Goddess Rising

by Alisha Ashton

  They remained there for an hour, with Skye taking in every last bit of light she could hold. When she opened her eyes at last, Taran shook his head and gazed down at her in open wonder.

  “You had better find your way back to me, my Queen,” he whispered and ran his hand through her hair. “I do not know what I will ever do to deserve you, but I know I never want to be without you again.”

  Skye smiled up at him lovingly in return and reached up to squeeze his hand. “Likewise, my future King.”

  He helped her to her feet before standing himself. She turned to walk away, but then, thought better of it. She turned back suddenly, catching Taran off guard. In one fluid motion, she placed her hand behind his neck, pulled him down to her as she stood on her tip-toes, and brought her mouth against his hungrily.

  Taran’s eyes went wide. He froze in place, afraid at first to move. It only took him about a second to recover from his surprise. He pulled her body to his, holding her close as he returned her passionate kiss. He groaned into her mouth when she brought a hand up into his hair, twirling her fingers through it and pulling lightly. Skye moaned in reply, growing even more aroused by his reaction.

  Taran’s entire body buzzed with need for her… but no, not yet. It took every ounce of his self-control to finally end the kiss. He rested his forehead against hers. His eyes remained closed as he panted and tried to fight down the desire thrumming through him. He could hear the smile in Skye’s voice when she spoke.

  “I would very much like to continue,” she stated breathily.

  He sucked in a sharp breath through gritted teeth when she pressed her body against him eagerly. He lost the ability to draw another breath when she ran her hand down his stomach and into the front of his pants. She began stroking the hard length of him, seeking to change his mind. It was very nearly enough to break his resolve. Catching and stilling her hand, he shuddered when she tightened her grip and stubbornly refused to release her hold.

  With a bit of work, he somehow managed in a rumbling, gravelly tone against her ear, “I want you, Skye. You can feel for yourself just how badly. I would love nothing more than to take you properly right here. Lay you down and take my time learning and tasting every inch of your body, making up for every single mistake I have made… but…” He winced as he finally managed to remove her hand from his pants and take a step back. Entwining their fingers, he brought her dangerous, little hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Looking down into her eyes, he reminded, “I am not your King, Sgitheanach. And you are not mine to claim. Not yet.”

  Skye gritted her teeth at that. She looked away and grudgingly nodded in agreement. “Well… it certainly provides me with some added motivation,” she sighed as she tried to calm herself. She knew if she pushed, Taran would give in. As thoroughly enticing as that idea might be, she did want to respect his wishes. Damn it.

  Taran tugged on her hand, smiling when she met his eyes. With a wink, he teased, “Let us get you home to your ‘stallion’, little temptress, so you can finish what you just started.”

  They returned to the cave and got to work. Before removing her clothes to climb into the whitewash bath, she looked to Ciaran.

  “Last chance for a real kiss goodbye,” she offered weakly.

  Ciaran crossed the cave in a flash. He took full advantage of the opportunity. He spent several moments kissing her gently and sweetly, then hungrily, and lastly, shakily through tears as he fought to convince himself to let her go. “I love you, Skye,” he whispered as he backed away. He forced a smile even as tears rolled over his full lips. He pointed to himself and Taran as he urged, “You get yourself back to us, darling. Fight those bastards as if all three of our lives depend upon your success, because they do. Losing you would surely be the death of us both.”

  Skye nodded and embraced him, soaking up all of his comfort, hoping to draw on it later to protect her mind from the horrors that awaited her.

  The three of them barely spoke as she was prepared for battle. They whitewashed her body and hair. Ciaran painted her skin as Taran braided and styled her stiff tresses. They both helped her into her armor.

  Taran smiled proudly at the finished product. His fearsome warrior Queen, ready for battle. She was an absolute vision of lethal beauty.

  “One more thing,” Ciaran said as he brought forth a small, wooden box. “Drostan asked that I give you this before you go. He said it is a ‘wedding gift.’”

