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  Breenan Series

  Mark of the Breenan

  Garden of Last Hope

  Realm of the Forgotten

  Emma Shelford

  You have the Breenan Series. Why stop there?

  Enter the world of Merlin, King Arthur’s mysterious magician, who is immortal and forever young. He’s living in modern day Vancouver when the earth begins to shake. Can he use his concealed talents and practiced charisma to save a town before disaster strikes?

  "A marvelous modern take on the legendary Merlin... A definite must-read!"

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  Mark

  of the

  Breenan

  Emma Shelford

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  MARK OF THE BREENAN

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2014 Emma Shelford

  Cover design by Melissa Bowles

  Editing by Precision Editing Group

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  www.emmashelford.com

  First edition: October 2014

  For Mum

  Prologue

  Gwen screamed, as loud and high as only a four-year old can.

  “No! No, I don’t want to go!” Her breathing came quickly, in and out and in again. She wouldn’t go. She didn’t want to leave their house, her room with the pink hippos painted on the wall, the rope swing dangling from the apple tree in the backyard.

  Her father sighed and knelt down to look into her tear-filled eyes.

  “I’m sorry Gwennie, but we have to move. If we don’t, Daddy won’t have a job.” His voice became lighter, more joking. “If Daddy doesn’t have a job, all we’ll be able to eat is broccoli and brussels sprouts. That wouldn’t be very nice, would it?”

  Gwen glared at him through narrowed eyes, her hands balled into fists and her body stiff. He couldn’t make her go. She squeezed out a few more words to make him understand.

  “No. No. No. I won’t go.” She shut her eyes tight against the unfairness of it all. Her whole body started to shudder and something deep inside her belly began to get hot and wriggly.

  “I know it’s hard, Gwennie, but sometimes life is mean like that.” Her father put his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll like Vancouver, I promise.”

  Gwen’s body was tight and hot. The warmth in her middle was spreading, the heat flowing into her legs and arms and up her neck. Her cheeks were hot and flushed like she’d just run back from the corner store. Something began to rattle noisily behind her father, but she ignored it. Nothing mattered except making her father understand that they couldn’t leave.

  “What the…” her father said incredulously.

  Gwen couldn’t contain herself any longer. She opened her mouth and a huge release of a scream ripped out of her chest. The heat flowed out and away from her body in a great wave.

  There was a shattering explosion behind her father. Gwen’s eyes popped open in shock as her father turned back to face her. His face dripped with black ink, but between dark streaks his skin was bloodless white. His wide eyes looked at her with a wariness tinged by fear.

  Gwen’s lip trembled. What had just happened? Had she made her artist father’s ink bottle explode? She had. It was her fault. She was just so angry. She didn’t feel that way anymore. Her body was cool and calm now, the extraordinary heat of the previous moment extinguished.

  She hadn’t meant to hurt her daddy. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked quickly as her lip quivered. She stepped forward.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she sobbed. Her father quickly dropped to his knees and put his arms around her. She shook in his embrace and he kissed the top of her head.

  She pulled back, sniffing.

  “We can go to Vancouver. I don’t mind.” She bit her bottom lip as she looked around the room at the destruction, ink splatters covering the walls and ceiling in a mockery of wallpaper. “I don’t mind anymore.”

  Chapter 1

  Bzzzzt.

  Eighteen year-old Gwen Cooper twitched out of a daydream from the vibration of her phone. She glanced around at her university classmates, all either staring vacantly toward the front or scribbling notes. The professor had her back to the class, focused on keeping her laser pointer steady on the screen above. Gwen slid her hand into her jeans pocket and wiggled the phone free. A text waited from her best friend Ellie Brown.

  I have an adventure for us. You ARE coming.

  Gwen smiled wryly. Ellie was always hatching up crazy plans, like the time she wanted Gwen to join her in a hot yoga-polar bear swim combo class. She texted back.

  What is it THIS time? ;)

  We’re going to ENGLAND. To live in a CASTLE. For a whole MONTH.

  ***

  “We are absolutely going.” Ellie slurped her pop with enthusiasm, her blond braid quivering as she wriggled in her chair.

  “I’m not signing up for anything without more info.” Gwen took a resolute bite of her tuna sandwich. The cafeteria buzzed around them with the hungry hum of undergrads. Gwen and Ellie had managed to snag a table as another group was leaving, Ellie swooping in front of some unfortunate dawdlers as Gwen bent her head and slipped into a chair, avoiding the eyes of the slow students.

  “It’s a proper university, we take courses and get credits and everything,” Ellie said. “So we can just use the credits as electives. It’s all focused on British stuff. Art history, English lit, as long as it has a British theme.” She waved her hand in the air. “And did I mention it’s in a castle? In England?” She put her hands flat on the table, imitating the voice of a pompous psychology professor they often mocked. “This is an incredible opportunity to immerse ourselves in our studies, Gwendolyn.”

  Gwen laughed and took another bite of her sandwich.

  “You just want to go because you’re into everything medieval. How old is the castle?”

