Taran smiled lightly at her sincerity and nodded. He leaned down close then, causing Skye’s heart to skip a beat as she thought for an instant that he was going to kiss her. Her brows drew together as she glanced at his lips and tried to decide how she felt about that possibility. After a few seconds, it became clear that she did not need to concern herself with it. No kiss was coming.
Instead, Taran stared into her eyes intensely and whispered, “Then. train. harder.” He gave her shoulder an unexpected, playful shove for emphasis.
Skye’s eyes widened.
Holding her gaze, he added, “If you wish to make it home to him and aalllllll the sweetness that reunion will surely entail, then you, young Queen, shall have to work for it.”
Struggling to mask her amusement at his goading, Skye gave him a challenging look in reply. Taran winked and chuckled before tugging her hand and guiding her to a different cave for the day’s training.
She did not know at that moment just how much careful planning was abandoned and rescheduled for the sake of her comfort.
31: Training Harder
The following morning, those careful plans were adjusted to take place at her home. When Skye attempted to exit to meet up with Taran for practice, she found Drostan waiting outside her door. She nearly ran into him and laughed as she righted herself.
“Drostan,” she greeted. “What are you doing out –?” she began to ask, but quickly abandoned the question. She could see in his face that this was an official visit, not a Maker coming to chat casually with his future pup.
Ciaran stepped out behind her and Skye stood up straighter as she noticed the rest of her clansmen were approaching from all sides. They men stopped in unison, all watching her respectfully. Faolan stood at the front of the group wearing an impassive expression.
Skye’s guard was up instantly. The yellow in her eyes swirled. Her posture changed. Her muscles tensed. Her grip on the sword in her hand shifted from casual-carry to ready-for-business. “Trouble?” she asked, her voice taking on that strange, ethereal quality it often did when she was threatened.
Drostan shook his head lightly. Faolan grinned with pride at how quickly she had been prepared to fight.
Skye exhaled slowly but did not relax her posture. She stared into Drostan’s eyes expectantly, waiting for an explanation for this unexpected gathering.
Slowly, Drostan dropped to a knee. The rest of the clansmen followed suit. Faolan bowed his head and brought his fist to his heart. Skye watched the men in wonder and curiosity, turning her attention back to Drostan as he spoke in an official tone. He offered up a cloth-wrapped parcel and waited for her to accept it.
“Queen Skye, we have prepared this gift to aid you in battle. Though we cannot be there with you in the flesh, we have each ensured that at least a part of us shall be there in your defense.”
Skye took the gift and was surprised by the bulk of it, as well as the subtle scents. Whatever it was had been thoroughly cleaned, but it still smelled like… Well, like the entire clan. Her brows drew together curiously as she pulled the string holding the cloth in place. Her eyes widened when she caught a glimpse of the contents. Her lips parted and she looked down at Drostan in astonishment.
Drostan smiled up at her, savoring her reaction.
Wanting a better look at the items, Skye turned and rushed back into her home, purposefully leaving the door open behind her. Ciaran, Drostan, and Faolan followed along, ducking down to enter. They watched silently as she placed the items on the bed and spread them out.
Skye took a step back to take it all in. Her clansmen had made armor for her to wear into battle – intricately-decorated, functional, lightweight armor. Its foundation was leather trimmed in white fur, but the vast majority of the armor’s surface was covered with fangs and claws.
With a trembling hand, Skye covered her mouth in disbelief. Her clansmen had literally given their own fangs and claws for the creation of this armor. She winced sympathetically, knowing how painful this process must have been for them, even in their faol forms. At the same time, she was in complete awe of the fact that they had willingly – and likely eagerly – endured this pain in the hopes that it could protect her from harm in their absence.
She reached out and traced her fingers along row after row of donated defense. Hundreds of claws were layered like fish scales over the armor’s surface. The shoulders, joints, center of the chest, and throat were lined with rows of fangs. No wonder it had all been washed so thoroughly, she thought. Had she scented this much of her brothers’ blood in one place, she would have worked herself into a frenzy thinking they were under attack.