  Taran leaned closer, wanting to see the box’s contents as well. Skye frowned curiously as she took the box and opened it. Inside, she found a beautiful, expertly crafted torque. She traced her fingers over each of the symbols etched into its surface. At the center and ends, she found a stylized union of Taran’s mortal symbols and the symbol of the Triple Goddess. She smiled as she noted smaller markings etched in repeating sequences all along the torque’s sides like decoration – the symbol of the Trinity, along with the swirls from Ciaran’s pendant. It was a spectacular representation of their union.

  She sniffled and nodded. “I will be sure to tell him in person how much I appreciate this.”

  She turned toward Taran, watching expectantly as he lifted the torque from the box. He gazed down into her eyes as he placed it around her neck. The ceremonial impact of the action was not lost on either of them. It was his tribe’s equivalent of a wedding band.

  He held her gaze for a moment, hoping to convey the millions of things he wished to say. With a great deal of effort, he managed to turn away and retrieve his freshly polished sword. He presented it to her slowly, willing the weapon to guard over her in his stead. She took it from him and slid it into its sheath on her side, then gave him a tearful, grateful smile, far too choked up to speak. She stepped back and drew a tremulous breath as her eyes passed between her men.

  “So… what do we do now?” Ciaran asked softly.

  “You both will walk out across the field – to the place where Taran and I stopped earlier. Once you are there, a safe distance away, you will wait.”

  Ciaran’s jaw clenched as he tried in vain to swallow past the lump in his throat.

  “And then?” Taran asked hoarsely.

  Skye fought to keep her voice even. “And then… once I am ready… I will leave. I will block your memories of me as I go. You will not lose consciousness. It will happen in a flash, just as you saw back at Faol Seunta. You will be a little disoriented at first, but I will leave it in your minds that you are to return to Faol Seunta. You will believe you were merely here to confirm the dark mystics have not returned to the cave.”

  After a moment, Ciaran choked out, “And we will forget you… completely?”

  Skye nodded. “Yes. When we met in my time, neither of you recognized me. You, Ciaran, managed to recover a few little flashes of memory, but there was nothing beyond that. We did not even understand what it meant.”

  Ciaran’s beautiful features tensed as a strangled sob escaped him. He gritted his teeth and leaned forward as he struggled to breathe. Taran took his arm and helped him to stay on his feet. Truth be told, Taran needed steadying, himself, but he stuffed it down. He did not intend to make this any harder on Skye than it already was.

  “I love you both,” Skye said tearfully, “I will give my all to reach you again… but I go on alone from here.” She brought her hands to her mouth and pressed a kiss to her fingertips, before holding them out toward her men as she backed away.

  Taran summoned all of his strength to stand up straight and tall and look her in the eye. “Farewell, my Queen.” He brought his fist to his heart. “Victory awaits you.”

  Skye could not even attempt a reply. She brought her fist to her heart, managed a tearful smile and nod, then turned and set out for the depths of the cave. She fought to keep her breathing steady and weeping in check as she walked, but she could barely see past her tears. She could feel Ciaran through their link, feel his panic and sorrow at being separated from her. She could feel the distance between them growing as T
aran helped him out of the cave. She could feel it when they were safely in position.

  She came to the place where she had arrived and studied the drastic differences she had caused within the cave. The river was gone now. Her magic had irrevocably altered the cave’s interior. Blasted away stones. Diverted the river water and caused it to drain through a massive crack in the rocky ground.

  She descended the rocks until she reached what had recently been the bottom of the river. There, she found a large slab of rock. She recognized its base shape – it would eventually be carved into an altar. The very altar she had been chained to in her time.

  With no small measure of trepidation, she climbed atop of it. She scanned the ceiling above and found the strangely colored rocks.

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly through her nose, then exhaled heavily through her mouth.

  “I was here,” she whispered as she opened her eyes. She felt calm and exhilaration fill her. “I was here!” she declared loudly and smiled as her words echoed through the cave.