  “It was built in fourteen fifty-three,” Ellie said in an awestruck tone. “But seriously, it’d be so cool. Check out the website later.” She tugged a pamphlet out of her backpack and shoved it across the table. “What do you think?”

  Gwen was tempted. The classes did look interesting, and she hadn’t started looking for a summer job yet. Her stomach gave a little twinge of excitement as she skimmed the pamphlet—it was filled with glossy photos of green pastures and crumbling castles. She’d never done much traveling. The thought of a trip abroad both excited her and made her nervous. Her stomach lurched again as she thought of another reason to go to England, one she didn’t bring up with Ellie. She took her time over the pamphlet, sensing Ellie wriggling with impatience across the table. She hid a smile.

  “One last, very important point.” Ellie leaned forward toward Gwen, her index finger tapping the point home on the table. “British boys.” She leaned back as if she’d given irrefutable evidence at a trial.

  Gwen couldn’t help laughing aloud at this.

  “Oh, Ellie. You’re such a sucker for an accent.” Ellie stuck her tongue out at her. Gwen grinned and looked down at the pamphlet again. “Wait a minute—it’s all of May. You’re going to miss the Renaissance fair. You love the Renaissance fair. How will you deal?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “But this is like all Renaissance fairs at once!” Ellie bounced in her seat.

  “But wasn’t your med
ieval dance troupe giving a demonstration this year?” Gwen raised an incredulous eyebrow at Ellie. “You’ve been practicing like crazy, on top of all your other dance classes.”

  As she always did, Ellie said, “You should totally join one my classes. It’s so much fun.” Gwen bit her apple without looking at Ellie, and Ellie sighed dramatically. “Fine, miss out on all the action. One day you’ll stop caring about looking silly and just have a good time. I know it.” She looked out the window for a moment, and said tentatively, “You know, it might be nice to see where you were born. Maybe you could find some relatives there or something.”

  Gwen swallowed the last of her apple, avoiding Ellie’s eyes.

  “Yeah, I thought of that.”

  ***

  The elevator wheezed and trundled up to the eleventh floor apartment Gwen shared with her artist father, Alan Cooper. The mirrored wall across from Gwen reflected mid-length black hair whose soft waves contrasted with the sharp planes of her face. Gwen wasn’t conventionally attractive. But her face was so distinctive, all angles and high cheekbones and sharp lines, that it warranted a second look. Hazel-green eyes, usually lively and quizzical, gazed vaguely as Gwen’s thoughts strayed to Ellie’s castle abroad.

  Gwen snapped to attention as the elevator creaked open. She shifted her backpack to one shoulder as she dug for keys in her raincoat pocket. She fitted the key into the lock, brushing her left hand over the doorframe’s peeling paint as she entered the apartment. Throwing her keys on the carpeted floor in the entryway, she shrugged out of her coat and backpack, calling out a greeting.

  “Hello?”

  “In the studio,” a voice replied a few beats later. Gwen smiled. Her father was in the middle of a project and his concentration was legendary. She walked through the kitchen, grabbing a banana on the way, and leaned against the doorway of her father’s ‘studio.’ The apartment they shared had only two bedrooms, so the studio did double duty. The wall to the left of the window housed a narrow bed and was plastered with sketches and watercolors depicting scenes of nature and landscapes, although these were liberally interspersed with images of Gwen. The right-hand wall was a pure, unblemished white. Gwen’s father said he was inspired by both walls, “One for ideas, one for peace. Chaos and calm in equal measure. That’s what creates magic.”

  Gwen watched her father smear a mossy green over a canvas with sure strokes.

  “Do you think the landlord will ever paint our hallway?” she asked casually. “He said he’d do it three months ago.”

  “Oh, maybe someday. But putting up with him is how we get such low rent, right downtown. And can you beat the view?” He swept his paintbrush majestically toward the wall of windows. The setting sun glinted off a nearby skyscraper, highlighting the deep green of Stanley Park and glittering off the ocean beyond which was uncommonly still for January.

  Gwen laughed and took a bite of her banana.

  “Fair enough,’ she said between chews.

  “So, what’d you learn today?” Her father peered at her over his glasses. His kind, cheerful face tried to look stern and professorial, but laughing brown eyes softened the expression.

  Gwen was ready for his question.

  “There’s a castle, in England.”

  “Indeed, there are many.” Her father raised an eyebrow.

  “Let me finish!” She reached forward and swatted his arm. “Ellie wants to go. It’s a one month program where you go live in a castle and take classes for credit. It’s affiliated with the university here.” She bit her lip. “I think there are scholarships if you’re accepted in.”

  “So, back to the old country. I never took you, did I?” He swiveled side to side on his stool. “I think it’s high time. So Ellie wants to go. Do you want to?” He gazed at her searchingly.

  Gwen looked out the window, considering.

  “Actually, yes. The courses sound good, and I’d like to see the country where I was born. And of course Ellie needs someone to look after her.” Gwen didn’t add the final reason, the most important of all.

  Her father laughed, a nice deep one from the belly.

