Dark Truth (The Time Bound Series Book 3)

by Lora Andrews

  Caitlin peeked around Ewen’s arm to view a hand drawn sketch of a woman resembling her. “I guess someone was expecting me.”

  “My guess is Laoghaire,” Fionn said.

  Maybe. Swene had been both shocked and angry to see her. Of course, he’d thought she was his long-lost murdered sister returned.

  Ewen folded the parchment and shoved the paper into his boot. “Did you find anything else?”

  “Nay. The tower was empty, but the bed had been slept in.”

  “I can feel magic.” It pricked her skin. “Someone is definitely here.” Caitlin glanced at the Bres detector on her finger, still gray as the floor, and then tapped her head. Duh. “The secret chamber. It’s below ground.” She led them to the fireplace. “Ewen and I”—she grinned—“well, future Ewen and I, found the site after he identified where he thought the hearth would be. I fell through the ground several feet later. So, there’s got to be a lever or something to open a stairwell below.”

  They set down their shields, sheathed their swords, and got to work. Caitlin searched the wall to the left of the hearth, Ewen the other end, while Braern ran his hands along the mantle and the inside of the firebox. Fionn checked the floor for loose stones. Ten minutes later, a groan sounded, the dust dancing against the floor around the hearth.

  Ewen stepped back. A narrow curved stairway revealed itself between the sliding stone by his feet.

  Score one for the good guys!

  Caitlin moved closer to the opening and peered into the blackness, a moldy odor rising from below.

  Joining her by the breach, Brigid and Dyn looked less put together than they had a half hour ago.

  “Problems?” Ewen asked.

  “None we could not handle,” Dyn answered with a smirk.

  Braern grabbed a candle from the table and lit the wick. With a tight and narrow stairway, they’d have no choice but to descend single file. Ewen’s grandfather passed her the candle. “I will go first.”

  Ewen unsheathed his sword and descended the narrow staircase after Braern.

  “And I will hold up the rear.” Dyn’s smirk grew by a mile. “We Draconians have no need of light. One of the perks of being non-human. “Brigid and Fionn will proceed after you,” he told Caitlin.

  Stuck holding the candle, Caitlin set her shield on the floor up against the hearth. The groaning rock had echoed through the chamber, not deafening, but loud enough to alert listening ears, and she wasn’t fool enough to think the Norns would ignore their intrusion. She’d need her right hand to defend herself from whatever the enemy had planned.

  It took her a few minutes for her vision to adjust to the dark, the pitiful flame doing little to illuminate the empty room. But it was better than nothing. Ewen reached the bottom and then took her hand, guiding her the rest of the way down and over to the right until the others cleared the stairway. Standing with the burning candle in her hand and the warmer underground temperature pulling perspiration from her pores, she squinted, straining to hear, when it dawned on her she had access to magic.

  Duh. She rolled her eyes. Some superhero she was turning out to be.

  “Here, hold this,” she said to Ewen. Closing her eyes, Caitlin released a breath, then reached inside to the place where her magic lived. The place nourishing her bond to Ewen and her links to Fionn and Valoria. The place where her psychic abilities tugged, even when she refused to listen. Her palms warmed. When she opened her eyes, magic glowed from her hands, lighting up the cavern.

  “That’s a handy trick to have, lass.” Ewen blew out the candle and set the holder to the side.

  Another wave of Deja vu hit her. The stone walls. The lantern hooks. The smooth, hand-carved stone. The arched beams running along the ceiling. She shrugged off the prickling sensation spreading over her skin and followed Ewen out of the room into a hallway that extended about ten feet before it opened into a smaller area. Here, she spun around slowly and frowned. This was the exact spot she’d fallen into. She looked up, scanning the ceiling for a weak point, but couldn’t make out where one rough edge of stone ended and the next began.

