Ravenheart: Book Ii

By Melissa Johnson

Bernadette is suddenly swept up into Cullan’s plans. His goal is to put together a fighting force to challange the queen. Bernie is on the move with a small group of warriers, Druids, men and Slig, who are relying on her and the special magic she has to win the first battle and ultimately the war. But the queen is gathering a force of fighters such as haven’t been seen in Scotland for hundreds of years, the Fianna, warriors with godlike strength who have been in the underworld for centuries, and Bernie has never been in a war, much less as a warrior.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Oct 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798765235560

Melissa Johnson

Melissa Johnson holds a master’s degree in anthropology. Her artistic influences include Native American vision quests, Taoist martial arts, and Buddhism. She enjoys blending fantasy, myth, and magic in her stories about people and places of long ago. Melissa currently lives in Southwestern Colorado.

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RAVENHEART

BOOK II

MELISSA JOHNSON

Copyright © 2022 Melissa Johnson.

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models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 979-8-7652-3555-3 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-7652-3557-7 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-7652-3556-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018910849

Balboa Press rev. date:  10/18/2022

CONTENTS

Chapter 1     A Message

Chapter 2     Wu

Chapter 3     Siege

Chapter 4     Plans

Chapter 5     Dragon Flies

Chapter 6     Battle Engaged

Chapter 7     Feast

Chapter 8     The Castle

Chapter 9     Deserters?

Chapter 10   A Teaching

Chapter 11   Fighting

Chapter 12   Barrow

Chapter 13   The King

Chapter 14   Out And Away

Chapter 15   Away

Chapter 16   Dream Place

Chapter 17   Plans

Chapter 18   Piskies

Chapter 19   King’s Man

Chapter 20   A Dark Night

Chapter 21   On The Water

Chapter 22   Ride To Glasgow

Chapter 23   Glasgow

Chapter 24   Trodaiche

Chapter 25   Malcolm

Chapter 26   To Battle

Chapter 27   Fiach’s Tale

1

A MESSAGE

I t was a fine, clear day; we kept to the forest rather than the heavily traveled road from Edinburgh. I rode with nine men. Four of the race, we called Sidhe but who called themselves Slig Maith. One of these was their leader, Cullan. They were the remnants of our ancient gods and possessed powers that, so far, I was not totally knowin’ of. They used them sparingly or to antagonize their human neighbors. They could come and go in our realm, but we could not come and go in theirs. Ru, who looked like Cullan, was lanky and tall with black wavy hair and a dark sunburned complexion. Halvar and Mick were not unlike the other two but shorter and stockier.

There were three Scotsmen, led by their clan chieftain, Faolan, the only one with bright red hair, and two brothers, Brian and Niall. Then there were the Druids. I had ne’er seen such men. They were covered in blue-black skin paintings so that Dragan had the face of a snake and Bran had a raven face. It did take some gettin’ used to. Their scalps were also painted, but black hair was returning, and now the paint was harder to see.

We did not want to create a scene to be talked about by the villagers along the way. So we kept to the woods and rode through the tangled tree branches, fallen trees, and shrubs of the ancient forest. The thick green moss covering the ground hid holes and rotting fallen limbs, creating slow-going for the horses—even the magical horses ridden by the four Slig Maith and myself.

These horses had partnered with the Slig Maith long ago; they were related to the Kelpie, the meat-eating water horses that sometimes plague the edges of a lake, enticing children or adults to ride. Their favorite food was human flesh. The horses we rode had discontinued murdering in some ancient time. Mine had been given to me by the queen of the Slig Maith. He was so big I had yet to learn how to get up on him, but once I was on, I would not fall off. Our connection was very close. His name was Ciaran.

We were riding toward the Isle of Bute and the Castle Rothesay. Cullan believed the castle to be safe by virtue of a small number of his men having infiltrated the garrison there. The plans of the Seeley Court, led by the queen, who was Cullan’s mother, were to wage war against the inferior race, the humans. It was her plan to rid the world of all humans and create a paradise for the Slig as they once must have had. Cullan was gathering his own forces on the side of humans, arguing that both races were necessary for the balance of nature.

Then there was myself, a seventeen-year-old witch, as the men would call me. I did not consider myself a witch. I learned my skill from a traveler from Ming, a country I had no idea existed until he educated me about the world. His name was Liu Shen; it’s a long story.

Just before the sun dropped, we made camp. It would be a short ride into the wee village of Wemyss the next day. For some reason, the men chose a large depression in the ground, almost like a small pond. I suppose because no trees had fallen there and the mossy floor was free of obstacles and obstructions. It did look inviting. The forest was all around us, and the moss grew in weird shapes up the sides of the trees and over buried dead wood and rocks, making just about everything green. The sound of the breeze through the tree branches high overhead made me wonder about the whispering I was hearing. It swirled from tree to tree, all around us. I did not like it.

