Read Online Emily's House (The Akasha Chronicles) by Natalie Wright - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Natalie Wright
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powerful protective spells.
As soldiers began to fall in heaps, the remaining men got over their initial shock at the sight of the women warriors appearing out of what looked like a throng of devout priestesses. They had to contend not only with four foot tall Madame Wong slicing and dicing, but also the keen aim of the faeries’ bow and arrows.
They squared off, each soldier battling a woman warrior. More soldiers fell than women warriors but still, as the battle waged on, the Order of Brighid too shed much blood.
Suddenly they all heard the most loud and horrible screeching. For a moment, the battle stopped as all heard what sounded like metal scraping on metal while an injured cat howls.
Those fighting for the Order of Brighid knew instantly what made the awful noise. Bian Sídhe. And in an instant they also knew the reason for the Bian Sídhe’s cry. One of the ancient blood of Ireland had fallen.
12. Saorla At The Well
After Saorla had given her last blessing in the Great Hall, she met with the Fair Sídhe to confer on battle strategy. She then reinforced the incantations and spells that protected the Grove. Then she went to the Sacred Well and spent the rest of the morning in silent prayer and meditation.
At the appointed time, Cathaír silently appeared at the Well. They looked into each other’s eyes and without words spoke to each other all of the love they felt for each other.
As they heard the soldiers breaking down the gate of the Sacred Grove, they knew the time had come. They could wait no longer.
Saorla pulled her small-jeweled dagger from her cloak and without a single word, plunged it deep into her own belly. Blood poured from the gaping hole, crimson liquid staining the front of her white linen tunic and deep purple cloak. Within a few minutes, all color had drained from her face. Cathaír caught her in his arms as her body began to fall. He gently lowered her to the ground, her head resting on his thigh.
No words were spoken. Cathaír simply stroked her lovely red locks as he looked lovingly in her eyes. His lips touched hers one last time. As the life drained from Saorla’s body, the spells and enchantments that protected the Grove faded too. Even the light began to change and became a bit harsher and not so soft. The air became cooler too, and the sun began to fade behind gathering clouds.
The silence of the moment was broken as Saorla whispered her last word. “Sorcha.”
As the last breath passed from her lips, the golden torc loosened its grip around her arm and fell gently to the ground. Cathaír wanted to stay and hold her, to continue to stroke her hair. He wanted to plunge her dagger into his own chest to stop the ache now heavy in his heart.
But he had made a sacred vow to his beloved. He knew what he must do.
He picked up the torc, still warm from her body, wrapped it in a linen cloth and hid it deep in the pocket inside his cloak. Cathaír gently lowered Saorla’s head to the ground, kissed her lips one last time and then ran.
He ran as fast as he could run. He ran to the edge of the Grove, away from the Great Hall and the soldiers and Dughall. He ran and ran until he reached the edge and then he stopped to recite the spell required to lift the enchantment so he could get out of the tangle of vines and branches. But before he could recite the spell, he realized he didn’t need it anymore. After Saorla had departed, there were no more enchantments protecting the Grove.
Cathaír stepped out of the Grove and into a new world, a frightening world where there was no longer a link between his human world and the world of magic. The light seemed harsher, the air more acidic. Maybe it was, or maybe it was just his sorrow and anger that made the air he breathed taste like a bitter poison. He pulled his cloak over his head and tread out of that grove, never to return.
He slipped easily through the tangle of vines, his horse where he had left it, waiting for his arrival. Cathaír
As soldiers began to fall in heaps, the remaining men got over their initial shock at the sight of the women warriors appearing out of what looked like a throng of devout priestesses. They had to contend not only with four foot tall Madame Wong slicing and dicing, but also the keen aim of the faeries’ bow and arrows.
They squared off, each soldier battling a woman warrior. More soldiers fell than women warriors but still, as the battle waged on, the Order of Brighid too shed much blood.
Suddenly they all heard the most loud and horrible screeching. For a moment, the battle stopped as all heard what sounded like metal scraping on metal while an injured cat howls.
Those fighting for the Order of Brighid knew instantly what made the awful noise. Bian Sídhe. And in an instant they also knew the reason for the Bian Sídhe’s cry. One of the ancient blood of Ireland had fallen.
12. Saorla At The Well
After Saorla had given her last blessing in the Great Hall, she met with the Fair Sídhe to confer on battle strategy. She then reinforced the incantations and spells that protected the Grove. Then she went to the Sacred Well and spent the rest of the morning in silent prayer and meditation.
At the appointed time, Cathaír silently appeared at the Well. They looked into each other’s eyes and without words spoke to each other all of the love they felt for each other.
As they heard the soldiers breaking down the gate of the Sacred Grove, they knew the time had come. They could wait no longer.
Saorla pulled her small-jeweled dagger from her cloak and without a single word, plunged it deep into her own belly. Blood poured from the gaping hole, crimson liquid staining the front of her white linen tunic and deep purple cloak. Within a few minutes, all color had drained from her face. Cathaír caught her in his arms as her body began to fall. He gently lowered her to the ground, her head resting on his thigh.
No words were spoken. Cathaír simply stroked her lovely red locks as he looked lovingly in her eyes. His lips touched hers one last time. As the life drained from Saorla’s body, the spells and enchantments that protected the Grove faded too. Even the light began to change and became a bit harsher and not so soft. The air became cooler too, and the sun began to fade behind gathering clouds.
The silence of the moment was broken as Saorla whispered her last word. “Sorcha.”
As the last breath passed from her lips, the golden torc loosened its grip around her arm and fell gently to the ground. Cathaír wanted to stay and hold her, to continue to stroke her hair. He wanted to plunge her dagger into his own chest to stop the ache now heavy in his heart.
But he had made a sacred vow to his beloved. He knew what he must do.
He picked up the torc, still warm from her body, wrapped it in a linen cloth and hid it deep in the pocket inside his cloak. Cathaír gently lowered Saorla’s head to the ground, kissed her lips one last time and then ran.
He ran as fast as he could run. He ran to the edge of the Grove, away from the Great Hall and the soldiers and Dughall. He ran and ran until he reached the edge and then he stopped to recite the spell required to lift the enchantment so he could get out of the tangle of vines and branches. But before he could recite the spell, he realized he didn’t need it anymore. After Saorla had departed, there were no more enchantments protecting the Grove.
Cathaír stepped out of the Grove and into a new world, a frightening world where there was no longer a link between his human world and the world of magic. The light seemed harsher, the air more acidic. Maybe it was, or maybe it was just his sorrow and anger that made the air he breathed taste like a bitter poison. He pulled his cloak over his head and tread out of that grove, never to return.
He slipped easily through the tangle of vines, his horse where he had left it, waiting for his arrival. Cathaír
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