Goddess Rising

by Alisha Ashton

  Latharn was present now. She could hear his familiar voice as he and Taran stood close by and debated whether she was evil. She caught words that she knew damned well translated to ‘witch’ and ‘fairy.’ It wounded her heart to hear Taran’s obvious role in leading the charges. Part of her instinctively wanted to run to him and find comfort in his arms. Unfortunately, she knew that it was not safe to approach him. Any sudden movements toward Taran would result in a bloody and possibly fatal altercation.

  In stark contrast to the mixture of tension, fear, and anger radiating from the other faoil, she could sense Ciaran still crouched at her side – a calming presence gently wiping her brow with a cool rag. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and peered up at him from beneath her lashes. Despite the varying degrees of distrust directed at her by the others, she found that Ciaran had been tending to her while she was unconscious. Taran was casting repeated worried glances over at his brother. He clearly had not approved of Ciaran’s decision to provide her with aid.

  Ciaran’s touches were surprisingly soft and caring. Not that he was incapable of being tender, he was just usually more interested in ‘shagging her senseless’ and ‘worshipping her body.’ In that moment, he showed no interest in her nudity whatsoever. That alone might have been the most bewildering thing about this whole experience so far.

  Her eyes were working fine again, thankfully, and many other wounds had closed, but her body was still struggling to heal the last of the damage it had endured. Ciaran was carefully cleaning and putting some sort of salve on a sizable burn on her side, just below her bare breast. His eyes never once strayed from the task to appreciate just how hard her nipples were as a result of the cold air. His full lips were utterly devoid of any hint of a mischievous smile. She was officially in Bizarro World.

  Skye studied Ciaran’s features for a moment. His face was the same, but there was something so incredibly different about him. He was quieter, more intense. His gaze carried a solemn sorrow. His typically- bright, crystalline, blue eyes were dull. They did not shine with their usual life and energy. Seeking out the cause, she reached out to him through their link, only to find the path blocked. Her brows drew together in confusion. The trail between their souls that she treaded daily – the one that had already been in place the first time they met – was inexplicably overgrown and impassable. The unexpected loss of their connection left her breathless and shaken.

  Sensing her staring at him, Ciaran met her gaze. She smiled at him warmly. He smiled shyly in response and, much to her astonishment, actually blushed. He turned to the task of rinsing the rag as a means of avoiding eye contact.

  Skye reached out and rested her hand on his forearm. She waited for him to cautiously meet her gaze again. “Thank you, Ciaran,” she whispered softly in Gaelic and was glad he had taught her how to say at least that much.

  Upon seeing that Skye was awake and touching his brother, Taran shouted commandingly and motioned for him to come away. Ciaran grudgingly stood and moved to his brother’s side. He spoke softly and, after the span of a sentence or two, Skye heard him repeat the words she had just said in Gaelic. The other men all exchanged surprised looks. They immediately turned to her, all asking questions that she had no hope of understanding.

  “Well, that backfired,” she groaned. She shook her head, waving her hands in what she hoped was a universal sign for a negative reply. “No. Look, I don’t speak your language,” she insisted, but they kept at it. All of them jabbered questions at her until she finally growled in frustration. Channeling the modern-day version of Taran she knew and loved, she did her best impression of the way he would shout, “SILENCE!” in Gaelic when his brothers were too rowdy.

  They all quickly settled down in response.

  She was surprised to find herself winded by that tiny outburst. It was taking a seriously long time to recover her strength. “See?” she laughed breathlessly before wiping sweat from her brow with a shaky hand. “I knew it was important to remember how to say, ‘shut up.’ It was bound to come in handy.”

  Latharn took a cautious step closer to her, asking a question before repeating the words she had used in their language so far.

  “Right, I know a little…” She held up her hand, putting her thumb a fraction of an inch away from her pointer finger. “A little bit, but most definitely not enough to hold a conversation.” Taking a deep breath, she looked around for something to use to hoist herself up onto her feet. Her muscles were not steady enough to allow her to get up on her own.

