Goddess Rising

by Alisha Ashton

  Skye struggled to draw a breath when he reached out to fondle her breasts experimentally. He smiled and pursed his lips in approval before reaching around behind her to grab a handful of her ass. He pulled her against him and looked down into her eyes expectantly.

  Skye’s lips trembled when she recognized that look. It was clear in its demand: Please me. He expected her to fulfill a role. She struggled to overcome the urge to knee him in the sack, shove him off her, and recoil from his touch. Instead, she took a steadying breath, stuck out her chin, held his gaze, and set her jaw determinedly. She somehow managed to stand her ground, but it was only due to a healthy dose of self-preservation instincts.

  She was currently standing amid a tribal culture sometime around 2,000 BC. (In the… Neolithic era? Or wait, was it the Bronze Age by this point? Why had she never asked for more details about the clan’s early days?!) In this world, she was completely out of her element. She was uncertain of the rules. Fighting off or denying Taran after announcing that he had claim over her might have painful, or possibly even fatal consequences. She could not guarantee her safety were she to break his face or deny him, but there was no way she could bring herself to initiate anything with him. It felt like cheating. This man was residing in Taran’s body, but aside from that, he was a complete stranger.

  Her heart clenched with sadness. This arrogant, young, Pictish Warrior Lord was a piss-poor substitute for the ancient, commanding faol she loved.

  Oh God, he is not my King. I want my KING, she sobbed in her mind when he kissed her mouth roughly and lifted her off her feet. She closed her eyes and focused on keeping her tears at bay when he lowered her onto the ground and covered her body with his own.

  The next few minutes of her life were filled with the most unenjoyable, one-sided sexual encounter she had endured since escaping the fògaraich. It was all in the way he touched and groped her – the way he took what he wanted from her body with no regard for what she might want. There was no affection or connection. It was just a stranger’s partially nude body invading her own. The rutting and sweating and heavy breathing were so impersonal and pornographic it turned her stomach. Bile rose in the back of her throat and she squeezed her eyes closed tighter, just praying for it to be over already.

  He did not intentionally harm her as her former captors once had. He did, however, pay no mind to the injuries from which she was still struggling to recover. The combined overwhelming unease and pain she experienced during the act fractured the carefully constructed partitions in her mind. It brought back a flood of unwanted memories and terror. It allowed some of the madness to seep through.

  When he was finished, he simply caught his breath, climbed off her, stood, fixed his clothing, and then… left. He made no effort at all to communicate with her verbally. Hell, he did not even offer a hand to help her stand up.

  Skye had no idea how long she remained there on her back just the way he left her, staring blindly up at the cavern ceiling. Something inside her began to disconnect from reality in an all-to familiar fashion. She felt like she was falling.

  Move, an infinitesimal spark of her mind whispered pleadingly. It sought to tap into her internal reserve of strength – the one she could always count on in the face of trauma. The primal flame of her fierce will to survive. Get up, the fading spark urged. But there was no strength left to give. The fire inside had gone cold.

  She could not bring herself to move. She could not bring herself to cover up. She could barely force herself to breathe or blink. She felt hollowed out. Used up and discarded like trash. It was the last straw. The last injury that broke her ordinarily-steely resolve. Even she could only carry so much. Everything she had been through in the past few weeks settled upon her like the weight of the world: the nightmares, the sleep deprivation, the battles, the numerous uses of her power, the argument with Ciaran, the weight of the secret of his lineage, the hallucinations, watching Ciaran die (albeit temporarily) by her hand, being captured by the Droch-draoidh, their torture, the time travel, and now – to top it all off – this?

  THIS?!

  From Taran, of all people?

  Her mind recoiled in horror at the feeling of utter betrayal. She fought to remind herself that there had been none. That effort did very little to strengthen her tenuous grip on her sanity, but it was crucial that she remember: This man was not her Taran.

  This man is NOT my Taran. At that thought, her eyes filled with tears. Her lips trembled and she fought to breathe past a strangled sob. This stranger could not betray her. He held no love for her and had no knowledge or interest in her history of surviving innumerable tortures and assaults. Besides, his actions had not been rape. She had declared that they were in a Trinity together – he took that as open invitation. She had not fought him off or denied him. He clearly thought of the act as something to which he was entitled. In his eyes, he had been laying claim to his property, consummating the union, marking his territory.

  So, no, the act was not a physical rape. It damned sure felt like an emotional and mental one, though.

  If the urgency of finding a way back to her own time had not been apparent before their encounter, it was inescapably clear to her now. Her breathing grew faster by the second as she felt for the first time how terribly far from home she truly was. What if she could never go back? What if she was trapped here forever? She had seen enough sci-fi flicks in her life to warrant some very serious space-time continuum concerns. What if, just by being here, she was rewriting the future? What if her Taran no longer existed because of her presence in this time?

  She tried to get herself under control, but she was already hyperventilating as the tears rained down her face. Arrogant. Immature. Apathetic. Egotistical. Stubborn. Selfish. Her King had used these words to describe his younger self in past discussions. He had assured her that she would not have liked the man he was in his early years as a faol. Skye wished he had been exaggerating.

