A Path of Oak and Ash by M.P. Reeves Read Free Book Online Page A

when the cloud that hangs over the mainland and Mull miraculously breaks to bathe Iona in light that seems even brighter against the somber unlit hills on the opposite shore.  It’s no use pretending that Iona escapes those days of unrelieved wetness that Western Scotland provides quite regularly, but it is true that Iona enjoys a substantial amount more sunshine than places to the east.”
    The dinging of a bell and shouts from the crew announced the ship had successfully docked, drowning out the shutter clicks of many a camera.  Disembarking behind the three other couples, two elderly and the family with four children, the pair hung back.  Erik nodded not to the defined path in front of them, but north up the white sand beach.
    “We can drop our guise now.  For there is nothing between us and our destination.”
    Carrick frowned, his words coming out in his rolling British accent.  “How do I?”
    “As before, but think of you, as you.”
    Carrick paused closing his eyes he pictured his reflection in the mirror from his birthday. His dark mahogany hair, bright blue wide eyes, slightly hollowed cheeks on either side of his straight nose that sat above his average mouth and slightly dimpled chin.  A tall thin, yet defined frame, covered in his worn clothes.
    Opening his eyes he looked down to find his own hands at his sides, a familiar worn tee-shirt on his chest and ripped jeans on his legs, his own tattered tennis shoes on his feet. It was refreshing to be...himself. 
    “It worked! I-“  Turning to his uncle he his words caught in his throat.
    Erik Slaine was just over six feet tall and triple Carrick’s width.  His frame covered with a sleeveless cloak in a midnight green, the edging done in black fur, a thick layer of muscle covered his bare chest underneath that gold medallion, chiseled abs decorated with a series of runic tattoos over his ribcage.  Bistre pants came up to just under his belly button, belted by some braided leather, tucked into thick leather boots.  Large hands were home to several engraved rings decorated with ruby, emerald and sapphire stones.  With all that he was however, the most shocking part to Carrick was his face.
    A pair of blue eyes that mirrored his own stared back at him, aged maybe two decades more judging by the small crow’s feet.  The same defined jaw and high cheeks that his mother had always claimed he had inherited from his father were pronounced on Erik. Even his hair, though far longer, was the same mahogany shade. Rather than the full beard he expected, his uncle had five 'o clock shadow, the cleft of his chin visible under the stubble. 
    Carrick smiled, an expression that started out small but ended in a wide grin. This man standing next to him on the beach, half a world away from where he was raised, was his blood.  There was no doubting that now.  Staring at his uncle, his proud, tall uncle, he felt a tinge of sadness, he imagined his father had looked quite similar. If only he had known him.
    They walked for a good half mile, before turning inward up the slowly sloping hill.  High in the air above Carrick heard the gentle call of Arcedes, as she flew circles around them in the clouds.  He felt relief she had made it out of the plane and over the waters in one piece. 
    Erik stopped him by grabbing his shoulder halfway across the rolling green meadow. “Here.” He gestured wide with his palm over the grass.
    Directly in front of them was a circle of stones, surrounded by a larger circle of smaller pebbles.  From the grass it looked as though no human feet had been in the area for many years.  Moss covered some of the larger stones, wild flowers bloomed wherever they had taken root.  The air was calm, but carried with it an electrical aura that was hard for Carrick to put to words.  The meadow was alive, the center of the stone circle drawing him in like a magnet.
    With the flick of his wrist, Carrick was ordered to stand within the center circle