The Prophecy (Kingdom of Uisneach Book 1)

by Heidi Hanley

“She is who she is, Briana. She’s got a heavy flirt archetype.”

  Briana almost spit out the wine in her mouth. “You think?” she said, laughing.

  “But she does have a point. You might want to be a little more open to some of the attention you attract. You’ve got looks and a figure to die for, but it seems like you have this wall built up around you. Men get just so close, feel the steel and get intimidated.”

  “That’s hardly fair,” Briana said, glancing at the mermaid above the bar for help. The ocean goddess only stared back with a moody eye.

  “I know it is, but unfortunately, perception is everything and that is the energy you give off, sweetie. Is it your plan to spend the rest of your life just gardening and reading? Don’t you want to find someone to share your life with? And don’t you even think of crying.”

  Briana stared at Debbie with moist eyes. Tears, whether of sorrow or joy, came easily to Briana, a trait she tried often, and failed often, to control. How could she tell her best friend that she thought she was waiting for, longing for, someone who likely didn’t exist? That she sometimes talked to a medieval action figure and hoped he would come to life? That she was aware of her rapidly ticking biological clock, but couldn’t settle for less?

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” she said, quietly.

  Alone in the bathroom, Briana stared into the mirror searching for the ice princess that her friends apparently saw. A woman with small features stared back, with the gray eyes her mother said were as “gentle as a summer drizzle when you’re happy or as fierce as an evening thunderstorm when you’re pissed.” Nothing remarkable to either attract or repel a man. She was too short and rather skinny, with humble breasts.

  The bathroom door swung open, interrupting her reverie. Offering a polite greeting to the other woman, Briana finished drying her hands and returned to her friends in time to be introduced to one of Samira’s new friends.

  “Briana, this is Dave. Dave, Briana. Dave’s a lobsterman, owns his own boat and likes locally crafted beer. He also reads fantasy novels. Seems like you have a lot in common.”

  Briana glared at Samira. Could she be any more obvious?

  “Hey, Briana. Mind if I pull up a chair?” Dave asked, already doing so.

  “Well, my friend found out quite a lot about you in five minutes. That must have been awkward,” Briana said, picking up her wineglass and taking a hefty sip.

  “Truth be told, I asked about you first, so I know you’re a gardener, read fairy tales and just lost your dad. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Thanks. Actually, I’m a landscape designer.”

  He stared at her, clueless. They spent the next two hours chatting amiably but not deeply about their work, music and books they liked.

  He wasn’t horrible, but Briana was grateful when he announced, “Well, a lobsterman’s day starts pretty early, so I’ll say good night. Nice meeting you ladies.”

  Samira and her new friend were exchanging emails and cell phone numbers and Briana held her breath, hoping Dave wouldn’t ask for hers. He didn’t. After the men left, Samira turned to her with a disappointed look on her face.

  “Another one bites the dust?”

  “He was nice enough.”

  “But not Mr. Right?”

  “Hardly,” Briana replied, picking up a menu that had been ignored for some time. “Time to eat again?” she asked brightly.

  *

  The next day was unseasonably warm for Camden, a true April Fool’s Day. Briana welcomed the heat of the afternoon sun on her back as she worked quietly in her garden, alone, her mother in town running errands. The birds sang and she hummed the tune of “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” as she plucked early weeds out of the iris and tulip beds. It may have been a bit soon to begin an assault on the flower beds, but Briana craved the grounding she received from connecting with the earth.

  Yesterday’s escape with her friends had been a welcome change from the sadness that cloaked the home where she and her mother now lived without the larger-than-life presence of her father. Two months ago, during a deep-sea fishing trip, her father had suffered a massive heart attack while reeling in a huge blue tuna. The crew reported that the last thing Edwin Brennan saw was the fish of a lifetime on the end of his line. They tried to comfort Katrina and Briana with clichés like “he died doing what he loved most,” but little relief those well-intended sentiments really provide. Briana asked herself repeatedly why he had to die at all? The man had just turned fifty, for God’s sake. Absolutely no one, including his physician, realized that underneath the facade of vitality, a cardiac event was brewing. The shock of it protected her and her mother for a few weeks, but once Katrina’s parents went back to Ireland, the cards were put away and the casseroles stopped coming, the grief set in. Winter made it easy for Briana to put projects on hold. Her mother handed over the care of a few expectant mothers to another certified midwife. They managed the internet orders for their small herbal business, but that was about all they could manage. They had no salves, elixirs, or candles for what troubled them.