  Ciaran said something to Taran quietly in an imploring tone, drawing Skye’s attention. She watched as he spoke softly to his brother, watched Taran fight to maintain his harsh glower. Ciaran pressed on, motioning over to Skye as he spoke. After a moment, Taran’s jaw flexed and he inhaled slowly through his nose. Skye recognized that look. It was the Taran’s-about-to-give-in look. While casting Skye a suspicious, threatening glare, Taran grudgingly conceded. As an afterthought, he spoke a few sharp words of warning – likely stipulations to his agreement.

  Ciaran nodded before turning and approaching Skye. She watched in surprise as he bent down to assist her. As carefully as possible, he placed his arm behind her back and helped her stand.

  “Thank you,” she said again, a bit thunderstruck by his continued tender care.

  Once she was upright, Ciaran slowly released his hold on her. Before taking a step away, he waited for her indication that she was all right to stand on her own. In a soft tone, he asked a question and pointed to a few places on her body that were still wounded. She smiled adoringly when she realized that he was asking permission to treat the rest of her injuries.

  “God, you’re adorable like this,” she sighed. “Yeah. Knock yourself out,” she said and motioned for him to go ahead.

  While he got to work cleaning her wounds and applying the salve, she turned her attention back to the suspicious glares of the other men. Taran was very obviously contemplating killing her right then, just on the off chance that she posed a threat to Ciaran. She had never been on the receiving end of a murderous look from her mate before. It was far too terrifying to be sexy. Just the idea of being near this version of Taran did not sit well with her. Her unease was due to more than the whole rather-decidedly-NOT-erotic choking session he had put her through. It was just completely unnerving to even look at him. His face was the same, but the eyes behind it belonged to a violent, unpredictable stranger. Her mind chose that precise moment to unhelpfully recall the mind-fuck scene in that Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake where Leatherface cut off the boyfriend's face and wore it like a Kemper mask…

  Bleh! Thanks a lot, brain! she thought bitterly. She visibly cringed at the memory and had to give herself a mental and physical shake before attempting to speak.

  “Okay. Now, I know none of you guys are going to understand me, but I just need to say this out loud so that I can hear myself going crazy,” she began. Taking a deep breath, she held up her arms and announced, “I am from the future!” Predictably, she only received vacant expressions in response to that earthshattering declaration. “Right? I know. Crazy!” she laughed a bit hysterically as she rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes. “But there it is. I don’t have time to deal with this. I didn’t think my situation could even get any worse than it already was. I have a MILLION other fucking problems to deal with, yet I somehow managed to blast myself back 4,000 years to a time where Taran over there wants to mount my head on the wall,” she said, pointing over at him and getting a dangerous scowl in reply. “And Ciaran here is more interested in being my nurse than ‘playing doctor’ with me. Freaky, isn’t it?”

  Upon hearing his name again, Ciaran glanced up at her. He frowned at the frustration he found in her features and thought for a moment. Finally, he set down the rag and salve and pressed his hand to his chest. “Ciaran,” he said purposefully before pointing to her and waiting.

  She nodded in understanding of the question. Placing her hand on her chest, she answered, “
Skye.”

  “Skye,” he repeated very carefully, squinting as if asking whether he had gotten it right.

  She smiled and nodded in approval.

  “Skye,” Ciaran said again with more confidence. The right side of his deliciously plump top lip curled upward in one of his familiar, self-satisfied smiles. A second later, he bit his bottom lip (in that terribly distracting way) and tried to figure out how to ask his next question. She could not understand a word he said but watched carefully when he motioned to his clothing. With eyes averted and a blush tinging his cheeks, he inclined his head to her current nudity.

  “Oh!” she breathed in realization.

  She looked down and noted that he had needed to remove what was left of her clothes to treat her wounds. She was standing bare-assed naked and completely unabashed in front of everyone. Being nude in front of her clansmen had become such a regular occurrence in her life, she barely noticed it anymore. This young, shy version of Ciaran was apparently all-too aware of her nakedness, though. Who’s the ‘prudish pup’ now? she thought in amusement.

