B00JX4CVBU EBOK by Peter Joison

boy, would that be dumb. No, we stand next to the well and tune into the power of the water spreading across the land, we think of the place we need to go, then zip, we’re there.’
    ‘Magic.’
    ‘Bloody hell, Turner. Magic is pulling a rabbit out of a hat. This is listening, connecting and using the living Earth. And given who we are it’s really just the Earth using the Earth. In this case we’re just blood cells using the arteries. Magic. I spit on your magic.’
    Turner held up his hands. ‘OK. I get it. You girls are supernatural beings who aren’t witches, and use elemental powers which aren’t magic.’
    ‘Yes, exactly. And don’t forget it.’
    ‘I won’t. It’s all … hey do you feel that?’ The air in the well seemed to coalesce around Turner’s neck. He felt as if a train was approaching down a tunnel, or a large wave was about to break.
    ‘Let’s get out. Move,’ said Celeste.
    ‘Why? What’s hap …’ but the rest of his sentence was cut short as Celeste grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the well.
    Once outside in the sunlight again, Celeste said, ‘Usually we have a bit of warning …’ She looked at Turner, her eyes wide, ‘Someone’s coming.’
    *
    From where Turner stood he could see into the well. Out of nowhere, without any great flash of light or swirling purple mist, two women appeared by the central pool of water.
    Turner grinned widely. Transporter beams! In spite of himself he was becoming more and more intrigued with this whole supernatural setup. As long as there weren’t any more bloody monsters, he was almost willing to see where this Ring thing went.
    The women both took a deep breath and looked around. Dressed in long gowns and golden hooded cloaks they had a medieval air about them. When they turned Turner could see one looked older than the other, but both were striking. Rich red hair flowed from beneath the younger woman’s hood, while a thin headband of gold bound the older woman’s long braided silver hair. Turner felt she looked almost regal. 
    ‘Mother Torhild! Aunt Sigrid!’ said Celeste.
    ‘Celeste’, said the younger woman softly to the elder.
    The older woman stepped forward to embrace Celeste. ‘Aye, of course. Celeste. Spirit of the Wickerwell Vordene.’ Turner found the woman’s Scottish accent almost musical. The woman stepped back. ‘We heard, felt really of course, about poor little Lani. How is she? I’ve come to lend a hand if I can. The Healing you know.’
    ‘Oh, Mother Torhild, that’s so good of you’, said Celeste.
    Mother Torhild looked around. ‘Yes, it’s nice to—.’ Her gaze settled on Turner and the colour drained from her face. ‘Sigrid,’ she said to the younger woman.
    Sigrid lowered her hood, her gaze on Turner. ‘I feel it Mother Torhild. It’s … Is he?’
    ‘A human Ring,’ finished Mother Torhild.
    Turner shifted from one foot to the other, aware of the three sets of eyes on him.
    ‘Oh my stars, oh my stars.’ The old woman grasped the arm of Sigrid for support, as if she was about to collapse. ‘Now? Oh dear. How?’
    Turner glanced at Celeste who looked just as puzzled as he felt.
    ‘Mother Torhild!’ ‘Aunt Sigrid!’ came voices from behind them. The other girls strode down the stone steps.
    ‘I told you I felt her,’ said Brooke to Skye. ‘I said …’ but she stopped short when she saw the state of Mother Torhild, and the worried looks on the other faces.
    Celeste stepped to the other side of Mother Torhild and took her arm. ‘Let’s get you up to the house, Mother. A nice cup of tea will help I’m sure.’
    Mother Torhild looked at Celeste; she was shaking and there were tears in her eyes. ‘Tea? Yes I suppose so. And after tea we can discuss the imminent end of the …’
    ‘Sorry, Mother,’ said Sigrid, ‘I didn’t catch the last thing you said.’
    Mother Torhild looked around at the others, before her gaze rested squarely on Turner. A solitary tear ran down her cheek.