- Home
- Florence Love Karsner
The Wolf the Wizard and the Woad
The Wolf the Wizard and the Woad Read online
The Wolf, The Wizard, and The Woad
Highland Healer Series, Volume 4
Florence Love Karsner
Published by Garry Karsner, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE WOLF, THE WIZARD, AND THE WOAD
First edition. April 24, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Florence Love Karsner.
ISBN: 978-1943369126
Written by Florence Love Karsner.
Also by Florence Love Karsner
Dr. Molly McCormick Series
We All Have Secrets
Highland Healer Series
Highland Healer
Highland Circle of Stones
Highland Bloodline
The Wolf, The Wizard, and The Woad
Watch for more at Florence Love Karsner’s site.
To Mama, Daddy, and Johnnie . . .
Sweet memories keep you close.
The Wolf, The Wizard,
and The Woad
A novel
Florence Love Karsner
SeaDog Press, LLC
Jacksonville, Florida
SeaDog Press, LLC
8845 La Terrazza Place
Jacksonville, Florida 32217
THIS BOOK IS A WORK of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs
Ship Logo: © Dn Br | Shutterstock
Ouroboros Design: Caroline Bowen
Copyright © 2018 Florence Love Karsner
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-943369-12-6
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Dedication
To Mama, Daddy, and Johnnie . . .
Sweet memories keep you close.
Author’s Note
This prequel to the Highland Healer Series takes readers back in time, to the beginning of the line of healers from whom Caitlin—the fiery, determined protagonist at the heart of the series—has come. Who were these people? Where did they come from? And most importantly, who was this grandmother, Ci-Cero, that is spoken of in the series? Does Caitlin possess some of her traits, her character, or her abilities? How is it that Caitlin finds herself in Scotland?
This tale introduces you to the original Wabi, the original wolf, and the original talking bird. The animals were part of Caitlin’s grandmother’s world, and like Wabi, they have several lives and may appear a bit differently in each one.
You are in for a thrilling adventure with this young “woad” as she seeks her mentor, one who will train her and empower her to fulfill her destiny. He appears to communicate with ravens and other animals...is this mentor one she can trust? Is he truly the One?
And the one born under the Veil—the Chosen One—will lead her people. Her gifts and power will sustain them through their trials and tribulations. . . With the passing of time, her blood will return to her homeland.
Beware, ye Chosen One. . . though the Veil bestows gifts, ye will suffer thine own trials . . . There will be one who seeks to destroy, to steal thy gifts and power.
Thus is the way of the universe . . . for every force there is an equal and opposite force.
Excerpt from an ancient Celtic legend.
Chapter 1
1600s
Somewhere along the Atlantic Coast of North America
T
he day—the tragic day—had arrived. It was noon, but the sun refused to make an appearance, as if it understood this day did not deserve any brightness. Some deeds were better executed in dimly lit places, amongst the shadows.
The muscles in Ragnar’s arms quivered as he steered his craft, positioning it a short distance from the land, a most difficult task for him and his ailing crew. A dense fog smothered the ship, and even the fierce, wild-eyed dragon that graced the prow was invisible. Legend told it would keep away evil spirits, but even spirits couldn’t penetrate this murky shroud.
Taking his designated position at the stern, Ragnar put a protective arm around his small daughter’s shoulder and pulled her closer. She yanked on his shirtsleeve, and he leaned down, listening closely.
“Papi, do you think Gorm will be cold down in the ocean?” She looked up at him, knowing he would answer her question. He always answered her questions.
“No, Brigid, he won’t be cold. The Goddess will keep him warm.”
She nodded, apparently satisfied with this answer. He released her then and stepped forward. His heart-wrenching task would wait no longer. Bowing his head, he invoked the same petition, the same plea, he had used again and again of late.
“Goddess, we ask that you receive his soul and unite him with his loved ones when we gather in your hallowed halls in the great hereafter.”
All was quiet but for a few muffled sobs, a sound which had become as expected as the snapping of the sails on the great craft. After so many burials, Ragnar had become numb to the mournful cries.
The final prayer had been sung, and he lowered the body into the water, as he had done with the others. It had been wrapped in sailcloth and secured with a rope. The body wasn’t heavy, but once it became waterlogged, he had no choice but to release it to begin its final journey.
Ragnar, captain of the vessel, had difficulty letting go of all of them, but this one even more so. This body was so small his crew had attached a weight to ensure it sank quickly to the bottom of the sea.
