The Goddess Chronicles Books 1-3: An Urban Fantasy Boxed Set (The Goddess Chronicles Boxsets) by KB Anne

Author:KB Anne [Anne, KB]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gripping Tales
Published: 2020-02-09T05:00:00+00:00

The fresh morning air of Ireland fills me with energy. It normally takes me two or three espressos made from the dregs of the carafe at the Quikmart to feel so awake. As we walk across the grass, the largest tree I’ve ever seen sprawls across the field. It’s long-reaching branches touch the earth, the sky, and the horizon. Several scraps of paper fly into my hand. All I need to do is make a fist to catch them.

“What is that tree?” I ask in wonder.

Dad rests his hand on my shoulder. “That, dear Gigi, is Brigit’s Tree. Pagans and Christian’s alike flock to the tree every year and ask for Brigit’s favor in blessing them.”

I open the worn notes I caught.

“Dearest Brigit, please honor me with a baby. I promise to be a loving and caring mother. Love, Amy.”

“Brigit, Goddess of Fertility, please bless my child now and always with your love and protection. Dedicated to you always, Jen.”

Amorin rests his warm hands beneath mine as I cradle the wishes. “Brigit is the Goddess of Fertility of Land, Animals, and People. Women pray to her for assistance in pregnancy and childbirth or for the blessing of fertility.”

“So I’ve heard,” I whisper. A new yoke of pressure forms on my shoulders. Any more and my neck will snap.

Suddenly, a warm breeze envelops me. The scent of lavender and lemongrass pervade it. A small purple butterfly dances on the breeze. Leaving my troubles behind, I skip across the field after it. The ground bounces with my every step, inviting me to join in on the fun, but all too soon, hard, unforgiving stone replaces the softness, and I find myself in what must be the ruins. Tall, lichen-covered, tumbledown stone walls surround me. A fleeting sense of déjà vu leaves me with the irresistible urge to pull up a particular carved flat brown stone in the floor, but it’s something I must do by myself.

“Is there something you remember?” Dad asks, hunching over to catch his breath. Amorin trails in a few seconds later.

“No, nothing. I was trying to catch the butterfly.”

Sadness fills his eyes, but I don’t want to give him false hope. I am not Brigit. There are merely things I know.

Heavy footsteps stomp behind me. Amorin’s and Dad’s eyes round. For a fleeting moment, I’m terrified it’s Clayone, but then I realize it’s the middle of the day, and we’re in the new moon phase. Turning cautiously, I find myself face to face with a large hairy brown cow. I stumble backward in shock. The cow follows me, getting close enough that I can see air steam out of its nostrils. Close enough that its long pink tongue sticks out and licks my face.

“Ewww, gross!”

The only reply I receive is, “Mooooooo,” before getting another sloppy sandpaper kiss from a second cow who appears before me.

Dad and Amorin have a right jolly chuckle.

“Gigi, Brigit had two pet cows that followed her everywhere during her time at Kildare. Through the many years of turmoil and assault on the Cathedral, descendants of the cows have remained.

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