There was something wrong. It was nothing I could see. None of the Slig, with their elvish senses, seemed to have any issue. They moved about normally setting up their camp. Niall and Faolan went off on foot to hunt for dinner, and the others busied themselves as was their habit. I found myself wandering in and out of the strange hollow space. I went out into the woods, but there was nothing I could grasp on to that was dangerous. I saw no suspicious item or feature, and with no call to take care from the others, I walked further out into the woods. The sound of the wind grew louder and created the image of curious little people peering around every tree.

Ciaran called into my mind, All is well for ye?

I did not see him. His blackness matched the creeping darkness of shadow in the ancient forest despite his large horse-shaped body.

Aye, I answered. But I fear something and do not know what.

’Tis the banshee wind, he said. I am on guard.

As well am I, I replied.

After our day of solid riding, we had grown inseparable. Our minds were like one mind.

As I continued to walk over the soft mossy green, a great tiredness began to engulf me, and I struggled against it. My eyes tried to close of themselves, and my arms hung from my shoulders like heavy branches. My shoulders drooped, my back bowed, and my knees buckled. I collapsed into a heap under an ancient yew tree. Its peculiar bark caught my attention as I fell. A strange and uncommon tree to find in a wild wood, I thought briefly. The earthy, fresh smell of old oak and hazel and the growing green floor of the ground penetrated my senses. A subtle smell of putrid decay mingled in my mind. The magic of the yew tree seeped into my skin; I was unable to move. But it was not an unpleasant feeling. I was becoming the ground that I lie upon. I felt so heavy and solid. I sunk into the moss as if it were a feather bed until I was mostly submerged; only my eyes could move. I looked out onto nothing but green through half-closed eyes, which, slowly and gently, closed themselves.

I wasn’t becoming the ground; I was being absorbed into it. Strangely, I was not afraid. My limbs would not move. My mouth could form no words. I tried to make a simple sound, but no air would release from my throat. I seemed to be breathing, but I could not move. I was in a dream. I became the soft green moss. I thought to reach out for Ciaran with my mind, but I could not raise the ambition to do it. What is wrong with me?

I gently sunk, closing my eyes and ears into sleep or something similar. I was aware of myself as moss, with its small inhabitants and its wee movements, seeking nourishment and growth. I had not a care. No desire, no issue to concern me. No memory of my comrades or my purpose.

Until, with a thud, I landed on a hardened floor. I lay there like a fawn hiding in the grass. I felt my distinct self again, but my eyes were blind or covered. All was the deepest black. The dark was so thick, nothing penetrated it. I had no sense of a beginning or an end.

I was struggling to stay calm. Maybe I was dreaming? Was I dead and had gone to hell? Or had my eyes been left behind at the yew tree? My breath began to come quickly, and I wanted to scream. With some effort, I tried to calm my thoughts. I made slow movements and discovered that there was a floor. I raked my fingers across it. It was either hard-packed earth or very dirty. The movement helped. The place had a musty aroma as if it had been sealed from outside air for a long time. It smelled of soil and roots, and the familiar yew odor of death mingled with the dust.

I reached out my hand, encountering nothing. I lay on my back and reached up, nothing again. And there was nothing beyond my head or anywhere around me. My own wee light was unable to shine in the depths of the place. So I sat up. Then I stood up. Without anything to see, in my total blindness, it felt like floating. At least I knew where down was. My feet had a platform, but I was in a black so encompassing, there was no feeling of where I was in space. Even the ground under my feet did not give me orientation. I sat back down. My muscles tensed, and I felt like screaming. My skin prickled, and I broke out in a sweat. A scream would just scare me more. Don’t do it! Was I blind?

I had to clear the tension from my mind. Sitting like Lou had taught me to calm my thoughts until there was nothing. The agitation of mind and body began to leave me, and I finally could sit open and serene, just being.

Ah, there you are, a deep windy voice called.

My eyes flew open faster than the thought to do so. I had heard nothing, and the room remained in total blackness. I directed my breathing to remain calm and deep. I could detect nothing in the space around me. Please, sir, show yourself that I may know to whom I speak.

You do not see? the voice sounded surprised. In time, your senses will return. It must be the power of the yew tree. It’s very strong here, you know. I planted it so long ago.

As the voice spoke, an eerie green light began to fill what became a cave under the roots of the ancient tree. There were walls of roots around us. The floor was compacted soil from which the tree grew. It was not a large place. A couple of horses were all it would house.