  She was here. She had changed things. She had reshaped this cave. She had caused Taran to face the darkest parts of himself, to aspire to become a better man. She had brought Ciaran out of his misery and set him on the path of joy and light. She had saved Aodh and seen to it that he would never again be alone and defenseless. She had altered the course of their lives. And she had learned things that would undoubtedly change the course of the future.

  Sensing that she was no longer alone, she closed off her link to Ciaran. She used her magic to shield the cave from all outside view. Her eyes wandered upward to the massive opening in the cave ceiling.

  Brandubh dropped in and spread his wings. He glided down to her gracefully, landing a few feet away. He was adorned in all his finery. Shiny beads and bits of metal were woven into his long hair. He wore his long, black, feathered skirt and intricate body paint. The black band was painted across his eyes again like a mask.

  Skye studied him, seeing in her mind the man that was hidden away beneath all the decoration. The man he had been before the curses and dark magic. She greatly preferred him as he had appeared in the dream realm – warm and alive. She could see the way teetering between life and death had changed him. She could only imagine how different he would be by her time.

  “Goddess Skye,” he greeted with a bow.

  “Brandubh,” she said softly. “I thank you for keeping your word. I know this is difficult for you.”

  Brandubh stood and tilted his head to look at her reverently. “I do as I must, young Goddess. As you have asked of me. And I trust that you will keep your word as well.”

  He held out his hand to her, offering something on a leather cord necklace. Skye took it cautiously. Her brow arched when she realized the object – wider and longer than two of her fingers combined – must have been one of his fangs. It was larger than any fògarach fang she had ever seen, but then, she had never seen their first, their Maker – Brandubh – transform. Judging by this fang, she knew his primal form must be a horrifying sight. The fang was covered in carved runes. She slowly became aware of the subtle sting of magic radiating from it. Her eyes widened and went to Brandubh expectantly – silently demanding an explanation.

  “It will do you no harm. I swear it,” Brandubh insisted. “It contains my memories. My thoughts, my feelings. What I have learned of you. You must call to me in your time and present this fang to me. It is how I will know to trust you.” He stepped closer and brought his hands to hers, gently guiding her to close her fingers around the fang as he looked down into her eyes intensely. “What you hold here is protected. It cannot be touched by any but me. I will be able to recognize my own magic. I will know this has come from me and that it has not been tampered with. This is precious to me, young Skye. It is mine, and I want it returned. I am trusting you to carry this across time. It is the only way I will be assured of its validity.” He bit his lip, phrasing his next words carefully. “Memories… can be stifled. They can be manipulated and rewritten. They cannot always be believed.”

  Skye averted her eyes and nodded at the truth of that. She tried not to think of Faolan. After considering his request for a moment, she finally nodded and withdrew her hand from his. With a bit of effort, she slipped the leather cord over her helmeted head and mass of stiff braids. Once it was around her neck, she let the fang slide beneath her armor. She hoped it would survive the battle. Hell, she hoped she would survive the battle.

  “Thank you, Goddess,” Brandubh sighed in relief. “What would you have me do?”

  “Go back through there,” she instructed, pointing up at the opening in the cave ceiling. “Stay close, but well away from the two faoil waiting outside. Do not allow yourself to be seen or there will be needless trouble. I will block your memories as I go and do my best not to cause you any pain. I will place in your mind the desire to leave this area after you recover your senses.”

  Brandubh nodded that he would do as she said.

  She swallowed hard and added quietly and sincerely, “Good luck, Brandubh. I know where this road takes you, and I can only hope that you are able to keep some part of yourself this time around.”

  Brandubh bowed his head and smiled. “That is my hope, as well. I wish you luck in your battle. Until we meet again, young Goddess.”

  Skye watched as he shoved off the ground and took flight. She smiled as he went, but that smile faded away as she considered what lay ahead for them all.

  “Time to go home,” she breathed as she sat on top of the future-altar. She stretched out her neck and shoulders, rotating her arms in an effort to ease the tension from her muscles. Draping her hands over her knees, she focused on her breathing and replayed memories of being nestled between Taran and Ciaran.

  She could feel their warmth.

