Hunters Moon (Red Moon Prophecy Book 1) by Addison Carmichael

Author:Addison Carmichael [Carmichael, Addison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-12-01T06:00:00+00:00

HUNTER’S MOON

CHAPTER 9

(BRENNA)

Inch by inch, I squeezed through the jagged opening until I made it inside, then fell six feet onto wet, briny stone with a hard thud.

“Brenna!”

“I’m fine,” I called up to Davin now poking his head through the hole. “It wasn’t that far down.”

“Be careful,” he said angrily. “No telling how far you will fall if that floor gives out.”

My heart thumped as I cautiously worked my way to stand, then checked around the tubelike room, the rounded ceiling a good fifteen feet up.

“Move to the other side. I’m coming in,” he said.

I had widened the hole enough for Davin to work his way through, but only after he agreed that I could go first. Two important things I had learned about him. One, that he was a man of his word, so I knew he wouldn’t go back on his agreement. Secondly, that he had for some unknown reason taken on the mantle of being my personal guardian.

There wasn’t much room to move around inside this cylindrical room once Davin was inside. It was black as pitch, but fortunately both of us with our night vision could easily see in the darkness. Not that there was much to see.

“This might have been a turret or watchtower of some sort,” he said, examining the room for himself.

“How? It doesn’t have any windows or doors or way to get here from below.”

He pressed against the stone bricks with his fingertips. “There was a window at one point. See here.”

I looked closely where he was tracing a thin line that ran all the way around in a large loop.

“They bricked it over,” I remarked. “I wonder why.”

“My guess to keep trespassers like us out before they abandoned it,” he answered, scanning the entire place. “Most likely all the doors and windows were mortared up in the same manner for the same purpose.”

Abandoned. The thought and possible reasons shook me.

I winced as I looked around, not liking the cramped, closed in sensation. “You know, another thing about wolves is that we tend to suffer from claustrophobia and hate being caged up.”

Davin chuckled, still feeling his way around, testing bricks and fissures here and there. “You can wait outside for one of our new friends.”

I sniffed. “No thank you. Are we done here now?”

“If this was a tower, there must be a way downward,” he said, verbally working out the mystery to this small enclosure.

I turned around in all directions with shaking head. “If there is, it has magically disappeared.”

Davin whipped around to look at me and grinned wide. “You, my dear Irish lass, are utterly brilliant.”

“Of course, I am. Why, for the record?”

Davin pressed his fingers to the wall again, tracing every crack as if feeling for something specific. Suddenly he stopped.

“Here. See this?” he asked.

I leaned closer, but could only detect dim chips and slashes into the stone itself. “What is that?”

“Early writing,” he said, touching every mark gently.

“Ancient Pict?”

“No, this isn’t Pict. This predates any language or form of writing recorded in Irish history,” he said quietly, looking at it with awe and respect.

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