Moira was whimpering now, curling up.
"It makes it so much worse," Iona observed calmly. In that moment Sky suddenly took out her athame, which she'd been concealing in her pocket. She held it out toward Iona, focusing on the tool as her lips moved silently to form a spell. Rocks flew up from around them and launched at Iona. Astonished, Iona whirled and at the last second managed to deflect most of them, with a few only grazing her neck. A thin band of blood appeared, dark red against her white skin.
"How dare you?" Iona cried angrily, raising her stick again. The athame fell from Sky's grasp and thunked into the wet sand, buried up to the hilt. Sky dodged as Iona fired crackling, spitting balls of furious blue witchfire at her. One careened off a boulder and slid past Morgan, singeing her face and making her flinch. Sky reached for her athame, but Iona held out her hand and drew the athame to her. She gave Sky a malicious smile, then tossed the athame into the air, away from Sky. It whizzed above her to bury itself in a twisted tree, right over Moira.
Quickly Morgan gathered her strength and choked out a laugh. "A child? That's pathetic, Iona, even for you. Was that really it? Or did it take that long to amass enough power to fight me? We all know that I'm so much stronger than you."
Anger flushed Iona's ghastly face and her eyes sparked. Yes, Morgan thought. She was getting to her-just a few more well chosen words and Iona would be pushing her way into Morgan's consciousness, Iona raised her stick again-but didn't use it. She seemed to sense something. Morgan watched, breathing shallowly, as Iona slowly looked around her.
Sky was crouching behind a dark, wet boulder. Moira had edged up against the tree. Her face was contorted with pain, and tears ran down her cheeks. The old woman Morgan had seen, plus two more forgotten witches, were milling around, watching this happen but with no comprehension on their blank, childish faces. Clearly they were also powerless to help and beyond caring what happened to them.
Come on, Iona, try to get into my mind. "You know it's true. I am strong and you are weak," Morgan went on recklessly. "Father said so."
That did it. With a snarl of rage Iona threw both of her hands out, and instantly Morgan felt it, her furious, barbed consciousness, crashing against Morgan's mind like a burning battering ram. Once inside, she would wipe Morgan's mind clean, steal her power, drain her soul. It was a chance Morgan had to take. For an instant Morgan dropped her mind blocks, and Iona was inside her head, twisted with hatred, power starved, greedy, clutching at Morgan's powers. Morgan steeled herself, ignored her terror, and scanned what she could of Iona's mind.
The soul of the witch Justine Courceau, insane with rage and a frenzied desire to escape; another, lesser soul of a faded witch who had crossed Iona without even realizing it. And Ciaran. Morgan gasped as she recognized the soul of her father, the soul she had joined with once before in a tath meanma. Ciaran! Oh, God, no wonder Iona is so powerful now! No wonder she could hold me in a binding spell. Somehow she had reached Ciaran's soul when she'd killed him and pulled out the knowledge and strength that had been crushed when he was stripped of his ability to use magick.
Gritting her teeth, Morgan drew on every bit of power she had within her and once again slammed up her mind block, forcing Iona out. Iona fought her viciously, but Morgan squeezed harder and harder, and then her mind was free again, and Iona was just pressing against her.
It had taken just a moment.
"Why do you even try to fight?" Iona snarled, coming closer. "We all know how this will end." We need to join our powers! Morgan sent a witch message to Moira and Sky, wincing with each word. Ciaran's soul is inside Iona! She must have killed him and taken it.
What should we do? Moira sent, and Morgan was surprised at how steady her daughter felt. Anyone looking at Moira would have dismissed her as out of the fight, but she was strong-stronger than Morgan had realized. Stronger than she herself knew.
Bind her.
Iona was circling them now, keeping an eye on Sky but ignoring both Hunter and Moira.
Iona was still pressing against Morgan's mind, still holding the razorlike spell of pain on her. In Morgan's haze of agony, words floated toward her: "You have the power to devastate anything in your path-or to create unimaginable beauty." Ciaran had told her that, right before she had bound him. He'd said, "You're the sgiurs dan." The Destroyer. The one who would change the course of the Woodbane clan.
It had been so many years since she'd needed to call on the very depths of her power. Yet as a teenager, she had bound one of the most powerful witches of all time. She had helped stop a dark wave, a thing that had regularly killed hundreds of people, whole villages.
It had been a blessing, all these years, not to have to work magick like that, magick that made one touch the edge of darkness. Now she was soaked through, cold, and shot through with an unholy pain. The man she loved was powerless, in desperate need of help. Her only daughter was in danger. And they needed her to save them.
Morgan sank back on the sand and closed her eyes. She called on the very depths of her power, every aspect of her history-of her ancestors. She was the Destroyer, and she would defeat her enemies. She let every muscle go limp, from her eyelids to her toes. Every single feeling flowed out of her and onto the sand. Caring, anger, pain, panic, joy, longing, all seeped out of her motionless body. She felt dead, numb, and with it came a kind of freedom. She imagined herself rising, dressed in white, a shining aura around her. She imagined her small silver athame to be a mighty sword. She pictured herself able to deflect any spell, crush any attack, triumph over any foe. Even her half sister. True, Ciaran's soul was in Iona, but without him Iona was weak. It was Morgan who had inherited Ciaran's strength, out of all his children. It was Morgan who had inherited Maeve's strength, her mother who had loved her so much, she had let strangers adopt her so she would be safe. Morgan was the sgiurs dan.
Be ready, she sent to Moira and Sky. Gather your power- everything you have. I will tell you when to send it to me. It will be harder without touching. But it's our only chance.
Her eyes opened. She got to her feet, pain held at bay for now.
Iona stopped and stared at her. She raised her stick, but with a harsh phrase Morgan deflected it. Iona's face twisted into an ugly mask of rage. She shouted out something, and Morgan instantly knew it was Hunter's true name, Iona sketched a rune in the air, called a color to her, and then turned to sneer at Morgan.
"He is mine," she snarled. "He's nothing but a walking puppet." She slashed one clawlike hand through the air, and Morgan watched in horror as identical slashes appeared across Hunter's face and chest, as though a tiger had raked him. In his state it was enough to make him stagger backward, lose his balance, and fall heavily against a low rock. He lay still where he fell.
My love! My love! Morgan's eyes blazed with the pain of seeing her soul mate attacked. And then the realization came to her. Iona was doing all of this to Hunter because she knew his true name.
And I know Ciaran's true name. All those years ago, she'd learned Ciaran's true name the night she first shape-shifted. Stepping forward, her hands clenched into fists, Morgan faced Iona. Iona turned her sights to Moira, who was standing now, her young face resolute. No! Morgan thought, but Iona swept her hand again, and Moira crumpled to her knees, welts across her face.