  “She sure does.” He swiveled again. “Well, if it’s what you want, I’m all for it. Try for the scholarship, but we’ll make it work no matter what.” He raised an arm, and Gwen hugged him close.

  “Your paint’s drying,” she said.

  “Darn. Oh well. Pizza tonight?”

  “I’ll go call it in,” she said, kissing the top of his head.

  ***

  Gwen’s father was still painting when the pizza arrived, so Gwen delivered a few pieces to the studio, grabbed her own, and flopped onto the couch on her stomach. She flipped her laptop open and booted up, glancing at the studio door. There was no sign of her father, except for the occasional squeak of his swivel stool. She typed in the web address of the British census from memory. In the box labelled Given Name she typed ‘Isolde,’ and ‘1960-1975’ in the date of birth. She hit enter. A long list of hyperlinked names appeared on the screen, half of the links on the first page already purple with previous clicks. She selected the next on the list, an ‘Isolde Smith.’ Results flashed onto the screen.

  Isolde Smith

  Born August 25th, 1961

  Emigrated to United States of America 1976

  This one had moved out of the country at age fifteen. Gwen tried the next name.

  Isolde O’Connor

  Born May 13th, 1968

  This one looked promising. Isolde O’Connor was the same age as her father and had lived in Cambridgeshire the year Gwen was born, eighteen years ago. She still lived there now. Gwen opened a search engine and typed ‘Isolde O’Connor Cambridgeshire.’ She reached into the backpack at her side and carefully pulled out a folded piece of paper, opening it gingerly and smoothing out the well-worn creases. A woman’s face appeared, sketched in pencil. She was exotically beautiful, with wavy dark hair cascading past the edge of the image. Her large eyes gazed out of the page, sultry and confident. Her pointed chin was raised in pride and self-awareness of her beauty. In her father’s loopy hand on the bottom right was written ‘Isolde.’

  Gwen propped the paper up beside her laptop screen and pulled up image results for her search. Twelve pictures of the same woman appeared, grinning and apple cheeked, blond but greying hair piled on top of her head in a loose bun. The rest were unrelated photos. Gwen’s shoulders slumped resignedly.

  “Oh, love. Are you still trying to find your mother?”

  Gwen jumped and turned to see her father behind her. She realized belatedly that the squeaking of his chair had ceased minutes ago.

  “I just thought—if I actually go to England…” Her voice faltered. She turned back and stared into the eyes of the portrait. Her father sighed and sat down on the couch beside her.

  “Scooch a little. We’ve looked before and found nothing. I doubt she would have appeared since.”

  “I know.” Gwen leaned her head into her arms. “I just thought I’d try.”

  Her father rubbed her back in slow comforting circles.

  “I’m sorry I don’t know more. She wasn’t very forthcoming, and I didn’t know you’d be arriving on my doorstep nine months later, needing answers.”

  “Tell me again how you two met,” she said into the couch.

  “Well now,” he said, leaning back. She wriggled to accommodate him. “I was doing a ‘grand tour’ of Europe, as I liked to call it, off traveling while more diligent and responsible friends worked. It was just me, my backpack, and an entire continent’s worth of art at my fingertips. England was on the list, of course, because I had my Aunty Ada to visit. I’d run out of money by the time I hit Cambridge, so I got a job sweeping out a bakery that Aunty Ada’s friend owned.

  “One day, when it was actually clear for once instead of all the endless rain, I snuck away from my sweeping and took my sketchpad for a walk. I wanted to capture the lush greenery and rolling fields that folk in the town seemed to take for granted.”
/>
  “Enough about art, Dad. When did you meet my mother?” Gwen nudged her father with her knee.

  “I’m telling the story, impatient one. Well, as I tried to figure out the best way to capture the mist and fog, I heard a voice behind me.

  “‘You have a talent for art,’ it said. I whirled around and saw the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her face and form were flawless, pale skin against perfect red lips. She had on a green swirling cloud of a dress. Even now I’ve never seen fabric like it. It was an old-fashioned dress that fell to the ground, with ribbons and laces and huge floating sleeves. She had spring flowers entwined in her hair, and somehow the petals floated down, even though the flowers stayed whole. I was young and didn’t know what to say, although I imagine I’d still be speechless now. My first thought was, ‘If I could capture her likeness on canvas, I’d consider myself a true artist.’

  “She asked me to come with her, and it would have been a stronger and more foolish man than me to say no. She led me to a clearing in the woods where there was a pavilion, with food and drink, velvet pillows, the whole works. I stayed with her for seven days, not thinking even once about Aunty Ada worrying, just blissfully happy and falling deeply in love. On the eighth morning I awoke shivering, alone and naked in the middle of the clearing. Everything had vanished—plates, pillows, everything. And she was gone, taking a piece of me with her.

  “I stumbled down to my aunt’s house in the village, naked as the day I was born. Aunty Ada was absolutely speechless when she saw me.”

  “What did Isolde tell you about herself?” Gwen knew the answer, but this was her role in the story that her father had told her since she was a little girl.