  “Umm… yeah. Sure,” she agreed with a nod and smile.

  She watched in interest as he removed a few outer layers of his clothing. Lastly, he pulled off a weathered, suede, tunic-style garment over his head. She smiled and licked her lips involuntarily at the welcomed sight of his bare chest and stomach. As always, regardless of the current millennium, Ciaran had the most kissable, flawlessly-pale skin.

  She failed to notice the way Eògan, Ailean, and Drostan each exchanged amused looks off in the distance at her reaction to their brother’s body.

  Free of his shirt, Ciaran looked up and caught her eyes raking hungrily over his form. His expression was unmistakably embarrassed as he awkwardly offered the piece of clothing to her.

  “Man, you’re trying to put clothes on me? This is definitely new,” Skye laughed, but inclined her head in appreciation as she took the garment.

  With slow, labored movements and a bit of assistance from Ciaran, she managed to slide it down over her body. She inhaled deeply to appreciate the welcomed familiarity of Ciaran’s warm scent against her skin.

  Taran – who had been grumbling this entire time – began demanding something over and over. Ciaran answered his disgruntled brother in a calming tone before addressing Skye again. Ciaran pointed around the cave in confusion as he spoke, then back to her.

  “Duuuddee,” she groaned in exasperation and let her head roll back. “What do you want me to tell you, Ciaran? There’s no hand signal for ‘I dropped out of thin air’ or ‘I accidentally spelled myself back in time because I am an utter failure in all things magical.’ You guys won’t exactly get the reference if I draw a DeLorean for you.”

  Ciaran tilted his head to the side, studying her features in a mixture of curiosity and patience, but he clearly did not have the faintest idea of what she was saying.

  Skye rung her hands as she tried to come up with something. If only she could use a link to one of them… But her link to Ciaran was inexplicably out of commission and she had not yet recovered enough power to even attempt to clear the path. She had connected with others in the past during times of heightened emotions, but those had been flukes. Besides, she was out of power at the moment. She could not rely on her own abilities to reach out to them. Even her link to Aodh – if he was even around, since she had yet to see him – depended on her being the one ‘making the call’ so to speak.

  “If Drostan and I could connect, then maybe he could…” she muttered under her breath before her eyes went wide. “Wait, that’s it! I need Drostan!”

  Ciaran stared at her in surprise before turning to speak with the others. After a bit of concerned muttering, Latharn turned and called out for Drostan to come over to them.

  Skye could not help but smile as she watched her Maker approaching along with Ailean and Eògan.

  “What does she want with me?” Drostan asked suspiciously. He had overheard her saying his name but had not caught the conversation leading up to it.

  Skye, wholly oblivious to the meaning of their words, continued closely monitoring their facial expressions, mannerisms, and tones to try and get an idea of what was being said.

  “I have no idea,” Ciaran replied. “She cannot speak our language – only just barely manages a few words and even those are scarcely recognizable. She speaks with a very strange, very thick accent. I have tried every dialect I know, but she does not recognize any of them. And I do not recognize her words in the least.”

  “Okay, then. So, it was your suggestion to use me? You want me to try to reach her mind?” Drostan concluded.

  “No…” Latharn answered in realization. He and the others exchanged surprised looks. “Truth be told, that had not crossed our minds as a possible solution.”

  “Then why did you summon me?” Drostan asked in confusion.

  “She asked for you herself, brother,” Taran said, making no efforts to hide his displeasure. “By name. Without any of us using it in front of her beforehand.”

  “Really?” Drostan breathed in wonder and set out to approach the mysterious girl. He paused when Taran caught his arm.

  “Mind yourself,” Taran warned gravely. “We do not know who or what she is. For all we know, she was left here by the wicked druids. The guise of a wounded, beautiful, young girl would be clever enough bait to lure any one of us to our demise. Be wary.”

  Drostan nodded and, once his arm was free, walked over to her.

