Mckennaâs never thought much of her nightmares, but on her seventeenth birthday, a vivid dream of burning at the stake awakens her dormant abilities, thrusting her into a world where faeries are real, spirits hold a grudge, and a High Priestess obsessed with a 16th-century prophecy is tracking her every move.
âNow, her overprotective dads, SeĂĄn and Andre, are forced to tell her the truthâthey know who her birth mother is, and her life is not the surrogate story sheâs âalways âbeen told. Abigail, Mckennaâs mom, is some sort of mystic, and Mckenna, a Wise One.
âWhatever the hell that means.
âWith the help of a persistent little wren and company of a newfound friend, Mckenna journeys to Ireland in search of her mother and real answers. Along the way, she learns to harness her innate magic and trust her intuition, as best she can anywayâCillian, a kind and passionate delegate âwho crosses her path, is proving much harder to read.
Only her mother could truly help her halt her ill fate and prepare her for whatâs to come... before she gives in to the darkness she knows is buried deep within.
Mckennaâs never thought much of her nightmares, but on her seventeenth birthday, a vivid dream of burning at the stake awakens her dormant abilities, thrusting her into a world where faeries are real, spirits hold a grudge, and a High Priestess obsessed with a 16th-century prophecy is tracking her every move.
âNow, her overprotective dads, SeĂĄn and Andre, are forced to tell her the truthâthey know who her birth mother is, and her life is not the surrogate story sheâs âalways âbeen told. Abigail, Mckennaâs mom, is some sort of mystic, and Mckenna, a Wise One.
âWhatever the hell that means.
âWith the help of a persistent little wren and company of a newfound friend, Mckenna journeys to Ireland in search of her mother and real answers. Along the way, she learns to harness her innate magic and trust her intuition, as best she can anywayâCillian, a kind and passionate delegate âwho crosses her path, is proving much harder to read.
Only her mother could truly help her halt her ill fate and prepare her for whatâs to come... before she gives in to the darkness she knows is buried deep within.
Bruised and battered, the young woman was dragged through
the screaming, unruly mob. Her wrists were bound behind
her by a rope as thick as the noose she now faced.
âBuidseach! Buidseach!â Witch. Witch.
âBĂ sachadh!â
Die.
She halted in front of the noose, unperturbed, for she knew
her death would end swiftly. The man who held the end of her
rope looked from her calm expression to the noose, and let out
a shrill laugh.
âA quick snap of the neck, aye, Bessie girl? You donât think
youâre getting off that easy, do you? Nah, that there isnât for
your kind.â
The ugly man, towering and troll-like, hauled her further on
like a rag doll, fi nally leading her to a pit loaded with broken
wood fragments, branches, and logs.
She was going to be burned alive.
In that instant, her body trembled with the fear she had been
trying so desperately to conceal. Of dying, noâshe knew this life
would not be her last, and she was ready to part ways with this
physical body. But she would be lying to herself if she said she
hadnât been hoping for a less painful demise.
He tightened the rope from her wrists around the wood
banister that stood erect in the centre of the pit, then secured
more rope round her ankles. âSpill your guts, now or never, buidseach,â
he spat.
The woman scanned the crowd. Foolish, blind, she thought.
They had no idea what would become of their Earth. No, she
did not regret her actions. And if she had to burn for them,
then so be it.
She held her chin up and addressed the spectators. Her voice
was steady, knowing. âThere will come a day when your fate shall
depend upon a witch such as meâand you will beg for mercy.â
The crowd cackled and spat back, simultaneously enraged
and amused. But no one laughed louder than the troll-man.
âDevil-worshipping hag.â
He lowered his torch to the base of the pit, and the flames
caught quickly. She watched them crawl towards her boots, but
her eyes were forced shut by the rising smoke. In an instant, beads
of sweat leaked like rain on her forehead, and her lungs swelled
to twice their size.
Just when she hoped she might pass out from the heat, the
flames grew larger, now licking the base of her legs. What followed
was an acute, unfathomable pain. The flames travelled higher,
higher, until they enveloped the lower half of her bodyâand she
could no longer bear the sheer agony of her skin melting away.
Abredonia Woods, Massachusetts
September 13, 1991
In the dead of night, Mckenna OâDwyerâs screams forced SeĂĄn
and Andre up and out of bed. They rushed over to their daughterâs
bedroom.
âShhh . . . sh, itâs alright, swan, youâre dreaming,â SeĂĄn said
as he stroked her hair and cradled her against his chest.
âAnother nightmare,â said Andre, trying to steady his daughterâs
shuddering body.
SeĂĄn shook her gently. âMckenna . . . Mckenna, do you hear
me? Why isnât she waking up?â
âShe seems to be in pain . . . Iâve never seen her likeââ
She let out one long, anguished cry.
âMckenna!â her dads called out. Her eyes shot open.
