Caledonia Destiny

by Lexi Ander

  “Hurry and put these on, have them touching the skin. If I created them aright then the magick of the warloghes shall not affect ye.”

  Roi noticed that the bracelet Arailt had received from his forest friend seemed to glow slightly when he dropped the cord of the amulet about his neck. Had Arailt already been warded from the warloghes?

  Then Roi gave each of them a satchel. “Listen to me carefully. Do not deviate from what I tell ye. First ye must ward the warriors. Choose wisely. I only had time to make a few amulets. Touch the amulet to their skin and once they have their senses back, they need wear the amulet as ye do. Once ye have handed out all the amulets in those pouches, then ye can slay the warloghes. Do not assume that since they use trickery and magick they be weak of arm. From what I beheld in the bailey, they wear emblems upon their cloaks, a silver pin. Come with me.”

  Amongst the last items lying in the trunk was Roi’s sword belt, which he quickly donned. Grabbing the last two items, another, smaller pouch, and a crock a little bigger than his palm, he crossed the room to the opposite door that led to the main stairwell. The warloghes had likely not invaded the interior yet. If they were who he believed them to be, they would search the people outside first.

  Nary a sound met his ears when Roi cautiously opened the door. The stairs down led to the larder, and up, to the solar. Wending their way upwards, Roi listened every couple of steps. Arailt insisted on entering the room first. The chamber was barren; they crossed through, quietly entering the corridor that led to the other bedchambers. Roi breathed more easily to find Freya and the children still cleaning up.

  “What be the meaning of this?” Freya placed herself betwixt Roi and the children.

  He pressed a bag into her hands. “Forgive the intrusion, m’lady, but the warloghes have returned. Ye and the babes need to wear these. They shall make the warloghes overlook ye, but ye must hold very still. Take the children and hide until the danger be gone.”

  Brigid pushed past Freya. “Roi, I want to go with ye.”

  Freya’s face pinched with unspoken fear. “Then who shall protect yer brothers and sister? This be where ye be needed.” Gibidh, Ewen’s youngest, only a twelvemonth, whimpered, drawing her eye.

  When Brigid’s gaze returned to Roi he could tell she liked it not, but she did not argue. “Then I shall make sure they be safe.”

  Afore Roi could take his leave, the children came to him, hugging him fiercely with their small arms, tiny fingers pulling the hair upon his chin. Una cried softly, and Eumann put on a brave face though his lips trembled. Roi clutched the crock, reminding himself of his duty in order to tear himself from the temptation of seeing the children to safety. He would entrust that task to Freya, though leaving them sorrowed Roi almost as surely as leaving Ewen would. They had grown upon him in such a short time, becoming his family. Just as with Ewen, Roi would do everything in his power to shield them from all that would do them harm.

  After Arailt and Edan collected their weapons, they moved more quickly than afore through the hallway. Arailt halted, motioning to Donn’s door. Roi pounded upon the surface with a closed fist. The rising noise of the crowd in the great hall echoed from the nigh stairwell. Arailt and Edan moved to guard the portal.

  Avory opened the door with a heavy frown, nude and looking a bit dishevelled. His countenance turned wary upon seeing Roi. “What goes, seer?”

  Roi shoved the crock at him and Avory wrapped his hand around the clay dish, seeming more puzzled than afore. “Ye and Donn must stay here until they take me away.”

  Donn appeared behind Avory, thankfully more dressed than Avory. “Halt, Roi. Explain.”

  He ignored Donn; Ewen’s brother was too close to the matter. Avory would have to be the one. “Warloghes be in the bailey. Their numbers are great, connecting them so they may wield a goodly amount of magick.” He heard Donn sputter but Roi rushed on. Time, he had no time. “I shall slay as many as I can afore Lord Drake and Cináed take me. I know not the why, but they wish me dead, desperately. They shall take me away, I have seen— I be sure of it.”

  “Lord Drake? Lord Shaye Drake? Granda?”

  Roi turned his gaze upon Donn who seemed dazed, answering, “That be what Ewen called him. I know the man from the King of the Isles’ court. He be a wicked being. No good ever came from his presence.”

  Returning his attention back to Avory, Roi said, “Arailt and Edan shall free as many warriors as they can from the spell and whittle down the warloghe’s numbers. Once it be clear to do so, ye must go to Ewen.”

