by Lisa Cardiff
Table of Contents
MARKED BY DESTINY
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
MARKED BY DESTINY
LISA CARDIFF
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
MARKED BY DESTINY
Copyright©2013
LISA CARDIFF
Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by
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Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-341-1
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The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
To my dad
who has never disappointed me.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to all my family that cheered me on believed I could write a book when I wasn’t so sure myself. In particular, thanks to my husband, Chris, for ignoring my bad moods and my drifting mind. My sister, Shannon, who read the book in an incredibly rough form more than once, and helped put together my social media. My kids who helped me pick a name for the book even though they have no clue what it’s about. My mom and dad, who always believe in me regardless of where my life goes and my sister, Tiffany, for being a cheerleader.
And, of course, thanks to Soul Mate Publishing and their team for taking a chance on me and guiding me through the process.
Prologue
The Tribe of Mil shall come as bringers of new bloodlines unto the children of the goddess Danu. As the land is divided, so shall the powers of the Four Treasures be divided. Only the one marked by destiny, possessing the bloodline of both tribes shall inherit the power of the Four Treasures.
Prophesy – The Goddess Danu
Sometime around 1700 B.C.
Wrapped in a woolen cloak, Kalen, the Supreme Chieftain and Prince of the Tuatha Dé Danann tribe, stood at the top of a hill overlooking the sea. Heavy rain poured on him and his troops, and despite his cloak, he shivered—not from the rain but from a growing sense of dread as he watched Milesian invaders storm the rocky shores.
A single thought echoed through his mind, eliciting a far greater panic than any of the razor-sharp iron weapons threatening to rip through the flesh of his fellow Tuatha Dé warriors. Inis Fail is lost.
Four months ago, heedless of his argument to the contrary, the three Tuatha Dé Kings issued an order to kill the brother of the Milesian king sent to Ireland on a goodwill envoy. He knew it had been a foolish decision, one that threatened the very existence of their race. Kalen wasn’t surprised when the Milesians returned to Ireland a week ago demanding retribution. Instead of taking the threat seriously, the three Kings tricked them into giving the Tuatha Dé a week reprieve, and as the Milesians boarded their ships to await the decision of the Tuatha Dé Kings, the Kings summoned a magical storm to sink the entire fleet. To the Kings’ dismay, the invaders’ magic proved superior, and now they were back, swarming the coast with revenge in their hearts and the one type of weapon that could kill the nearly immortal Tuatha Dé in their hands: iron swords.
Brushing the rain from his face, Kalen’s eyes narrowed as he estimated the number of invaders partially hidden by the storm-darkened skies. The total caused the hair on his arms to stand on end. Knowing he had no choice, Kalen forced all doubts of the future from his mind. He had work to do—a battle to fight and the Four Treasures to defend.
A drumbeat sounded from the Milesian’s ranks as they climbed out of their boats. The most courageous Milesians surged forward with iron swords held high, taunting the Tuatha Dé warriors. They circled in front of the Tuatha Dé’s ranks, daring them to break formation and provoking rowdy cheers from the other Milesians.
“Ignore their taunts. We’re going to make them come to us. Hold firm. When they attack, the magic bestowed upon us by our faithful goddess will overwhelm them,” Mac Cuill, one of the three Kings of the Tuatha Dé and Kalen’s direct superior, shouted as he paced back and forth behind the front line of warriors.
An ominous chanting started from the rear of the Milesian’s formation, quietly at first then gradually growing into a loud rumble. “I am a buck of seven tines, I am a broad flood on a plain, I am a storm on bottomless waters, I am a glowing tear of the sun, I am a hawk on a crag, I am fair among flowers, I am a deity who sets the head afire with smoke. I am a battle waging spear…”
“The chanting won’t be so inspirational when they’re lying in a pool of their own blood.” Mac Cuill mocked, letting out bubbling laughter. “Perhaps, they should save their energy for fighting instead of squandering it on premature celebration.”
“There are three of them to every one of us,” Kalen said, observing the invaders with growing unease. “Underestimating them would be a grave mistake.”
“We’ve encountered stronger enemies than this one, and we have the Four Treasures on our side. We are invincible.”
Kalen eyed the four separate groups of Tuatha Dé warriors, each flying the banner representing their city of origin in Atlantis and each proudly wielding one of the Four Treasures - the Stone of Destiny, the Sword of Light, the Spear of Victory, and the Cauldron of Renewal. As if sensing the wheels of destiny in motion, each of the Four Treasures glowed and pulsed with preternatural light, almost ungodly in its brilliance.
When the invaders finished disembarking, a cheer reverberated through the Mileasian’s ranks, followed by the bellow of one of their leaders. “Kill them! Kill them all, every last one and this land and all its treasures shall be ours. Their lives are yours to take. Show them their fate.” Like men possessed, they charged forward to meet their enemy, swords raised high.
