Page 217 of A Courage of the Chosen

They stand motionless, undeterred by the bitter cold that makes me wrap my arms around myself, since I hadn’t expected this is where Ishbel would bring us.

The Druids are the first to break the tension.

The tallest, the only one of them to speak to me individually, steps forward, and bows low as Callahan keeps himself firmly planted between us. “Welcome, Your Majesty. What is yours awaits.” He holds an arm out, gesturing to the largest of the three caves, where the will-o-the-wisp appeared and called on me to follow when we trekked up here the first time.

Callahan peers over his shoulder at me. “What the fuck?”

His confusion reflects mine, and I figure if they’re loyal to Dhia, and she led us here, there has to be a reason for it.

“And you’re not going to stop me?” I ask.

The Druid offers me his twisted version of a smile. “Not this time, an taghadh.”

Callahan lowers his sword, but doesn’t sheathe it as he straightens and clasps my hand in his.

We test the truth of the Druids’ words by edging nearer to the cave entrance, making sure none of the others slip behind us.

No one moves, so we chance a few more steps until we’re right by the opening. The rock is freezing beneath my palm when I touch it, and since none of the Druids even blink as I enter ahead of Callahan, I hurry inside into the consuming darkness that not even my enhanced senses can penetrate.

“This is a really bad idea,” I say, as Callahan shuffles into the lead and we slowly navigate the unseen path, keeping my hand along the cold, damp wall as a guide.

My light is mysteriously absent as we tread deeper and deeper, and I repeatedly try to call on it to no avail.

“Can you access your magic?” I ask, holding a death-grip on his shirt.

“Do you not think I’d have done that by now if I could?”

“No need for the sass, Callahan.”

He huffs a single laugh, and warm honey trickles through my chest.

There’s no hope of determining the route. It remains relatively flat, with no obvious turns along the way. Our footsteps ring like gunshots in the quiet, and I wordlessly plead that the Druids are the only living things this high up.

Eventually, the black turns to gray, and I can faintly make out the shape of my own foot, taking the baby steps I’m shuffling through. The little bit of light galvanizes us, and we push quicker now that it’s obvious there’s no hole of doom to fall down.

Snow has started to fall while we were in the depths of the mountain, and floats down through the half-open cavern of the Lagan Naomh. The real one, not the one I’ve seen in dreams and visions.

It’s even more stunning in person. The giant oak tree is sheltered mostly by the naturally-formed roof, but a few snowflakes have managed to land on the leaves at the far edges. The trickling of the stream is perfect in its cadence, and the grass might just be the softest I’ve ever felt as I run my fingers over the blades that stretch up way past my waist. There’s a series of roughly hewn stones that create a walkway through them, something I haven’t seen before, and I move further into the space that fills me with a deep-rooted sense of peace.

Callahan’s jaw unhinges in awe, and I’m not far behind.

No wonder Ishbel chose this place to sacrifice herself.

There’s only one difference between the versions I’ve seen before, and the real Lagan Naomh, and that’s the stone sarcophagus nestled just behind the tree. It’s similar to the one hidden high in Ruival, and it makes me wonder if they’re tied to Ishbel in some way.

On light feet, I near it. The pale top is littered with runes, and cracked open like someone took a sledgehammer to it. Inside lies a skeleton, aged by time and the elements. Patches of the earth around the tomb are lifeless, void of the fresh green beauty that apparently thrives here. It doesn’t belong, and the urge to scrub it away is powerful. My magic obviously couldn’t undo this.

I lean in to study the blackened stone on the biggest slab still covering the skeleton. It crumbles when I run the pad of my finger over it.

“Oops,” I mumble, then look to the body inside. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Callahan snatches my hand away. “Can you stop touching stuff you’ve got no business touching, please.”

“It’s not really her.”

My heart stops, then picks up a dangerous pace because that voice came from neither of us.

I twirl, as does Callahan, ready to cuss out Ishbel for appearing out of thin air a second time, Goddess or not. “Will you sto—”