Excerpt from "Celtic Sacrifice" by Sheryl Brennan

PROLOGUE
Sacred Grove of Brigid in Leitrim, Ireland - September 15, 1581

A mere wisp of a lass, Kelly O’Donell timidly rapped upon the solid oak door of the High Priestess’ chambers. She couldn’t know that this, the morn of her novice, a vision changing the heart and fate of druids and of Ireland awaited her.

“Come in, child. Do not linger within the hall,” the coarse reply came.

Kelly’s stomach lurched. Her apprenticeship to the convent Grove of Brigid these five years past did nothing to squelch the knots twisting within her gullet upon hearing the booming voice of Philomena. Whenever in the presence of the druidess, Kelly cringed from the penetrating stares of those mysterious jade eyes, believing the priestess could read her innermost soul.

“You are late, child. Enter and bolt the door. You have much to learn this hour.”

Kelly took her place before the large scrying bowl dominating the chamber. The divining instrument rested within a cove atop a hawthorn altar. Philomena poured water from a decanter into the bowl, uttering unintelligible spells. A blessing? A curse? Intercession? Kelly wished she’d been fluent in Ogham to discern the intention.

“Place your hands beside the bowl and gaze into the water.”

Kelly slid into position obediently, feeling the warmth of the wood beneath her touch.

Standing at her back, Philomena placed her palms over Kelly’s hands. Gooseflesh prickled Kelly’s forearms as supernatural energy surged through her veins.

“Watch the emerging shapes, child. I will help you interpret them.”

Shadows danced across the water. Indistinguishable at first, then with striking familiarity. Philomena’s alto voice whispered in Kelly’s ear, “One soul, wandering in Tir-nan-óg.”

A ghostlike shadow wavered at the top of the bowl, steadily growing larger. “A soul with great power,” Philomena predicted.

Kelly angled her head, squinting to see the silhouette at the bottom of the bowl descend and abruptly split into two distinct humans. “Fell to earth, and being too much for the world, the soul split into two?” she asked.

The forms seemed to touch hands, then turned to float in opposite directions until neither remained visible. The end became the beginning.

“With separate destinies for each,” Philomena answered.

Questions swirled in Kelly’s mind. “Of whom does this vision speak?” To her surprise, a giggle escaped the high priestess’s lips.

“This is your vision, child. Only you can answer that question. Concentrate, and the goddess will reveal all you seek.”

Philomena’s grip tightened on her wrists. Pictures flashed before her eyes at lightening speed.

Swiftly as the images began, they ceased. Daylight snuck through moth-eaten holes in tapestries covering ancient windows, chasing visionary shadows away.

Philomena whispered in ragged breath, “Dungannon. Una’s power is to be reborn in Dungannon.”

“May I accompany you to the birth?”

“Brigid bequeathed this prophecy to you, Kelly. Not only will you be with us, you will bestow the goddess’ blessing. Although only ten, you have the gift of foresight. Many of our grove endure a lifetime of training to experience what you have seen in moments. Perhaps I stand in the presence of our next High Priestess?”

Kelly threw her shoulders back and puffed her chest. A prideful smile stretched her lips.