I can now see where I am, sir, but where and who are you, please?

A movement from the main root of the tree caught my eye. Slowly, a form began to emerge. He was covered in what looked like hawthorn leaves. His face was not unpleasing with its high cheekbones and strong aquiline nose. But his hair was made of growing leaves that bristled from his scalp. His garment was of leaves, and as he emerged from the root and stood before me, I could see the fresh green color of his skin. He was the Green Man. From his smile and merry eyes, I could feel no danger. I stood quickly and curtsied very low and long.

Please, raise yourself, child. You may call me Cernunnos, and know I honor you as well. His arms and legs were bare, showing tight muscles and the leanness of a warrior.

You are honored to meet me? I choked. I am nothing, and you … you are a god.

This could be none other than the god of wild and growing things standing before me, the consort of the earth goddess Gaia. I felt I should fall to my knees. But the sound of his merry laughter was filled with happiness, and it was all I could do not to chuckle along with him.

Come to my hall, I would have a word with you now. We can be comfortable and have a meal. His voice was deep and melodic, I would follow him anywhere.

Just then, I realized I was very hungry, but my fellows in the woods may be missing me. My lord, will you send word to my friends in the forest that I am safe? They may be searching.

No fear, my daughter. They know you are safe.

His merry eyes bore a deep happiness into my body, all my worry for the future vanished, replaced by a happiness of now. I found my mind calm and free from any concern.

A narrow passage was revealed behind me. Cernunnos entered it, and I followed. After a few steps, he strode down a path with a winding course that eventually opened into a huge cavern. I could not find any light source, yet my eyes could see. It was as if the cavern glowed from an inner light of its own. It was luminous.

The room was made grander by the rocky pillars that reached to the high ceiling. They had grown down, while others were tall, jutting sharp teeth-like monuments pointing up. The floor was coarse sand, the kind that riverbanks are prone to, and in fact, the soft sound of water bubbled somewhere in the cavern.

Cernunnos walked to a large column and turned to me and said, Welcome, Ravenheart, my own true daughter!

His broad happy smile and twinkling eyes filled me with love. Love burst out of my body like energia, escaping every pore. I felt like I was lit up. I looked at my hands just to check. It was true—there was a bright light emanating like a candle inside a glass. Its brightness extended a hand’s length out from me. I was a glowing, living thing.

He watched me. My daughter, you see how love can illuminate dark places with you as its lantern. We can all be lanterns in the dark.

Then he turned and walked between the pillars. I entered behind him to see a stone table with log seats. Simple dishes like we had at home, earthen bowls and cups, wooden spoons and sharp knives, were laid out. The bowls filled with hot soup, bread and cheese appeared, and wine sloshed in the cups. Let us eat and drink with our talk.

As we sat, the space inside the pillars began to turn green. A fine short grass appeared under my feet, covering the floor like a rich carpet. Branches and leaves sprung out of the columns, converting them into oak and hazel trees, ash and aspen. Small forest flowers sprung up in the grass. The leaves on Cernunnos’s head formed into an encircling wreath with roses and holly berries decorating here and there. Upon my own head, a delicate circlet of tiny yellow flowers and white roses were woven together. Small birds flitted over our heads, and their songs sounded like the most intricate music.

My mind floated in a happiness I had ne’er felt before. I could find nothing in my head to convert into words. But somewhere deep within me, there was a longing. It longed for a world of peace just like this. This longing was a hard angular stone in my heart, and it brought me back from the absolute happiness of now to remember the grim purpose that I had only a very short time ago shared with the others of my cohorts, warriors all, prepared to lose their lives in a battle to save Scotland that we had no hope of winning.

So little time you allow for bliss. Cernunnos reached for his wine. Come, my daughter, just a moment more. Lose your thoughts that you may understand.

I smiled as he took a huge draught. His eyes were lit by an internal flame. But my moment was over. I dipped a piece of bread into my soup and deftly caught the drips in my mouth, chewing and swallowing the morsel. Its taste was salty-and-sweet perfection.

I’m afraid I have a cauldron of thoughts bubbling around in my head. Am I wrong to think that you probably know most of them? I asked.

He gave me a wink. I do not make it habit to intrude into the thoughts of others. Right now, I do have a Druid or two and perhaps a Slig Maith that I like to give some attention to, generally not without contacting them directly, of course. This is why I have invited you here for dinner. He took another hearty drink and still holding the cup, reached out for a large chunk of bread.

Invited me, have you? I seem to remember falling on my knees to sleep under a yew tree and finding myself underground. I don’t recall an invitation. It was as if he might be my grandfather,