Overwhelming anxiety caused some of the Tuatha Dé to break formation and meet the onslaught of the invaders.
“Stand and wait,” Mac Cuill hollered, struggling to be heard over the clanging of weapons. “The goddess will not desert us. The Treasures will not fail us. We are the chosen tribe. Don’t be afraid.” The Tuatha Dé shifted back into formation, nervously awaiting Mac Cuill’s command to engage the invaders.
“This is wrong,” Kalen spat out, no longer able to hold his silence. “We cannot wait for them to slaughter us. Can’t you see their weapons are made of iron? The Tre
asures are irrelevant. We’re powerless to defend ourselves from this invasion. We should retreat and regroup. The Goddess Danu has forsaken us.”
Mac Cuill speared Kalen with his eyes. “Your thoughts are treasonous. We will be victorious.” Refocusing his attention on his warriors, he yelled, “On the count of ten, charge.”
With mounting dread, Kalen turned from Mac Cuill, watching the invaders rush forward.
Mac Cuill’s count floated through the air. “…Three, two, one. Now!”
It happened so fast. Mac Cuill charged forward with the front line of warriors just as the Milesians released a cloud of iron-tipped arrows that glided through the sky, buzzing like swarming bees. As the arrows fell, so did Mac Cuill’s lifeless body along with dozens of Tuatha Dé warriors. And then the tribes collided, killing each other in a relentless fever of screaming, hacking, slashing, and indiscriminate slaughter. Blood covered the once green knoll, coloring it a deep burgundy. Bodies fell in rhythm with the haunting pulse of drummers as if the battle were a choreographed play of carnage.
Hours passed without the Tuatha Dé having any respite from the waves of invaders. Cries of agony faded into the roar of utter chaos. Kalen swung his club with desperation, smashing it against an invader’s head, nearly splitting it open. Sensing something menacing hovering near his back, he whipped around without hesitation, blocking the sword of his next adversary and throwing a dagger into his chest.
When he had a moment of reprieve, he surveyed the battlefield, looking for any sign the goddess had not abandoned them and they would not be forced to share this land with the invaders, or worse, be driven from their homeland, but it was hopeless. A seemingly endless number of Milesians continued to charge the battlefield from the growing fleet of ships floating near the coast. They were doomed to failure, and it was not long before the last living King realized it too.
The last King of the Tuatha Dé blew the horn calling for the remaining Tuatha Dé warriors to abandon the battlefield. Kalen looked around, mesmerized by the carnage of tangled, writhing, and limp bodies and offered a brief invocation to the goddess Danu for mercy and salvation. The surviving Tuatha Dé fought their way through the frenzied mob of invaders and the dead bodies littering the blood-soaked grass to find refuge in their underground stronghold.
Over time, the Tuatha Dé underground stronghold grew beneath the green hills and vales of Inis Fail, eventually becoming a kingdom of its own. Thus, Inis Fail, now known as Ireland was divided between the two tribes and into two kingdoms. The Tuatha Dé, also known as the Fae or Faeries, ruled over the Otherworld. The Milesians, or humans, ruled over Earth’s surface.
For most mortals, the legend of the Tuatha Dé and their Four Treasures is nothing more than a fanciful fairytale to be told to their children. For others, the threat of the Tuatha Dé and the lure of the power of the Four Treasures are very real, and there are those among them that will stop at nothing to harness that power.
Chapter 1
Present day.
Avery Conner searched the crowded grand hall of the Irish American Historical Society for her best friend, Grace. Self-conscious of her shapeless, black cocktail dress and her disheveled hair, she walked through the room nodding and smiling at people she recognized, but she refused to make eye contact, hoping to avoid being drawn into conversation with anyone.
Artists, scholars, and socialites in cocktail attire filled the hall with vivid swirls of color. Music from a string quartet floated through the air as waiters clad in black and white muddled through the crowd with champagne and hors d’oeuvres on silver platters. The sweet smell of roses wafted through the air from the large white floral arrangements decorating the tables.
Despite the size of the hall, the décor had been selected to create an atmosphere of comfortable sophistication. Overstuffed, regency inspired sofas and cream wing chairs were grouped around the perimeter of the room, and polished silver sconces cast a warm glow over herringbone oak floors. Velvet fabric draped the opening to the exhibit gallery on the far right of the hall, and a wood paneled bar with a glowing onyx counter stretched half the length of the back of the room.
The hall was too crowded, making her feel claustrophobic, and Avery was about to turn around and look at the exhibits again when she spotted Grace walking toward her. “Grace, I really have to go. My plane leaves in three and half hours,” Avery pleaded.
