by Lee, Tawnya
Breasal nodded. “‘Tis, indeed. The Great Queen.”
Moira stopped smiling.
“I’m aware of what the rebellion did while I was asleep. I won’t say no to her anymore. I’ll do what I’ve been called to do.”
She petted Derek and Tristan on their backs and kissed each of them again.
“Breasal, I need you. I can’t stand you sometimes, but I need you to help me. This isn’t over. We may have severed the head of the beast, but it’s only a matter of time. It will grow another.”
“Of course, Moira. I can show you how to develop your talents. How to use your strength without brute force.”
“Where’s Paul?” she asked.
“He went ahead to Ireland,” Dubhan said. “We told him what Agnes said to you after you brought him back. He said he needed to go.”
“Oh,” Moira frowned. “I was hoping to see him.”
Breasal took Moira’s hand. “You will soon enough, I’m sure.”
She pulled her hand back, and looked at her boys. She knew she had dreamed of them too, but could only recall the horror and agony the separation had caused her. She hugged them to her chest, squeezing Derek close to her. He grabbed her arm and squealed. “I love you, Mommy!”
“Me too,” Tristan said.
“I love you both very much,” she said.
She looked at Tristan and fear gripped her. Fear of losing her children. Fear of not being able to protect them. She knew it would be her struggle throughout their lifetime.
“I’d do anything to keep you safe. But for now, let’s go to bed.”
She carried the boys to her room, snuggled between two sets of cherub arms. As they drifted off to sleep, she began to sing her song.
Should they scare you, make you cry
I will pluck out both their eyes
If they pinch you, make you scream
I’ll fill their lives with agony
I will tear them limb from limb
Spill their blood so slowly
I will rip out their organs
Pull their skin off slowly
I will watch their panicked eyes
I’ll laugh at their pitiful cry
I’ll save their heart for very last
I’ll kill them oh so slowly
The next day, Breasal released the nannies from service but gave them six months’ compensation and glowing reference letters to their agency. He explained the family had decided to move out of the country and wouldn’t need their services anymore. It was a shock for Piper and Beckett, but the half-year of pay took the sting out of it for them.
Dubhan and Liam returned to Ireland as well, leaving Seara behind to help with Derek and Tristan. Seara and Breasal were in the kitchen bickering about where to stay in Ireland when Moira walked in.
“Who says you get to pick?” Moira asked. “Stay where you want, but for now, I’m choosing Dublin. It’s familiar. I figure there’ll be plenty of time to venture out and find another spot should I want. But for now, Dublin’s the place. Too much has changed and I couldn’t control it. I need at least one thing in my life I choose. So live where ya want, but I’m choosing Dublin.”
“Fair enough. I have no problem with it,” said Breasal.
“Me neither. Dublin’s fine for now.”
“I’m going back to the Raven Stone tonight. One last time before we leave; I need to touch it again.”
“We can go tonight,” Breasal said.
“No. I’m going alone. I’ll be okay. I think after all that’s happened, I can handle a night in Tyrie alone,” Moira smiled.
“At least have Faolon with you. Just in case,” Breasal said.
Moira furrowed her brow. “Fine. But I’ll need him to stay outside the church.”
“When are you are going?” Seara asked.
“Here in just a bit. I’ll be back later tonight. And then we can plan for Dublin. Do you have a needle, Breasal?”
“I believe I do. What do you need it for? Gonna sew some new knickers?”
“Ha, no. It’s just something I need. Can I borrow one?”
“Sure, sure. I believe there’s a sewing kit in the laundry room. Do you need it now?”
“Yes, thanks.”
Breasal left the kitchen, leaving Seara and Moira alone.
“The blood of a fuilteach can be a powerful thing, Moira. I bet being a witch and fuilteach even more so. Be careful.”
Moira returned her gaze, frustrated the fuilteach read her mind so easily. “I know what I’m doing. It’ll be okay. It’s just something I have to do.”
Breasal returned with a needle in hand.
“Here ya are. One needle.” He dropped it in her hand.
“Thanks. Go raibh maith agat.”51
“Hey, you’re catching on! Maith thú,”52 Breasal said.
“I’ll get Faolon and then leave.”
Moira walked upstairs to the nursery. Faolon stood at the door, his sword sheathed at his side.
“Faolon, can you come with me tonight to Tyrie? I need to do something. Breasal thought it best if you went along.”
“Yes, my Queen. Let me get another guard to stand watch, and we can go.”
Seara walked up behind Moira.
“I can do it.”
“Are you sure?” Moira asked.
“Of course. Happy to.”
Moira smiled at her friend. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Moira hugged Seara goodbye. Seara squeezed her and whispered, ”Be careful.” Moira nodded, then Faolon and she walked down the staircase and into the kitchen.
“We’re off, then,” Moira said.
“Take care of my girl, will ya?”
“Of course, Breasal.”
Faolon and Moira stepped through the back door into the garden, then flew through the sky to Tyrie.
