The Shadowmagic Trilogy. John Lenahan

back. I gave him a dirty look for the slap, and he returned it with a twinkling smile.

      We arrived in a glade surrounded by a ring of very old rowan trees. Light was provided by glowing pinecones in glass holders. The golden glow showed the seriousness on everyone’s faces. It made me want to crack a joke, but I decided against it. Maybe I was growing up a bit, or maybe I was just chicken.

      Mom sat cross-legged on the ground next to two large bowls. We all sat around her.

      ‘Before we begin,’ she announced, ‘we must state our intentions. Shadowmagic, like any power, can be corrupted. Only by keeping our motives pure can sins, like those done in the past, be avoided. This sap,’ she said, pointing to a bronze bowl full of the stuff, ‘was given freely by trees who knew what it was for. We thank them.’

      The Fili in the circle thanked the trees aloud and then so did we. Mom continued.

      ‘Fergal of Ur, come sit by me.’

      Fergal stood up, flashed a forced Fergal-ish smile to Araf and me, and sat next to Deirdre.

      ‘Do you, Fergal of Ur, come to this Shadowcasting freely?’

      ‘I do,’ Fergal replied.

      ‘Why do you seek this Shadowcasting?’

      ‘I want to know who my parents are.’

      ‘Do you seek this knowledge out of malice or revenge?’

      ‘I just want to know,’ Fergal said, his eyes sparkling in the Shadowlight.

      ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘I shall instruct the runes to tell us of your life as it has affected others. This may be painful to watch and difficult to share. Are you still willing?’

      Fergal thought for a bit, then answered with resolve. ‘I am.’

      ‘We shall begin.’

      Mom waved her hand and the pinecone lights dimmed. She took a pebble-sized dollop of sap and rubbed it between her palms. She spoke in a language I didn’t understand – Ogham, the oldest tongue – the language of the trees. She pressed her ball of sap between her hands and spoke the Ogham word, ‘Beith.’

      Mom looked to me for recognition. When she saw none she translated.

      ‘Beith – birch.’

      She opened her hand, revealing a glowing amber disc, and when she turned it over it was engraved with a rune – the Birch Rune. She carefully placed it on the ground between her and Fergal. She rolled and pressed another bit of sap between her palms.

      ‘Luis – rowan.’

      A second glowing rune was placed next to the birch one. The next word she spoke I did recognise.

      ‘Cull – hazel.’

      The Hazel Rune, my mother’s rune. The real one was destroyed – here was its shadow. Mom made a point of showing it to me before she placed it with the rest. She continued to produce runes for a long time.

      ‘Fearn – alder.

      Saille – willow.

      Nuin – hawthorn.

      Duir – oak.

      Tinne – holly.

      Quert – apple.

      Muhn – vine.

      Ur – heather.

      Nion – ash.

      Gort – ivy.

      Getal – reed.

      Straif – blackthorn.

      Ruis – elder.

      Ailm – silver fir.

      Onn – gorse.

      Eadth – poplar.

      Iodhadh – yew.’

      Each rune was placed in a specific order. When she was finished, I couldn’t help thinking how it reminded me of an old chemistry class. There were empty spaces for runes not yet discovered, just like in the Periodic Table of Elements.

      She rubbed one last ball of sap between her palms and told Fergal to extend his hands. In Ogham and then in the common tongue, she said, ‘Fergal of Ur, this is your last chance to back away. Is it your wish to go on?’

      Fergal instantly said, ‘Yes.’ I would have been disappointed with him if he hadn’t, especially when I could see in my mother’s face how much effort it had taken for her to make all of the Shadowrunes.

      She placed the ball of sap into Fergal’s palm and then pressed his hands together. ‘The rune you make, Fergal, will be blank. Only a Choosing in the Hall of Choosing can give you your proper rune, but your Shadowrune will complete the casting.’

      Fergal opened his hands like a book. Deirdre took his rune and placed it in the centre of the pattern – then it began.

      The runes began to glow and then to flame. Not a candlelight flame, but a soft, almost invisible flame like the fire on a gas stove. The flames rolled along the ground between the runes. In some cases the runes repelled the fire, other runes absorbed the flames. After a few minutes, it was clear to see that some runes were joined with others by fire. Mom picked up the flaming runes and rearranged them, so that the runes joined by fire were together. The fire obviously did not burn – this was Shadowfire, not the real thing. When she had finished, Mom had five Shadow-bonfires before her. She sat cross-legged in front of them, her face fixed in concentration, her hands, still burning with Shadowfire, outstretched at her sides. Fergal sat opposite her, unmoving. They were both bathed in the same amber glow. Looking at them, I couldn’t help thinking how different they were from each other – opposites, in fact. Still, these two opposites were locked eye to eye, both bent on the same goal. It sent a chill down my spine.

      Mom waved a hand over a group of flaming runes and its fire increased as the others subsided. The flames grew higher until forms appeared. I began to make out a face and was surprised when I realised it was mine! The vision cleared and I found myself looking into a fiery 3-D movie of Fergal’s life. Around the edge the apparition was a golden blur, but at the heart it was crystal clear. The images ran fast and made no sound, but I heard what was happening in my … soul. Like a conversation with a tree – it surpassed language. It was pure understanding. We watched the whole story of Fergal and my meeting: the shoe theft, the comedy of him knocking me out, the terror of the boar attacks and the courage of our stand against the Banshees in the Reedlands. More than just seeing, I was understanding Fergal, from Fergal’s point of view. I had already decided that he was a good man – not perfect, but worthy of my trust. Now the Shadowmagic confirmed it. Fergal was a true free spirit. I saw that living for him was a joy, and that malice was a waste of his time. I realised then that I loved him – how could I not?

      The images of Fergal and me dimmed as Mom brought up the fire in another set of runes. Visions formed before us of a young (and very cute) Fergal practising sword and banta stick fighting with Araf. Fergal did OK with his swordplay, but never even came close to winning the stick fights.

      Another collection of runes showed Fergal turning down a kiss from a pretty young Imp girl. Not because he didn’t like her, but because he didn’t want her to get teased for kissing a Banshee. It nearly broke my heart.

      Another runefire showed Fergal with his nanny – Breithe. Blissful images of walks in the woods, baths, kisses and being tucked into bed made my heart ache. Fergal may not have known his real parents, but he had the kind of motherly love that I always dreamt about.

      Finally, Deirdre calmed all of the fires except one. This was it, this was the runefire that had the answer. The other fires sputtered and went out as the last group of runes roared with an amber inferno a third higher than the rest. We all leaned in, trying to make