Caledonia Destiny

by Lexi Ander

  To Ewen’s utter surprise, Brigid moved amongst the writhing bodies of their kith. Untouched by the warloghes’ spell, she climbed onto the tabletop. Overconfident that their magick had subdued Ewen’s kin, their attention stayed upon Ewen, blind to the fact that his eldest, most valiant daughter notched an arrow and drew back upon the drawstring, her hands steadfast, her breath calm just as Ewen had taught her.

  Arailt rose behind the line of unsuspecting warloghes, his countenance a mask of utter rage as the tip of his sword burst thought the chest of the man standing afore him. “Nay, yer death shall be our honour to grant,” he said as he jerked his sword free.

  The curs stood stunned as another of their own fell dead to the ground by Eban’s blade, and then another caught Brigid’s arrow through the throat. That slight hesitation allowed more of Ewen’s kin to reveal themselves, giving swift death blows as they waded through the warloghes. Ewen almost cried out in relief when Donn rushed to him, his brother’s eyes searching for wounds afore his hands cupped Ewen’s face.

  “Make haste, they have taken Roi,” Ewen relayed, a mite breathless in anticipation of being free. They would hunt down and dispatch Cináed and Shaye afore Roi could be harmed.

  “We know.” Avory approached, a crock cradled in the palm of his hand.

  Donn moved around to work the bindings.

  “Halt, Donn,” Avory said, dipping his fingers into the green cream. “First I must administer the salve. If this does what Roi said, for Ewen’s own safety he shall need the fetters as the binding be broken and the spirit freed.”

  Chafing to be released, Ewen tugged at the leather cords. “What be ye saying? Ye watched Roi taken and did nothing?”

  “We did as he bade us,” Avory replied as he drew the green-hued salve from the crock.

  Ewen had no time for riddles. “Donn, unbind me this instant!”

  “Ye shall wait,” Avory snapped. “We follow Roi’s instructions, and if you wish to spare his life then heed his wisdom.”

  Avory’s last words caused Ewen to stop struggling, but his patience was a fragile thing. When Avory applied the cool, oily salve to the drakon upon his shoulder instead of the markings Ewen now knew to be the binding that caged Fordel, he readied a scathing retort to heap upon Avory’s head.

  Then the drakon stirred.

  Astounded, Ewen blinked, for surely the warloghe’s spell addled his mind. Markings, tattoos, did not move upon one’s body, did not come alive. Yet, there upon his shoulder the drakon lifted, pushing up off his skin. The lines that created its figure were discernible to the eye but the un-hued spaces betwixt the lines were like uncovered windows, clear spaces Ewen could see through.

  Once free of Ewen’s skin, the drakon shook itself out like a wet dog throwing off water. Gasps drew Ewen’s attention to those around him—Arailt carried Brigid on his hip so she could see over the heads of the men. All beheld Ewen with expressions of open wonder. Except for Avory. His was one of great expectation.

  Movement upon Ewen’s arm drew his eye back to the drakon. It sniffed the yellow, five-pointed star on Ewen’s lower forearm. Seemingly satisfied with what it found, the drakon lifted the edge of the darkly lined tattoo and began to devour the shape. Ewen hissed through gritted teeth at the pain. The star had hooks under his skin, bound to muscle, to Ewen’s very bone. With every tug the drakon dug deeper into Ewen as it consumed the magick, yet somehow the skin below the star remained pale and unbroken.

  By the time half of the star had been pulled free and eaten, Ewen writhed under the bindings. If he had not been fettered, he would have hurt himself or someone else to pull at the drakon. With each tug the drakon made, Ewen lost a bit of his mind as the agony ate him, and if he had been free he would have ruined any chance to free Fordel just to claw at the drakon. Avory’s insistence that this must be done to save Roi was all that prevented his loss of control, silent repetitions of Roi’s name the only thing holding him to sanity.

  By the time the last point had been removed, Ewen panted harshly, his mouth and throat parched. He had not uttered a word, but it had been close. As the drakon had eaten the star, the yellow hue had become part of the creature’s scales. Now the drakon no longer appeared clear, giving the appearance of substance even as it remained flat. Turning, the drakon scampered up Ewen’s arm to his shoulder where it peered across Ewen’s chest to the knot drawn on his right breast.