When Moira and Faolon arrived at the Tyrie kirkyard, dense clouds obscured the moonlight. The field was pitch black. A mortal would not have been able to see the pair standing just at the edge of the church entrance. The wind whistled, the cold air stinging Moira’s cheeks, tinging them bright pink. She shivered and reached into her pockets. As she touched the needle in her right pocket, her stomach churned. She stood for several minutes, willing herself to walk to the church and step inside. Faolon stood with her, silent.
“I need to go in alone. The last time I was here, the stone lit up and screamed, strange as that sounds. If it happens again, I’ll be fine. No need to rush in.”
“Understood. Do what needs to be done.”
Moira touched the door and braced herself.
“Oscailte.”
The door swung open and she stepped inside. Closing the door behind her, she walked toward the stone framed on the wall. The burden of the last days and months ripped open inside her and she began to weep.
“You said my dreams and hopes would be broken. But hasn’t that already happened? What more could be taken from me? What do I even have left to give?”
Moira took a breath and sighed. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the needle. As the clouds began to slip off the moon outside, slivers of pale light pierced the darkness inside.
“I’m not changing my mind. I feel I have no choice but to do what you ask. But I beg of you, keep my children safe. You can have everything else, but don’t harm them. Protect them. If I am what they say I am, if you are who you say you are, care for them.”
“Make me strong. If there’s to be a war, strengthen me. Fuck my enemies. Let them pay for ever thinking they could take me on.”
Moira took the needle and pricked her left index finger. She squeezed the tip until blood began to roll down to her palm.
“I pledge my service to you, Anu, Macha, and Babd.”
She stood in front of the stone and smeared her blood across the z-form. Light burst through the stone and the high-pitched scream curdled through the night. Moira pressed both her palms to the stone. The light penetrated her fingers and coursed t
hrough her entire frame. The light was so bright and intense she became invisible for one second, one with the light inside her. The stone began to crack with the vibration of the scream. Moira felt as if her entire body was being torn in half from the inside. The pressure building was almost more than she could bear. She tried to remove her hands but realized she had fused with the stone. Just when she thought she would die from the pressure, the stone burst. And with it, the light and scream died out.
Moira was shaken. She stood fixed to the spot, staring at the broken pieces of stone laying at her feet. Her breath was ragged and shallow. Faolon burst through the church door.
“Are you all right?”
She looked at him, her eyes vacant.
“Moira!”
Faolon ran to her and wrapped her in his arms. The touch of another soul snapped her mind back to her body.
“Yes. Yes, I’m good.”
He released her and stepped back.
“Moira, your hair. It’s gone white.”
Moira felt for the tips of her hair, twisting it towards her face. She saw the white strands and looked back at him.
“Yes, you’re right.”
“What happened?”
“I pledged myself to the Morrigan.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we prepare to fight.”
Blood lust. Rogue Vampires. Desperate love.
Dive deeper into the world of Celtic blood-drinkers with Tribunal.
Get your FREE copy here.
Also, enjoy a sneak peek at the second book in the Moira Series scheduled to be released in 2018.
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Coming 2018
Moira’s Heartbreak
For my readers, I wanted to give you the tiniest of tastes of what’s to come. Enjoy this early un-edited first chapter of the second book in the Moira series. I’m currently working hard to get this in your hands. If you’d like to read a short novelette about Breasal, Kennocha, and the forming of the tribunal, click here and tell me where to send your copy. I won’t spam you or sell your address to a third party. I will, however, let you know when the next Moira book is available and give you a chance to be on my advanced reader team.
Much Love,
Tawnya Lee
Moira’s white hair clung to her back in clumps. Blood oozed from the back of her skull, creating a distorted bulls eye on her scalp. Dirt matted her forehead; sweat dripped into her eyes. She wiped, or smeared rather, the sweaty dirt from her eyes with the back of her palm. Her breath jutted out in harsh, explosive bursts. Pain seared through her side. If I don’t hurry, I won’t make it in time to save him. She had tried to fly, but the injury to the back of her head seemed to have affected her ability. She was rooted to the ground, only able to run as fast as her immortal feet could take her.
She jumped over jagged rocks, catching the last one with her knee.
“Shit!”
She stumbled but caught herself. Resting her hands on her knees, she took three deep breaths and continued on, running along the small, winding road in the Wicklow Mountains. Gaining speed, she pushed herself further. Glendalough monastery. I have to make it before they do. Come on. You can do this. Patches of blanket bog, whizzed by her. A stray goat munching on a sparse patch of grass lifted its head, curious but indifferent to the creature with white bloody hair, zooming past him.
Moira splashed through the river Liffey with such speed that walls of water 20 feet high sandwiched her on both sides. She nearly slipped on the mud left behind by the displaced water. The Kippure mountain rose in the distance, as solid and still as Moira was fluid and fast. Had Moira known the river she had just sliced was once called An Ruirthech, meaning ‘Fast Runner’, she would have been amused had she not been in such mental agony. Please don’t let him be dead. Please don’t let me be too late.
