Goddess Rising

by Alisha Ashton

  Taran scowled and internally railed against the failings of his future self. How could he have allowed such a thing to happen? She was a descendant of the Great Mother. She was obviously his mate. She should have been protected from such harm at all costs.

  Ciaran’s eyes filled with sympathetic tears as he imagined Skye’s horror and the things she must have endured within that cave.

  “What did they want with you, Skye?” Latharn asked quietly and waited for her to meet his gaze. He pointed to the creature she had drawn, and then to her with a curious frown as he asked, “The wicked druids – what were they after?”

  Skye gathered the meaning of his words. With a trembling hand, she drew the instrument of torture Teàrlach had used on her. She pointed to her stomach. Then she held up her hand and willed a small orb of her magic to form.

  Ciaran gazed at it in wide-eyed wonder. It was the most entrancing thing he had ever seen.

  “They sought to steal her power. Tried to carve it right out of her,” Taran ground out furiously. He turned to their leader and urged through gritted teeth, “We find them, Latharn. Now. We hunt them down. We tear them apart. Behead them. Burn their wretched bodies. Every last one this time.”

  “Evidently, we do not,” Latharn sighed in disappointment before turning to look Taran in the eyes. “Not if they are still making appearances so far off into the future. It would seem we fail in this and, in so doing, fail her.”

  Ciaran raised his arm for Skye and wrapped it around her as she moved to stand beneath it. He turned and kissed her forehead, too involved in his sorrow on her behalf to attempt to hide his affection for her. “She must have used her power to try and escape them…” he reasoned. “Perhaps the barrier the wicked druids put up caused the spell to turn inward. She ended up spelling herself back to our time within the cave.”

  “But why now? Why not a time closer to her own?” Taran asked.

  Drostan, who had been listening to their conversation as he approached, answered. “Perhaps she sought to be with you both, brother. She could not escape the confines of the cave, but she asked her power to reunite you three. Perhaps this was the last time you and Ciaran were together in this precise location.”

  Skye gasped suddenly and gripped her head as she received flashes of images.

  The cave…

  The stone altar…

  Teàrlach was chanting…

  A dark, powerful spell was being weaved – one that would drag her unwillingly back to her time and right back into their taloned, twisted hands.

  “NO!” Skye cried out as she felt the pull of the spell sink its hooks into her power. Even with four millennia of separation between them, the evil bastards had still managed to find her.

  “Skye? What is wrong?” Ciaran asked as he tried to steady her.

  She recoiled in alarm when she felt her magic attempting the unthinkable – it had tried to syphon power from Ciaran. It was seeking to retaliate against the Droch-draoidh’s latest assault, but she did not have the necessary amount of power within her to accomplish it. She could feel her magic reaching out toward Ciaran and the other faoil now, as if they were acceptable, expendable sources to draw from. Terror gripped her as she considered the likelihood that such a thing would prove fatal for them all.

  “Stay back! All of you! Get out now!” she called and motioned for them to get away as she stumbled backwards away from them. She groaned as she sank to the ground and curled into a tight ball. It was all she could do to defend herself from the Droch-draoidh while protecting Ciaran and the others from her own desperate need for magic.

  Her clansmen, unfortunately, did not understand what was wrong and did the exact opposite of what they should.

  “What pains her? Is she wounded?” Latharn asked in concern as they all moved closer to her.

  “I do not know. She was fine up until just now,” Ciaran answered fretfully as he tried to find a cause for her pain. “Darling, what is it? What is wrong?”

  Taran took one look at her – the way she was drawing in on herself, the way her body was trembling in pain – and noted similarities. Knowing that she was supposed to have the gift of sight, he turned and shouted, “Drostan! She looks as though she may be hearing the whispers. See if you can catch the vision.”

  The other faoil moved aside as Drostan quickly made his way to her. As soon as his fingertips connected with her shoulder, he howled in pain and withdrew his hand. Skye’s panicked shrieks of warning thundered through his mind, unfamiliar words with unmistakable meaning.