  Braern and Dyn took the lead, turning left. Ewen touched the wall, his fingers running over the impression of a woman on a galloping horse with two hunters behind her, blowing into horns. The artist etched Celtic swirls into the stone, framing the rectangular image. The next panel featured rune-looking symbols that spiked her pulse. Less than a month ago, she’d pressed a bloody hand to that wall and watched in awe as magic lit the grooves, flowing from one symbol to the other like red-gold lava. And there, right there beside the blank panel, free of carvings, was the circular depression where she’d fitted the pendant and opened the magical doorway into the tiny room housing the Tempus Stone.

  God, was the stone still behind that wall even now?

  Was it possible?

  The heavy sense of doom kept her feet moving forward around the curved path to an open area. The woman who had stumbled into this chamber a week ago had died. In her place stood a woman who had killed. A woman who had watched the people she loved be killed. And now, as she extended her left hand out to provide light into the darkened cavern, Caitlin reached for Faolan’s sword, prepared to kill again.

  Braern and Dyn led the team, moving slowly into another open area, each man assessing the space, left to right, in near identical movements.

  A high-pitched piercing sound cut through the silence of the chamber.

  Braern and Dyn crumbled to the ground, swords clashing against the stone floor, hands cupped over their ears, bodies writhing in pain.

  What the hell?

  Caitlin winced and scanned the room, searching for the source of the noise. Ten feet away, figures moved into position. Five mermen. She tightened her grip around the hilt. Had the blue men been crouched? There was a solid wall behind them, so either they’d been waiting for them, or they stepped through solid stone. Which was impossible, right?

  The shrilling sound grew louder, the volume echoing between the three surrounding walls, the song a continuous loop of notes, one after the other without a break in the chorus.

  Ewen collapsed beside her. Brigid and Fionn next. Braern and Dyn continued to moan loudly.

  Grimacing against the building pressure in her head, Caitlin crouched near Ewen’s prone body. Something was off. Sure, they’d planned for this, but the mermen’s song disabled everyone but her. Why? Was the pendant blocking their dark magic? Or was there something about her that repelled Fomorian magic? Like the giant who’d bit her neck and died.

  She shoved the fear that thought generated aside and set her sword down—she didn’t want to, but how else could she search Ewen’s pockets for the wax he should have plugged into his ears.

  “Hold on,” she said, pulling the sticky substance from his right pocket. She shoved one rolled blob into his ear and then the other. The tension in his face eased.

  Good. The wax was working. She moved to stand. The minute she let go of his body, Ewen let out a groan and reached for her leg, wrapping his strong fingers around her ankle.

  “Ye block the pain,” he said between grunts.

  “What?”

  He eased onto his knees without releasing his grip of her leg. Ewen honed in on the merman fanned out before them—three in a vertical center line with one merman on each side of the middleman. Pushing onto his feet, he slid his hand up the length of her body.

  She leaned her shoulder into his chest to maintain contact. “You think it’s the bond?” Because what else could it be?

  He pulled the wax out of his ear with a finger, his right hand on her shoulder, then dragged her sword across the floor with his foot. Stooping to pick it up, he whispered, “I dinna know. You are protected somehow, and touching you lends that protection to me.” He glanced from the pod to the four members of their team incapacitated by the noise. “We need to remove the risk the merfolk pose.”

  “Right.” Because without Braern and Dyn, they were as good as dead against the Norn
s.

  Ewen handed her the sword. His right hand slid across her neck down her left arm to grasp her hand. He picked his weapon off the floor. “We do this together. Doona let go of my hand, lass.”

  “Okay.” The merman were in some kind of trance, singing their debilitating melody. “Why aren’t they attacking?”

  “Because someone is no’ ready to face us. The Havet are the first distraction.”

  Oh, lovely. So there would be more distractions. Fabulous.

  “Remember the attack in Lismore?” Ewen asked.

  “Yeah.” How could she forget.

  “The leader controlled the pod.”

  “That’s right.” He’d opened his mouth and communicated with the mermen in the same piercing tone right before they’d started splintering the birlinn. “So we silence the leader and hope it releases the others from its crippling hold.”

  “Aye, that’s the plan.”

  “Okay. Let’s do this before I lose my nerve. I think the guy in the center is in charge, the one with his eyes closed.” Caitlin’s heart bolted for her throat.

  Ewen squeezed her hand and jumped forward aiming for the pod’s leader.

