worse, and our situation is like those side-view mirrors: objects appear closer than they are. I’m thinking we still have a mile or more.”

  They rowed in silence for a good half hour. The wind and pelting rain discouraged communication.

  Logan locked his knees tighter around his bench as the energy push grew stronger. They couldn’t go much farther without resolving the force field issue. He blinked back the water streaming down his face and squinted. The closer they got to land, the hazier the view had become. Perhaps the magical power altered perception in this location for some reason. “Hold up.”

  Robert modified his strokes. Short, fast dips changed the direction of the boat and turned them toward shore.

  Logan released a hand from his oar and dug beneath the coat for the child’s neck.

  “She still with us?” Robert barked, barely audible over the wind’s howl.

  Logan gave a brusque nod and gently rubbed the girl’s skin, hoping for movement. The last thing he wanted was for her to fade away. He hated taking her out in this weather and prayed the effort wasn’t for nothing.

  “Logan.”

  He jerked his head up at Robert’s call, following his cousin’s gaze over his shoulder. He saw nothing new and turned, confused.

  “A wall,” Robert said, still staring into the air.

  “I don’t see anything, but I know it’s there.”

  “Yes, but I can see it now. Hang on.” Robert dug deeper for several more strokes, moving them closer. Logan felt energy pulse behind him. But instead of a steady thrum, the energy hiccupped. He turned sideways and shoved his hand against the field.

  Sparks flashed and sizzled in the rain, but he cut slowly through the force field. His ring emitted an orange glow, penetrating the gray of the now-visible curtain of magical energy. Heat seared along his arm, but sparks bounced away from him. Logan clenched his jaw and forced himself against the shield, driving through inch by excruciating inch. The only part of his body void of the pain was his chest. He shielded the child with one arm and hoped that was enough.

  “More of that,” Robert shouted. “It’s not deep, but it spans the length of the island.”

  Logan turned and straddled the narrow seat. He ducked his head so his body curled over the girl, but pushed both hands into the wall, ripping at the fabric of the force field. Rain didn’t penetrate the wall, and he could now make out the barrier’s composition. A woven shield of energy fibers spanned as high as he could see.

  He gasped as cold rain suddenly drenched his fingers and his shoulders slid through the tear. The rest of the boat followed and lurched forward as the tear snapped closed and walloped the boat’s stern.

  With the waves no longer fighting their progress, the swift churn of Robert’s oar dug from one side to other, propelling them through the water toward land.

  Logan turned back and gripped his oar, intending to help, but between the exertion with the field and the frigid water, his hands were numb. The good news was the knife wound no longer throbbed. A small consolation.

  Robert pointed toward a short outcrop. “I’ll head for the cove. There’s a light. Can we get close enough to shore through those rocks?”

  “There’s a narrow passage.” With the wind dying, the rain had dissolved into soft pelts and conversation was no longer a shouting match. Logan tried to gauge the distance between them and a flickering light halfway up the grassy hillside. The voice inside his head had been right.

  “Farther left.” Logan waved toward a tight column of rocks jutting out of the water and white sand visible beyond. He could jump, but he needed to keep the child's head above water.

  “Tell me when it’s shallow enough,” Robert said.

  Logan waved him on, then stabbed at the bottom with his oar. He hit nothing. They continued another twenty feet toward the shoreline before Logan struck bottom. “We’re good.”

  “Once you’re out, I’ll head back out beyond the breakers and rocks, and let the boat go. I can swim back and meet you in the shelter of those rocks.” Robert pitted his own oar against the bottom, trying to hold the boat steady. “If they find wreckage, those men may give up looking for us.”

  Logan nodded. Even with a tough swim, Robert’s unusual strength guaranteed his safety. However, given the two dead crewmen and missing girl, Logan suspected misleading their pursuers with wreckage was a long shot. He shook his head. One problem at a time.

  The distance to the flickering light was difficult to gauge, but he recognized a bread trail when he saw it. Putting his faith in the voice-without-a-name wasn’t his first choice, though for now, it felt right.

