An uncomfortable feeling washed over me. Something inside me warned we
were being watched.
We continued to walk until we reached an open area. In the middle of the clearing, a large, gray stone table stood waist high. In the center were the words
Cosain an draíocht, surrounded by inscriptions of ruby-colored names.
As I moved forward to inspect it, I recognized the same names that were on
my grandmother's chest. When I came to Mae Silver, I stopped for a moment and traced it with my finger. The elegant shapes of the glittery red letters were
scrawled in her handwriting. She had written her name here.
“Hold out your hand, Mara,” Gram commanded.
Hesitating for only a second, I extended my hand. When I did, Gram pulled
it into hers. In her other hand, she held up a silver dagger that twinkled with emerald-colored gems on the hilt. My eyes widened when I saw it.
With a quick movement, she sliced the tip of my finger with the blade.
Gasping, I pulled my hand away and tried to stop the flow of blood. However,
she grabbed my hand back and held it tightly.
“Sign your name in the stone,” she calmly said. “It will heal the pain.”
Listening to her words, I carefully began to sign my name with my bloody
fingertip. The stone quickly absorbed my blood as a warm sensation traveled up
my arm and into my neck. My autograph changed to a smooth, red-colored stone
while a feeling of peace settled over me. The hesitation and doubt I had been carrying drifted away.
“You feel it don't you?” Gram asked.
Looking from my finger to my bloody signature, I felt like I was just in another one of my dreams. Wordlessly, I met my grandmothers stare with
wonderment.
“The pure magic we protect has been unleashed in you. You should no longer
feel incomplete. It is time for you to embrace your destiny. Trust what you feel.”
Gram lined the table with different colored glass bottles, labeled in her
elegant handwriting. Then, she handed me a small bowl and a grinding stick.
“Place the mortar on the table. We'll do this together.”
With the two bowls, side-by-side, she handed me a purple bottle, labeled
Lavender.
“Open this bottle and begin grinding the leaves,” Gram directed.
“How much do I use?” I suddenly felt unsure of myself.
“You know what to do. Just listen to your heart.”
With a deep breath, I shook some of the lavender into the bowl and began to
grind it. The air around me grew warm and the crushed purple leaves began to
swirl around the bowl. Adding more, I heard a small hum.
The sound was my grandmother. She hummed a soft song as she ground the
herbs in her bowl. Glancing over, I saw the lavender in her mortar swirling. It emitted a small smoke as she crushed it with her pestle.
“What am I doing wrong? Should I be singing, too?”
Gram held the bottle back out to me, “If your heart sings, sing. If you feel the
urge to dance, dance. Just focus and listen to the magic around us.”
I took the bottle of lavender from her, again. Warm magic radiated from her
