by Lexi Ander
Table of Contents
Blurb
Title Page
Copyright
Author's Note
Dedication
Lexicon
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Part Two
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
About the Author
Other works
A twist of fate changed both their destinies.
The wyrbears, once a long-lived species, were being lost to the forest in their prime. A people borne of a curse, their abilities not a gift but something wrongly taken, they nonetheless live in harmony with their animal spirits. But over time the curse they lived under changed, mutated, and now what once was a refuge from the world when they became too weary is culling mathan in their prime.
Ewen mhic Friscalach, the leader of his peoples, lost his father too early and is now a widower with four children. The vow he made as a youth to break the curse afflicting wyrbears has been buried by grief and responsibility.
Roi mhic Alric, a priest of Cerridwen and seer, watched his fellow priests slaughtered and his temple desecrated. The only thing that kept him going the last three horror-filled years was the vision Cerridwen had granted him of his emancipation. If freedom came at the cost of his life, well, he was more than ready for the Otherworld.
A fated meeting upon a bloody field of battle. A wrong done long ago. Their choices could save a people… or send them into extinction. Either way, their love will be legend.
Caledonia Destiny (Blessed Bane 1)
By Lexi Ander
Published by Lexi Ander
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Alison Todd-Mann
Proofread by Sandra Stixrude
Cover design by Kirby Crow
Formatted by Alison Todd-Mann
Font: Metamorphous © 2011-2012 by Sorkin Type Co
Images: Vecteezy.com
This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition July 2018
Copyright © 2018 by Lexi Ander
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Blessed Bane world is one where paranormal beings come out of hiding, making larger changes to the world as we know it and to how history unfolds. But that emergence has to have a beginning, which is detailed in this book.
Caledonia Destiny is set in late twelfth-century Scotland but is an alternate history that is also a paranormal romance in an alternate world. As such, historical events have been changed. This time period for Scotland was hard to uncover because there are so few surviving written documents. But one thing is evident—the land and people were diverse and as such had a mixture of languages: Scottish Gaelic in the Highlands, French among the royalty and nobles, Inglis in the Lowlands, and of course, in the northern regions, Old Norse. In recognition of this, as well as taking into account the varying cultural backgrounds of the characters and level of education for the era, I used Old English, Old Norse, and Old French with a scattering of Scottish Gaelic to give the prose an archaic feel. The goal was to make sure the reader could be transported back in time but easily read and understand the story. Due to this, some words (acrossed, afeared, affright, armee, enemi, fane, loame, mayhap, mesteries, natheless, quib, ribands, skilfully, titbits, trouse, etc.) may seem like typos but are, in fact, spelled correctly for the time period.
Also due to the grammar and word usage of the time, some words or phrases you are familiar with may not be hyphenated when they are nowadays, or have hyphens when they are used as a single word in modern usage. This is also to stay a little more true to the time period.
I hope you enjoy Roi and Ewen’s story.
I would also like to thank Gary Leach and Ilona Fenton for their participation that gave the story and series such great names.
~ : § : ~
Many thanks to Lucy and Kevin
for such a fun story prompt.
I hope you love the story as much as I do.
~ : § : ~
LEXICON
Alba – |ahl-buh| Scotland
Arailt – |aar-ilt| Gaelic form of Harold
cèilidh – |kay-lee| visit
Cerridwen – |keh-rid-wen| Goddess of the moon, of wisdom and understanding, keeper of the cauldron of the underworld, and Goddess of dark prophecy.
Cináed – |kin-ahd| Gaelic form of Kenneth
coimeasg |koym’-esg| – The act of merging, (act of) blending, (inter)mixing
cruth-atharrachadh – |kruh ar-harr-e-cuke| (act of) shapeshifting
Edan – |ee dan| Gaelic name
Eumann – |yoo-mun| Gaelic form of Edmund
Ewen – |yoo-an| Anglicized form of the Gaelic name Eoghan
fàg soiridh bhuan – | fag soddy vu-an | say farewell forever, a lasting farewell
ghillie dhu – |gillie dhoo| a gentle and kind-hearted mountain spirit
Gibidh – |gih-bee| Gaelic form of Gibby, short for Gilbert
Gillie Ainndreis – Gil Andrews
Gillecallum – |gille-calum| a popular personal name in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries
Glaschu – |gwas-koo| Glasgow
Kernunnos – | ker-noo-nohss| Horned God of the Forest
léine – |lay-nah| shirt
Loch Raineach – aka Loch Rannoch, is a large body of fresh water in Perth and Kinross in Scotland. The loch is over 14km (9 miles) long in a west-east direction with an average width of about 1,000m (1,090 yards). The River Tummel (Teimhil / Abhainn Teimhil) begins at its eastern end.
