The Awakening (The Dragon Heart Legacy #1) - Nora Roberts Page 0,2
of the water, but saw no point in it. He could hear others do so, or laugh, even kick their way back to the surface.
He shut off that part of him that could hear thoughts as too many of them crowded in.
He’d sworn he would take to the water this day and dive deep. That he would take up the sword if it came to his hand.
So he dived deep, deeper, remembering the times as a boy he’d done just this with his brother and sister. Children on a summer day hunting for smooth stones on the soft lake bottom.
He could see others through the water, swimming down or over or up. The lake would push them to the surface if the air ran out of their lungs, as it was promised this day no one who entered the lake would come to harm.
Still the lake moved around him, swirling, sometimes spinning. He could see the bottom now, and those smooth stones he’d gathered as a boy.
Then he saw the woman. She simply floated, so at first he thought her a mermaid. Historically the mers abstained from the ritual here. They already ruled the seas and were content with that.
Then he realized he only saw her face, her hair—red as Marg’s, but longer and streaming back in the water. Her eyes, gray as shadows in smoke, struck some chord in him that was knowing. But he didn’t know her. He knew every face in the valley, and hers wasn’t of the valley.
And yet it was.
Then, though he’d blocked himself, he heard her as clearly as he’d heard Marg on shore.
He was mine, too. But this is yours. He knew it, and so do you.
The sword all but leaped into his hand. He felt the weight of it, the power of it, the brilliance of it.
He could drop it, swim on, swim away. His choice, so the gods said, so the stories said.
He started to loosen his fingers and let that weight, that power, that brilliance slide away. He didn’t know how to lead. He knew how to fight, how to train, how to ride, how to fly. But he didn’t know how to lead others, not into battle or into peace.
The sword gleamed in his hand, a shine of silver with its carving pulsing, its single red stone flaming. As he eased his grip that shine dulled, the flame began to gutter.
And she watched him.
He believed in you.
A choice? he thought. What bollocks. Honor left no choice.
So he pointed the sword toward the surface where the sun danced in diamonds. He watched the vision—for she was nothing more than that—smile.
Who are you? he demanded.
We’re both going to have to find out.
The sword carried him straight up, an arrow from a bow.
It cleaved through the water, then the air. The roar came up as the sun struck the blade, shot its light, its power across the water.
He rode it to the thick, damp grass, then did what he knew he must. He knelt at Mairghread’s feet.
“I would give this and all it means to you,” he said, as her son had, “for there is none more worthy.”
“My time is past.” She laid a hand on his head. “And yours begins.” She took his hand, brought him to his feet.
He heard nothing, saw nothing but her. “This was my wish,” she murmured, only for him.
“Why? I don’t know how to—”
She cut him off, a kiss to his cheek. “You know more than you think.” She held out the staff. “Take what’s yours, Keegan O’Broin.”
When he took the staff, she stepped back. “And do what comes next.”
He turned. They watched him, so many faces, so many eyes watching him. He recognized what churned inside him as fear, and felt the shame of it.
The sword chose him, he thought, and he chose to rise with it. There would be no more fear.
He lifted the staff so its dragon’s heart pulsed with life.
“With this, there will be justice on Talamh for all.” Now the sword.
“With this, all will be protected. I am Keegan O’Broin. All that I am or ever will be pledges this to the valleys, the hills, the forests and ballys, to the far reaches, to every Fey. I will stand for the light. I will live for Talamh, and should the gods deem, I will die for Talamh.”
They cheered him, and through the roar of it, he heard Marg say, “Well done, lad. Well done indeed.”