  “Shall they slay Ewen?” Donn asked, his eyes clear and sharp now.

  “If this man be yer granda, he could have killed Ewen at any time. That he has not means something. Mayhap he bears a fondness for Ewen, or Ewen has not yet served his purpose. I be counting upon Lord Drake staying his hand one more time.”

  Donn moved farther into the chamber, probably to finish dressing. Roi needed to hurry. He leaned in and whispered instructions into Avory’s ear. It was imperative Avory understand the task Roi set afore him. When he stepped back and met Avory’s eyes, Avory’s countenance was firm and grave but he nodded his acquiesce.

  Without another word, Roi spun upon his heel and led the way to the stairwell, descending to the great hall. Arailt and Edan followed so close Roi could feel the heat of their bodies. They had not said much since Roi grabbed them from the revelries, instead heeding his word without question. The trust they bestowed upon him was a great honour.

  In the shadow of the stairwell, Roi clasped forearms with them. Their mathans moved behind their eyes, their restlessness belying their outward stoicism. Roi wished them well as he drew his sword.

  “I shall cause a diversion. Free as many as ye can from the spell.”

  ~ : § : ~

  EWEN DID NOT TRULY comprehend Roi’s warning until it was too late. Cináed and Granda crossed the yard to him, the shock of seeing Granda alive muddling Ewen’s thoughts. Had Granda found a way to break the call of the forest? Ewen could use such good news. They had lost too many to the forest this twelvemonth.

  Instead of heeding Roi, Ewen crossed to them, full of wonder and joy—until he looked with care upon Granda’s countenance.

  “Trap!” Bear shouted a mere moment afore something hit Ewen upon the back of the skull and he crumpled into a dazed heap upon the ground. His upper arms were gripped hard and he was dragged some distance. Something foul filled the air, causing Ewen to choke and gag. He could not hear much of what was said over the screaming and roars from his kin. Bear was frantic.

  Granda’s betrayal burned Ewen’s throat. Cináed… Ewen half expected treachery from that quarter, but not from his granda, the man who helped raise him. Ewen’s gut churned with bitterness.

  If he needed to shift into Bear at any time in his life it was now, and he gave himself over to Bear utterly, wholly. Bear surged forward only to hit a barrier that threw him back. Roi’s words, his discreet, wise words that the knot tattoo was what caged Bear within Ewen rang in his ears. Bear roared, and Ewen echoed his challenge.

  “Ewen attempts to cruth-atharrachadh!” Cináed called over the rabble in the bailey.

  “Worry not, I gelded his ability to change skins long ago.” Granda’s words stung. But had Roi not said as much ere now?

  Bear surged forward again and again. Ewen gnashed his teeth against the pain as hooded men erected a hasty frame. Ewen fought as hard as Bear to be free of them. Thrashing and kicking, he was still tied roughly to a wooden post, arms outstretched as if inviting an embrace. Long strips of braided leather about his waist, feet, and neck lashed him to the pole. Bear continued to batter at the magical walls that held him within Ewen’s body, the knot upon Ewen’s chest burning as if a glowing brand pressed against his skin. The desire to mùth, to shed his human skin, break the bonds, and maim all who dared to enter his home and harm those who called him king overwhelmed him. Ewen wanted to lose control and become that which would make men quake in their boots and run
from his sight.

  A solid fist to his gut caused him to gasp for breath. Cináed’s dark chuckle made Ewen’s skin prick like goose-flesh. His tunic was cut from his body with a knife. Cináed moved in front of Ewen, inspecting the knot upon his chest, cool fingers pressing against the dark lines. Bear and Ewen both growled and snapped their teeth at him, but Cináed ignored Ewen as if he stood there passively, not straining to be free. If he got his hands on Cináed he would take Cináed’s life, and gladly.

  “The lines be unbroken. Be ye sure the slave be who ye think? If he were one of them, would he not have freed Ewen by now?” Cináed glanced over his shoulder to Granda.

  “He mayn’t yet know what he be. If the binding be in place then we have come in time.”

