(She calls herself [not] just ordinary, but barely average.")
Mists, shimmering silver fingers, rose over the pale green water of the lake.
In the chill of dawn, Keegan O’Broin stood by the lake and watched the day become.
A day, he knew, of change and choice, of hope and power.
Chores to do, he thought, and more training, of course.
But at the homeplace.
At the signal, he stripped off his boots and his tunic.
His brother, Harken, did the same, as did near to six hundred others.
For their chieftain, their taoiseach, was dead, his life given to save the world.
He didn’t want to be taoiseach any more than Harken did.
“Come on then, Keegan!
Harken cajoled, his raven-wing mop of hair blowing in the spring breeze.
Think of the fun of it.
If I find the sword, I’ll declare a week of feasting and dancing.”
“If you find the sword, who’ll tend the sheep and milk the cows?”
“If I rise up as taoiseach, I’ll do all of that and more.
The battle’s done and won, brother.
I grieve for him as well.
And with his innate kindness, Harken wrapped an arm around Keegan’s shoulders.
He was a hero, and never to be forgotten.
And today, as he would want, as must be done, a new leader comes.”
We honor him, and all who came before him, all who will come after."
Now Harken jabbed an elbow in Keegan’s side.
“So he would, Keegan muttered.
Cullen, as a fine a soldier as was born, wouldn’t make a good chief.
He’d rather fight than think.
More, come to that.
He wished she would dive today.
Tarryn paused by Aisling who chose to wait with her friends rather than the brothers she currently disdained.
“And here I have a scowl and a grin.
What you do here has been done by those before for a thousand years and more.
“If the fates deem who rises, why can’t we see?
Why can’t you, Keegan insisted, who sees the before and the yet to come?”
“If I could see, if you could, or any, it would take the choice away.
“You choose to go into the water, do you not?
And who lifts the sword must choose to rise with it.”
“Who wouldn’t choose to rise with it?
They would be taoiseach.”
“A leader will be honored, but a leader carries the burden for us all.
So they must choose to lift that as well as the sword.
She kissed both her sons.
Here is Mairghread.”
She wore her hair as short as that of the faeries who streamed in her wake.
And the crowd parted for her, the chattering ceased to silence that spoke of respect and of awe.
The woman who would give a hungry boy a honey cake and a story.
Though she had known already.
He’d held her until the women came to comfort.
Now she looked magnificent, and he felt a shudder of that awe inside his belly.
She carried the staff, the ancient symbol of leadership.
Its carvings seemed to pulse.
Inside the dragon’s heart stone at its tip, power swirled.
When she spoke, even the wind fell silent.
“Once more we have brought peace to our world with blood and sacrifice.
We have, through all ages, protected our world, and through it all the others.
“In this place, in this hour, we call upon our source of power.
Let the one chosen and choosing this day, honor, respect, and guard the Fey.
Let the hand that lifts the sword be strong and wise and true.
This, only this, your people ask of you.”
The water, pale and green with its power, began to swirl.
The mists over it swayed.
“So it begins.
She lifted the staff high.
They raced toward the water.
Some of the younger ones laughed or whooped as they dived, as they jumped.
Those on shore cheered.
He’d have cursed at the cold slap of the water, but saw no point in it.
He could hear others do so, or laugh, even kick their way back to the surface.
He shut off that part of him that could hear thoughts as too many of them crowded in.
He’d sworn he would take to the water this day and dive deep.
That he would take up the sword if it came to his hand.
Children on a summer day hunting for smooth stones on the soft lake bottom.
He could see others through the water, swimming down or over or up.
Still the lake moved around him, swirling, sometimes spinning.
He could see the bottom now, and those smooth stones he’d gathered as a boy.
Then he saw the woman.
She simply floated, so at first he thought her a mermaid.
Historically the mers abstained from the ritual here.
They already ruled the seas and were content with that.
Her eyes, gray as shadows in smoke, struck some chord in him that was knowing.
But he didn’t know her.
He knew every face in the valley, and hers wasn’t of the valley.
And yet it was.
He was mine, too.
But this is yours.
He knew it, and so do you.
The sword all but leaped into his hand.
He felt the weight of it, the power of it, the brilliance of it.
He could drop it, swim on, swim away.
His choice, so the gods said, so the stories said.