She lifted the bronze helmet for a closer examination. Its base shape was, appropriately, that of a wolf’s head. The eyes were made of polished moon stones to mimic the flaring of power in Skye’s gaze. Prominently displayed at the center of its brow, was her new symbol – the marking of the Triple Goddess. The front of the helmet was sculpted like an open jaw, with razor sharp teeth framing the place where her face would be. The fangs around her face would provide protection, without obstructing her field of view. The largest teeth of the bunch, the four canines, had been removed from her closest men. She ran a finger over the points of each, instinctively knowing to which man each belonged. Taran, Ciaran, Drostan, Faolan…
Her eyes widened in realization.
“This is why Taran lost his tattoos,” she breathed as she looked to her Maker. “The night before he and I started training together, Taran transformed to give you these.”
Drostan smiled and nodded.
Skye laughed softly in amazement as she returned her attention to the armor. It was absolutely splendid. Expertly crafted and beautiful in its attention to detail. She smiled as tears filled her eyes. She reached down to the piece that would shield her heart. She laughed through tears sensing that the many fangs in this location all belonged to Taran. It was a beautiful sentiment. Her future King would protect her heart.
“Do you approve?” Drostan asked with a grin.
Skye was far too overwhelmed to speak. With glittering eyes and a hand splayed on her chest, she looked over at him as if to say, ‘obviously!’
Drostan chuckled, thoroughly delighted by her reaction.
Faolan placed his arm around Skye’s shoulders and gave her an affectionate squeeze. Turning to Drostan, he declared in his low, gravelly voice, “Armor truly suited for a Goddess Queen. It is a perfect gift. Thank you, Drostan, for pulling this all together.”
Once she had collected herself, Skye ducked back out the door. The others followed her outside. When Drostan stepped out beside her, she took his hand in hers. She addressed her waiting clansmen in her royal tone – the one dripping with power.
“My family… I do not have words to express how much this gift means to me. I am so grateful for your sacrifice, for the pain you have each endured to provide me with protection. Thank all of you. It will be my honor to carry your offerings of defense across time and into battle. On that day, may WE emerge victorious.”
She thrust her helmet up high above her head. The men cheered wildly in approval for several moments.
Skye hugged Drostan, commending him on his craftsmanship. Even without Faolan’s earlier comments, she had known Drostan must have handled most of the design and assembly of the armor. It had an artist’s touch.
She caught Taran’s eye amongst the others in the crowd and smiled to him, motioning for him to approach. Taran did so at a measured pace, acutely aware of the warning look Faolan shot his way.
“You could have told me that day – about your tattoos,” she said, realizing he could have easily avoided difficult discussions in so doing.
“I could have… but it would have spoiled the surprise.” Taran shrugged and looked away, surveying their surroundings to avoid her direct gaze. “Besides, I meant what I said about losing my tattoos that day. I was glad for the timing of that night’s transformation. It offered me the chance to move forward. To welcome
change.”
Skye smiled up at him warmly, appreciating all of the progress he was making. She continued smiling at him until he finally worked up the courage to glance down at her. She laughed at the subtle tinge of pink that came to his cheeks.
Eager to change the subject and direct her attention to something other than him, Taran cleared his throat.
“You should wear your full armor today,” he advised. “It will be good to practice with it from now on. Get used to fighting in it. See if anything needs alteration before the moment of truth.”
Skye nodded, then turned to her Maker. “I am going to need your assistance getting all of this on, Drostan. I have never worn armor before.”
Several of the clansmen in the area turned in surprise at that.
Skye frowned, realizing how foreign that concept must seem to them. She amended, “I have never worn armor like this. I always dressed in attire designed for the soldiers of my own time, but it was nothing like this.”
“I bet it was not nearly as impressive,” Drostan teased with a wink.