  She closed her eyes and wept as she prayed that her King never needed to know about this. The entire thing was an affront to all he stood for. It undermined all his painstaking work to ensure she always felt safe and cherished in his arms.

  I want to go home. The thought was repeating in her mind like a mantra. It was childish and naïve in its desperate yearning. It paid no heed to the dangers or hardships such a thing would entail. It simply wanted. In her dazed, detached mental state, a want was more than enough to warrant action.

  Her eyes began sliding over every inch of the cavern ceiling, wondering why she had arrived in this location. She was in a cave, but was it the same cave? It looked very different from the one she had escaped. The ceilings were incredibly high – roughly the equivalent of 6 stories tall, but they were not as high as the 12 story ceilings she remembered. There had been a gaping hole there in her time, leaving it open to the sky above. No such hole was present here. Trees and plants had grown on the cave floor in her time, and no river flowed there as it did in this place.

  Undeterred by the mounting list of differences, Skye continued inspecting her surroundings for clues. Her gut instincts already knew the answer, she just needed to find confirmation. She exhaled sharply when she found what she was searching for. High up on a wall was a jagged section of strangely colored rocks. She immediately recognized it as the focal point she had used during the Droch-draoidh’s torture. This was the same cave, just 4,000 years younger. So, she had been dropped into the exact location she left… Her eyes wandered to the center of the river. Maybe the door worked both ways?

  In a daze, she stiffly climbed to her feet. With her eyes trained on the water, she walked along the river’s edge. She did not stop until she reached an outcropping of rock that jutted out 30 feet above the water’s surface.

  The decision was clear. At least, as clear as it could be in her current state of post-traumatic breakdown. She had to try to get home. It might not work, but she would not know unless she tried.

  20: Time After Time

 
Ciaran entered the cavern chamber carrying several sacks full of supplies. He was unsurprised by the scent of sex in the air – it had been obvious what Taran was after when he asked for the time alone with Skye. What did surprise Ciaran, however, was the state in which he found her. He frowned deeply upon seeing her standing way up high on the outcropping.

  “Skye…?” he called worriedly. An instant later, his eyes widened in realization. Cold dread washed over him. He could sense her intentions somehow. He could also feel that somewhere, deep down inside, she knew that this was not safe for her to attempt. A part of her had accepted that she might die in this effort, but she had deemed it an acceptable risk.

  Just before she closed her eyes and took that last step over the edge, Ciaran dropped everything and broke into a dead run. He watched as she hit the surface of the water and quickly vanished into its black depths. His panic soared, and he dove into the frigid water after her without thought. He could feel her power swirling there instantly. It was like being struck by lightning. He knew that Skye was attempting to use her magic to return to her own time, but something was not right. He could sense that she was giving it everything she had, she just did not have much of anything to give. It was not working the way she had hoped.

  Even at its current vastly diminished level, the glow of her magic and the way it called to his blood made it easy to find her. The instant he was within reach, he wrapped his arm around her and began kicking with all his might to bring them to the surface. He did not pause once they both had their heads above water enough to gasp for air. He dragged her straight to the water’s edge and hoisted her up onto the stone bank.

  “I wasn’t strong enough,” she sobbed weakly. “I couldn’t get home. I just want to go home, Ciaran. Please. I can’t stay here. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m so tired. I just want to go home.”

  Ciaran shook his head as he caught his breath and angrily wiped away the water that was running down his face from his hair. His face paint washed away with it in streaks, but he paid it no mind. He did not understand her words, but her meaning was clear.

  On the verge of tears over the near-loss of her, he angrily blurted out, “That was unbelievably stupid and reckless!”

  Skye looked over at him in surprise, clearly startled by the tone of his voice. Ciaran was just as surprised by his unexpected outburst. He could not understand it, but he was somehow unable to hold back his ordinarily-tenable emotions. They felt BIGGER than his body now – new and far too powerful to contain. Skye seemed to dial him up. Being in her presence took everything inside that had always been dull and made it sharper, brighter, hotter – truly alive for the first time. That included his fear and pain, apparently.

  “You could have died!” Ciaran shouted furiously as he climbed to his feet.

  Now that he was speaking his unfiltered mind for the first time in his life, he felt an unexpected sense of relief. It was as if a dam had broken loose within his soul. He pressed on, throwing himself into the unfamiliar vibrancy of his own rage. On instinct and with no awareness of the action, he began tapping into deeper feelings and subconscious knowledge beyond himself – things he was only able to access through an unfamiliar link to her. The bond he felt to her was already far beyond what their brief time together could explain.

  “You knew you could have died, and you still jumped! Still meddled in that magic! I felt it, Skye!” he ground out through gritted teeth and clutched at the wet clothing on his chest, nearly ripping the material as he recalled the horrific sensation. “I felt your uncertainty in my bones. In my blood. You had no idea what you were dealing with. What you were conjuring. How could you do that to us? We nearly lost you – here and in your time! Did you even think of that? Did you even think of us? What we would do without you?”

