Hooked on Imprisoned in Stone, Surprise at the Cave #MFRWHooks

For the next several weeks, the posts have showcased magic of a darker kind. From Imprisoned in Stone, a snippit using the #Bookqw "good." To set the stage, last week the escape continued when Maerva met her brother. In the interim he sailed her and her friends to a deserted isle. Sanctuary is elusive as the Brethren have invaded the island. And her adopted child is missing.

Excerpt:

Maerva paced the beach, as if her activity could bring the men to shore faster. Small boats from both vessels ferried Darach and his kin, including Dris, now sporting his own throwing ax, to the shore. Soon the woodcutters stood amidst sailors, who though they bore the mark of blade or hook, all projected a fierce determination. Each man clutched a knife or whatever makeshift weapon he had. After a quiet farewell, Uisge headed back to his vessel. Sails bellied out in the stiff breeze and the Highland Maid headed out to sea. The Wayward Mist awaited a final signal from her captain before she would leave for a secluded hiding place with the children and women of Darach’s kin who could not fight.

Looking at those gathered around her, one thing was apparent, they needed more arms. Although she wanted to run to find Colwynn and Dylan, Maerva kept her pace to a fast walk—and headed to the skip jack cave rather than inland. The maw of the cave’s entrance appeared all too quickly. Arcil brushed past with a lit torch in his hands. Low growls stopped him in his tracks. Four large shapes separated from the shadows. Light glinted off fangs

“Arcil, wait,” Maerva called out. She stepped forward, her hands held outward. The shapes resolved into large dogs. The animals lapped at her hands, then sat at her quiet command. A gesture sent the men behind her to several boxes stacked above the high-water line. “Weapons are in there, help yourselves.” Although the dogs eyed the men balefully, they did not move. Kneeling, Maerva patted the dogs on the heads. “Why are you here, boys?”

One dog took Maerva’s hand in his mouth and guided her toward the tarp-covered boat. She lifted the canvas and peered underneath. Gramail slept peacefully under a scrap of canvas; her head cushioned on a dog. She woke up and held a finger to her lips

Reaching in, Maerva fought back tears and cradled the child.

“Daddy said it was time to play the shhhsh game.” The four-year-old smiled showing a missing front tooth. “Did I do good, Mommy?”

The trust in the child’s eyes eroded Maerva’s control even more. “Yes, little one you did good, very good. Would you like to visit Uncle Arcil’s boat?”

“Yes, Mommy,” Gramail chirped.

“Then, you shall.” Maerva waved Dris and Wayward Mist’s young deckhand forward. “You remember Jonus. And this is Dris, a special friend of mine. They will take you to the boat, but only if you promise to do what they tell you.”

“No.” Dris and Jonus echoed in unison. “We stay and fight.”

Maerva signaled Arcil to silence. She grew in stature, then retreated back into herself. Her expression softened. “Jonus, Wayward Mist is shorthanded. She needs you more than ever. And you are very good with the children.” A hand laid on Dris’ shoulder did nothing to remove his closed expression. “Dris, your axe is needed more on the Mist than on land. Others are here, but none can take your place there.”

Both youths’ downcast eyes argued their approval, albeit unwillingly. They nodded their compliance.

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