  Able to gaze at the drakon properly, Ewen could finally make out the intricate scales. It startled him to find the drakon pleasing to the eye. He had a strong suspicion that this was the creature that had marked Roi, yet he had no idea how.

  With his mind clouded by the pain of the drakon eating the star, Ewen only now noticed Fordel had stilled… expectant. He sensed Fordel’s rising anticipation as the drakon moved behind Ewen’s head to his right shoulder, dropping down over the knot. Was this it? Would Fordel be free? How would that help Roi? Ewen wanted to growl at the drakon to make haste but knew not if speaking would cause the creature to falter, so held his tongue, willing it to hurry even as he dreaded the drakon’s touch.

  Ewen held his breath as the drakon plucked at the edge of the knot, its tiny, sharp claws digging into his skin as it clung to Ewen’s body. The drakon walked around the knot, small rivulets of blood running down Ewen’s stomach in its wake. Stopping when it faced Ewen’s shoulder, the drakon finally grasped the upper edge of the winding knot and pulled.

  This time the pain was different, as if Ewen’s skin were split, sliced with a dull blade. Grunting, Ewen threw his head back against the post that kept him aloft and stared at the cloudless blue sky. Sweat coated his brow, stinging his eyes, and his gut churned sourly. To fight the sensations Ewen called up Roi’s laughter, his teasing smile. Even though he felt as if he were being split from neck to groin, Ewen endured because Roi was his. He wanted Roi back, safe and sound, regardless of any price Ewen must pay.

  Ewen beheld his kin, all but bewitched by the creature that should not exist, much less move of its own accord. Strangely, a crone stood next to the keep’s wall. She was older than anyone Ewen had ever seen in the village, with wrinkles so deep they folded her skin until her features were lost, and unknown to him. Dark eyes watched intently yet held no malice. In her hand was a gnarled walking stick that would have been as tall as she if she were not hunched as if she bore a great weight upon her shoulders.

  A notable, vicious tug tore Ewen’s gaze from her to peer down at his chest. He expected to see blood and all manner of gore. What he beheld caused Ewen to blink, unsure.

  The drakon had peeled back the scrolling knot until it was held to Ewen by only a short piece of skin the length of his fingernail. Where the tattoo once sat was more than mere skin. A mass writhed there, the essence the colour of a cloudless summer sky. Ethereal. Other. Then, for the last time, Ewen heard Fordel pant as he strained, pushing out as the drakon tore the marking from Ewen’s chest and devoured it.

  Clear blue liquid poured from Ewen to pool at his feet. His kin scramble away, all except Avory, who watched with a soft countenance and a growing smile of utter joy. Inside Ewen, Fordel shoved and pulled until Ewen sensed him no more and the water stopped.

  What had spilled forth from Ewen was not mere water or a thing of heft one could grasp in their fist but a wispy spirit. Before his eyes the shape of a large mathan formed, like a sparkling blue star shining in the night sky. The animal was so sheer Ewen saw through him. Beholding Bear—Fordel—for the first time stole Ewen’s breath. He was taller and broader than any mathan found in the wild… just like Avory. When he ambled over to Avory, he looked the outlander intently in the eye.

  “Greetings, brother. We must make haste and find Roi lest all be lost this day.” Avory’s voice cracked as he shed silent tears. He tore at his clothing, not once taking his eyes from Fordel.

  In the blink of an eye, Avory shed his human skin to become the mirror image of Fordel. Together they lifted their heads to release fierce roars. Although onl
y Avory’s call could be heard, Fordel’s hummed in Ewen’s very bones. People scrambled out of their way as the brothers took off at a run, faster than any animal of the wild.

  Not once had Fordel glanced at Ewen. So much had passed between them, but when freed of Ewen… He had not known Fordel’s leaving would spear his heart so.

  The drakon finished eating his feast, tongue lapping at his lips as he stared at Ewen, his blue eyes twinkling. “Do not mourn what he gave not unto you,” the drakon hissed. “Fordel be a fool, his judgement clouded by his prejudice.”

  How would the drakon know? Then Ewen clearly grasped that all these years, the drakon had been aware, listening to countless conversations and all Ewen’s thoughts. Yet Ewen had not descried his presence.

  A gaping hole remained where the knot used to lie, empty like an unused caldron. The thump of Ewen’s heart skipped at the sight. For the first time since Ewen had turned ten twelvemonths, he was alone in his head. In his body. Hollow. Fordel mayn’t have spoken oft, but Ewen had ever sensed his emotions, felt Fordel’s restlessness under his skin. Ewen found he cared not for this new feeling.

