Oracle Dreams Trilogy

by Teri Barnett

  “It is Hugginn, Odhinn’s messenger to the nine worlds!” Jorvik said. He fell to one knee and dropped his head, clasping his hands before him. “You have angered the gods with this talk of taking power which is not yours.”

  “Nay, my friend.” Eugis lightly touched the other man’s shoulder and he looked up. “I believe it is someone even greater than your Odhinn,” he whispered, his eyes glistening. “It is the goddess Morrigu.”

  The raven blinked at the pair and turned its head sideways. Eugis took a cautious step toward the animal. It spread its wings. The feathers slowly dropped to the ground and melted away as its body began to transform. In the span of a few breaths, a nude woman stood before them. Jorvik jumped to his feet, his hand once again on the dagger.

  Eugis opened his arms wide and bowed low. “Welcome, my Lady. It’s been many years since you have blessed me with your presence.”

  Without speaking, the goddess reached out her hand and ran a sharp fingernail across Eugis’s cheek, leaving a trail of blood on his skin. He licked his lips as the warm liquid trickled into the corner of his mouth.

  Morrigu leaned forward and pressed her bare breasts against Eugis’s leather tunic. “You have found favor with me, Eugis cu Llwyr,” she whispered. “I understand you seek power, that you seek two people.”

  “Yes, my Lady, ‘tis true,” he said, breathless, his eyes half-closed with desire as the goddess continued to rub against him.

  “I will tell you where they have gone, for I would see them receive their proper reward.” She smiled, her red lips full and smooth against her white teeth. “But first you must promise to worship me. As I deserve to be worshipped.”

  Eugis ran his splayed fingers down the sides of her body. He caught his breath as he stared into the depths of her silver eyes. She was so beautiful. And so deadly. Jorvik cleared his throat and took a step forward. His foot came down on a branch and it cracked loudly, breaking the spell.

  “Leave us, Jorvik,” Eugis said, his eyes still on the goddess’s face. “We will finish our discussion later.”

  “There is no good in playing with her kind,” Jorvik said. He nodded toward Morrigu. “Especially those that reek evil such as this one.”

  Eugis glanced at him. “I will hear none of this talk. Leave us now.”

  Morrigu smiled and entwined her fingers in Eugis’s hair. “Know this, Dylan is as aware of Maere’s power as you are. He seeks it as well.” She touched her lips to his. The blood on his cheek flowed and mixed between them.

  “Know your assumption about them is also true. They travel north,” Morrigu whispered between hard kisses. She pushed him to the ground, straddling his tall thin body. As she lowered herself, Morrigu whispered again, “North to Tintagel.”

  Chapter 16

  Dylan sat on his haunches, near the waning embers of the evening fire, and stared at the crescent moon. A long, willowy cloud passed in front of its waning face, paused for a moment, then continued on its journey with the help of the night breeze. Strands of Dylan’s black hair lifted lightly from his shoulders, then settled in place again.

  He picked up a stick and poked at the glowing bits of wood. It flamed slightly at its tip for a moment, then smoldered and the aromatic scent of pine wafted toward Dylan. The scent filled him, made him alert, strong with the life force of the very tree itself. His cheeks burned, despite the coolness of the night. His muscles grew taut beneath the leather tunic he now wore.

  A woman’s muffled cry rose from his left. Dylan dropped the stick as he turned his head in the direction of the sound. Maere rolled onto her side and faced him now, her eyes closed in slumber. He’d covered her with the quilt Kate had made, in the hopes its magic would give her comfort as well as warmth. She made a small sound again. Her hands balled into fists, then relaxed. Just as it had been the last three nights, ever since their escape from the abbey. Whatever demons haunted her—and he was certain there were many, with all she’d been through—preferred the dark cover of dreams.

  In the few days they had been together, she hadn’t offered any hint of recognition, any indication that she knew who he was. He had allowed himself to believe, in the beginning, she’d only pretended not to know. Perhaps she’d learned to hide her secrets from the nuns, play along with them so as not to be punished. That would have been much like the Maere he remembered. But if it were so, surely she would have revealed this to him by now.