Grace and Avery had arrived at the party not less than forty-five minutes ago, and Avery was already pushing to leave. Grace looked annoyed, probably because Avery had abandoned her immediately when they arrived to look at the exhibits rather than make social rounds with her. Avery realized she managed to exacerbate Grace’s frustration by demanding to leave. She didn’t know why Grace forced her to attend these types of functions when Avery repeatedly refused to make any effort to be part of the society scene that Grace loved.
Grace thought Avery never grasped that these events were about more than work, but she was wrong. Avery unquestionably understood they were a place to see and be seen, but Grace failed to realize that Avery intentionally left before she was seen.
Avery felt Grace’s judging stare crawling up and down her clothing. She cringed, hoping Grace would forego her standard critique of her appearance. Determined to ignore Grace’s perusal, she grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and pasted a smile on her face.
Grace let out a pained sigh, and then a look of resignation crossed her face. “Seriously? You’re already packed. There won’t be any traffic at this time of night, and I promise you’ll make it to the airport with plenty of time to spare. Just relax and enjoy this event before you’re stuck sitting by Dierdre’s deathbed for the next few weeks.”
Doubt flashed across Avery’s face, and then she visibly paled. Nausea rolled in her stomach, making her want to abandon her plans to visit her mother. What if she couldn’t control her anger? What if her mother refused to answer her questions yet again? What if she were too late to see her? Mentally exhausted from torturing herself for five straight days, she just wanted the trip to be over and get back to her life, but she couldn’t shake the feeling once her plane touched down in Ireland, nothing would ever be the same.
Taking a deep breath to clear her head of the persistent haze of panic that had been eating at her for days, she grabbed Grace’s hand. “Thanks. I know you’re just trying to help.”
A smile flickered at the edge of Grace’s mouth. “You know, I forced you to come tonight so you would have something to think about besides this trip. Being your oldest and, I hope, dearest friend, I knew if you sat at home waiting for me to pick you up, you would lose your nerve and cancel your plans. I’m not going to let you do that. You can’t let your relationship with Dierdre define the rest of your life. You need closure.”
Avery’s face illuminated with sparkling green eyes that never failed to captivate and lighten the mood. “No offense, Grace, but isn’t that psychoanalysis too deep for you?”
Grace laughed. “You know me too well. I promise to keep all of my other conversations and thoughts shallow and superficial for the rest of the night.”
“Good, I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself,” Avery teased.
“So you agree to stay a while longer?” Grace asked, hopeful while she watched Avery’s eyes closely.
“Okay, we’ll stay another thirty minutes but not a minute more,” Avery conceded. “Meet me by the front entrance. I don’t want to waste time trying to find you in this madhouse and end up missing my flight.”
Grace mumbled something under her breath and rolled her eyes as Avery watched her disappear into the fray.
She hated feeling like an outsider amongst the crowd Grace so effortlessly navigated with her easy warmth and lovely aristocratic features. Grace’s sleek brown hair and chocolate brown eyes combined with her air of sophistication always drew the attention of many admirers. Avery never wanted to be part of this “in” crowd, but she didn’t want to feel inadequa
te or awkward in their company either. She feared, in spite of all of Grace’s coaching, she would never fit in. She would always feel more comfortable powering through her translations for work with her magnifying glass and laptop than socializing with the genetically and materially gifted.
With the hum of conversation echoing in her ears, she wandered through the crowded room, heading toward the perimeter of the gallery to get another look at the exhibits displayed in their glass cabinets. She breezed by Celtic metalwork and Irish Illuminated Gospels only to stop at a few Gaelic manuscripts. Avery pulled her hair back, leaning forward to take a closer look when she glimpsed the blurred image of another person reflected on the glass of the display case.
“Shouldn’t you be well on your way to Ireland by now? I’m sure you’ll find many more fascinating ancient Irish artifacts there than you will at this place.”
Avery recognized the voice before she turned around.
“Peter,” she said with a brilliant smile. “I’m so glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure you were coming. I stopped by your office before I left today, but you weren’t in.”
Peter Cluny was one of her supervisors and a member of the board at the New World Foundation for Celtic Studies. Avery also counted him as her friend and mentor. Peter was in his late-thirties, not an overly tall man, but he had an athletic build, his face all angles, framed with neatly trimmed brown hair beginning to gray at his temples. Like most of the other men there, he wore an expensively styled, dark suit.
When Avery started working for the Foundation straight out of college, she didn’t know what to expect. On her first day, she was in the break room cussing at the automated espresso machine when Peter walked in. Not only did he explain how the machine worked, he also took her under his wing, mentoring her. Without him, she would have never lasted a week much less five years at the Foundation. He always had been there to support her and nurture her fragile ego. There was a time when it seemed as if Peter wanted more from her than friendship, and she had even entertained the idea at one point, but despite his pleasant, patrician looks and his easy humor, they lacked chemistry and she couldn’t bring herself to return his interest.