  “It is not the whispers – it is the wicked druids!” Drostan shouted in disbelief. He glanced down at his hand and was astonished to find his fingers charred and bloody.

  The other faoil gasped at the sight.

  “Where are they?” Taran snarled as his eyes took on the golden hue of his wolf.

  “They are still in her time, but they have found her. They are harming her from afar – pulling her back to them somehow,” Drostan relayed from what he had learned during the brief, injurious contact. He winced as he clutched his damaged hand.

  Taran’s face became a mask of outrage in response. The Droch-draoidh’s interest in Skye confirmed her claimed lineage. This woman was his lover and a descendant of the Great Mother. He would be damned if he allowed her to be attacked. “They shall not have her again on our watch,” he swore as he bent to reach Skye. While she cried out in pain and clutched her head, he easily lifted her up into his arms. He did not know if it would help at all to take her from this place, but anything was worth a try in that moment.

  “Brother, she begs that we leave her at once and warns of great peril for us all if we do not flee!” Drostan insisted in a strained voice, still struggling to recover from his fleeting glimpse of Skye’s anguish.

  “And flee, we shall – but not without her!” Taran declared fiercely over his shoulder as he carried Skye toward the cave’s mouth.

  As the group passed by in a rush, every faol jumped to their feet and followed. They did not know what was going on, but clearly something was wrong.

  Taran attempted to step beyond the cave’s mouth. He was astonished when a barrier of magic abruptly halted his exit mid-step. The men all gasped and cried out in astonishment as a wall of black magic flickered briefly into view before fading. Dazed from the unexpected impact, Taran held up a hand to test his boundaries. His hand passed through with no resistance. When he tried to take a step forward carrying Skye, however, the very air seemed to become as hard as stone. “What in the world…?” he breathed.

  “They will not let you take her, Taran. They have cast a spell barring her escape,” Drostan explained weakly.

  Taran panted as a strange sensation unexpectedly washed over him, as if something had just drawn on his strength. He shook his head to try and overcome it. Seemingly in response to the strange feeling, Skye began fighting frantically against his grasp. He looked down into her eyes and was caught off guard by the utter panic in her gaze. Unbeknownst to him, her magic had just drawn on his energy – used it to provide a leg up in her current unseen battle against the Droch-draoidh.

  “Let go, Taran! Please! You can’t touch me!” she shrieked as she freed herself from his grasp and staggered back away from the men. “Oh, God. Go! Run!” she pleaded before dropping to her knees.

  Her mind was chaos as she tried to come up with a solution – any solution – any alternative to her power’s apparent plan to reclaim all of the energy that was sustaining her clansmen’s immortality.

  Sorcha… I need you…

  She closed her eyes and prayed. Prayed with every ounce of strength she could spare. She sought out the Great Mother, searched desperately for a hint of Her presence. Her eyes flew open when she sensed it mere feet away. In astonishment, she turned and looked at Latharn. Her eyes locked on his wrist – on the Mark of the Great Mother that was hidden from view by a protective leather band.

  Without a word, Skye rushed to him, causing several of her clansm
en to shout in concern, fearing that she may try to harm their leader. Latharn stood his ground and offered no resistance. He watched in wonder as she tore away his leather wrist guard.

  Skye grabbed a firm hold on the Mark, pressing her palm flat against it and meeting his gaze unblinkingly. Her eyes began to glow with the white light of the Moon Goddess.

  Many of the faoil instantly dropped to their knees to bow their heads in reverence of her inherited divinity.

  Latharn gritted his teeth against the searing pain of Skye’s magic seeping into his wrist. She projected her desperate plea into his mind:

  SORCHA…

  I beseech you.

  Hear me. Feel me. See me.

  Know me.

  I am Queen Skye Faolan

  of the Tàcharain Fhaol Clan.

  I am your blood. I am your child.

  I am the One lost,

  Returned to you from the One stolen.

  I have traversed the seas of time seeking refuge.

  My enemies are closing in.

  I am weakened and in grave danger.

  I need you NOW, Great Mother.

