The Dracove (The Prophecy series) (42 page)
“As you see, it was an accident, or really, it was my fault. I’m the creator of this branch of the Dracove and of all of you.” He paused.
The room was silent. Grant heard the clock—
tick tock
—in the foyer. Outside, leaves rustled as the wind swept through the trees beyond the broken library window.
“The Dracove. I’ve heard that before,” Grant said.
Mahlon’s magic twirled through the air to repair the broken glass. “Of course. It’s what all of you have been called for centuries. The Dasulmavre are the ones who chose the name.”
“And who are they?”
“Later. Let me get back to Cianán before we delve into things you’ll have numerous questions about.
“He’d been learning the magic from Trystan for about three or four years, I can’t recall. After I gave him my blood—which has the magic in it—he became a strong sorcerer. The magic chooses those of you who already have a small amount inside of you, those who are predestined to wield it. That’s the reason not all of you are taught. It’s part of the hierarchy for vampyres, much like your other traits. Those who can’t perform the magic can’t create fledglings.
“Cianán’s powers grew over the years. His lust for power overwhelmed him. He’ll stop at nothing to achieve his goal.
“That’s over twenty-three hundred year’s worth of magic he holds within. Only I and few others hold more.”
Grant arched a brow. “An’ how old are you?”
Mahlon smiled at him. “You want to know everything, don’t you, Grant?”
“Aye,” Grant said. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“My age is unimportant and has nothing to do with this. Besides, I wasn’t ‘born’, so I don’t really have an age.”
“Well, you aren’t acting like Cianán,” Daniella said. “Is it because you weren’t ‘born’?”
“No.”
“How’s that,” Elizabeth asked.
“Some other time, perhaps.”
“What about the prophecy, will you tell us about it,” Kenneth asked. “Cearbhall mentioned it a few times. I was wondering if what happened tonight has to do with it.”
“Aye, I started to explain before you asked me all these other questions. Let’s begin.
“The prophecy is the Beginning. Truly, it begins long before Cianán’s rebirth. Soothsayers warned me for millennia, and I’ve spent that time trying to figure it out. I’ve now come to a conclusion. Listen carefully; I’m only going to say this once. It has been very difficult to translate over the years.”
He closed his eyes and sat on the edge of his chair. He drew in a deep breath, slowly exhaled. Grant figured it must be one hell of a story.
“In Ireland long ago, there were good times and bad times. Many things happened. But one event shook the Earth.
“A seer spoke of the gods and three children. The gods would spawn a Dracove whose mastery of all things would be unmatched, the strongest of his kind. The bloodshed he would bring would reign for many ages in his mad search for the power of the gods. He would find the child bearing the mark he’d created. The mark was the key, part of the flesh that gained access to the chamber of the Spells of Destiny, hidden within the caverns of the Isle of Man.
“Upon entering the chamber, the child bearing the mark would no longer be the child. The Great Warrior Queen would return to aid the Dracove in his quest. Many shall suffer her wrath before the full moon sets.
“In order to conquer, the power of three must play. The Chosen One, another of the Dracove’s creation, must prove his love before the dawn, or all is lost.”
Mahlon shook his head, like he’d been in a trance. “There was quite a bit more to it, and I’ve done some of my own interpretation to understand it. The first part was originally in Dasul, a long lost language. You’ve heard the broken down version of the Gaelic.”
“Sounds a bit bizarre,” Grant replied.
“Don’t discount it yet, Grant. If Siobhán had lived, things would be different.”
“How’s that possible? Ye recited nothin’ regarding her. Are ye certain it’s Cianán you’re looking for?”
“Fairly certain,” Mahlon said. “You’ve thought yourself Siobhán was merely a glimpse of the woman you’d one day meet. They share not only a likeness to one another, but also the mark. They are both the key, Grant. Cianán knew this. He’s the reason the mark even exists on them.”
Grant frowned. “Why?”
“Siobhán’s father, Pádraig, was spared his life long ago by Cianán. In return for the favor, he asked for Pádraig’s first-born daughter bearing the mark Cianán burned unto his flesh.”
“He set this whole thing up from the beginnin’?”
“Aye,” Mahlon replied. “He created the key. What none of you know about Cianán is, when he studies something, he studies it thoroughly. How he found a way to become Dasulmavre, I can but guess. He’s figured it out and he must not be allowed to follow through with it. Your lives depend on it, as well as my own and every god that still lives.”
“That’s why Siobhán was his Chosen One,” Grant whispered.
“
His
Chosen One, Grant, not
the
Chosen One. Cianán would’ve succeeded up to a point if she hadn’t died before the ritual. She was the key at the time, but the Chosen One wouldn’t have been able to destroy him. I almost had to intervene; the Chosen One wasn’t strong enough for the battle, and Siobhán wasn’t part of the sacred three. She’d lead Cianán to the spell, but her blood wasn’t strong enough for the ritual. However, it would have put him in a much more powerful position. Too powerful for the Chosen One to defeat, and for the gods’ liking.”
