It was time. Her face anguished, Morgan met Sky's eyes. Yes, Sky sent. Do it, no matter what. It's why you're here.
Moira, Morgan sent. It's time. I need you-I need you to fight through the pain and send me your power.
Morgan closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and felt waves of power come to her from both Sky and Moira. She was amazed at the strength she could feel from her daughter, even injured.
"An nal nithrac," Morgan began. "Bis crag teragh. Bis nog, nal benteg."
"How pointless," Iona said, her voice angry. "Amusing, but pointless."
Morgan opened her arms wide. She was full of power, the power of generations of her ancestors. She was made of power, she was power itself.
"I am the sgiurs dan!" Morgan cried, and her voice, clear and strong, pierced the air, pierced the fog of Iona's power. Iona looked startled and took a step backward, then straightened her shoulders and strode forward.
"You're nobody!" Iona cried. "You're nothing! You're going to be the first to die!" She held out her stick, about to begin a new spell.
Morgan felt Moira drawing some of her power back and whirled to see what her daughter was doing. In one move Moira was back on her feet and lunging for Sky's athame. She pulled it from the tree and whispered something, then threw it at Iona, hard, furious power showing in her eyes, Iona tried to deflect the athame, but Moira must have spelled it with a ward-evil spell, and it hit her shoulder, knocking her off balance. Iona clapped one hand to her shoulder, where dark blood was oozing sullenly through her robe. Morgan whirled to see Moira standing by her tree, angry red marks on her face, furious power showing in her eyes.
With one hand Morgan flashed the shape of a rune through the air, even as she began to sing the first notes of Ciaran's true name, Iona gaped at her, but Morgan continued as swiftly as she could, calling a color from the air, singing the tight, hard song that defined who her father was to the entire universe. In seconds she was finished.
"You are going to die!" Iona shrieked. She raised both arms and started to swing her stick in a huge arc over her head.
"I know your true name!" Morgan commanded. "Enough!"
Iona wavered, her arms jerking as she tried to keep her balance. The major part of her strength, Ciaran's soul, was now under Morgan's command, Iona fought against her, her bony jaw clenched until Morgan thought it would snap.
"I am the Destroyer, Iona," Morgan shouted. "Didn't your father ever tell you that?" She felt tall and terrible, and even as Iona struggled against her internal force, Morgan's power swelled and rose. She was the conduit for power that had been held deep within the earth for centuries. It was gathering now, rising, and pouring out from her. Sky grabbed one hand, sending her power to Morgan.
"Ciaran is powerless. You are powerless!" Morgan cried, pointing at Iona.
Iona stood there, shocked and with the first glint of fear on her face. But she wasn't beaten yet. Harsh, dark words were pouring from her lips, and her arms moved, writing sigils in the air. A slow rumbling shook the sand beneath their feet, and Morgan whirled to see its source. The cliff above the cave was spitting, the rocks being rent with the last bit of Iona's stolen power. Even with Ciaran bound, she had enough power to craft a spell that was rending thousands of tons of black basalt, fracturing a hill of stone. Rocks and pebbles, boulders and shards, began to rain down on them.
Morgan hurried toward the sea, with Sky following close behind. Morgan grabbed Moira's hand and yanked her backward. Hunter was looking up at the wall of rock, then at Iona, and Morgan rushed forward to drag him into the water.
"It won't be enough!" Iona shouted, laughing.
Huge waves of stone tumbled down the side of the hill, thudding into the sand, bouncing off one another. In a split second Morgan had made her decision. Scaoil, she thought, and she sent her power out in a tightly coiled knot that knocked Iona squarely on the chest. Her back hit the rough wall by the cave, and in the next instant a huge boulder tumbled down, sweeping her thin body to the ground like a stick puppet. Moira cried out and covered her face, looking away. Morgan gathered Moira to her, still urging everyone backward. They were up to their necks in the frigid, salty water, and still cannon-ball-size rocks were striking the water all around them. Morgan treaded water, keeping Moira, Hunter, and Sky in sight. Her face crumpled as she saw two of the withered witches pinned beneath a house of rock. The cave had been crushed, no doubt killing any who had been inside.
Eventually the hill was nothing more than a crumbled rock pile, half as tall as it had once been. There was only a small area of sand still visible, and slowly, all holding hands, the four of them made their way through it, shivering uncontrollably as the cold air hit their wet bodies.
Teeth chattering, Morgan turned to look at her family, all of them.
"It's over," she said wonderingly. "It's over." Tears of joy washed the salt from her eyes, and then they were all hugging, crying, laughing.
"Thank the Goddess." Morgan felt completely and utterly drained but so thankful.
"Blessed be," Sky said, smiling and shaking her head.
Morgan.
Morgan froze, blood draining from her face. Hunter, Sky, and Moira all looked at her quizzically, and she held up one finger.
Iona's voice was surprisingly strong in Morgan's thoughts. How had she survived the rock slide in her weakened state?
Morgan. This isn't over, Iona said. At this moment Lilith and Ealltuinn are making their final move-on Belwicket. You're not home to protect it By the time you get back, everything you knew and loved will be a black, smoking plain. You see, I am my father's daughter. A dark wave. As soon as Morgan thought the words, her whole body shook, as though a shock of ice water moved through her veins. She felt dizzy. No. It can't be. Not Belwicket. Not her coven, her home!
"You're lying!" Morgan shouted desperately, looking back at the stunned faces of her family. "You haven't the power! You haven't the skill!"
"Perhaps not," Iona's voice replied from behind Morgan. Stunned, Morgan spotted Iona crawling weakly from a small space beneath several fallen rocks. She was battered-a huge cut bled fiercely on her arm, and she limped, scarcely able to stand-but she was alive, Iona reached the sand and cackled, enjoying Morgan's stunned expression. "You bound Ciaran," she said. "But you didn't bind me. And what you don't realize is that I am not relying only on my own power"-her voice was weakened now, no better than a desperate hiss-"but also that of my ally, Lilith Delaney. It's Lilith who cast the dark wave spell. That was what she truly wanted all along-to rid her country of the so-called good Woodbanes, like Belwicket. It was just a fortunate coincidence that I wanted their future high priestess dead."
As Morgan opened her mouth to reply, Iona suddenly extended her hand and spat out a chain of ugly words. "Feic thar spionnadh! Theid sedltachd thar spionnadh!"
Morgan barely had time to react as a sharp spear of energy, glinting silvery blue in the sunlight, sped toward her. Automatically she threw up a blocking spell. She was shocked that Iona would try to hurt her in her weakened state-what possible good could it do her? But then her thoughts turned darker, Iona was clearly beyond reason. She was crawling blindly toward a single purpose-hurting Morgan. As Iona's attack reached Morgan, something unexpected happened. Morgan had long known that her element was fire, and so she called on the power of fire to add strength to even her most basic spells. But as Iona's sharp spear of light reached Morgan, it bounced off the shield she'd created and turned to roaring orange flame. Before Morgan could take in a breath, the flame turned upon Iona and consumed her.
"No!" Iona wailed as the flame overcame her body. The fire grew, and soon an oily, roiling black smoke-eerily like the smoke that had invaded Belwicket's circle-emerged from the fire. Morgan gasped. In a matter of seconds the flame burned to nothing and winked out. No evidence of Iona's body remained on the beach. No smoke, no charred earth, nothing. Morgan stared, disbelieving, at the spot where Iona had stood. She's dead, she thought finally. Evil serves no purpose. It consumes you. But before she could react further, she remembered Iona's final promise.