“This is true,” Skye admitted. “Oh, and since I will be wearing this daily, you should show Ciaran how to help with anything I cannot do for myself. Unless, of course, you plan on arriving at my doorstep each morning to help me?”
Drostan grimaced. “I will absolutely NOT be waking before sunrise to dress you daily. You are my pup; you are not my child. Come – both of you. I will teach Ciaran while we get you ready.”
Skye and Ciaran ducked into the home first. Drostan hung back for a moment to speak with Taran.
“No rush,” Taran reminded. “Give us a bit to get situated.”
Drostan grinned conspiratorially and nodded.
Two hours later, Skye descended into a different cave system than the one Taran had led her to the day before. Today, he brought her to the cave mouth and gave her a seemingly simple task: to find her way through this unfamiliar, labyrinthian network of narrow tunnels and massive caverns alone.
She was adjusting to the new armor with relative ease. She gave a few practice swings of her sword as she walked, feeling it all out, noting a few places that could do with loosening and tightening. Drostan had requested a full report of her experiences today.
She delved deeply into the pitch-black interior of the cave and it was there that she learned exactly what Taran had meant about her having to ‘train harder.’
Taran had enlisted nearly 400 of her clansmen to help, and they were lying in wait all throughout the cave. They had even soaked themselves in countless substances – from foul to fragrant – to mask their scents and render her sense of smell utterly useless for tracking them.
The first wave that charged her caught her by complete surprise. She recovered quickly, but – not wanting to harm her brethren – she initially refrained from using her sword to defend herself. She did her best to fight them off using hand-to-hand… but that changed quickly. The faoil were in varying degrees of transformation, spanning the full gamut from man to beast. It made their methods of attack completely unpredictable. Considering that she could not transform in these practice scenarios (for she would not have that option in the future battle), she soon had no choice but to fall back on using her blade to block their inbound talons. She did her best to keep her cuts superficial, though.
Taran – in all his ferocious faol glory – cornered her shortly after she had brought out the blade. He was an absolute beast. Even in this form, he stood out from the rest as larger, stronger, fiercer. King. Knowing that she would heal, he did not go easy on her at all. In a matter of seconds, he managed to rake his talons down her side. While her armor offered a considerable amount of protection, he still managed to find a weak point and draw blood.
Skye hissed in surprise at the intense pain. The injury served Taran’s intended purpose – putting her in the proper state of mind for battle. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she clutched her wounds and scurried back away from him. She got the message loud and clear – then even louder and clearer still when Taran did not allow her any time to recover. Instead, he lunged and snapped his powerful jaws closed, coming within inches of taking a sizeable chunk out of her thigh. Skye cried out, but it was enough to wake her up fully to the scenario being presented to her. The pain screaming in her side, the scent of her own blood, the involuntary sound of her own fear… there was something in the combination that set her loose.
She bared teeth and let out a furious, challenging growl. Taran gave the werewolf equivalent of a pleased smile in response. He had been waiting for this – for her to fully invest. He was not playing around. Her life depended on her being prepared to fight under these conditions, especially if she was wounded and caught off guard. This was a trial run – preparation for the very real war that awaited her in the future.
Taran lunged for her again and again until, finally, Skye was able to strike out and best him. With one hand gripping his throat, holding him out at arm’s length and preventing his attempts to bite her, she drove her sword all the way through his side. As she did, she held his gaze with anxiety tightening her features. She could have gone for his heart or his throat, she wanted him to understand and accept this as a substitute. No matter how invested she was in this training, after what had happened with Ciaran back in her time – driving the stake through his chest and watching him die by her hands – she simply could not bring herself to pierce anything vital now.
Taran howled with pain but managed to nod lightly in approval as she withdrew the blade. He slid to the ground and looked up at her proudly. He understood her restraint. His wound would heal soon enough, but for the purposes of this simulated combat, he had been felled.
