Page 174 of The Violet Raven

“What?” The word falls from my lips like a stone, disbelief wrapping tightly around me. “That’s impossible. I can’t do that. I’ve never—”

“You may not yet feel such power,” Mannie interrupts, his voice as gentle as a breeze. “But the power is there, waiting. Hidden.”

“How would I not remember?” My frustration boils over. “If I could do this, why—why wouldn’t I know?”

“Because you do not remember yourself,” Mannie says simply. “But that is why I have come. It is my duty to untangle the mess in your head. I can see you are overwhelmed, so let me make this simple.” He stands and shakes out his limbs.

“The Tuatha Dé Danann came to this realm with four treasures that symbolised sovereignty, strength, sustenance, and victory—foundational elements for the Tuatha’s survival and dominance.”

He points to where Finn stands. “You journey now with sun-born kin, to find the spear, the battle’s twin.”

Then to Callan. “The warrior bold from Gorias’ might, seeks the blade of eternal light.”

Bran and Casey come next. “Two hearts entwined, a cauldron they crave, a vessel of plenty their fate will pave.”

Finally, Mannie stands before me, his expression grave. “And you, my child, seek what’s been torn—the shard of your soul, to be reborn.”

“These are four great items,” Mannie continues, “that have never met battle at the same time. If they were united, the force threatening their wielders would face an impossible challenge.”

He raises his hand as if summoning the weight of history itself. “The first, from the great city of Falias, imbued with a force far greater than any man could ever comprehend: The Stone of Fál.” Then he turns to me. “Little One, it is your task to go to The Hill of Tara, for your item sets all others in motion.”

“Why me?” My voice wavers.

“Lia Fáil roars when touched by true nobility, a voice great like thunder. It has not roared for millennia. It must be taken to Uisneach Hill, where it took its last breath.”

“It has to be moved to work?” Callan challenges, a furrow forming on his brow.

“How useful is a key to you without a lock to open?” Mannie counters with a quiet gravity.

“It holds no use at all,” Callan answers with confidence.

“Indeed. A lock is impassable without a key, and the key is meaningless without a lock. Think of the stone as the key, and what lies inside Uisneach the lock, and Triona the one given right to unlock a truly spellbinding power. The object will only respond to those made worthy, as told by her mother. The threads of fate are tightly bound to her, and only through her presence will the ancient forces respond, allowing the journey to truly begin.”

“And then?” I inquire.

“Then… your path will reveal itself to you. And as the maiden made it so, you will know your next task.”

“You mentioned four items?” Casey presses.

“Ah yes, the other three. A sword, a spear, and a cauldron.”

“Ye want us to follow you into the unknown, trust ye with our lives,” Callan grunts, his tone heavy with skepticism. “And why should we? What makes ye so certain we willnae be led to our deaths?”

Amelia steps forward, her expression calm but firm, and places a hand on Mannie’s arm. “You need to show them, dear.” She addresses the room. “Be warned, visions are your truths to unravel, but they are not the end. Only a guide.”

Mannie nods and holds his palms out to us. “Each of you, my dear chosen ones, shall see why fate—or perhaps sheer lunacy—has deemed you worthy of these sacred relics. If the price of your trust is proof, then so be it.” He winks, and with a flourish, the room seems to still, the air thick with anticipation. Then everything descends into darkness.

32

Separation of Paths

Triona

Apath lay before me, stretching out in two distinct directions. To my left, a shadowy road, twisted and gnarled, leading through a dense forest where the trees loom like dark figures. The air is thick with an oppressive fog, and I can hear distant cries—a sense of danger, of death in every rustling leaf. The path feels cold and unwelcoming, but necessary to save what calls me from within.

To my right, the path is bathed in a soft, golden light. Clear and wide, bordered by flowers in full bloom, with birds soaring overhead. This path is warm and filled with potential—yet it is obscured by a mist that warns something is hidden.

Both paths are shrouded in mystery, but one whispers of hope, while the other of destruction, and I’m not entirely certain the answer is obvious.