He watched as the greedy ocean spread her arms and embraced her latest offering. As if the death of this child weren’t grievous enough, it was the prelude to an even more unthinkable occurrence on the horizon. With this burial, there was only one left—one child, that is—and that child was his.
This new land was much farther south than the country they’d left across the Great Water. The air was warmer, filled with moisture, but still had a bite to it. Peering through the dense, impenetra
ble fog, Ragnar could barely see the shoreline. The gulls protested loudly as they struggled to maneuver in the heavy, white curtain. The sound of the waves crashing one upon the other was suffocated in the dreary cloud.
That death had slithered aboard his vessel became evident shortly after they departed their Hebridean homeland. Their legends and folklore warned that evil masqueraded in many forms, disease being a most convenient one. No matter. Whether evil or natural occurrence, this disease had spared only a handful, and even they may not make it to the shores of this longed-for refuge, this new home.
There had been much unrest, warring, and disease among his people on their island, and Ragnar sought a way to save his family and closest friends by departing that place and traveling to a new land, a land other voyagers had told him of—a haven with great forests, large animals and abundant resources.
“It’s across the great ocean, but if you sail during the time when the storms are less violent, and the Goddess is with you, you’ll find this country.” Though Christianity had been brought to the isles long ago, Ragnar and his family refused to embrace this new religion and still worshipped their various gods and goddesses.
Ragnar was confident his Viking blood and sailing abilities would serve him well, and after much thought and preparation, he undertook the dangerous journey. His vessel, a birlinn fashioned after the ships of his early ancestors, had been outfitted to make the voyage more comfortable for the travelers. The trip had begun weeks ago, but the weeks had been fraught with such sorrow that he now wished they had never left their homeland.
He called out and one of his deckhands hustled over. “Bjorn, make ready to lower the faering over the side.”
“Aye, sir.”
The seaman gave no indication the task Ragnar assigned him was anything out of the ordinary, and actually it wasn’t. Following his captain’s instruction, he lowered the faering, a small rowboat, from the side of the large vessel and secured it with a rope. He then disappeared into the fog at the bow, leaving his captain and family alone on the stern.
Ragnar eased his body over the side of the large vessel with the agility of a man accustomed to strenuous activity. He grabbed the rough-hewn, rope ladder that hung on the side and began to make his descent. The ladder was thickly crusted from salt water and Ragnar’s hands had hardened calluses to show the many times he’d used it.
A brisk wind snapped as he pushed his fiery hair out of his eyes and reached up to receive his passengers, his wife and young daughter. The child talked animatedly with her mother. The two always had much to talk about.
Sitting with his back to the shore, Ragnar rowed steadily, occasionally glancing over his shoulder. From this distance, he could make out a sandy beach just beyond the water’s edge, then an area of large boulders with smaller rocks strewn about.
Farther up the beach he spied a grove of gnarly trees, twisted and bent by centuries of winds coming off the ocean. Beyond the trees, untamed greenery, wild and lush, appeared to be endless.
As he continued to row, he was surprised when his arms began to cramp—not from the effort of rowing—but as if his body were making its own protest. It wanted no part of this wretched deed.
He stopped rowing and anchored the faering a short distance from shore, careful to not get the craft caught in the ever-crashing waves that halted movement for no one. He climbed over the side, splashing to his waist, then turned back and reached for his daughter.
“Come, Brigid, I’ll carry you to shore.”
“We’re having another adventure, aren’t we, Papi,” she exclaimed as he carried her in his arms. Papi had a way of making everything a great adventure.
He nodded and placed her on the sand, then went back to retrieve his wife. Brigid stood impatiently, eager to begin exploring. She’d learned this morning that they were to be the first ones to go ashore, and she couldn’t wait to see what they might find.
As soon as her feet touched the sand, the mother quickly ran to her daughter’s side and embraced her so tightly the child gasped.
“MiMi, you hug like old Rusephus.” Brigid laughed and returned the hug.
Turning his attention to the child, Ragnar sank down to his knees, sat back on his heels, and took her small face in his hands. Using as few words as possible, he explained what would transpire now, what must happen—his plan for her. He looked into her aqua eyes, seeing his own reflected there.
“But, Papi, I don’t want to stay here without you and MiMi,” she wailed.
Ragnar felt sure his blood was coursing in the wrong direction. He could hardly breathe, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He repeated his words once again.