  “She has relayed her name. She is called Skye. And… she is not just a girl…” Ciaran said quietly. “She is one of us.”

  Taran’s eyes widened in astonishment at his brother’s claim.

  “Impossible,” Latharn declared.

  “She cannot be,” Ailean insisted.

  “And yet, she is,” Ciaran affirmed. He made a point of directly meeting each of their gazes to convey the truth of his words. “She has been weakened and greatly wounded by an attack of some kind. It is the reason I, too, failed to perceive the wolf in her at first. But I can assure you, this girl is as much a changeling as any one of us.”

  Taking all of this into consideration, Drostan stood before her and inclined his head in awkward greeting. The strange girl smiled fondly and babbled in a foreign language for a moment before greeting him by name.

  “Skye, is it?” Drostan asked and smiled when she nodded. “Why did you wish to see me?” he asked with what he hoped were clear facial expressions to convey his curiosity. He was eager to see whether her thoughts had matched his own and taken the next logical step in solving their language barrier. If so, it would lead to the concerning question of how she knew of his gift.

  Skye gave him a baffled look, as if the answer was obvious. She spoke her strange language for a moment before pointing to her head, then to his, then back again.

  Swallowing hard, Drostan turned back to his kin. “Brothers… she knows I have the sight.”

  “How could she possibly know?” Ailean asked.

  Taran snarled before muttering under his breath, “A spy sent to us by Brandubh, no doubt. She is likely a witch, Latharn. We should restrain her and keep our distance.”

  Latharn held up a hand to silence his ever-vigilant Warrior Lord. Taking Taran’s concerns into consideration, Latharn addressed Drostan. “Do you sense anything amiss about her? Anything at all? Be certain in your reply – I do not want you to try to connect with her if you think it dangerous.”

  Drostan studied Skye’s eyes for a long moment before shaking his head. “There is nothing. And it is just as Ciaran says – she is very weak and injured, but yes, she is most definitely one of our kind.”

  In response to his confirmation of Ciaran’s claim, the other men all exchanged shocked looks.

  “Then who is her Maker?” Latharn demanded. “Someone has broken our laws. I shall see them severely punished.”

  “I will try to find that out, if it is safe to do so,” Drostan replied distractedly as he press
ed on with his preliminary reading of her energies. A moment later, he turned and said, “My instinct is that she is safe. I do not know why, but my wolf trusts her completely.”

  “Very well,” Latharn sighed. “I shall defer to your judgment in this. Take care, though. Shield your thoughts from her in case it is as Taran suspects.”

  Having understood the gist of their conversation, Skye held her hands out for Drostan, palms up, and waited expectantly. Drostan frowned at that. She seemed to be all-too familiar with his methods. Cautiously, he placed his hands over hers and allowed their skin to touch.

  He immediately gasped in pained surprise and recoiled when her thoughts exploded into his mind, overpowering him with their intensity. Reading the thoughts of others typically took a great deal of effort, he needed to seek them out. That was not the case with this girl. Instead of trying to go in and retrieve her thoughts, the instant he made the connection she seemed to broadcast them directly into his mind.

  The other men all called out in concern for him, but Drostan waved that he was unharmed.

  With her hands tightly tucked back against her body, Skye asked something nervously. When Drostan met her gaze, he found that her expression was one of sincere concern and remorse.

  “She is not deliberately trying to harm me,” Drostan assured his brothers. “She is just… so very, very strong, even in her weakened state. She has the gift, as well.” Turning his attention back fully to Skye, he held up his hands imploringly and spoke in a gentle tone. “Slowly. Slowly, now,” he urged as he reached out for her again.

  Skye bit her bottom lip and nodded, though she was clearly afraid to touch him. Taking a steadying breath, she allowed him to bring their hands together.

  Images sprang to life in Drostan’s mind and he gripped her hands tightly to anchor himself.

  A strange land, foreign in every possible way…

  ‘City’… her mind provided in response to his confusion…

  ‘Philadelphia’…