  Skye sat up and studied him in stunned silence. She did not understand his words, but his emotions were crystal clear. The terror in his eyes was even more sobering than the icy waters and near-death experience had been. Her dazed state melted away under the power of his anguish. The paint was gone from his face. With his hair wet and pushed back from his face, she was overwhelmed by déjà vu. He looked so much like he had in her own time – right down to clutching his chest to convey the fear and pain he felt when she was in danger. She could see him standing in the pouring rain in that alley the night they had argued, trying so hard to express to her just how deeply he needed for her to stay safe.

  Ciaran’s jaw flexed as he fought to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I know… that you want to go back to where you came from. I know. But this is not the way to do it. You had no plan. You risked your life on a whim. You are so weak you can barely stand. Why would you try something so difficult? You need to rest, Skye. You will leave us soon enough.”

  He looked down at the icy waters tearfully and slowly sank down onto his knees beside her as his heart caught up with his words. Oh, dear gods, help me. She is really going to leave, he realized. He finally felt happy and alive and she was going to leave. He had not allowed himself to consider it when they learned her origins, but there it was.

  The heartbreaking truth of his words was like a knife in his chest as he choked out in defeat, “You will leave me, Skye. I understand that now. But please, I beg you to rest first. Rest. Heal. Plan. Please, just… let me help you before you go?”

  Skye’s brows drew together remorsefully in response to the sadness in his eyes and voice. She got up onto her knees and brought her face close to his, waiting for him to meet her gaze before speaking.

  “I’m sorry, Ciaran. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. I never want to hurt you,” she whispered with absolute sincerity. He held her gaze as she brought her hands up to cradle his face tenderly. She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs and shook her head. With a bitter smile, she sniffled and went on through tears, “It’s just… things inside my head get a little mixed up sometimes. I come with a lot of baggage. I’m okay dealing with everything – the war, the power, all the new abilities, all of it – when I have you two to steady me. But I’m not doing so good with all of… this.” She motioned to their surroundings. “With everything being so different and not knowing what to do or how to get home and Taran… being so…” She winced and closed her eyes. Her jaw flexed as she fought to swallow back her emotions.

  And Ciaran caught it, regardless of the strange language she used. His eyes narrowed on the way she had reacted to saying his brother’s name. He did not understand it, but something about Skye’s encounter with Taran had resulted in her flinging herself off a ledge into a near-fatal attempt to escape back to her own time.

  Ciaran did not know what to do with that knowledge. He loved Taran. He knew he had a good heart. He trusted him completely. What could Taran have done to cause her such distress?

  Before he had any time to ponder it, something off in the distance caught his attention. He looked up to find Taran and a few of their brothers watching them from one of the tunnels. They must have overheard his raised voice and come to see what was wrong. Thankfully, from their current distance they had not been able to catch his words.

  He held up a hand and nodded that everything was under control. All but Taran took that answer as good enough. Taran stood stone-still for another long moment, studying Skye and Ciaran’s current drenched, upset states. Ciaran prayed his brother would leave well-enough alone. He exhaled a quiet sigh of relief when Taran finally nodded and left.

  Ciaran turned his attention back to Skye. For whatever reason, it was clear she was not comfortable in Taran’s presence. Ciaran would help her avoid him as much as possible – without getting on his brother’s bad side, of course.

  “Come, let us get warm and dry,” he urged and motioned for her to follow him. He watched in deepening concern as she pulled her drenched tunic down in an attempt to cover her frozen body. Was this not the very same woman who stood so bold, completely nude, in front of so many clansmen just a short time earlier? She looked rattled a
nd sorrowful now – on edge. Her body was tensed. Her eyes were haunted.

  At first, she shied away from his every touch. He convinced her to sit and wait while he started a fire. As he worked on setting it up, he began to wonder over what could have happened to bring about this change in her. Women threw themselves at Taran and were always pleased to have been taken to his bed. But not Skye… Considering her assertion that she was from a time where being claimed by Taran was a regular occurrence, Ciaran was at a loss for what could have possibly gone so wrong between them.

  He let out a quiet sigh of frustration as he finished up with the fire. If not for the damned language barrier, he would have just asked that she tell him her troubles. Instead, he was limited to speaking her name soothingly and giving her reassuring looks. When he got to his feet, he was glad to see Skye sliding closer to the roaring fire and holding out her hands toward its much-needed warmth.

  “Wait here. Warm yourself. I will be just over there,” he told her, holding up his hands for her to remain where she was and pointing to where he was going. Anxiety was plain in her features that he was leaving her side, but she tried to mask it as she gave a nod in reply.

  Ciaran walked to the tunnel entrance and looked back to make sure Skye noted his location, as well as the fact that he was still within her line of sight. He waited for a few moments until he caught Ailean out on a patrol. He requested that Ailean gather some dry clothing for them both and was immensely thankful when Ailean spared him any questions about why the two of them had taken an icy dip in the river fully-dressed.

  When Ailean returned, he relayed to Ciaran that the clan had all agreed it best to get some sleep and deal with the implications of Skye’s presence in the morning. It was too much to take in properly on battle-weary minds. Everyone was exhausted, and Skye seemed non-threatening enough.