  Ewen glared at Granda. He wanted to demand Granda tell him why. Why bring this foul rabble into Ewen’s home? Why betray Ewen’s trust? A thousand questions perched upon the tip of his tongue and yet he said naught. Nay, instead Ewen’s glare promised Granda and Cináed would die by his hand if someone but cut Ewen loose.

  “Do you have naught to say to me, boy?” From beneath the cowl of his cape, Granda’s grey eyes studied Ewen, part sorrow yet full of purpose. He looked the same as last Ewen saw him: his dark hair streaked with grey and white, deep lines around his eyes, his beard close cropped and neatly trimmed.

  Granda sighed and reached up to pat Ewen’s cheek, a gesture he had used affectionately time and again. Ewen flinched from the touch and the pain Ewen’s denial caused him showed clear upon Granda’s visage. “I be here not to harm you or your wee ones. I need only the slave. Cináed said the pagan belongs to you. Once I have him, we shall leave and grace your stoop no more. But I shan’t leave without him.”

  “You cannot have my marrae. You of all people know what he means to me and my mathan,” Ewen snapped, of a sudden wishing he had kept his silence.

  “Fool.” Cináed’s comment only caused Ewen to struggle harder. He prayed Roi had taken the children and fled.

  Searching the bailey, Ewen noted his kin writhed upon the ground, raving like madmen. The humans screamed and cowered from cowl-shrouded warloghes. Relief flooded him to know none had been slain.

  Turning back to Cináed’s smug face, Ewen said, “Ye had Brigid stolen in the dark of night to threaten me.”

  He sneered. “If I had known they would be that incompetent I would have sent the message meself. As it be, a dozen paid the price for the failure.”

  “The slaughter at the cottage.” Ewen recalled the bloody scene within those four walls. Cináed answered not, only smiled wide.

  “Give us the pagan, Ewen.”

  He turned his attention to Granda, lips pressed together stubbornly, refusing to answer. Every moment he delayed…

  “I shall find him,” Granda vowed.

  “You would betray your own?” Ewen asked, trying to understand.

  Granda threw his head back and laughed. There, nestled in the V of his dark hued tunic lay a necklace, one he had worn all his life. Yellowed stone twined with fine copper wire. His granda wrapped his fingers around the amulet and gave a sharp tug, the leather cord snapped, and he let the necklace slide through his fingers.

  Of a sudden the stench of death filled Ewen’s nose, coating the back of his tongue. Granda no longer smelled like a wyrbear but of a rotting corpse. Had he never been a wyrbear? Ewen grew more confused. What of his maik and his marrae? What of all the generations who looked to him as one of their own? All of those he had taught wyr history to?

  “What be you?” Ewen’s stomach rolled, threatening to relieve him of its contents.

  Granda spat, hatred filled his gaze. “Cursèd! Cursèd for all eternity because I did what my king asked and bestowed unto him the spirit of a mathan. How be I to know Fordel be something else altogether? How be I repaid for my trouble? Cursèd by a goddess and murdered by my king.”

  All this time Eryl Drake had been amongst the wyrbears? “You could have broken your curse. I do not understand.”

  “Do you know how many times I have died? Burned at the stake, stabbed in the heart, decapitated, drawn and quartered—hundreds of ways, and always upon the fourth day I rise. I have lived more lifetimes than you can ever guess. Why would I give up eternity?”

  “Then why do this?” Ewen sagged against his bonds, Bear’s battering against his cage slowing as he wearied.

  “Anyone can break the curse, my dear boy.” Granda grinned with such malice Ewen was surprised he did not expire on the spot.

  “But the histories…” With dawning horror, Ewen squeezed his eyes shut against the truth.

  “Who taught you, your father, and your granda? Given enough time and the aright circumstances, oral histories can be changed. Cerridwen’s stipulation be I break my curse, but anyone with the knowledge could free Fordel and return to him his body. Why do you think King Reginald sent the body away, sold it into slavery? To keep anyone from reversing the binding. But his children refused to forget.”

  Cináed bent and retrieved the necklace, tying it around Granda’s neck, the foul stench gone once it fell into place against Granda’s skin.

  “I like this long life, Ewen. There be only one last obstacle betwixt me and it. Now, where be the pagan?”