loong – |loong (as in look)| Chinese dragon
mathan – |ma-han (a as in can)| bear
Mael Coluim – |mael kuhm| Gaelic form of Malcolm
maik – |mak| a spouse with no bond to the mathan within
maik-marrae – |mak marray| a spouse who is also bonded to the mathan within, though not all choose to complete such formalities, seeing the sealing of the bond (usually through sex) as being more than enough
marrae – |marray| the person the mathan inside yearns for
mhic Friscalach – Gaelic form of Mac Fraser
mormaer – |mär māer| a regional or provincial ruler, and the senior of a toisech (Celtic noble)
mùth – |mhoo| change, alter
Olghar – |ohl-ver| Gaelic form of Oliver
Renfra – the town of Renfrew and its castle
rogha a chèile – best of partners / husbands / wives
Seoc – |shok| Gaelic form of Jock
slàn leibh – |slan llav| goodbye (plural, formal)
subhachas – |su’-ach-us| 1. celebration, festivity 2. cheerfulness, joyfulness, mirth
the Mórrígan – |the morr-i-ghan| a Goddess of war and fate, especially foretelling doom and death in battle
toisech – |tosh-ec
h| an official under a mormaer
I
The Legend of the Bearwyr Curse
EWEN’S RISING UNEASINESS caused a pain in his gut. In a few days he would observe the turning of his ninth birthing day. This would be the first he did not spend with his father and brothers, who were home in Alba. Instead, he travelled across the rough, violent sea to the land of the Gaels with his granda, Shaye. The time of his change was coming, when his name would be scribed upon the wall of the cradle as the upcoming ruler of his clan of wyrbears. And, as one of the first-born of the elders, Granda Shaye would instruct Ewen in the history of their people.
Out of respect for his granda, Ewen sought to keep his elation to himself. Natheless it was difficult when his gut rolled and twisted with eagerness. Granda beheld the journey, and the keen understanding of the history, as a dark occasion and he scowled fiercely at Ewen whenever he failed to contain his eager yearning.
Tonight Granda would recite the account of the legend that spoke of their people’s origin and how they had become the wyrbears they were now. Ewen already understood some of the telling, having secretly listened in upon the hushed discussions of the elders of his clan. Finally he would hear the whole story, not just the scraps he had gleaned afore now. From whence had they come? Why did he share his body with the spirit of his mathan, his bear?
Not too many days hence, upon the eve of his day of birth, his animal would waken from slumber. The mathan and Ewen would greet each other for the first time. Even now, his mathan stirred sleepily within him. Granda’s stories were to brace Ewen for what would come anon.
They travelled swiftly to make the next Norse settlement afore they halted for the eve. There they were granted a space upon the floor of the longhouse. Ewen awaited with little patience for his granda, who spoke with villagers, asking after ships, rivers, and other settlements as well as people, giving names of old friends from past travels. Once Granda had slaked his need for local tidings, they claimed a space near the trench hearth for themselves. After eating a late meal, Ewen climbed into the furs with haste. If Granda did not start the telling soon, he would burst like an old waterskin from excitement.
Granda reached for the satchel, his wrinkled hands stroking the soft leather, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Ewen pressed his lips together to keep from demanding Granda make haste. He had already been scolded this day; if he roused Granda’s ire again, Ewen would be made to wait to hear the telling another night. Raising the flap, Granda withdrew the rolled hide treated to shield the scrolls from that which would spoil them, including water.
His granda’s grave countenance pinched at the outer corners of his grey eyes. Granda Shaye was one of the few amongst the clan to be truly ancient. His dark beard and moustache, not long enough to altogether hide his downturned mouth, was streaked through with silver. None of the other elders sported white in their hair; life as wyrbears bestowed upon them a long life compared to the rest of mankind. Ewen beheld his granda with awe and wonder, for as the oldest amongst the wyrbears, Granda had yet to submit to the call of the forest as elders of lesser age had. Even Ewen’s father showed signs he suffered the wyrbear’s call to the wildwood this past twelvemonth.
“This be the most essential telling, Ewen.”
He met his granda’s eyes. “I understand.”
With care, Granda unrolled the leather, revealing the agèd scroll with flowing script in a tongue Ewen could not cipher. His fingertips traced the swirling lettering as he spoke. “When your time comes to read this to your heir, you must handle this with care, child. The scroll be spelled, the words enscribed by the will of a goddess lest we forget what came afore. Respect the writing, learn from the lessons of the days of old, and pass the knowledge down. This be your duty.”
“Yea, Granda,” Ewen replied obediently.
Granda Shaye cleared his throat, glancing briefly at Ewen who gave his full attention to his grandsire, relieved he required Ewen wait no longer.
~
Kernunnos, Horned God of the Forest, walked the wildwood of the world. Mankind honoured and adored him, paying homage to the eternal guardian of the forest. As ages passed, men moved from the old groves, seeking the lush fertility of the glens and flat-faced plains. They built homes, then villages grew into grand citadels. Those who made their lives in the woods became fewer and fewer. The people forgot the Lord of the Forest, no longer understanding how to live alongside the creatures of the wild and forgetting how to abide by the needs of the land as they gathered material wealth unto themselves.