  He shook his head. No. The more time he spent with Maere, the more he realized the truth—she had wedged a boulder so large between her memories and her waking mind he wondered if it would ever be possible to loosen it. Dylan was reminded of a time when they were small and Maere had sought to move a sacred stone out of her path. Back then she was as stubborn as they came. He could see her even now, seven winters old, full of herself, and in charge of the world. He chuckled at the memory…

  Maere was walking home from the forest, after one of their explorations. She was mad at him—as she was a good part of the time—so he kept his distance behind her. She suddenly stopped in her tracks when she came to a round rock stuck in the center of the path. She apparently decided to take her anger out on the poor unsuspecting stone, because she kicked it. She yelped in pain and then kicked it again, grunting with frustration when it wouldn’t budge for her.

  “Cursed stone!” she said, rubbing her bare toes. “I’ll see to it you don’t hurt anyone else. I will!” She bent over and dug her fingers in under its edges. She tugged and tugged until it began to loosen. Maere stood upright and smiled. “See? I told you, didn’t I?” She bent back down and pulled it from its resting place.

  “Stop that, girl!”

  Maere spun around, dropping the stone. With a thud, it rolled and settled back into its hole. “I didn’t do anything, Uncle Eugis.” She hid her dirt-covered hands behind her back. She looked away, hoping he wouldn’t see her eyes when she spoke. “To tell the truth, I didn’t.”

  “You’re a lying child, aren’t you Maere?” Eugis sighed and shook his head. His brown hair, bobbed at the ears, jumped with the motion. “Your mother and father protect you too much.” He studied her, hard, his eyes squinting so they looked like dark slits in his thin gray face. “A spoiled girl deserving of a whipping, if you ask me. You know better than to disturb the sacred rocks.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and she cringed.

  Maere stared at her father’s brother as fat tears began to roll down her cheeks. “It was in my way.”

  “In your way?” he thundered. “In your way?” He pointed at the rock. “You would move something that has been in place since the beginning of time simply because it was in your way?”

  Maere sniffled and wiped at the tears, leaving streaks of mud on her cheeks. “What else was I supposed to do?”

  Eugis threw her down, disgusted. “You could have gone around it, ungrateful child!”

  Having witnessed Eugis’s brutal treatment of Maere, Dylan ran at breakneck speed. “H – a – l – l – o – o! H – a – l – l – o – o,” Dylan shrieked.

  Eugis spun around, just as Dylan whipped by him, a cloud of dust following. Eugis sputtered and spat as it whirled around his head.

  Dylan grabbed Maere’s hand and dragged her along with him. Laughing and screaming, they left Uncle Eugis behind to shake the dirt from his robe.

  Once they were clear, they fell to the ground, landing in a soft bed of moss. Maere rolled and giggled so hard, her side hurt. “Why’d you do that? We’ll both be in trouble now.” She smiled despite the punishment she knew would be coming. “Did you see how he looked at you when you were running? He must’ve thought you were a phouka coming to claim him as your own.” Maere rolled over onto her stomach. “Why’d you save me like that, Dylan?” she asked, growing serious. “It seems like you’re always saving me…”

  Dylan let go of the memories, pushing them aside as they threatened to overwhelm him. Maere
had been right. He had always saved her. Except on that long ago night of our bethrothal.

  I couldn’t save Maere, nor our parents, from Eugis’s murderous betrayal.

  So many years had passed before he’d been able to rescue Maere once again. Maybe too many.

  But have I truly rescued her?

  He’d used the betrothal as a ploy to get what he wanted, which was to keep Eugis away from her. While he did believe in honoring the vows their families had made when they were betrothed, it had become secondary to his need for revenge.

  It doesn’t matter. You did the right thing. You kept Maere from Eugis’s clutches, and the gods only knew what those priests had been bent on doing at the abbey.

  Dylan shook his head. There was no time for dissecting his motives right now. Maere needed to get her mind back and he feared it would take more than her stubbornness this time. It would take determination on both their parts, and a little luck couldn’t hurt either.

