on his knees in sweet praise to God.
He pleaded again in earnest for his father.
Someone shoved Owain facedown in the moist grass.
“Here, Podrith, pull him forward a bit more. Don’t grab his sleeve; you’re just tearin’ it. C’mon, like this.”
They grasped his hands, and Owain’s mind flashed back to his near drowning. The water had filled his lungs, and the light above had faded. But someone grabbed his hand. His own father pulled him from the water to the bright day and the sweet air. His father had found him. There was life. And air!
Only because of his father’s love did he survive to tell the tale to his own son. To Merlin.
Why had he forgotten his son?
Merlin’s face appeared before his darkened eyes. He could see the handsome curly black hair, his grin, and the innocent mischievousness. He could see the man Merlin was becoming. The strength in his back, legs, and arms. The self-assurance despite his limitations.
And Owain could see the scars — the scars that stabbed at his own heart every time he looked at them. Failure. You failed him. You didn’t protect him that day. But oh how he loved his son. If he could just say it instead of hurting him. Instead of insulting Merlin’s God.
God?
Was it God who gave Merlin the ability to resist? To keep struggling for air? To cling to life even when it beat him down? Owain had always puzzled over his son’s inner strength. His own power was fueled by anger at the injustices he’d suffered, as well as the fear of failure. And his fear stoked the anger like fire heating iron until he was able to bend those emotions to his will. Able to survive the calamities of his life.
But what of the Christ — the Messiah — whom Merlin professed? When he was young, Owain had known Jesu. Or so he’d thought. Had he believed only because his father believed?
When the prayers of the monks failed, and he’d been forced to accept that his beloved Gwevian had drowned, he’d given up his own slim faith. Blamed God. Just forgotten. Why had he forgotten? Had not the Christ suffered for him? Had not the Christ —
The armband burned with renewed fire, and the Stone rose up before his darkened vision. His hands floated so close, he could feel its frozen heat sucking the life from his bones. Chilling his heart and suffocating him so he no longer felt the love of his friends, his family, his God.
His God!
It was as if something snapped, releasing his imprisoned body. Owain yelled, kicked, and fought once more. Just as in the water when his father had taken his hand and given him hope.
There was hope. There was always hope.
He fought like a man possessed, and the druidow let go. More of the beasts surrounded him and tried to hold him down, but he climbed onto his knees and burst up with strength forged from long hours pounding out iron. Lashing out, he struck down one druid with the side of his arm and smashed another with his elbow. Flailing his fists, Owain soon scattered them and, rising, sprinted away.
He had to get to the one place he thought safe: his smithy. But the covenant armband from Mônda burned hotter and hotter, and her voice and footsteps haunted him from behind.
CHAPTER 17
SHACKLED SECRETS
Stop pulling me, Mônda!” Owain swore as he used a poker to unbury the red coals from the ashes of the forge and layered some grass, twigs, and bark upon them. “Why did you follow me here?”
“Come back to the Stone.” Her eyes pleaded with him, and his heart longed for her love. But what she wanted for him would destroy him. Didn’t she know that? She took hold of his hand the way she had done the day they’d first met, and her tender touch sent shivers up his arm. He had fallen in love with her that day, hadn’t he? She was still beautiful, wasn’t she? But now she was asking him to gaze at the Stone.
To worship it.
To touch it.
To give himself completely to it.
To bind himself to her forever.
But Merlin’s warning rang in his ears, and Kifferow’s dead body floated before his eyes. A fear and revulsion awoke in him, and Owain shook her off.
He needed to work on something — anything — to force the image of the Stone from his mind. “I choose the Carpenter! Away.”
Her expression changed, and she came at him again,