He started to loosen his fingers and let that weight, that power, that brilliance slide away.
He didn’t know how to lead.
He knew how to fight, how to train, how to ride, how to fly.
But he didn’t know how to lead others, not into battle or into peace.
As he eased his grip that shine dulled, the flame began to gutter.
And she watched him.
He believed in you.
Honor left no choice.
So he pointed the sword toward the surface where the sun danced in diamonds.
He watched the vision for she was nothing more than that smile.
Who are you?he demanded.
We’re both going to have to find out.
The sword carried him straight up, an arrow from a bow.
It cleaved through the water, then the air.
He rode it to the thick, damp grass, then did what he knew he must.
He knelt at Mairghread’s feet.
“My time is past.
She laid a hand on his head.
She took his hand, brought him to his feet.
He heard nothing, saw nothing but her.
This was my wish, she murmured, only for him.
I don’t know how to "
She cut him off, a kiss to his cheek.
You know more than you think.
She held out the staff.
Take what’s yours, Keegan O’Broin.”
When he took the staff, she stepped back.
And do what comes next.”
They watched him, so many faces, so many eyes watching him.
He recognized what churned inside him as fear, and felt the shame of it.
The sword chose him, he thought, and he chose to rise with it.
There would be no more fear.
He lifted the staff so its dragon’s heart pulsed with life.
“With this there will be justice on Talamh for all.
With this, all will be protected.
I am Keegan O’Broin.
I will stand for the light.
I will live for Talamh, and should the gods deem, I will die for Talamh.”
Well done indeed.”
So they raised him up, the young taoiseach.
And a new story began.
She’d had a bad day that came at the end (thank God!)
of a bad week that had spilled out from a bad month.
She told herself to cheer up.
Some bored, some manic, a few hopeful.
She reminded herself teaching was the most honorable of professions.
Rewarding, meaningful, vital.
Too bad she sucked at it.
The bus hiccupped to the next stop.
A few people got off; a few people got on.
She was good at observing because it was so much easier than participating.
The woman in the gray pantsuit, phone in hand, frazzled eyes.
Single mother heading home after work, checking on her kids, Breen decided.
She probably never imagined her life would be so hard.
Now, a couple of teenage boys high-tops, knee-length Adidas shorts, earbuds.
An age, Breen thought, an enviable age, when a weekend meant nothing but fun.
The man in black he …
He looked right at her, looked deep, so she cut her eyes away.
Why did he look familiar?
The silver hair, the mane of it, made her think: college professor.
But no, that wasn’t it.
A college professor getting on the bus wouldn’t make her mouth go dry or her heart hammer.
She had a terrible fear he’d walk back, sit next to her.
If he did, she’d never get off the bus.
She’d just keep riding, riding, going nowhere, getting nowhere, a continual loop of nothing.
She knew it was crazy, didn’t care.
She didn’t look at him didn’t dare but had to brush by him to make the doors.
Though he stepped to the side, she felt that her arm bumped his as she passed.
Her lungs shut down; her legs went weak.
Someone asked if she was all right as she stumbled toward the doors.
But she heard him, inside her head:Come home, Breen Siobhan.
It’s time you came home.
She gripped the bar to keep her balance, nearly tripped on the steps.
She felt people look at her, turn their heads, stare, and wonder.
That only made it worse.
She hated to draw attention, tried so hard to blend, to just fade.
The bus hiccupped by.
Though her breath whistled in and out, the pressure on her chest eased.
She ordered herself to slow down, just slow down and walk like a normal person.
It took her a minute to manage it, and another to orient herself.
Just a man catching the bus, she told herself.
No threat, for God’s sake.
And she hadn’t heard him inside her head.
Believing you heard other people’s thoughts equaled crazy.
Hadn’t her mother drummed that into her head since … always?
And now, because she’d had a moment of crazy, she had a solid half-mile walk.
But that was fine, that was all right.
It was a pretty spring evening, and she was naturally dressed correctly.
She liked to walk.
And hey, think of all the extra steps on her Fitbit.
So it messed up her schedule a little, what did it matter?
She was a twenty-six-year-old single female, and had absolutely no plans for a Friday night in May.
From The Awakening, by Nora Roberts.
Copyright 2020 by the author, reprinted with permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
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