Saddened by the withdrawal of man, Kernunnos continued to shepherd the lessening wilds. Yet mankind cut down whole groves of ancient trees to build their kingdoms, wage war, sail the seas, and to clear fields for their crops. Every continent Kernunnos travelled, this destruction met his sight. Rather than raging at the loss he planted new groves, seeking to replace those which had become lost.
Upon one of his many travels he crossed paths with two mathan cubs. A hunter’s arrow had claimed the life of their mother, leaving them orphaned and alone, likely to die by the teeth of a beast of prey. Gathering the twins to him, Kernunnos nurtured the foundlings, his touch infusing them with magick, causing them to be aware in a way not natural to the animals of the wild. In time, he determined the cubs would abet him with tending the forest. Human numbers grew, and the ruin they caused multiplied as the spin of time lengthened. The mathan’s help would be beyond value to temper the confusion mankind wreaked upon the land in the wake of their passing.
Kernunnos named the twins Avory and Fordel, teaching them to become keepers of the trees and all that sought sanctuary under their broad branches. The twins were inseparable as they tended to the wildwood, oft finding short spans of time to tumble and play, all the while blind to the fact that time rolled forward and ages passed.
Then one day Fordel stumbled upon a young boy lost in the forest. Afeard not, the child curled up against Fordel, nestling down into his thick fur for warmth. Fordel had heard tales of mankind from the boar and the raven. “Beware,” they had whispered to Avory and Fordel. “Humans thirst for blood, spilling it from all creatures without need. They be insolent and lack any respect for the wildwood. They destroy. They take by force and slyly steal, never to bestow anything back to ye.” Yet Fordel perceived no evil in the innocent who gazed at him with such trust and awe.
Taking the boy, he followed the cries of the humans who sought the stripling, and returned him to his people. Safely hidden, he beheld the outcry as the young one was taken up with much ado by a man the child called Papa. Keeping to the deepest shadows, he trailed behind the humans, unsure why. His deed was done, and yet a new yearning bloomed in his core as the boy gazed over the man’s shoulder, smiling and waving.
When the thinning of the wildwoods meant Fordel could go no farther, he stayed until the men were gone from sight and longer still, remaining at the forest’s edge. Avory found him gazing at the grasslands with deep longing. When he told his twin of the boy and the men, Avory chastised him for wanting what could not be.
“Did a man not murder our mother for her pelt, then leave us to die? If not for Kernunnos, we would have become easy prey for the wolf afore we were overcome with hunger. Yearn not for the world of mankind when the wildwood provides for all our needs.”
Avory pulled him back to the heart of the forest, ever watchful over his moody of a sudden twin. Fordel knew Avory spoke truth, natheless he pondered the cities whispered about by those with wings. He oft slipped slyly away from Avory’s mindful eye to make his way back to the forest’s edge, hoping to meet the boy again, or the man called Papa.
Upon one such occasion Fordel stumbled upon Kernunnos. The Lord of the Forest’s regal head was adorned with a wide rack of antlers from whence finches chirped. His flowing beard was as green as spring moss, and his golden mane of hair reached past his waist. Kernunnos beheld him with large brown eyes, his smile full of warmth, then stamped his dark cloven-hoofed feet upon the clover, his b
lack-clawed fingers ruffling Fordel’s thick dark fur. “So, it is true. Your brother told me you were curious about the humans.”
“Please, Guardian, I wish not to cause strife. I simply want to walk amongst mankind. However if I leave the forest as I am, the humans shall behold the bear, not your humble servant, and I am afeard they shall endeavour to smite me or steal my pelt.” Fordel found that once he started speaking, all his desire, all his wishes spilled forth.
Kernunnos sat and listened with patience as Fordel spoke long into the night; with abounding trust he revealed all. If any understood the light he felt blooming in his core, surely Kernunnos would.
When Fordel’s fevered talking came to an end, Kernunnos hummed with great mirth even as his eyes appeared sad. “You and Avory be my children just as if you came from my loins. I would that you be happy. Come, cub, and let us go and call upon the Mórrígan. She may be able to help with your quest.”
Fordel had heard of the Mórrígan from the ravens. Goddess of War and Strife, the Great Queen, the Mórrígan spurred fighters to battle madness and used her magick to reign over the field of war. Fordel had never witnessed deadly conflict, only the violence that caused the death of his mother, thus he perceived not that he should be afeard of the dark knowledge the Mórrígan carried.
He followed Kernunnos, brewing with curiosity and elation afore he even came face to face with the rare and eerie beauty of the Goddess. She was dressed for battle, wearing hard leather armour tooled with images of ravens, carrying a deadly sword sheathed at her side and a wickedly tipped spear in her hand. Her long, dark hair was tied atop her head to fall in shining waves to the backs of her knees. A high collar of raven’s feathers circled her gracefully arched neck. The Mórrígan stared hard at Fordel as she hearkened to Kernunnos as he spoke of Fordel’s desire to walk amongst the humans.
The tone of the Mórrígan’s voice lent to her a countenance of concern. “Child, men be tools for destruction. They would harm you rather than lend you aid. They spill blood oft without need or provocation. Walking amongst them shall only bring you pain and grief.”