  Hear their breathing.

  Feel the weight of their bodies against her.

  She breathed in their intermingled scents.

  An hour passed as she slipped deeper and deeper into her trance, pulling herself back as far as possible as she prepared to propel herself across time. She was wholly unaware of the clouds forming in the sky above the cave. She could not hear the wind as it grew in intensity.

  37: The Bitch is Back

  PRESENT DAY

  Ciaran’s gasp cutting through the somber silence was the first indication something was coming. The others turned to see what was going on.

  “Brother, what is it?” Ruarachan asked. He crouched down in front of Ciaran, bracing his shoulders and trying to meet his eyes. “Eh? What’s wrong?”

  Ciaran, who had been all but catatonic for several hours so far, slowly and unsteadily got to his feet. Eyes wide and lips parted, he scanned the sky with a look of open wonder.

  “Ciaran?” Taran asked worriedly, cutting around the others. When he reached him, he put his hand beneath Ciaran’s chin and turned his face. “What is…?”

  Taran trailed off when Drostan and Aodh each stood in unison, looking skyward with similarly awestricken expressions.

  Ciaran’s tearful eyes moved to Taran. A smile slowly curled one side of his trembling upper lip. He laughed lightly as tears slipped down his face.

  “Skye,” Taran breathed in relief and excitement.

  PAST – APPROXIMATELY 2,000 BC

  Skye was at the brink of making the jump. She tried to prepare herself. Tried to keep her mind calm and serene, yet ready to dive headfirst into all-out war. She exhaled one last time… then abandoned her physical form and leapt into the torrents of time.

  PAST – APPROXIMATELY 2,000 BC

  Taran and Ciaran found themselves on their backs in the grass. They looked around in confusion, trying to get their bearings.

  “Are you all right?” Taran asked as they got to their feet, doing his best not to sound as rattled as he truly was. He surveyed their surroundings for any sign of threat and checked his brother over for injury out of reflex.

  “I… think so…” Ciaran answered distracted
ly. He was clutching his chest with his eyes locked on a cave off in the distance.

  Taran squinted out at it, struggling to clear his thoughts. He shook his head. He… he needed to head back to Faol Seunta.

  “We… were here to check the cave?” Ciaran asked, finally giving Taran a confused look.

  Taran closed his eyes tightly and tried to remember. Something was missing. Something crucial, but for the life of him, he could not place it. “We just fought the dark mystics there… You and I returned to make sure none survived,” he stated, though he had no memory of them traveling to this place or searching the cave. Or anything that had occurred since that battle, for that matter.

  “We did,” Ciaran agreed, sounding similarly lost. “And… we were finished here.” He frowned thoughtfully. Closing his eyes, he brought his fingers up to his lips and traced them gently. There was a faint taste there… lingering and familiar… the ghost of sensation… Whatever it was, he felt a mighty need for more of it. Like he wanted to reach out and… touch… something. Something that was not present. Something he needed. It left him craving physical connection in a way he had never experienced. He needed… a woman. He bit his bottom lip and winced at the intensity of his desire. Great Mother help him, he needed a woman badly. He shifted his shoulders experimentally, feeling surprisingly good in his own skin for once. He felt stronger. Calmer. The fog had been cleared from his mind. He felt alive. Hungry for life.

  “We need to head back to Faol Seunta,” Ciaran declared in a notably stronger voice. “We should stop off at that village near the shore on the way – the one you like so much with all the women. I would like to see about a bed for the night…” Flashing an ill-behaved smile at his brother, he added, “And perhaps someone to share it with.”

  Taran flinched in astonishment and arched a brow. His brother had never, ever made such a suggestion. “You want to…? Wait, did you do something different with…?” he began, struggling to catalog all the drastic changes in his brother’s appearance. His jaw dropped open when he spotted the most jarring difference. For the first time, Ciaran was not wearing his mark of mourning. He had even stopped shaving the side of his head. Not only that, the hair was nearly an inch long already. How did I not notice this sooner? Taran wondered.