Just as cascading sheets of water were about to crash into her, she jumped out of the muddy river bed and hurtled on through the valley. Now wet, muddy, bloody, and pained, Moira continued her race. Images of what she might face if she didn’t arrive in time pierced her heart, creating a tangible, nearly debilitating pain. I can’t think about that. It won’t happen. I can’t let it. Why were they so stubborn? Why was I? How did I fuck all this up so royally?
In your greatest heartache, Eire will save you.
The witch’s words from so many years ago echoed in her mind. Eire,53 Morrigan,54 Queen Medb,55 Brigid,56 Lugh,57 any of you, any of you at all, if you’re real, if you hear me, please, please save me from my greatest heartache. I can’t bear this. I can’t. Moira prayed out loud and silently to any god of Tuatha dé Danaan58 she could recall. At the moment, and considering the circumstances, only three gods and a great queen came to mind. The years of training and understanding of Ireland’s magical history seemed to be failing her at the moment. Considering her predicament, very forgivable.
At last, the valley of Glendalough opened to Moira. She stopped and gathered her thoughts, unable to appreciate the raw, natural beauty surrounding her. She spotted the Round Tower, thirty meters high, peering at her through a crown of trees. The Priest’s House. They’re at the Priest’s House. She grimaced and sprinted towards the beckoning tower.
She rushed toward the Priest’s House, an ancient building without a roof. Arches flanked both ends. Tears stung her eyes at the sight of a man crumpled, face down just inside the house. A second figure stumbled through the arch, spotted her, lifted his arm to her and collapsed.
Acknowledgments
For years, I’ve daydreamed of writing my first acknowledgment page. No man is an island, entire of itself. I could not have done this alone. The vision of thanking you within the pages of my first novel kept the fires stoked and drove me to keep writing.
I’ve dreamt of being a published author since I was 10 years old. I haven’t followed the straight path and many of the detours nearly robbed me of faith in my dream. But the following people cheered me on and helped me keep the faith. I want to thank my mom, my first fan. I know somewhere in heaven you’re saying, “It’s about time.” I feel a deep gratitude toward my dads, step-moms, and my sisters. Thank you for asking how the book was coming along. I know you believe in me and that means more than these simple words describe.
I owe a debt to Brittany. I’m not sure my checkbook will ever be fat enough to repay you. You’ve been the biggest source of encouragement and help. You were the first to ever lay eyes on Moira’s Song and were patient to answer all my questions and help with brainstorming along the way. You’re the family I choose and the friend I’m blessed to find.
To my new friend, Matt Gilibert, your support, advice, and encouragement have been amazing. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope we both see our dreams come true. I’m grateful we’ve become friends. Your opinions and advice are priceless. I would’ve been a frazzled mess these last few months without you.
I want to thank my dear friends. Sharon, a simple thank you isn’t enough for all the love you’ve shown. You’re also one of those I consider chosen family. Kari, Jolene, Gisele, Izzy, Toni, and my circle sisters in Austin who cheered me on as I gave nearly weekly updates of my progress. To my own murder of crow sisters who have rallied behind me, thank you!
Rosie, I hung your postcard and pin next to my nightstand. It fueled my dreams of successfully finishing. I can and I will. Watch me.
And to Fin Coll, you taught me Irish and Irish culture. Those lessons were invaluable. All proper Irish is due to your help. Any broken Irish is all me. Ach, is fearr Gaeilge bhriste ná Béarla cliste.59
Jeremy Higginbotham, thank you for the beautiful art on my book cover. You’re amazing!
Thank you to my editor, Becky Courington. Your services were invaluable. Thank you for your hard work.
Last but not least, thank you Luke, Tristan, and Austen. You are the reason I keep going each day. You put up with many meals of hot do
gs and french fries when I was marathon writing. I wrote this book to show you it is never too late to follow your dreams. If you want it, work hard and go get it. I’m so proud of each of you. I believe in you. I am your first and biggest fan.
About the Author
Tawnya Lee was born in Peoria, Illinois, and raised in Texas. She spent over a decade as a web developer and currently mentors undergrad students in the IT field. She lives in Austin, Texas with her three children, dog, and cat. It feels like a zoo most of the time. While she'd like to claim to be the zookeeper, she's pretty sure the cat is actually running the show.
Copyright © 2017 Eriksson Publishing House
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to persons alive or dead is purely coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 1546924213
ISBN-13: 978-1546924210
1. children
2. Be quiet
3. Good night, my friend
4. Celtic feast, celebrating the return of Spring.
5. Celtic goddess of the hearth and poetry
6. Patron Saint of Ireland
7. The anglisized name of the Gaelic May Day Festival.
8. Spirit or fairy who foretells death by wailing. Commonly known as banshees. Sidhe
9. Story of a woman forced to marry who later commits suicide, then rrises from the grave to seek revenge.
10. In Irish legend, Abhartach was a chieftain who rose from the dead continuously to seek the blood of the living.
11. Many dispute that such legends as Abhartach drinking blood and Droch-fhuil are not genuine Irish legends.
12. People with arithmomania generally suffer from obsessive compulsive disorder and obsessively count their actions or objects in their surroundings.