She was alive. How? Where was she now? When was she? Who
were those nasty people?
The clock on her nightstand read 3:04 a.m. Relief swept over
her, but only brieflyâa lump rose in the back of her throat and
rose out of her, making her sob like a colicky baby.
Andre squeezed her hand. âItâs alright, Mckenna. Oh, geez,
youâre drenched . . .â
âIâIâm h-h-hot . . .â
âYouâre okay.â SeĂĄn rocked her. âItâs your birthday, swan,
you know that? Itâs your birthday . . .â He said this as though
it mattered, as though it would make her forget somehow. As
though her skin werenât just been crawling with flames.
âHappy birthday, Mckenna,â Andre whispered.
But all she wanted to do was weep.
The High Priestessâs arm was growing tired. Sheâd been dangling
her gold chain over the globe for nearly three hours, her faithful
stone secured at the end of it, sweeping steadily over every continent,
country, city. Carved from an ancient Irish stone, Misgaun
Medb, the pendantâs magnetic power could draw in whatever the
bearer pleased.
Except her.
The High Priestess felt Pravadiâs eyes on her. âWonât you at
least let me light the fire?â
âNo. No fire.â The Priestess wasnât fond of them. âYouâre
sure itâs today?â
âYes,â said Pravadi. âWhen has a vision of mine ever
been false?â
The minute hand shifted. At 3:04 a.m., the log in the fireplace
sparked a solo flame, making the Priestess start. A warning
from the salamanders? She shuddered at the thought, and the
stone grazed the globeâs surfaceâonly for a second. Then like a
magnet, it shot past Canada and affixed onto an eastern region
in the United States. âThere you are,â the High Priestess said, her
mouth twisted in satisfaction.
Pravadi lowered her square spectacles on the bridge of her
nose. âSheâs just turned of age,â said Pravadi, keenly. âI knew my
vision wasnât mistaken.â
The Priestess didnât mind her gloating. She leaned back,
revelling in the stoneâs powers. The finest point of the stone was
pinned onto a small town in MassachusettsâAbredonia Woods.
She had been waiting a long time to locate the girl, known as
the Wise One. Too long.
âWhat about Abigail, the girlâs mother?â Pravadi said.
âPerhaps now the stone can track her, too, and we can be done
with it.â
The High Priestess rolled her eyes, wondering how a seer
could be so forgetful. âThe spell Abigail cast when her child was
born protects her from being traced by anyone other than the
Wise One. She is our only hope.â
âAnd if the Wise One finds her before the first Scottish Scroll
is fulfilled? And once she does, if they both disappear . . .?â
Really, she should get a head scan. âMy protĂ©gĂ© will see to
it that the Wise One fulfills the first Scroll before she locates her
mother, then will keep them both close âtil I step in. And so shall
it be,â she said with longing, imagining the hour the Scottish
Scrolls would be fulfilled.
âAnd if there are delays? We have untilââ
âI ken our deadline,â the High Priestess snapped. âHave
faith,â she said mostly to herself as she tied the chain back
around her neck.
In a world torn apart by violence and environmental distress, magic may be the only hope to stitch it back together. Fair-skinned, auburn haired Mckenna OâDwyer is not an average teenager; the child of a surrogate living with her Black American and white Irish dads in rural Massachusetts, her life is anything but normal. But, when she learns about her Irish dadâs past and that her mother is real, her world spins out of control. Feeling betrayed and desperate for answers, Mckenna runs away with her newfound friend Nissa, crossing the Atlantic and finding her way back to her roots through a series of serendipitous events.
After disembarking in Dublin, Mckenna and Nissa meet Cillian, a young Irish delegate working to bridge the divide between Northern Ireland and the Republic. Cillian offers to transport Mckenna and Nissa across the border and, though they are wary of the offer, the girls decide to trust him. On their journey, Mckenna and Nissa learn important lessons about themselves and each other, viewing the world from a different angle from that which they have always done. As the truth comes to light, the three enhance their bond.
Ireland at Samhain is a perfect backdrop to this story, released just in time for Halloween. Ghosts, magic, and reincarnation are pervasive themes throughout this story, converging in 1991 while tensions between Northern Ireland and the Republic were running high. Multiple storylines create a dense tableau and entwine easily despite the overall complexity of the narrative. Otherwise improbable events are acceptably explained away by magic in order to allow the plot to advance uninhibited. Readers will build a strong affection for each of the featured relationships in the story, anxiously waiting for them to converge and resolve. Mckennaâs upbringing is rare among young adult novels, inviting consideration of what love can look like.
The book flows easily, capturing readersâ attention from beginning to end. Occasional profanity appears in the text, and the romance is merely suggestive. Much like a young adult version of A Discovery of Witches, this story expertly blends the folklore of the Celtic people with present-day life. This book is highly recommended to readers who enjoy young adult literature and the magical landscape of Ireland.
Grades 9-12