  Once in a while Briana would catch her mother watching her with an odd, fearful expression.

  “Why do you keep looking at me like that? Are you worried I’m going to die, too?” she asked once, while they were working in the greenhouse.

  “Of course not,” her mother replied, forcing a smile.

  “I’m not going to leave you, Mom.”

  “All children leave their parents, Briana. When you fall in love, you’ll move away, as you should.” Her words were reassuring enough, but Briana did not miss the shudder as her mom turned back to cutting herbs.

  She now remembered her mom’s request to talk and promised herself that when her mother returned, she would give that her full attention.

  Briana was startled by a sound in the woods, the crunching of leaves and branches. She left her weeding to cross the road and enter the forest. What compelled her to pursue a possibly dangerous sound, rather than pick up her tools and go inside, was anyone’s guess. Whether man or beast awaited her in the darkness of the trees, she went just the same.

  The steady crunch drew her closer to the stone wall that separated the safety of the road from the mystery of the dark woods She crossed through a gap between the stones. The moment her foot passed the stones, a wavelike sensation washed over her. Her skin tingled and she shivered. Something is afoot.

  The sound led her deeper into the woods. Fear should’ve been sending off warning bells in her head, but it did not. She only felt… curious. It seemed she was being beckoned. Briana saw no footprints, tracks or other signs to indicate what she was following. Leaves lay still on the ground, ferns stood unbroken. There was no sign of animals.

  Up a slight rise and then down around a fallen and decaying birch tree she went, the crunching noise always about the same distance ahead. Coming around a stand of pines, she noticed a very large oak tree in a clearing, its ridged gray-brown bark aged with swirls of moss-green lichen. The branches above, heavily laden with acorns, seemed miles away. A marvelous specimen, to be sure, but size was not the most remarkable thing about this oak. What brought her up short was the green door, carved with ancient-looking symbols. Its silver handle glowed faintly, almost inviting her to take it in her hand. She realized as well that the noise had stopped. Briana looked around, turned and scanned the woods a second time, but found nothing. Heard nothing. Whatever, or whoever, she’d been following seemed to have disappeared! Curiouser… and curiouser…

  Acting on instinct, she took hold of the silver door handle. Warmth filled her palm as she pushed effortlessly to reveal an entryway into the tree. Peering into the darkness, she could see the edge of a staircase leading down. She didn’t know how it was possible, but without hesitation she walked inside, with no more difficulty than walking through the front door of her home.

  Briana stood at the top of the stairs and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. When she could see enough to find the step below, s
he stepped down. As she did so, a candle flared beside her, its soft flame illuminating the next step. She stepped once more and another candle lit up, followed by another, as she took step after step. Holographic images of her life floated in front of the wall, pictures of her father, mother and herself at different ages and stages of life, followed by images of her friends, her landscaping work and college graduation. Memories inspired fleeting and labile emotions within her. What is this? A life review? Am I dying? Before panic could set in, she came to a landing with a small table upon which a book lay open to a page showing an acorn-laden tree that reminded her of the spiritual Tree of Life. She tried to touch it. Her hand passed right through, reminding her of the hologram of Princess Leia in Star Wars. Spooky. On the other side of the landing was a staircase that went up, candles lighting each step. She followed. Floating in front of this wall were holographic scenes of tall-masted sailing ships and rocky coastlines, upon whose cliffs perched ancient castles and homey little cottages with wildly colorful gardens. Tiny people tended quaint farms dotted with abundant apple trees. She saw a woman with salt-and-pepper hair in an earthy-looking dress and a necklace of feathers and stone. She looked ancient, but beautiful, and Briana stopped for a moment to gaze at her in wonder. Images of waterfalls and fighting men followed, and then a man with long blonde hair and deep blue eyes.