  Caitlin thrust her sword at the merman to the right of the center, stabbing him through the vulnerable area where his heart beat, exactly where Kära had indicated. The blade pierced his flesh like a knife slicing through butter. She pulled her arm back, the sickening slurp turning her stomach.

  The haunting melody stopped.

  Ewen let go of her hand.

  Caitlin pivoted. Brigid’s training slammed into her all at once. She jumped back as a merman attacked, sharp claws aiming for her throat. She swung her sword in a downward strike where the merman’s neck met his shoulder. Expecting another attack, she spun so her back was protected by the wall. Gripping her sword with both hands, she fell into position, but the charge never came.

  Ewen wiped merman blood off his blade, his gaze falling to the two dead Havet at her feet. The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Nice work.”

  Behind them, the team rose on shaky legs, rearming themselves with their abandoned weapons.

  “Thanks.” She ripped off a piece of her tunic and cleaned off icky merman blood.

  “I told ye the wax wouldn’t work.” Fionn flicked the ball of wax to the floor and rolled a shoulder.

  “Shut up,” Brigid said, striding by her grinning brother.

  “She never listens to me,” he said, shrugging.

  They stood in a room as large as the great hall, about eighty feet long by fifty feet wide. Light flickered around a wooden door on the far end of the wall to their right.

  So the Havet hadn’t walked through stone.

  Ewen jutted his chin to the door, his intense eyes settling on Caitlin before moving on to silently command the rest of the team.

  Caitlin sucked in a breath and followed Ewen until they arrived outside the door.

  Ewen reached for the handle. Braern moved to stand between her and Ewen.

  She glanced at her ring. No sign of Bres. If the god was behind that door, he was far enough away not to trigger the stone. Unless Brigid had been wrong about the ring’s effectiveness.

  Or Bres had found a way to make himself undetectable to magic.

  Bastard.

  Whatever the reason, she was about to find out.

  THIRTY-TWO

  HAND CURLING AROUND the door handle, Ewen glanced back, broadcasting a silent ready? to each member of his team. A quick nod of his head followed a muscled shoulder pushing against the door. They ran inside as a unit, the sound of chanting slamming into Caitlin’s senses.

  The Norns sang, hands joined, the three forming a half-circle around the large stone altar raised off the floor. The naked body of Balor, the Fomorian King, lay upon the stone slab, arms crossed over his chest, body anointed in blood and oil.

  The Bres detector glowed blood red.

  Where is he?

  Her gaze darted from one end of the room to the other. Orhavet was against the back wall behind the Norns, on his knees, hands behind his back, blue blood dripping down the sides of his face. An older woman was crumbled near him, face down on the dirty floor. Probably the missing Oban healer. Caitlin couldn’t be sure, but the lifeless form matched the description they’d received from Lachlan.

  Pretty Laoghaire led the chanting, her dark blond hair peaking out the side of her black hooded cloak. The pale, injured Norn was to her right, and on her left, the Norn who wore the shadowy mask.

  Magic, dark, thick, and heavy hung over the one-eyed giant like a woolen blanket. The singing stopped. The dark cloud fell and seeped into Balor’s body. He roared, swinging both arms out as if he’d broken an invisible chain wrapped around his chest.

  They’d been in the room for all of five seconds and all hell was breaking loose.

  Balor rose from the table and charged, shifting into his Fomorian form.

  Shit. He’s unbound.

  Dyn launched himself to meet Balor’s charge, his body shifting into his griffin form.

  Laoghaire threw a bolt of fire that hit Braern square in the chest, tearing through flesh. In his dragon form, he would have been able to repel the magic, but he hadn’t fully shifted. The energy propelled him back. His human body flew through the air and hit the ground hard.

  The Norn’s eyes locked on Ewen. Snarling, she swung her hand and released another stream of magic.

  Caitlin dropped her sword and jumped in front of Ewen’s body, bracing her arms, magic brimming around her fingers.