  In the depths of the forbidden forest, Faolan was seated, keeping perpetual vigil over his beloved, slumbering Goddess. He climbed to his feet as the ground began to tremor.

  “SGITHEANACH!” Sorcha breathed suddenly as She opened Her glowing eyes for the first time in nearly a century. Her whisper was a hurricane, gusting out through the trees with terrible force and shattering the heavy silence.

  “Sorcha, my love, do you sense our child?” Faolan asked hopefully.

  He tried to meet Her gaze, but She was not aware of his presence. She could only see Skye through Latharn’s eyes – see her suffering and fear.

  The Great Mother’s entire form began to glow with Her inner light. It quickly grew in strength as She responded to Her child’s desperate plea.

  “FIGHT!” Sorcha whispered in reply when Her light reached a radiance that rivaled the sun in its intensity. Her arm shot skyward as She cast the surge of power out into the heavens, giving over every bit that She could spare.

  Latharn cried out in pain as the overwhelming divine power passed through him and into Skye. His legs gave out from beneath him and the flesh of his wrist sizzled and blackened, but Skye did not flinch or waver in her crushing grip. The Great Mother was using Latharn as Her conduit – allowing their link to provide a direct line to Her child. The faoil shielded their eyes from the blinding light as it raced up Skye’s arm and filled her. Her head rolled back, and she sank to her knees on the cold stone ground. She moaned in relief at the gift, but the reprieve was short-lived. The agonizing, tightening grasp of the Droch-draoidh’s spell caused her to sob through clenched teeth. When she had absorbed every last bit of the Great Mother’s lent magic, she withdrew her hand from Latharn’s wrist.

  A strangled cry escaped her as she felt the dark spell give the first in a series of mighty pulls, each an attempt to drag her back to her own time. In response to the attack, her magic prepared to lash out in her defense. Power was swirling up inside of her and a low hum was building in her ears, growing in volume and intensity as it charged up for the pending detonation. She was about to turn nuclear and it was completely beyond her control to stop it.

  “Skye, how can I help you?” Ciaran asked from close beside her.

  She turned and looked at him in wide eyed horror. Her power. It could kill him. Her worst fears were coming true. She shoved Ciaran’s hands away and pointed to the cave entrance frantically, desperate to convey the danger. “RUN! Go now! All of you! I won’t be able to – Ahhh!” Skye drew her knees to her chest and held them tight. Her physical position mirrored the war she was having with her magic in that moment. It was nearly impossible to hold it in, but she had to do it for as long as possible. She had to give her clansmen a chance to escape.

  The rapidly growing hum of Skye’s power was becoming audible to the other faoil. Though they were not aware of its source, it was unquestionably a prelude to something dangerous. They all knew, with each increasing decibel, that an unknown threat drew nearer.

  “Taran, please!” Skye screamed. She met his gaze imploringly. Her last hope was that he would understand her dire warnings. “Ciaran is in danger! You ALL are in danger!”

  Taran swallowed hard as he gathered the meaning of her frantic appeals. They were out of options and time. There was no threat present from which he or his clansmen could defend her. She was being attacked by the Droch-draoidh from another time and place, which meant that she was regrettably on her own. Perhaps with the power she had so clearly just received from the Great Mother, she could defend herself by magical means. For his part, all Taran could do now was protect his brothers. Grudgingly, Taran inclined his head to Skye in silent agreement.

  “Everyone – outside! Now!” Taran commanded the others.

  After what Drostan had encountered in Skye’s mind, he did not need to be told twice. He draped Latharn’s arm around his shoulders and hauled their leader up onto his feet. Echoing Taran’s orders, Drostan shoved at his other clansmen and herded them all outside as quickly as possible.

  “We cannot just leave her here to face them alone!” Ciaran shouted resolutely over the now nearly deafening hum of power. He stubbornly moved closer to Skye.

  “There is nothing we can do for her! She is telling us to flee! Quickly, Ciaran! Come with me!” Taran shouted back, struggling to be heard as the air began to churn.

