"A storm blew up out of nowhere," she finally got out. "The ferry went down, and nearly twenty people died. Including Hunter."
"Oh, Goddess," Moira breathed.
Morgan nodded sadly, feeling the familiar, heavy weight of grief in her chest. "Some people they managed to save, some bodies they managed to recover. But Hunter and twelve other people were sucked into the sea and never found. Drowned."
"Oh, Mum." Moira's eyes were full of sympathy, along with the pain and confusion."This ring-" Morgan frowned at it, twisting it on her finger. "Hunter had given me this ring years before we got engaged. Like a promise ring. The day the ferry went down, I waited on the dock all day in the rain. When they finally said there could be no more survivors, I threw my hands out, like this"-she demonstrated, realizing that her hands were trembling-"and all of a sudden this ring flew off my finger and landed in the water. And it sank."
Moira frowned. "How can you be sure this is the same ring? Maybe it just looks like yours."
Morgan took it off and showed her the rune. "Beorc. For new beginnings," she explained sadly.
"But there's no way someone could have gotten your ring out of the sea, even if they had jumped right in after it. Much less after all this time. Mum, this doesn't make sense."
"You're right." Morgan met her gaze evenly.
"So where did it come from?" "I don't know. It has to be part of something bigger. You know things have been off lately. There's… there's more that's happened that I haven't told you." Trying to keep her emotions under control, Morgan filled her in on everything: the hex pouch, the morganite, the visions, the dream, seeing Hunter while scrying. "Now I just need to figure out what's going on and why." Easier said than done.
For a minute Moira was quiet, her eyes moving back and forth as she worked things out in her head. "Did you… did you ever love Dad as much as Hunter?" Her face was pained, and Morgan answered carefully.
"It was different, Moira," she said. "I loved your dad so much. He was the only man I ever lived with. We married, we had you. Those experiences build up to a much richer experience of love. I trusted your dad. I was so grateful for the fact that he loved me, and he was such a good person. I was so grateful he gave you to me. I appreciated so many things about him, and I tried to make sure he knew that. Yes, I loved him. Not the same as I loved Hunter, but I truly loved your father."
Moira thought for a moment. "It… it seemed real," she said. "Your love for each other, I mean." Her voice had a note of desperation. "I remember how you used to look at him-with love in your eyes. Like when you both teased me." She lifted one of her green strands and let it fall.
Morgan's throat threatened to close. "He was my best friend, sweetie."
"He was my best dad," Moira said, her voice suddenly cracking. Then she and Morgan were hugging, tears running down their faces. "I'm so glad I still have you," Morgan said. "You're my most precious gift. I hope you know that."
Tearfully Moira nodded.
They held each other for a few minutes, and Morgan never wanted to let go. But eventually Moira pulled back. Morgan looked at her daughter, brushing the hair from her face.
"You should get some sleep," Morgan told her. "It's been a very difficult day-and I don't know what we're up against, but it seems more and more to be something-or someone-major. We'll need our strength."
Moira got up and headed for the stairs. "Thanks for telling me about Hunter," she said, looking back. "But I don't see how anyone found the ring and put it on our walk. I don't understand why someone would do it."
Morgan sighed. "I don't understand either. But I know it doesn't bode well. It feels… threatening. But I just don't know what the threat is, exactly-or where it's coming from."
"Well, don't worry, Mum," Moira said. "We'll find out."
Morgan smiled at Moira's teenage confidence and watched her daughter climb the narrow stairs.
Holding out her hand, she looked again at the ring, and fresh tears welled up in her eyes. Who was doing this? She needed some answers.
Her workroom was small, maybe nine feet by nine. Colm had built it for her soon after their handfasting. It had two small windows, high up on the walls, and a tiny fireplace all its own. Morgan kindled a fire there, rubbing her arms impatiently as she waited for the chill to lessen. Through one of the high windows Morgan could see the half-moon, partially covered by thick, heavy clouds. Morgan put on her green silk robe, the one embroidered with runes and sigils, that had been Maeve's, decades ago. She drew three circles of protection on the floor, each one inside the other. Twelve stones of protection marked the twelve points of the compass. Next to the stones she lit twelve red candles for power and protection. Then she sat inside the smallest circle, closed it around her, and lit a red pillar candle in the center.
"I call on the Goddess of knowledge," Morgan said. "I call on my own strength. I call on the universe to aid me in my quest for the truth. I am here, safe within the Goddess's arms. I call on the ancient power leys of Ui Liathain, the power deep within the earth beneath me." She stretched out her arms, symbolically opening herself to knowledge. "Who is focusing on me? Who is sending these objects, these images, these thoughts? What do I need to find? What lesson is here for me, waiting to be revealed? Goddess, I ask you, please help me." Then she sat cross-legged in front of the candle, rested her hands on her knees, palms up, and breathed deeply, in and out. She focused on the small, single flame, the red wax melting, the scent of beeswax and fire and the wood smoke from the fireplace. Concentrating on the flame, she chanted her personal power chant, drawing energy toward her, opening herself to receive it. And she felt it, a bud opening within her, a flower beginning to bloom. Magick was rising and swelling in her chest, accompanied by a fierce joy that Morgan clung to, seized to herself. Oh, magick. Sometimes it seemed as if it was the only thing that made life worthwhile. It was a blessing.
Morgan kept her gaze fastened on the candle's flame. In that one flame she could see her whole life and all of life around her. Every memory was there on the surface, every emotion. But it was also like looking down on something from above-there was sometimes a distance that allowed her to see something more clearly, see the bigger picture, put the pieces together.
Now all she asked was, What do I need to know?
And suddenly Hunter was there before her. Morgan gasped, her breath catching in her throat, her skin turning to ice. Hunter was hunched over on a beach. The air was gray and still around him. The clothing he wore was in tatters, barely more than rags, offering grossly inadequate protection from the weather. His arms were burned brown from the sun, the skin freckled and leathery. His hair was much too long, wispy and tangled, with visible knots snarling the once-fine strands.
Morgan trembled. Holding her breath, she forced herself to release tension, but she could already feel the needle-fine threads of adrenaline snaking through her veins. His cheekbones, always prominent, now looked skeletal. The skin on his face had once been beautifully smooth, fine-textured, and pale. Now it was ridged, sunburned, peeling in places. There was an unhealed wound on one cheekbone below his eye. Grains of sand stuck to blood that had only recently dried.
Hunter was writing something in the sand, gibberish, childish doodlings. Morgan expected to see the beginnings of a spell, forms, patterns, something that she could understand, that would give her clues. Instead, she saw formless mean- derings, a stick drawn without purpose through the sand.
He looked up and saw her. Hunter. Pain clawed at Morgan's consciousness. It was so real, so vivid. If she could only reach out and touch him! His green eyes, once as dark and rich as a forest, now looked bleached by the sun and were surrounded by deep wrinkles. Slowly they widened in astonishment. His mouth opened in shock, then silently formed the word Morgan. He shook his head in disbelief. Morgan cried soundlessly at how tight his skin was on his bones. He was starving.