  He shifted on the hard ground. He couldn’t deny there was a part of him that longed to hold her and take away her pain, push away the demons stirring her even in sleep. She had grown into a beauty. Even so, he knew the impish child he saw in his mind’s eye was sleeping there, waiting to be rediscovered. But how? She was so frightened of him. What was it she had said? “You’re the son of the Devil and I can see it in your eyes.”

  Dylan set his mouth in a straight line and picked up the stick he’d dropped earlier. Whether she remembered him or not made no difference now. It would be nice, perhaps, but it didn’t change anything. There would be time enough later for the pleasantries of betrothal. Eugis was undoubtedly pursuing them by now. He knew the bid for Maere’s power was coming. And Dylan vowed to win.

  Maere was slipping into another dream. She felt her eyes flutter and a sigh escape her lips. It was so strange, the clear state of mind she experienced while sleeping. It made it harder and harder these days to tell where the dreams—nay, nightmares—ended and wakefulness began. Her entire life had become an event from which she wished she could awake. If only she could. If only…

  A man appeared, bathed in the indigo light of the night. He stood in front of her, his hands on his hips, a beautiful black steed behind him. The long white robe he wore billowed around his lean form, though Maere felt no breeze. Dark hair hung loosely about his shoulders.

  He turned and grabbed a fistful of the horse’s mane, pulling himself onto its unsaddled back. Sitting astride the animal, he reached down and smiled. “Maere,” he called in a lilting voice, gesturing her to come forward. “Come to me, Maere.”

  She felt certain he must be an angel of the Lord, sent to offer comfort in her time of distress. She began to move toward him, smiling, happiness bubbling up inside her. But when she got within his reach, her smile faded and her eyes widened in alarm.

  The wind began to swirl around them. The man’s sleek black hair changed to gray and his white robes were covered in blood.

  Maere screamed and tried to pull away from his grasp. “No! No!”

  He began to laugh. “You’re mine now, just as she intended.” He hauled her up in front of him on the horse and flew into the sky over the tree-tops, and toward St. Columba. She looked down and gasped at the burning chapel, the flames reaching up so high they almost touched her feet.

  The gray-haired man laughed. “It’s time, Maere.”

  “Time for what?”

  “Soon, you’ll know, Maere.” He pushed her off the horse and she fell down, down, down into the flames.

  “No!” she screamed as she was engulfed by the fire.

  “Maere!”

  Hands gripped her shoulders and shook her.

  “Maere, you must wake up.”

  She gasped and her eyes flew open. “You,” she whispered.

  The young man—the one who called himself her betrothed—Dylan mac Connall was hovering above her. His handsome face was so close she could see the reflection of her own image in the midnight depths of his eyes.

  He held tight to her. “Tell me what you were dreaming,” he demanded. “What did you see?”

  Maere twisted sideways, rolling away from him. In a quick movement, she was on her feet and ready to run.

  Dylan dove and grabbed her by the ankle, pulling her down to the ground. Maere gasped, the wind knocked out of her. Dylan forced her onto her back and pinned her down with his hands, bracing himself over her.

  “Let go of me!” she said, grinding the words out through the pain in her chest. “You have no right to treat me so!”

  “I have every right, as your betrothed.” He leaned forward and stared hard into her eyes. “What did you see?”

  Maere struggled against him, but it was no use. He was so much stronger. And it was this very strength she found so infuriating. Oh, to be a man for a brief moment. I’d teach him a lesson or two!

  “Tell me and I’ll let you go,” he said in a softer tone.

  Resigned, she closed her eyes, and began to speak. “There was a man, it was you. At least I thought it was you. The man had long dark hair and he was wearing a beautiful white robe and he was sitting on a white horse. He beckoned to me and when I got close enough to him, close enough where he could touch me, he suddenly changed. He wasn’t you anymore. He had gray hair and the white robe was stained with blood.” Maere frowned as she struggled with the memory.