  He took her breath away. An old soul, she thought. His eyes seemed to be looking directly at her, making her heart race. She felt instantly connected to this man, whoever he was. This image disappeared, unfortunately, to be replaced by a fearsome dark-haired man and another who wore a crown. A huge, gray dog appeared, and she smiled. “Hey boy,” she called, and laughed, because certainly he couldn’t hear her.

  Finally, she came to another wooden door. The pictures on the wall disappeared completely from her vision and her memory. Pausing for only the briefest of seconds, she opened the door.

  Light poured in as Briana stepped into a world that was nothing like the one she had come from.

  Chapter Two

  Leaving Kansas

  All manner of civilization was gone. No houses, no telephone, no pavement or power lines. No sound of cars or planes or people talking. She tried to process what she was seeing, but there simply was nothing to put it into context. I am not, she told herself with the only shred of certainty she had, in Kansas anymore. Her heart thumped so hard she put her hand on her chest. Someone once told her that in a crisis, if you feel like you’re going to lose it, take some slow, deep breaths and remember that when you can’t control a situation, you can control your response to it. I will not panic. She slowed her breathing until her heart began to beat normally again. Reassured that she didn’t seem to be in any danger, she took inventory.

  She stood on a grassy bank next to the oak she’d come through. Behind her stood an old forest of oak, yew, birch, pine, rowan, hawthorn, blackthorn and cherry trees, some bent gracefully, others gnarly and darkened with age. The forest floor was carpeted with moss, wood violets, trillium and scattered patches of Jack in the pulpit. Before her, a wide, querulous river provided a dramatic soundtrack to the otherworldly scene. Beyond that, a meadow, home to one single tree, broken and bent, pretty much dead, but still standing, with a few eggplant-colored leaves and little bell-shaped things scattered on the ground. How tragic, she thought, that this lovely tree is dead. Not only dead, but possibly murdered, given the saw lines all up and down its trunk, with chunks hacked out here and there. It was an otherwise beautiful, pristine place. The air seemed sharper, the colors and textures more vibrant. Like the difference between the first part of the Wizard of Oz in black-and-white and the second part, after the house landed on the witch in Munchkin land, when everything went Technicolor.

  She stood in place, looking at this wonderland for what seemed like hours but was perhaps only seconds, when the sound of giggling hit her ear. Is that the munchkins? Turning this way and that, she finally saw a stone bench under a graceful willow. It took her another moment to register the fact that sitting on the bench was a plump, older woman who looked much like a garden gnome. Beside the lady gnome, a much thinner, male gnome danced around in merry circles, doing back flips. Both of them offered happy grins, their cheeks flushed with excitement, their brilliant blue eyes dancing with merriment. They were dressed in loose hip-length tunics, his mauve, hers a deep teal. He wore light-brown leather leggings underneath the tunic and she an ankle-length wool skirt. Soft leather boots with brass buckles protected their oversized feet. Perched atop their heads of curly gray hair sat conical, bright red caps. A giggle bubbled up within her. The gnomes giggled back but still not a word from either party until Briana declared authoritatively, “Well, Toto, we most certainly are not in Kansas!”

  “Who’s Toto?” asked the small woman at the same time the old man stopped flipping and asked, “What’s Kansas?”

  “It’s a dog and a place,” Briana answered, with relative calm. “More importantly though, who are you and where am I?”

  With a deep bow, the male gnome said, “Name’s Jack Wells and this gentle lady is me wife, Genevieve.” At this, Genevieve rose and then squatted in a gnomish-style curtsy.

  “Pleased to meet you, Your Ladyship,” she said, with an almost reverent attitude.

  “Your Ladyship sounds a bit pretentious, don’t you think?” Briana replied. “People call me Mouse.” Squinting, she added, “Or you might just call me by my real name, Briana.”

  The two turned toward each other, clapping their hands together in joy. With broad, silly smiles, they clasped her hand in theirs and said, “So you are the Mouse. Of course you are. You are exactly who we expected.”

