Born of Oak and Silver (The Caradoc Chronicles) by Marie McKean Read Free Book Online Page A

think it time that you learn the real purpose of your education.” His green eyes regarded me stoically as he began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. His face remained expressionless as he dropped it to the floor. He moved his beard away, and exposed the skin of his upper body.
    A heavy iron torque lay about his neck. Its ends were open, the tips adorned with what appeared to be iron balls etched in symbols. Between the ends, twisted iron roped its way around him. Although a Celtic torque was an unexpected thing to see on the old man’s neck, it was discovering that his entire torso and arms were fully covered by swirling black tattoos that I found to be most unnerving.
    Bram remained impartial and unmoving despite my critical gaze. When he next spoke, it was methodically. “You do not truly know me.”
    I allowe d my face to show my confusion.
    Bram continued, “You know the man, Daine, but you do not know me —neither my purpose nor my passion. You have come to know a portion of me, but you must know some of what I consider to be sacred and secret to really know me.” His white, bushy eyebrow quirked up in question, wondering if I understood.
    I gave no reply, maintaining the mask uncertainty.
    He sighed and lowered his arms from the raised position that he had been holding them in. “Daine, my name is Bramwyll Áedán Roithridh Muireach Macardle.” The ancient being in Bram’s eyes now considered me openly for the first time in seven years. “I was born in Drumcliff, Ireland, one hundred and sixty-nine years ago. I am a Druid, born to one of the four original bloodlines. Of those four bloodlines, only two remain—and you, Daine Caradoc Dalton, are the only male with potential to be born to yours in generations.”
    I looked at him incredulously, unconsciously toying with the heavy silver ring that hung from the chain around my neck.
    “Daine, I speak honestly . Do not think that I cannot see the disbelief in your eyes. Consider a moment, if you will: would your ring respond to you if you were not a Druid?”
    I paused to consider it. I had no other explanation for the way my cells vibrated with life whenever the ring slipped onto my finger. I didn’t know what a Druid was, so perhaps it was as good a reason as any. However, it was entirely impossible for him to be as old as he claimed. Seventy-nine or eighty-nine: either of those, or somewhere in between, he could easily be. But, one hundred and sixty-nine . . . My spirits began to lower as I realized that age was clearly beginning to take a toll on his mind.
    “Bram, I don’t know what to say, ” I said as I shook my head somberly.
    “I know you do not, Daine. You have not been taught. History has long forgotten to include our stories in its pages,” Bram sympathized. He stooped and picked his shirt off the floor, returning to his well groomed self before my eyes. “But remember, knowing nothing of something does not make it false.”
    I raised my eyes and looked into his plainly. “Yes, that is true. It’s just that . . . well . . . ,” I looked back down at my hands resting on the tabletop as I confessed, “I have to be honest. What you’ve said just doesn’t seem to be in any way probable. You cannot be one hundred and sixty-nine years old, Bram. You just can’t,” I managed to squeak, my voice coming out in barely a whisper.
    I mustered my courage, swallowing the lump of sorrow that had started to form in my throat, and slowly stood up from my seat and began to gather my papers and books from the table.
    “Daine,” Bram said softly, steppi ng forward but keeping the table between us, “I know what I have just told you would seem to be unreasonable. But I have never said anything to you that was not true. I am a Druid. You are a Druid—and an uncommonly strong one at that. You have been able to memorize and recite all of the Druid texts in half of the standard time, and I have seen you harness the Earth and her elements for your