  “He hauled me up in front of him and flew over St. Columba’s. The chapel was on fire, the flames were so high they reached the sky. And then he pushed me off the horse and I dropped down into the flames.” Maere shivered as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Dylan gently wiped her tears away. “In dreams, fire is cleansing. Being dropped into it means you’ll face a rebirth.”

  Maere opened her eyes, at his gentle touch.

  “I believe the Christians call this baptism by fire,” he went on. “You will go into the flames as one person and emerge as another. Based on the description of the man and horse, I believe your Uncle Eugis will be involved. He might even instigate these events.”

  “Uncle Eugis? How can you be so certain?” She shook her head. “He treated me with kindness. The abbess told me everything he did.” Maere’s words tumbled out as she recalled what Magrethe had told her time and again over the years. “He took care of me after my mother and father were killed by the Northmen. He took me to St. Columba’s so I would be safe.”

  Dylan’s face darkened. “Not killed, Maere. Murdered. And not by Vikings, but by Eugis’s own hand.”

  “You lie.” Maere turned her face away. “I won’t listen to you.”

  “This is not a lie, Maere, but a forgotten truth.” Dylan cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. He was so close, their lips were almost touching. “Do you know what it means to be betrothed?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “It means you must obey me and honor my wishes. It means you are bound to believe all I tell you as the God’s own truth. We’re as good as married already, with all the rights contained therein.” As he spoke, his breath caressed her mouth.

  Maere’s body tensed as she stared at his lips. Her stomach quivered. Her heartbeat pounded out an ancient rhythm in her ears. Her blood burned as it ran through her veins. She licked her lips, unintentionally drawing Dylan’s focus, and she immediately wished she hadn’t.

  Dylan brushed his mouth lightly against hers. She trembled beneath the caress and a pleasant tingle filled her belly. She searched his lips with her own. He pulled back a few inches, studied her face for a moment, then slowly pushed himself to his feet. “Perhaps a thought to ponder?”

  As she watched him walk away, Maere fought back the empty ache which filled her the moment he stood up. She wiped at her mouth as if to cleanse the memory of his touch. Blast him to the devil, anyway. As far as she was concerned, there was no betrothal. She was sworn only to Christ.

  Maere sat up,
fingering her stone necklace through the cloth of her gown. On impulse, she yanked it out and off and threw it at Dylan with all her might. It hit him squarely in the back of the head before bouncing to the ground.

  Dylan spun around and spotted the offending object. With a scowl, he bent over and scooped it up. “What is—”

  Maere scrambled to her feet.

  “You still have this?” he asked looking at the stone.

  Maere hurried toward him, her hair flying wildly about her. “Give it back,” she snapped, her fingers grasping for the disk.

  He held the citrine high, dangling it just out of Maere’s reach, a smile playing about his lips. “Have you seen them lately?”

  “Seen who?” she asked, leaning into him as she stretched on tiptoes. Why wouldn’t he just give it back to her?

  “The fays, girl. Who else?”

  Maere blanched. She took a step back and crossed herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No?” Dylan smiled. He held the stone between his thumb and forefinger, level with Maere’s eyes, the hole pointed toward the deep green of the forest. “Look through the opening.”

  She took another step back. This seemed so familiar. What did it mean? She felt a pain in her head, a clear warning. There would be more pain, in the remembering. “I won’t!”

  “You must look, Maere.” He closed his eyes. “Please.”

  Well, that’s a first. A man actually saying please to her instead of barking orders.

  He opened his eyes and stared at her. Sadness flickered in those dark depths. What could it hurt to humor him? She leaned forward and focused one eye through the hole. “So much for your little game. I don’t see a thing.” She took a step back.

  Dylan sighed. He pulled her forward. “One more time.”

  She hesitated, then looked again. After a moment, the citrine began to glow, concentrating her attention more directly on what lay beyond, in the forest. At first, she detected only a small movement, a rustle of ground cover. And then it appeared. Sweet Mother of God. A small thing—nearly a person—with long blonde hair and a dress fashioned from moss. Maere watched, transfixed, as it stepped forward. The miniature woman smiled and waved.