Shades of Avalon (22 page)

“What are you researching?” Guinevere dipped her head to the phone in my hand.

“Alchemy. I’m trying to get a handle on Merlin.”

She chuckled lightly. “Then you’ll have succeeded where many have failed. Emrys’s mind is an ever changing labyrinth.”

“What do you know about how the Stone is created?”

Her brow crinkled, and she sighed. “I know Emrys spent his life attempting to create the Stone, and I know Zeal believes he achieved it.”

“Do you believe it?” I asked.

“Alchemy is a mongrel beast. It’s more than a science. When I knew Emrys, he spoke of a philosophy, of a base element making up everything in existence. Alchemists believed this. We’re not talking about creation—it’s manipulation. Emrys believed he could manipulate that element. Science tells us some of this is true. We are all made of stardust.”

I dropped my phone on the grass and massaged my temples to ease the dull throbbing there.

“I know that Emrys claims the Stone is a person,” she went on without glancing at me.

“Did you know before today?”

Guinevere inhaled a slow breath and closed her eyes briefly. “No. You’ve no idea how much I wish I had.”

I frowned and plucked a blade of grass, tossing it aside in frustration. Before I could ask her why, she spoke. “Well now, isn’t that interesting,” Guinevere observed with a note of curiosity in her voice.

“What?”

“The mark he carries—that does put a new and extremely interesting twist on our situation.”

John had taken off his T-shirt and was facing the water, wiping sweat from the back of his neck with it. The guy was unrecognizable from the one I first met at Tara. He seemed to pack sleek muscle on his body day by day. His shoulders flexed with strength, and his sculpted back narrowed downward, giving his torso a triangular appearance. He had a physique any of the guys on the soccer team in school would have killed for. Hell, a few years ago, I’d have killed to look like that. I presumed Gwen was referring to the tattoo on John’s back—three crescents interlocked at one end directly over his spine and smack bang between his shoulder blades.

“I’m not sure how John being inked is gonna help us.”

“That is not a tattoo,” she said, and I turned to see her watching him with one eyebrow raised. “Very curious.”

I chuckled humorlessly. Even during Guinevere’s time, men marked themselves with ink. Perhaps the reasons had changed over the centuries, but I was positive it wasn’t something that should pique her interest in any way. “Since I’m clearly missing something, maybe you would care to explain?”

Guinevere hummed thoughtfully and dragged her long braid over her shoulder, running her fingers lightly over the knotted leather. “I think that if you were to ask John where he got that mark, he wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

“Wouldn’t he have mentioned something like that?” I asked skeptically and snorted a laugh. In my opinion, John had proven he was trustworthy. He had nothing to gain from this—the opposite. If—when Caleb returned, he’d have to watch Triona walk away all over again. I remained skeptical of Guinevere’s and Merlin’s motives. If John’s tattoo was something we needed to investigate, he would have said.

“Why would he think it is anything remarkable in context of what’s happened?”

“But you think it is remarkable. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

John had knelt down beside Triona. He gently held her calf below her rolled up sweat pants leg, checking her injury which, no doubt, had already healed. His upper body glistened in the twilight, and he could easily have physically passed for a half-breed just like Triona or me.

“It’s an ancient mark. See how it’s still growing?” Guinevere pointed, her finger tracing a curved line in the empty air.

I looked closer to see she was right, the outside of the curves were extending minutely, creeping along his skin like tiny ink vines. The crescents began to turn inward at the outside edges as I watched. John grabbed a zipped sweatshirt from the grass, ending my observation.

“I haven’t seen this in a very long time. Emrys once told me it’s reserved for one marked by destiny. I thought nothing of it. We lived in a time of magic after all.”

I swung my head around to look at her, expecting she’d be smiling.
Do we need any more complications?
“Amanda doesn’t have one. If she did I’d have seen it by now.”

“Not marked by magic—by destiny—for one so affected by a change in their fate that their body is left scarred by it. Amanda was always meant for you. Her destiny wasn’t changed in the way John’s was.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

Gwen closed her eyes, and her jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before it relaxed again. “It will become a triple spiral—the triskele. To us it’s the symbol for past, present, and future.”

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes and rubbed hard. Everything kept changing. Every single time I got a handle on what was going on or where we stood, someone wrenched the rug right from under me. How much information could my brain hold before bits and pieces started to ebb away like a leaky faucet losing water?

“Did you ever wonder why Triona made the decision to allow Zeal his freedom?”

My hands whipped away from my face, and I glared down on her.

“Oh come on.” She smiled benignly. “The murderer of your soul mate, her best friend—surely it must have crossed your mind to wonder why Triona chose to set him free.”

It actually hadn’t. It had never crossed my mind that Triona had any reason other than being killers was not who we were. I raised a silent eyebrow, waiting for Guinevere to continue her insinuations.

“Your sister cares for this human deeply. She chose to change him—”

“No,” I cut her off. “She chose to save him.”

“And in saving him, he was changed forever. She made him into something he was never meant to be. She was protecting him from what she is, first by showing mercy where there should have been none, and second by taking his memories. As we can see, imparting her power to him in the process.”

I looked to where John pulled Triona to her feet before walking over to where two swords lay on the grass. Triona shook her legs out, testing to see if the injury had healed.

“Do you know the story of Sétanta?”

I shook my head, and she frowned, clearly not impressed with my lack of historical knowledge. “In his time, women were warriors. Sétanta’s mother was also the descendent of powerful Druids. While pregnant, she accompanied her brother’s men on a hunt for a flock of wild birds that had defiled a sacred ceremonial site. Days into the hunt, they grew weary and took shelter at the home of a young man. While there, she went into labor, knowing the baby wouldn’t survive. But the man was Lugh of the Dé Danann, and she had fascinated him with her strength, beauty, and bravery. He took pity and saved the baby by imparting some of his own strength to the newborn infant.