  Afore Ewen could give him a false answer a war cry rang through the air of the bailey. Ewen’s heart sank. Roi appeared, his golden hair flying like a flag upon a field of battle, his countenance promising death as he slew one warloghe after another. As he fought, ravens arrived in twos and threes to gather in eerily increasing numbers upon the keep walls. Quiet. Waiting. Expectant.

  Roaring, Ewen struggled against the bonds holding him tight as Bear renewed his fight to be free. All this time and Ewen knew not who shared his body. He had thought Granda had lied to him merely about small things, but this… Granda’s betrayal went deep. And what of Bear’s—Fordel’s—betrayal? Bear could have confided in Ewen yet he had held his silence, dooming them and putting Roi in danger.

  Roi fought like a mighty warrior of old. However there were too many warloghes and but one of him. As Roi was overcome, borne to the ground under numerous bodies, Roi continue to dole out wounds.

  The fault of this day was Ewen’s to bear. Master Yingjie had hinted at the dubious character of Granda and his men, but even afore Master Yingjie said aught, Ewen had suspected Granda of something foul, of… and yet Ewen had continued to trust him because he thought Granda was family. Ewen had believed Granda looked out for him because he loved Ewen.

  All those years ago, Da had called Ewen home, and by the time they set foot on Loch Raineach his da was gone. He ached still with unquenched grief because he did not get to tell him slàn leibh, his last memories of his da being from the sight of a boy of not yet ten years old. Granda kept him away so long Ewen had returned a stranger to his brother, his people. Then he fell in love with Caitriona, determined to build a new and better life for his people, only to lose Granda to the forest a few short years later. Or so he had believed. Ewen quit believing in the legend, forsook his vows to break the curse, giving up when he believed he had borne too much sorrow. He had merely wanted a simple life serving his people and living out his existence with his maik and children.

  Now Roi would die, and the blood of his death would stain Ewen’s hands, all because Ewen had renounced his vow. He screamed Roi’s name over and over. Roi had tried to tell him, to warn him from the first day they met—Roi would die by Ewen’s hand.

  His hand.

  Bear—Fordel—cried out with Ewen, battering himself with renewed vigour against the cage Ewen had allowed Granda to place upon him. Why did Fordel not tell Ewen who he was? All this time, Bear had known Ewen had lost faith in the lore of his people and yet kept his silence. The aright words from Bear would have renewed his belief with ease.

  The warloghes bound Roi’s hands, his body limp, eyes closed. Blood stained his golden hair, vividly painting his face. Ewen would give up all he had, his wealth, his very station an
d title if Roi would simply open his eyes.

  “Roi!” Ewen needed to tell Roi what he meant to him. He needed to hold Roi one more time.

  “Roi!” Ewen wanted to hear Roi say Ewen’s name in that voice of his after Ewen had wrung all the pleasure out of him.

  “Roi!” He needed to feel Roi’s skin pressed against him, see Roi smile, see him laugh with sudden, unbidden joy.

  “Roi!” To see his children rush up to Roi, talking over each other as they vied for his attention, seeking his praise.

  “Roi!” By the gods, Ewen was not ready to give him up. A lifetime with Roi would be too short.

  “Roi!” Fordel’s own call echoed in Ewen’s ears as Roi was thrown over a horse, his bound hands dangling towards the ground. Granda bestowed unto Ewen a pitying look. Ewen had never despised anyone as he hated Shaye Drake.

  Cináed and Shaye mounted their own steeds, taking the reins of Roi’s horse afore riding through the keep gates onto the bridge, glancing back not once. The remaining warloghes moved through Ewen’s kin towards him. With grim pleasure, Ewen noted Roi had slain five of their number and injured two more. Fierce pride beat against Ewen’s chest and he only hoped Roi woke from the stupor afore Cináed or Shaye did him grave injury. Even weaponless, Roi was a force to be reckoned with.

  As Ewen watched the warloghes approach he realized they would not leave until he was dead. Shaye could not lift a hand against Ewen out of whatever twisted love Shaye held for him, but then he did not need to when he had others to do his bidding. Shaye had revealed too much to allow Ewen to live, else he would not have said Fordel could be freed.

  Defiant, Ewen stared into the shadows of the warloghe’s dark cowls. He spat upon the closest. “The lot of you be bastard curs in need of putting down.”

  “Not by ye,” one sneered, chuckling with dark humour.