Moon Burning - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,102

mind-link.

You are arrogant.

And you are indeed a princess; now act like it.

This time she did not deny it. She returned her hands to the now-white-glowing crystal. Blue light once again began to emanate from the sacred stone.

“Taran-Gra Gealach, lay your hands on the crystal.”

The youth—this had to be Sabrine’s brother, whom she had sacrificed so much for—did as he was told, showing only slight hesitation as his fingertips brushed his sister’s.

The light flared purple and a strange hum filled the cavern, the air pulsing with Chrechte power as Barr had never known it.

The boy shimmered, red flaring around him and then he was no longer a boy, but a raven. He let out a harsh caw, his head tilted back, his wings expanded and then the light shone around him again and the raven disappeared to be replaced by one of the ancient ones. Gasps sounded around the cavern, but Barr was too taken aback to make even that noise.

A dragon, its scales so dark a scarlet they were almost black, drew its head back and trumpeted in victory before breathing a stream of fire toward the ceiling.

Everyone in the cavern fell back in mingled awe and fear, their scents giving away their feelings even if their actions had not. Except Sabrine. His warrior princess reached out to actually touch the magical creature.

The dragon dropped his head and butted Sabrine with his snout. She laughed out loud. “My brother, you will be the king that saves our people.”

“With his allies, the Faol who have learned to respect all life and live among the humans as their protectors.” The old woman’s voice resonated in the cavern, going through Barr like a second, more powerful heartbeat inside his body. “Taran-Gra Gealach will lead the Éan to a new day for our people.”

As quickly as he had taken on the form of a raven and then a dragon the youth was once again in the form of a human. He dropped to his knees and bowed, giving thanks in ancient Chrechte to the Creator of all things. Then he stepped into the pool on the right of the dais, submerging entirely and then standing with a triumphant shout.

His coming of age rite of passage was complete.

“There is a broken one among us,” the priestess intoned in that power-pulsing voice. “An eagle whose soul carries the guilt and pain of false beliefs that have torn at his heart.”

Lais looked in panic at Barr.

“Do not fear. This is a good place and she cares for all Éan.” He knew he spoke the truth, though he’d never met Anya-Gra or even known of her existence before this trip.

Lais nodded and turned, stepping forward as if mesmerized.

The guards had fallen back like all the others when Taran had taken his dragon form. But they stepped forward now, as if to prevent Lais from approaching the priestess. And then, they moved aside as if under direct command, though Barr had heard no word spoken.

“Place your hands on the Clach Gealach Gra, young Lais.”

“How do you know me?” he asked with awestruck tones.

The old woman smiled, compassion showing in eyes the same color as her granddaughter’s and filled with an ancient wisdom Barr could not but admire. “The Creator knows all and I do his bidding.”

Without speaking again to Lais, she instructed both her grandchildren to lay hands on the crystal as well. “Ravens will heal the heart that has spent too long reviling them.”

Lais let out a sob but did as he had been told.

At first the color around them was almost black, but as time wore on it got lighter and lighter until all that remained was a pale yellow. The color of the sun.

“My hands are hot,” Lais said in trepidation mixed with hope.

“Mate of my granddaughter, come here,” Anya-Gra demanded imperiously.

Barr did not even consider disobeying. He stopped less than a foot from the tableau around the stone.

“Eagle, put your hands on the wounds you inflicted.”

Lais turned and did exactly that, laying his palms over the worst of the gashes his claws had rent in Barr’s chest the day before. Tingling heat raced along each of the wounds until all that remained was the heat from Lais’s hands.

Barr looked down and felt no surprise that his chest showed not so much as a healing scar. Since meeting Sabrine, he had come to accept that legend held truth and the power of the Chrechte was in more than their enhanced strength and senses gifted from their