  A strong wind arose, whipping and swirling, seemingly originating from the very place where Skye was curled up in pain. Taran shielded his eyes as dust and pebbles were kicked up. His alarm grew as he watched Ciaran move to Skye’s side.

  “Ciaran, NO! Come away!” Taran urged and fought against the wind to reach him.

  “Skye? Please tell me… What can I do?” Ciaran besought.

  Her head came up swiftly in reply. Her features, already twisted in anguish, clearly conveyed terror.

  Accurately interpreting the look in her eyes as fear for Ciaran’s safety, Taran’s heart leapt to his throat. “CIARAN, COME AWAY, NOW!” he bellowed in panic.

  The first wave of Skye’s power erupted from her body. It raced outward with bone-rattling force, its shockwave made visible by a plume of dirt and debris. Skye shrieked as she curled in on herself and fought with all her might to hold it back.

  Taran was knocked back against the cave wall. His head connected painfully with the stone. Even more jarring than that impact, however, was the sight of his brother…

  Ciaran had been directly hit by Skye’s power. He was on his knees beside her, stunned and dazed, staring unblinkingly down at her. Tears were streaming down his face, but he did not move a muscle or speak a word.

  “Ciaran?” Taran called in a strained voice.

  The hum of Skye’s magic was growing again, even louder this time, and Taran knew they needed to escape now or face a sure death. It was only by a mercy – likely Skye’s – that they had been spared by the first blast. On unsteady legs, Taran hurried to his brother’s side and hoisted him up. He tried not to be alarmed by Ciaran’s silence, lack of response, and refusal to tear his eyes away from Skye. Determinedly, Taran managed to get them both out of the cave and to safety. The hum became excruciating in its intensity. All the faoil covered their ears and cried out as they dropped to the ground.

  All save one.

  Terror gripped Taran’s heart when he noted that Ciaran was making no effort to cover his ears. He simply remained standing where Taran had released him, staring in wonder toward the cave, seemingly unaware of the unbearable sound even as blood dripped down his earlobes. With a growl, Taran reached up and dragged his stunned brother to the ground with the rest of them. While keeping his own ears covered, Taran wrapped his arms around Ciaran’s head and shielded his brother’s ears with his biceps.

  The earth quaked.

  The sky darkened.

  The wind howled.

  The sea swelled.

>   Waves crashed violently against the cliffs.

  And the very fabric of the world was torn as Skye released the full weight of her power. It was like nothing any of them had witnessed in their lives. The force behind it was purely elemental, as if a hundred lightning bolts had struck the cave at once. A blast of blindingly white light erupted from the cave’s mouth. A fraction of a second later, a thunderous boom cracked and tore through the air. Over it all, Skye’s shriek could be heard – a defiant battle cry spanning the currents of time…

  22: Aftermath

  PRESENT DAY

  And in her rightful time, Skye’s spell rushed out of the cave.

  Taran and Ciaran and the rest of her gathered clansmen were instantly on their feet as Skye’s shriek pierced the night.

  Ciaran clutched his chest. His eyes widened as he desperately sought the return of his connection to Skye. It had been there for an instant – just a shadow of its former self.

  Seeing his brother in distress, Taran quickly braced his arms to steady him. “Ciaran? What is it?” he asked anxiously, afraid of what the answer might be.

  Ciaran gripped his brother’s shirt and the horror in his eyes turned Taran’s blood cold. “I… I can barely feel her,” Ciaran admitted brokenly. “She is far… so very far away. In that cave, but… but nah. Her energy is but a whisper to me. I can nah find her.”

  PAST – APPROXIMATELY 2,000 BC

  The world was eerily silent in the wake of Skye’s spell. The peaceful atmosphere belied the destructive force that had just been unleashed. Warm rays of sunlight filtered through the slowly dissipating clouds, casting large shadows on the enchanting seaside landscape.

  Slowly, the faoil began to stand and help one another up off the ground. They all stared back at the cave in bewilderment, unsure of what to do.

  Taran attempted to check Ciaran over for injuries, fear gripping him that some irrevocable damage had been done to his dearest brother. Ciaran was wholly disinterested in the effort.