  Handing his oar back to Robert, he adjusted the child’s body higher, her head secured against his shoulder. “I’m out of here. Don’t take long.”

  Logan slid over the side, feet first into the ice-cold, ball-numbing surf.

  ***

  The initial cold burst compressed around his body like a steel band and stole Logan’s breath. Damn. His shoes slid on the silt and seaweed of the rocky bottom.

  The churning waves battled him on the surface of the water as the tide snatched at his feet, threatening to drag him back toward the sea. Plodding steps brought him from waist-high to thigh-high surf, and he tightened his fingers in the fabric strapped around him. He’d kept the child’s chest and head above the licking waves, but she still hadn’t moved. Not one sign of consciousness despite all his jolting. Only her brown hair flagged her presence.

  “Come on, kid.” Still, no sign of life. He jiggled her a little harder. “We’ve come a long way to help you. Giving up now is considered bad form.”

  He clenched her tighter and struggled through the water. Then the tide gave one unexpected suck-and-heave and vomited him onto his knees and elbows on the rocky shoreline.

  Shaking the hair from his eyes, Logan pushed to his feet and staggered toward the meeting spot. Rain pelted his face in stinging cold needles as the storm picked back up. The drenched ends of the fabric and coat whipped around his body and flapped against his own cold clothing.

  He rubbed back and forth along the sling, stimulating her circulation as he glanced up. The beach stopped at an incline of dark-gray rocks and sparse vegetation. The light at the top of the steep incline twinkled, a beacon in the charcoal gray of encroaching night.

  That climb is going to be a bitch.

  Logan trudged on and ignored his bone-deep fatigue, his thoughts straying back over the events of the last few hours. They needed more options in case the crewmen landed here, and he controlled nothing in this mess. Planning could mitigate hazards, but he’d wait until they were all hidden and dry. Safety came first.

  The taller boulders, braced between the shoreline and the high grasses of the hill, would provide immediate shelter. The stones pressed against each other like an odd array of toppled dominos, working as coverage above and on two sides. Logan released a harsh breath. She needed a fire and warm blankets to stave off hypothermia, not another makeshift
cave. Wasting time here would buy her nothing.

  He’d tucked her right against his skin before he wrapped her, in hopes his body heat would help. She curled against his chest well enough. Not warm by any means, but not cold or stiff. He took small comfort in that.

  Then the sling parted. Shocked, he took in the girl’s blue lips and gray-white skin. He lifted her, pressing his ear to her mouth and nose. No sound, no movement from her breathing, and the rhythm of her pulse was either too faint, or his fingers too numb to detect the minute vibration. Logan rubbed his hands in wider strokes along her back, keeping his touch gentle. Fingers fanned out, he continued over her arms and legs. He checked again at her nose and mouth and detected a slight exhalation and a faint flutter of pulse.

  “Attagirl. I know you’re a fighter. I promise I won’t give up if you don’t.”

  He peered out again, opened his senses, and let his power float like vapor above the moss and grass, beyond the rock and through the trees, testing his surroundings.

  Above and to the left, dense forests continued beyond his visibility. No major threat there, but one watchtower was over that rise. He wanted to believe the crewmen’s ship and his appearance on the Staffa-like rock had gone unnoticed by anyone with magic in those towers. But his gut didn’t agree. Either those in the tower didn’t care or posed a new threat. The magic of the protection wall he’d passed through and the fire burning despite the rain signaled a danger to avoid at all costs. Nothing here screamed, “Welcome. We’re glad you came.”

  And the voice hadn’t directed him to the towers. He planned to stick to the only directions hinting at helping them.

  In front of him, the incline blanketed in grasses and rocky outcrops was more difficult to analyze. Shadows bathed the landscape in gray and black, but likely from the weather, not magical threat. The light they’d seen from the boat appeared to come from a small cottage near the top.

  Robert appeared, breathing hard, and planted his back against the opposite rock. Rain streamed down his face. “One boat disposed of.”