  “Expected? You were expecting me?”

  “Of course, milady,” said Jack. “The whole kingdom is expecting you. The prophecy said the Mouse would be coming and Cailleach told us that it would happen anytime now. We’ve taken turns coming here to see if you’d arrived.”

  “Kyle-yock? Who on earth is that, and really,” she was fast growing impatient, “would you mind telling me just what is going on?”

  “Cailleach,” Jack repeated, and she noted the subtle difference in how he pronounced the name. His accent sounded Celtic, neither Irish nor Scottish but something in-between, charming and comforting to the ear. With a little hop and bow, he spread his arms expansively and announced in a most formal tone, “Welcome to Uisneach, milady.”

  “Uisneach…” She repeated the gentle, swishing sound of oosh-nay softly a couple of times. The name sounded oddly familiar, yet she was unable to place it.

  “Well, milady, there’s much to tell you, to be sure, but most of it can wait till we get you home.”

  “Home? I can’t stay here. I have to get back to my…” She turned back to the oak only to discover that its door was gone. A plain oak stood in its place, nothing magical. How would she return home? She moved closer to the tree and touched the bark where the door had been, searching for a crack that might open the door again. No chink or fissure, nothing to indicate that a door had ever been there. “I think I had better sit down,” she said, feeling faint.

  The gnomes looked concerned. Each took an elbow to guide her to a seat on a nearby rock wall. She felt a shiver race over her that had nothing to do with being cold. It was suddenly clear that whatever had brought her here meant for her to stay. Her stomach began to roll objectionably. She lowered her head to her hands, taking in deep breaths to shed the nausea. When it passed, she looked again at the gnome couple, but could find no words. They exchanged looks of sympathy, and Mrs. Wells patted her hand.

  “’Twill be all right, milady. It may seem strange at the moment, but you are right where you are destined to be, and that is the truth. Things will all make sense soon enough.”

  Really? she thought, because everything seems a bit odd to me at the moment. No. Try bizarre, whacko, incredible, terrifying, unbelievable and… well, kind of cool, actually. Soft squeaks drew her attention. Two small red squirrels sitting o
n the branch of an oak stared at her curiously. A flash of orange drew her attention to a stone, upon which curled a small salamander, carrot-colored with black spots. The amphibian slowly turned its head upward and gave her a slight smile. A smiling salamander. What next?

  “Next” turned out to be a deer, poking a cautious glance through a stand of pines before gently entering the space, where the party seemed all but begun. Mrs. Wells used some hand gestures that seemed to welcome a whole woodland community, and in short order, a fox mother sat with two tumbling kits, and next to them, a pure white weasel. Delight turned to fear as something large lumbered through the woods.

  Seeing her concern, Jack placed a clubby hand on her arm. “Not to worry, Miss. ’Tis only a bear, and they are harmless on this side of the river.”

  She watched, one hand holding on to the wall, ready to push off and run if need be. She held her breath as the brown bear came within ten feet of her, sat down on his massive haunches, and stared at her.

  “What do they want?” she asked, but before either of the Wellses could respond, an enormous crow flew in between two large black cherry trees, aiming straight for her. His ebony wings spanned the length of a man’s arm, but with the grace of a prima ballerina, he flew right past her and perched delicately on one of the oak branches. The most unusual thing about the corvid was not his size but the shiny black medallion, ringed in gold, hanging around his neck. In the center of the medallion, etched in gold, was an image of the Tree of Life, with a spreading canopy of leaves above and an unruly network of roots below. The dazzling piece of jewelry was perfect for a crow, if one were to imagine a bird wearing jewelry, which she supposed she now must.

  “Caawww,” the crow announced, in a loud, sharp voice. Briana responded with a tentative hello. He turned his attention from her to the gnomes, which was almost insulting, but she watched with fascination as the black bird cawed to the Wellses.

  Jack Wells said some words in a low tone in a language Briana had never heard. Then he nodded and turned to Briana. “Well, milady, ’tis truly time to be going.”