“As a child, Sétanta was set upon by a group of youths when he attempted to join their troop. He fought back and defeated the other boys. He then insisted they seek his protection. One day a visiting king stopped by to watch the troop play hurling. It’s a Gaelic game played by warriors. I suppose it would be much like ice hockey—” Guinevere smiled “—without the padding. Impressed by his abilities, the great king invited him to a banquet at the local smith’s home to be held in the king’s honor. However, the king later forgot about the invitation.

“When Sétanta showed up, he found a great hound had been released to protect the property. He killed it. When Culann, the smith, realized the king’s mistake and that his hound had been destroyed, he was devastated. Sétanta offered to take its place until he reared another. He became known as Cú Chulainn from that time. It means Culann’s hound. And a hound Cú Chulainn was…a handsome, terrifying warrior marked by destiny, who defeated the entire army of Ulster alone.”

I felt my brow crease in confusion because I honestly couldn’t follow where Guinevere was going with this story, or what it had to do with Triona and John. Guinevere sighed and looked toward the sound of banging metal and violent swishes as their sparring blades sliced through the air. John matched Triona blow for blow. Guinevere sighed.

“When the flow of destiny is interrupted, it naturally creates a new path. Sometimes the interruption is so great, the new path breaks away, becoming an entirely new reality. Fate does not tolerate her plans being altered by earthbound mortals.”

“So you’re saying that mark means John is an unexpected variable in fate’s plan because of the decision Triona made to take his memories. Now we’re all living in an alternate reality.”

Gwen stood and bent at the waist to brush grass from her jeans, her braid swinging between us. “I’m saying if Lugh hadn’t saved the newborn, the arm of Ulster wouldn’t have fallen. If Triona had destroyed Zeal then Caleb would be with Triona. Every choice we make has a consequence. Think of the smallest mercy as a tiny ripple that grows to a massive tidal wave. She made a choice that set us all on a new path. When Triona accidently bestowed powers on John, that path shifted so completely that Fate had no choice but to set us adrift. Much of our future is unwritten now. Culann needed his hound, and every queen needs her champion.”

Gwen’s palms pressed into her thighs for a second, and her shoulders slumped just a little. In a flash of movement she straightened and looked down at me with a sad smile. “Sétanta was said to have been touched by the Gods of the Tuatha Dé Danann with the Riastradh. He possessed an ability to control the very essence of his physical being at will and manipulate time when in battle. We aren’t only speaking of an ability to travel in clouds of dust. We are speaking of shape-shifting to any organic form. Stories say Sétanta became a mighty beast. To anyone around him, his assault would seem as a frenzy, a blur of movement and blood. When the mark completes, John will possess this ability. A power like that—” she shook her head “—would be worth tearing down the world to possess.”

My jaw slackened, and my heart began to pound harder as what Guinevere said began to sink in. I wasn’t the Stone. Possibly Merlin was right and untapped power ran through my veins, but John would be the one with the gift of transmutation.
John is the Philosopher’s Stone.
He was the one Triona would have to sacrifice to get Caleb back. He was also the one we needed to keep from Zeal.

“Will you come somewhere with me?” Guinevere asked, a note of reservation in her tone.

“Where?”

“Somewhere we may both find answers.”

I frowned. “That doesn’t tell me much.”

Her eyes darted across to Triona and John. “Please, just meet me after dinner, and don’t tell anyone.”

Guinevere’s lips parted and closed twice, as if the words she wanted to say wouldn’t come. She averted her eyes, looking off toward the trees and sighed. I waited. I had learned from the women in my life not to interrupt when a female has something she needs to say. Finally Guinevere frowned and turned. I watched as she walked away. She only got a few feet before she stopped again with her back to me.

“If I’d known the Stone was a person, I would have made the connection sooner. It wasn’t until after Merlin and Arthur were gone that I even learned the mark of the triskele Arthur carried meant he would eventually gain the Riastradh. Although it never did complete before he was taken from me. This is about much more than immortality,” she said quietly and continued walking.

I remained to watch Triona and John fight and mulled over what Guinevere had said. If he hadn’t been there, would she have finished Zeal? There might have been truth in what Gwen said about Triona not wanting to be a monster in his eyes. If it came to a choice between losing Caleb forever and losing John—would Triona really sacrifice one for the other?

Consciously or unconsciously, Triona changed John in the way Lugh had changed Sétanta and Merlin had changed Arthur, creating a new reality. I understood what he was trying to tell me now. Perhaps the future he showed me was the life I could have had if Brigid never made the Sword of Nuada.

So, the Riastradh was another secret of the Philosopher’s Stone. I was still unsure how it tied to the four phases.

A sudden chill rushed over my skin as I contemplated the idea of Zeal possessing such power. It was a long time before I noticed Triona and John had stopped fighting, and that the last light of the sun had disappeared to be replaced by the moon, turning the landscape shades of silver, gray, navy, and black.

Chapter 17

The Fáidh

“W
HAT
A
RE
W
E
D
OING
H
ERE
, G
UINEVERE
?” I asked, following her to a patch of water in the dead of night. On one side, a rocky shore broke against a tall, gray cliff face. Otherwise, rolling grass fields surrounded the lake, broken only by groupings of trees. At the other end of the water in the distance, I made out what appeared to be an old stone farmhouse. Perhaps that explained the sheep dotting the area.

“This is Crag Lough,” she replied by way of explanation. She still wore her jeans but with Excalibur strapped to her hip beneath her leather coat. Her hand lifted, and she gestured to her right. “Hadrian’s Wall runs along a path just over there.”