“I knew it,” Cearbhall shouted. “He’s the Chosen One.” He pointed at Grant.
“Excuse me?” Grant cocked a brow at his blood-brother.
“He’s right, Grant,
you
are the Chosen One. Cianán created you as well. Kylie is the one you’ve been searching for, as you’ve said in the past. She’s been searching for you for a very long time, as well.”
Grant stared at him in disbelief. “Then why didn’t I find her before now?”
Mahlon smiled. “She hasn’t always come back in human form. I don’t know why. When she did return, she didn’t have the mark . . . until this last time. I always knew when she returned. I felt it.”
Grant stared at the floor, shaking his head. It made no sense, and it was hard to believe. But he’d always felt alone in this world, even when Siobhán was alive.
“Where does the Queen come in?”
“The two of you haven’t been together in over two thousand years in this realm, or any other. The Morrigan helps her and, in a sense, is a part of her. The two of you are drawn to the goddess like you’re her children, and perhaps in a way, you are.
“The only thing is there are pieces of the prophecy bothering me that weren’t revealed today. They make reference to sacrificing young to appease the blood god. I’ve never known anyone to think of Cianán as a god and to sacrifice to him. It doesn’t make any sense to me.
“I’d ask Morrigan, but I haven’t spoken with her in a very long time. She never really tells you everything anyway.” He winked at Grant.
The library fell silent. Grant felt like he sat in a public library and they’d been told to keep it down. He scratched his temple and rubbed it. If he were able to get headaches, he figured he’d probably have a pretty damn good one.
“I’ve a specific question for ye, Mahlon.”
“You want to know if you’ll become mortal again,” Mahlon replied.
“Aye. Do ye know?”
“
It hasn’t been foreseen that once the Dracove is destroyed, this curse shall end.
At least, that’s what the Soothsayer told me. Truthfully, I don’t know.”
“Then ye don’t know everythin’,” Grant said, smiling.
Mahlon gasped. “Ah, you’re right, I don’t! Damn.” He hit the arm of the chair.
The others chuckled, but Grant stared at the part of the desk he’d cracked again.
“Truly, Grant, I’m sorry. I’ll see if I can find some sort of answer for you.”
“It’s all right. I just hoped I’d have somethin’ to look forward to.”
“But you do, Grant. You have Kylie.”
“I know, but she’s mortal an’ I’m not. An’ I don’t want her to be immortal; I mean, I don’t want her to be like me.”
“I understand,” Mahlon said and stood. “We’ll see what we can do about that. First thing’s first, though, we have prepare for a battle. Before you ask, aye, there will be a battle. It will be extremely difficult to hide from the human population. We’ll need help. Cearbhall, you know what to do.”
Cearbhall nodded and stood. “Should we bring in the wolves?”
“Aye, I’ve already discussed it with Vincent,” Mahlon said.
“I’ll collect the rest of the clan, then.” He left the room.
Grant stared out the window, cursing himself again.
Mahlon placed a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “Stop blaming yourself. It’ll do no good but get you hurt.”
Mahlon’s hand slid off his shoulder as he stood. “I want to go after her right now.”
“I know, but you can’t. There are too many of them. They’d kill you before you could get to her.”
Grant sighed. “I know.” He walked out of the room, leaving Mahlon and the others behind, and headed for the courtyard. Stones covered most of the grounds now, so he stepped carefully around them. The statues that stood watch over the courtyard were gone. Grant peered up to the roof; the gargoyles were all missing. He wondered how many there had been. Obviously not enough.
Grant.
He stiffened at the sound of the voice in his mind.
Kylie?
Help me. I’m scared.
It’ll be okay, Ky. I’ll find you. I promise.
His mind silenced, and the past replayed, showing another promise—one he had yet to keep. Siobhán, lifeless in his arms, blood soaking her gown. His dream of holding a soaking wet, lifeless Kylie flashed through his mind, and he roared to the heavens.
He’d find a way to save her, even if it meant tearing the earth apart.
NL “
Jinxie
” Gervasio is a
creator and destroyer of worlds
. She is both editor and author, and discovered she’s quite good at the romance thing—writing it, that is—along with vampires, werewolves, zombies, angels and demons.
Jinxie is the CEO and Founder of
Just Ink Press
, her second publishing company, and she also owns and operates
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Jinxie was born on Friday the 13th. Her dad wanted to call her Jinx. Her mom said no. It took 34 years for her to discover the nickname, and she's grown quite attached to it. She lives in Tempe, Arizona with Umi (her mother), whom she cares for. She enjoys riding her beach cruiser "The Betty" around downtown Tempe, loves a good pub crawl, and has had the pleasure and the heartache of experiencing a love far greater than she could have ever imagined.
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