“No, Papi. No. Please don’t leave me. Please, Papi. I want to go with you and MiMi,” Brigid cried, then grabbed his face with her small hands, as he had done with her.
“Papi? Can’t you hear me? I’m not staying!”
“There’s no other way, little Woad. MiMi and I are sick. And GrandMiMi—she has the
fever, too. The sickness will find you also, Brigid. You can’t stay with us. You were born ‘under the veil’, and our legend says you’re destined to deliver your people from their trials and suffering. Only a true leader can do that. The blood of two great peoples, Viking and Pict, flows in your veins. You have a destiny and we must protect you. There is no choice. This we must do. The Goddess will send others to care for you, and there will be one, a special one, who will guide you. You must find him. He’ll prepare you for your journey, your destiny. The Goddess will show you the way, and if she wills it, we’ll be together again. But for now, you must stay here.”
“No, Papi, don’t leave me!”
She turned then to her mother, hoping she might receive help from the one who had given her birth—surely she would hear her pleas. “MiMi! MiMi!" The child fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she clung to her mother’s skirt.
MiMi, reduced to wordless sobs, held her daughter a moment longer, then tore herself away, wrestled through the crashing waves, and made her way to the waiting faering.
“Papi, please take me with you, please don’t leave me!" Brigid wrapped her arms about her father’s knees, holding tightly, and Ragnar felt the uncontrollable tremor that coursed through her small body, causing his resolve to falter and his breath to catch in his throat.
He looked toward the small craft, put two fingers to his mouth, executed a sharp, piercing whistle that shattered the air, and the last passenger on the faering came over the side.
This passenger swam better than most, holding his head upright as he glided through the brine. In a moment, he was ashore at Ragnar’s side, briskly shaking off an abundance of salty water. He wagged his bushy tail and awaited instruction from his master.
This passenger was a huge, black, male wolf, one of the last vestiges of his species, which had all but disappeared from the British Isles. And he was a most important member of the family.
Ragnar listened to Brigid’s sobs as he wrapped a long length of cloth around her, tucking the ends tightly, holding her snugly within. On bended knee, he hugged her long and hard, caressing her long, flaming curls that were so much like his own. He spoke in a whisper, as he didn’t trust himself to speak louder. He was sure his voice would crack, and he would lose any authority he hoped to have in convincing her she must stay. He looked at his small daughter and spoke softly, carefully measuring each word.
“Rakki will stay, will be your protector. He will let no one near. Trust me when I say the Goddess will send others to care for you. She is but a prayer away."
Taking the wolf by the jowls, he nodded—they already had an understanding of what must take place. He gave the animal a quick ruffing behind his ears, then turned back toward the craft, his heart disintegrating into a thousand pieces.
“No, Papi, don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
She sobbed and pulled at her father’s shirttail, trying to hang on as he walked away, dragging her behind. He finally yanked his
shirt from her tiny fingers and strode to the faering, not daring to look back for fear his heart would refuse to obey the order his mind had issued.
The child screamed and ran into the water, desperately trying to get to her family. Moving quickly, the wolf positioned himself in front of her, making any forward progress impossible. He took the edge of her dress in his mouth and pulled her to shore, where she fell at the water’s edge and lay helpless, the waves lapping at her small, defeated body.
She was incapable of coherent thought, but her senses were alert and occupied themselves by recording everything: the sound of the wind as it delivered a soft, salty breeze that flirted with her long curls, the relentless fog that hovered over everything, and one final impression, a sweet floral scent, not one she recognized.
The great wolf continued to nudge her until she had no choice but to crawl up the sand to the small trees where she might take refuge, waiting for what—she didn’t know.
As she collapsed under the gnarly trees, the incoming tide whispered messages meant only for her, messages that would one day be heard. But on this day—this tragic day—they fell on deaf ears and drifted away with the ebbing tide.
Chapter 2
T
he young girl turned her head from one side to the other. “Hear that? There it is again. Do you think it’s the wind? Or is my vivid imagination just working overtime, as GrandMiMi always said. "She spoke to her companion, her wolf. Where "it" came from was not important, not yet anyway, but it would be heard and felt more in the days and years to come. There were no words, but this sound, this whisper, flooded her mind and brought a quickening to her heart. Someone or something wanted her.
She knew she must answer this “call” eventually, but found the situation frightening and unsettling. There had been others far back in time who received this call, for she remembered stories GrandMiMi would tell in the evenings when all were gathered by the fire.