There was no time to watch him transform back to his human form. No time to speak. In an instant, she was surrounded by dozens more of her clansmen and could focus on nothing but fending off their attacks.
As she was pulled deeper and deeper into the full-scale, unexpected, overwhelming mock-battle, she fully appreciated just how lucky she was to have Taran’s guidance in her training. She would not have thought this exercise up on her own. Even if she had, she doubted that she would have requested the aid of so many to make it so realistic.
Taran’s plan was brilliant and perfectly executed. It forced her to identify in real-time the areas of her technique which needed more work. It provided invaluable practice for the battle ahead and gave her hands-on experience fighting in close quarters in the dark.
When she was about halfway through the cave, in the thick of battle within a large cavernous area, every hair on her body suddenly stood on end. Her senses began screaming that there was something more – something she was missing. A chill ran up her spine. She felt as if she was being stalked… An unseen threat was present, something more than just the dozens of faoil rushing her from all sides. No matter how overwhelmed she was with these obvious threats, the sensation of an imminent, unseen danger refused to be ignored.
On instinct, she turned to her power-enhanced vision. She could feel the white-hot light of her magic shining in her gaze as she fought. Her eyes swept from side to side, accounting for every faoil she had seen before. It was not until the very last second that it occurred to her to steal a glance… UP. There, high overhead, crawling silently across the soaring cavern ceiling, slipping unnoticed between the jagged protrusions of the rocky surface, was another faol. He had already made his way directly over top of her and was preparing to descend.
Skye dove to the side as he released his talons from the ceiling and dropped. She only narrowly managed to dodge the faol as he landed in the space she had just occupied. He wasted no time – snarling and lunging for her with the others before she had a chance to recover. She was thrown off, but did not allow it to be her undoing. She rolled and scrambled, staying clear of every outstretched grasp until she could get back onto her feet in a proper fighting stance.
When she was at last face-to-face with the ceiling-scaling faol, doing her best to fend o
ff his attacks, it occurred to her. She knew him. She recognized his leaner, slightly elongated form compared to his brothers. His lithe movements. She realized why he was – so similarly to Taran – hellbent on NOT taking it easy on her. It was Ciaran, using his unique abilities to sneak up on her and throw her one hell of a curve ball. He attacked her with sincere ferocity to ensure that she was truly ready before she could be thrust into life-or-death combat.
One by one the other faoil fell until she could focus all her attention on defending against Ciaran’s assault. Given her refusal to use any (even briefly) fatal blows against him, she spent a lot more time than was necessary on the defensive, trying to decide what to do. She considered impaling him as she had Taran, maybe through his side or shoulder, but the memory of driving that stake through his chest made it impossible. She could still see that look in his eyes. The shock and anguish…
Determined to take him down by other means, she sheathed her sword and gritted her teeth. Timing it out just right, she managed to run up the wall and spring forward. Landing on his back, she swiftly brought the covered blade up under his jaw, got a firm grip on it on each side of his head, then pulled back. Hard. Ciaran let out a startled, strangled growl in response, then immediately went into a frenzy trying to fight her off.
Skye held on tighter, but this was no easy feat – sort of like trying to hold an angry alligator’s mouth shut with your bare hands. Or riding a mechanical bull with fangs. Ducking down low behind his back to dodge his claws, she held as tight as she dared and closed her eyes, hoping it would be over soon. She knew Taran would not approve of her using his sword in this fashion. She prayed that A) he would not see and B) Drostan would be able to discretely repair any damage she was doing.
Just go down, babe. Go down, go down… she thought.
After what seemed like an eternity, Ciaran finally lost consciousness and crashed to the floor backwards, landing right on top of Skye. She grunted as she was pinned beneath his substantial weight, but she still sagged in relief that he had finally blacked out. Panting from the exertion, she waited a few seconds to see if he would revert to human form. No such luck, unfortunately. With a sigh and a kiss to the back of his gigantic furry head, she got to work prying and wriggling herself out from beneath his heavy form.
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