  “Mourn not, for you shan’t be alone long.” The drakon quirked an odd smile at Ewen, then crawled into the gaping hole, burrowing into Ewen. Filling him up. Coimeasg. Blending with Ewen.

  Through all, Ewen had kept his tongue, but this new agony tore the screams from him. Hands fumbled at the bindings. Ewen writhed, unable to draw breath. Darkness crouched at the edges of his sight as if to swallow him whole. Ewen’s last thought afore being overwhelmed was of Roi.

  Pleading with Roi’s Goddess Cerridwen, Ewen whispered Roi’s plight into the wind. He prayed Fordel would rend Shaye and Cináed to pieces. After he saved Roi.

  XXIX

  THE EXCITED CALL OF WOLVES on the hunt woke Roi. He groaned softly, his head throbbing with blinding pain. The ground moving beneath him did not help. The howling came again, but not as distant as afore. Last eve Roi had listened to Ewen’s kin speak of hearing but never seeing the wolves. Apparently the wild ones tended to stay away from the loch because the region belonged to the mathans.

  Someone traced symbols onto Roi’s bared skin. At least they had stopped moving. How did he come to be nude in the out of doors? When Roi attempted to open his eyes, pain sliced across his face. He squinted through one eye, blinking at the bright light that hurt his aching head. Roi lay in the meadow where Ewen had found him and children days afore. His hands were bound in front, runes inscribed onto his skin in a dark ointment. Roi’s chest felt as if he was covered in muck, though he dared not look down with how his head throbbed.

  Not far away, Cináed knelt with a sword hacking at the ground, water sluicing upward with each stroke. Again and again Cináed raised the sword over his head to plunge the blade back into the ground. With each movement the ground shuddered in a rippling motion beneath Roi.

  “Why can we not simply toss him in? We stay until he be dead and that be that. He be the last of his line, none else shall be able to break the curse. No matter how many times Fordel be reborn upon one of those whelps, he shall be trapped evermore.” Cináed stopped chopping at the ground and laid the sword next to him, leaning his palms upon his knees as he gasped for breath.

  Lord Drake’s voice sounded above Roi, answering Cináed. Roi laid utterly still even as his skin crawled from Lord Dark’s touch. “I shall take no chance that the descendants of Cerridwen’s charge may be reincarnated in another form. We shall not sacrifice him until he be adorned with all the aright runes and the ritual be complete.” Lord Drake paused. “He were under my nose these past three twelvemonths and I knew not.”

  The baying of creatures on the hunt sounded perilously close. Lord Drake stilled and Cináed turned, his sharp eyes peering into the distance. Roi did not think, merely acted, lunging to his knees to push off with his bound hands and scrambling for the abandoned sword at Cináed’s side. The ground beneath them heaved, warning Cináed, for he turned to grasp the weapon the same time Roi gripped the hilt awkwardly in his bound hands. Tottering on the moving ground, Roi tumbled into Cináed. Cináed pulled him along by the hair and no matter how Roi fought to stay upon the rolling land, he fell with Cináed into the hole Cináed had created. Yet neither Cináed’s startled yelp nor his grip on Roi’s hair was what held Roi’s attention. It was the wintry water they fell into that caught his focus.

  Afore the water covered Roi, he held his breath. A lifetime of living next to the sea had taught Roi the water would be chilled, and how to swim even as encumbered as he was. Releasing the sword, Roi turned and rose to the surface, kicking hard.

  Not far away. Cináed writhed and splashed, sputtering for help as the ground broke off in his frantic attempts to gain land once again. Unfortunately, what he clawed at was not ground but a mockery of it, a thickset of matted plants at least a foot deep, if not more, floating upon the water. Cináed’s panic would be his undoing. Doing naught would be Roi’s, for the cold water rapidly leeched the warmth from his limbs.

  Lord Drake hastened to whence horses were tethered in the distance and returned carrying a staff. The howl of the wolves caused him to stumble, the sound like a ghoul’s wail coming from everywhere and nowhere.

  “Hurry, Shaye! We need leave this place.” Cináed’s words prompted Lord Drake from his stupor.