  Laoghaire’s magic hit with a wallop, the dark energy slamming into Caitlin’s hands, the impact jolting the bones in her arms and shoulders. Her magic responded, forming a shield around Laoghaire’s dark energy, preventing it from slithering inside Caitlin’s body where it wanted to go. Grunting, she forced more magic against the onslaught, sweat beading along her brow.

  The injured Norn limped behind Laoghaire and clasped her hand around the shadowy Norn’s right hand. The two women resumed chanting, funneling their combined strength into the stream of dark energy pulsating from Laoghaire’s hands.

  Caitlin leaned forward, using her weight to muscle the Norn’s power back. It was Deja vu all over again. Her. The stream. The rooftop. Bres. Marissa’s body slamming against the museum’s exterior wall.

  No. No. No.

  She forced every drop of magic she possessed through her hands, her booted feet sliding back against the stone floor.

  Ewen gripped her hips, stopping the backward drive.

  “I’m here,” he said. “Tell me what to do.”

  Just stay behind me, she wanted to yell, but she only had energy to grunt and push against the Norn’s united force. From the corner of the room to Caitlin’s right, something moved.

  A boy.

  Dirty and dressed in loose pants and a tunic, his big gray eyes opened wide in awe.

  Simon.

  Oh god, no.

  Caitlin swallowed. “Laoghaire, don’t do this. Don’t do this in front of your son. He deserves better.”

  “He deserves to see his mother victorious against the aunt that would strip him of his birthright.”

  “You’re wrong. That’s not what I want.”

  Brigid lay slumped. Fionn shouted, his sword thrusting Balor’s center. Dyn, in his griffin form, was latched onto the giant Fomorian’s back, his arm wrapped around the king’s neck. Balor bucked. One meaty arm swung and knocked Fionn on his ass. Bres still hadn’t made himself known. They were on a sinking ship, and Caitlin had no clue how to turn the boat around and save them.

  “Listen to me. I’ve met your other son. Callum. He’s a beautiful little boy. Think about what this will do to him. To Simon.”

  “You will not be my end, Mariota, dear sister, guardian of the stone, daughter of time. ’Tis another fate I bring you this day. One my son will witness.”

  Ewen’s hand slid down Caitlin’s back, over to her hip, and down the outside of her right thigh where the jewel
ed dagger was sheathed. The other, Faolan’s, was strapped to her left.

  “I see them,” he whispered in her ear. “They are not cloaked.”

  She didn’t nod. Instead, she kept her eyes focused on Laoghaire to not give away Ewen’s intentions, but every nerve in her body was centered on the Highlander at her back.

  “Disable one,” he said, “and they will lose power. See how they are joined?”

  If he stepped away from her, Caitlin wouldn’t have the strength to form a magical shield to protect him. All her power was directed at stopping Laoghaire’s momentum, and it was draining fast.

  “Distract them.”

  Are you freaking kidding me?

  What the hell did he think she was doing? Playing?

  Distract them? Okay.

  “You drew the pictures, didn’t you?” She tried to keep fear from entering her voice. “Then you already know your fate.”

  Laoghaire’s face reddened, her eyelids lowering to tight, blue slits.

  Caitlin smiled a fake-it-til-you-make-it smile. “You, of all people, should know you can’t change what the fates decree. You’re looking into the eyes of death, bitch.”

  The Norn screamed.

  At that exact moment, Ewen stepped to Caitlin’s left side. Air whirred by her ear. Hungry for blood, the jeweled dagger cleaved the ten feet between them, sinking into the injured Norn’s neck. A geyser of blood gushed against the shadowy Norn like a broken water hydrant.

  Caitlin shoved the last of her magic against the stream, praying it was enough.

  Laoghaire and shadowy Norn crashed against the back wall.

  “Màthair!” Simon’s scream rang from the right side of the room. He bolted across the stone floor. Ewen reached him before he passed the altar, wrapping his strong arms around the boys nonexistent waist. He pulled him back to the rear of the room behind Caitlin.

  “Màthair.” He kicked and screamed against Ewen’s hold. “Màthair, help me!”

  How old was he? Eleven? Twelve? He looked no more than six or seven and malnourished.

  Laoghaire rose from the floor and made to run.