Year One (Chronicles of the One, #1)

by Nora Roberts

It is the still, small voice that the soul heeds, not the deafening blasts of doom. —William Dean Howells

The MacLeod farm, passed from father to son for more than two hundred years, spread for more than eighty hectares. Hugh loved it nearly as much as he did his wife, children, and grandchildren.

Often, on dark nights, they’d crept out of the house to hike to the very field they walked now, to hold secret meetings and try to raise the spirits within the little stone circle the locals called sgiath de solas, shield of light.

Though on one midnight adventure, when even the air held its breath, Ross swore he’d felt a dark presence, heard its rustling wings, even smelled its foul breath.

“The shield would be broken, the fabric torn, by the blood of the Tuatha de Danann. So now the end and the grief, the strife and the fear—the beginning and the light. I ne’er thought to live for it.”

“So now between the birth and the death of time, power rises—both the dark and the light—from the long slumber. Now begins the blood-soaked battle between them. And with the lightning and a mother’s birth pangs comes The One who wields the sword. The graves are many, with yours the first. The war is long, with no ending writ.” Pity moved over her face as her voice thinned again, as her eyes cleared. “But there’s no blame in it, and blessings will come as magicks long shadowed breathe again. There can be joy after the tears.”

CHAPTER THREE By the end of the first week of January, the reported death count topped a million. The World Health Organization declared a pandemic spreading with unprecedented speed. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention identified it as a new strain of avian influenza, one that spread with human-to-human contact. But no one could explain why the birds tested showed no signs of infection. None of the chickens, turkeys, geese, pheasants, or quail—confiscated or captured within a hundred-kilometer radius of the MacLeod farm—revealed any infection. But the people—the MacLeod family in Scotland, their neighbors, the villagers—died in droves. That detail the WHO, the CDC, and the NIH kept under tight wraps. In the scramble for vaccines, distribution ran through complex and maddening loops. Delays incited rioting, looting, violence. It didn’t matter, as the vaccines proved as ineffective as the fraudulent cures selling briskly on the Internet. Across the globe, heads of state urged calm and called for order, promised assistance, spoke of policies. Schools closed, countless businesses locked their doors as people were urged to limit contact with others. The sale of surgical masks, gloves, over-the-counter and prescription flu remedies, bleach, and disinfectants soared. It wouldn’t help. Tony Parsoni could’ve told them, but he died in the same hospital bed as his mother-in-law less than seventy-two hours after her. Plastic barriers, latex gloves, surgical masks? The Doom...

us. I don’t know why.” “There is no why. It’s just—” Arlys let out a stifled scream, stumbled back. “It’s just a rat,” Fred told her as it scuttled away from the light. “There are lots of them down here. Don’t worry. You don’t have to be afraid of rats.”

How about we try for the Pennsylvania border? You need to stop sooner, blink your lights, or when the sun’s up, honk.” “Safety in numbers,” Rachel added.

When they finally crossed into Pennsylvania, Chuck pumped a fist in the air, let out a “Woot!”

“But you think Bill will come with us?” “He’s having a hard time with it, but, yes, I think he will. He’s got a truck—four-wheel drive—and he and Jonah are working on fixing a tarp across the bed.

And reminded himself that Eric was young, and had been pampered by their parents as a surprise, somewhat-late-in-their-lives baby.

Max rose when Will came in with a man obviously his father. Same jawline, same eyes. Max gripped Will’s hand. “You found him, just like you said you would.” “Yeah. Dad, this is Max and Lana. They helped me get here.” Bill Anderson didn’t shake hands but took Max, then Lana, into bear hugs. “Anything you need, anytime. You gave me my boy back.” “With or without us, he wouldn’t have stopped.”

“To make the Savior is your fate. Life out of death, light out of dark. To save the Savior is your fate. Life out of death, light out of dark.”

“Power demands sacrifice to reach its terrible balance. It calls for blood and tears, and still it feeds on love and joy. You, son of the Tuatha de Danann, have lived before, will live again. You, sire of the Savior, sire of The One, embrace the moments and hold them dear, as moments are fleeting and finite. But life and light, the power of what will come, the legacy within, are infinite.”

And the light shineth in the darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not. —John 1:5

“Something’s coming. It all changes. Something’s coming. It always was. Something’s coming. It ends. It begins.”

But take heart! You are not alone! Have Faith! Have Courage!

“Into yours on the windswept night. And lightning heralds the birth of The One. Will you teach her to ride, and think she was born knowing? I teach her the old ways, what I can, but she has so much more. Safe, time out of time, while the dark rages. Until in the Book of Spells, in the Well of Light she takes her

sword and shield. And with the rise of magicks she takes her place. She will risk all to fulfill her destiny, this precious child of the Tuatha de Danann. For this she grows in me, for this she comes into your hands.” She’d gone very pale, and now reached an unsteady hand for her water glass.