  Roi espied two large animals speeding towards them, running with unhindered purpose and unseen by Lord Drake. One was the most massive black mathan Roi had ever seen. The other be a mathan as well, but shining blue, more wispy mist than aught. His heart both sang and dipped in sorrow. His guess at Ewen’s problem with Bear had been true. He tried to soothe himself with knowing that Fordel’s presence meant Ewen was safe and alive with his kin, even if human. Ewen would go on to live a long life, goddess willing. Roi wanted to be overjoyed for him, yet his heart mourned. For the wyrbears to live out their natural lives, there had to be a consequence for freeing Fordel. Roi did not loathe being the sacrifice, only wished for more time with Ewen. Time to be able to say goodbye.

  His duty now set afore him, Roi laboriously swam towards the ever-retreating edge of the hole.

  ~ : § : ~

  AVORY’S PAWS THUNDERED against the ground as he ran with his brother. How long had it been since he was able to do so? Too long for Avory to count. Over the passing ages Avory had searched relentlessly for Fordel only to find desecrated bodies. All of them men and women who bore Cerridwen’s mark, descendants of Fordel’s human skin, each and every one with the ability to take Fordel into themselves. What was the purpose of freeing Fordel’s spirit if he had no body to return to?

  Avory followed the bloodshed. What he found had chilled him. Cerridwen had ensured the sorcerers shunned Eryl Drake, for he had become a stained creature of death that walked the paths of the world. The warloghes, though, they embraced him as they would a long-lost brother. Together they hunted the progeny of Fordel, but not to break the curse. Well, they wished to break a small portion of the damning. The warloghes Avory caught and questioned over the years had all revealed the same thing: Eryl Drake wanted to keep the long life, and to do so Fordel had to be trapped forever. But Eryl also wanted his magick returned to him. He believed destroying Fordel’s descendants would accomplish that, but the consequence was that the wyrbears answered the call of the forest afore they reached their prime.

  Roi was the last known descendant, and Eryl was very close to gaining what he desired. Or so he thought. Cerridwen ever be tricky.

  The wolves bayed. Avory could not espy them yet their scent lay strong upon the air. If they had been creatures of the wild, he would have been more wary, but they were not. Their magick was not of this place, yet Avory sensed no ill will, only the eagerness of the hunt, to run down their prey. It did not pass Avory’s notice they travelled in the same direction as he and Fordel, nor did the fact that they were commanded by the she-lynx who had marked Roi’s path and the territory he now lived in.

  The quickening voices
of the howls, along with Fordel’s changing colour, alerted Avory to the fact they were closer to Roi. Afore, Fordel had been translucent, a dull light of the soul he was, but as they drew nigh to Roi, Fordel became darker, more vibrant, his light shining like a moon in the dark night sky.

  They came upon a lush meadow, and Avory slowed at what he beheld. Eryl was rushing with a staff to where two men splashed in water. Bog. Fordel could cross safely since he had no form, but Avory’s weight would overburden the unstable ground and he would fall through to the hidden waters below.

  At the sight of Roi struggling in the water alongside the warloghe, Cináed, Fordel did not slow his headlong charge. Would Eryl use the staff to push and hold Roi under the water or to rescue Cináed?

  With only twenty feet separating Avory from Eryl, Avory roared. The sound of his challenge drew Eryl’s attention. Upon espying Fordel, his visgae turned the colour of ash.

  Fordel did not stop his charge but ran right through Eryl Drake. No sooner than he exited Eryl Drake’s back, a rain of arrows made a pincushion out of Eryl’s chest. For a moment, the warloghe stood staring down at the protruding shafts, then he toppled to the side.

  Fordel was deaf to it all, his sole focus upon Roi who seemed to be attempting to climb a drowning Cináed. As if Roi used Cináed’s back as a foothold, he pushed himself up and forward towards the quaking land, bound hands outstretched to Fordel. Avory’s brother had halted nigh to the edge, stretching forth a paw. When they touched, Roi was drawn—pulled—within Fordel. One moment Roi was flying through the air, the next, he and Fordel were one.

  Backing carefully away from the uncertain edge, Fordel began to take on his true form, the wispy body gaining mass. Starting from that one paw, he darkened, revealing glossy black fur as Fordel continued to retreat over the rolling green of the tricksome bog, past the still form of Eryl Drake until he reached Avory’s side. Once again, after so many ages agone, Fordel was whole.