Oracle Dreams Trilogy

by Teri Barnett

  “Oh, Maere, I’ve missed ye.” She jumped up and down in delight and clapped her hands together. “It’s so good to be seen by ye again, child.”

  Maere’s mouth fell open. She jerked her head back. “It can’t be!” she exclaimed. She grabbed the stone away from Dylan and held it out in front of her, horrified. “All these years, I had no idea. I’ve carried a tool of the Devil with me.” Another sharp pain shot through her head. Don’t remember. Maere looked at Dylan, her eyes wild. “I’ll be having no part of it, I tell you. No part!”

  Before Dylan could intervene, Maere turned and slammed the disk against a rock. The citrine split in two. Dylan bent to pick up the pieces. “What have you done?” he thundered. “This was a gift, woman! Given to you by the fays themselves.” He threw up his hands. “You’ve seen them yourself, just now. How can you not remember?”

  Maere covered her ears as tightly as she could. “I won’t listen to you, Dylan mac Connall.” The earth began spinning under her feet. “I won’t remember.” She felt her feet slipping out from beneath her as her sight narrowed and grew black. Her head hurt so badly. Why hadn’t she heeded the warning? “I won’t remember,” Maere whispered once more before the darkness completely enveloped her and she crumpled to the ground.

  Chapter 17

  A slow, steady rhythm resounded in Maere’s ears. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Like heavy raindrops beating against a hollow log, it was continuous and reassuring. She prayed it would never stop as she nestled her head tighter against the pillow.

  Wait. Something was wrong here. The pillow wasn’t plump and soft. Rather, it was hard and tense. Her eyes still closed, she reached up and punched at the cushion, hoping to loosen the down.

  “What was that for?” a man’s voice asked with a laugh.

  Maere’s eyes flew open. Sweet Jesus, she wasn’t in bed! Horror filled her as she realized she was being carried by that man, that spawn of Satan who encouraged the practice of black magic. The evil one who had turned her world upside down the moment he appeared. The steady, soothing sound wasn’t rain, but his heartbeat echoing in her ears. She jerked her head away from the crook of his arm.

  “Put me down,” she demanded, trying to wriggle free from his hold.

  “I think I like you better right here. You can do no damage to me or yourself if I hold onto you.” He chuckled and Maere felt the vibration of it rise from the depths of his chest.

  Maere pushed against him harder this time. Oh, but this wasn’t good at all. What would the monster do with her now that he had her in his grasp? With a free hand, she made a quick sign of the cross over her breast. Then, with all her might, Maere gave him one good shove and almost succeeded in tumbling out of his arms.

  Dylan stopped walking. “You’re as hard to hold onto as a fish, girl.” He shook his head. “Nay. I’d say a fish is easier to hold.”

  As he let Maere’s legs slide free, Dylan pulled her close. With the motion, her arms went up and her chest flattened against him. To her dismay, Maere’s heartbeat fell into rhythm with his. Judas, she hissed to the offending organ. Its pace quickened and so did his. This was too much! To be betrayed by one’s own body was beyond forgiveness.

  With his left arm wrapped around Maere’s back, Dylan reached out his free hand and pushed back the wild mane of copper hair spilling over her eyes. Without speaking, he gazed at her, as if looking into her eyes for whatever information they might offer.

  Maere pushed against him with all her might. “Let me go, man.” She ground out the words, but Dylan held fast to her. “I demand you tell me where we are.” When he didn’t answer, she looked up and found his eyes steadily fixed on hers. Maere felt her body begin to relax under that gaze. What magic was he working on her now? What magic did his eyes speak as they held hers in their grasp?

  “Please. I’d like to sit,” she whispered.

  Dylan didn’t release her. Instead, he squeezed her even tighter against him. Maere’s lips parted. She watched in quiet fascination as his gaze shifted from her eyes to her mouth.

  “We’re still moving north,” he replied, his voice smooth and even. “You’ve been asleep only a short time.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  Dylan smiled. “I tried, to be certain. After you fainted, there was no stirring you, so I left you to rest.” He shrugged. “There seemed no reason to not continue on. You’re easy enough to carry.”

  A faint blush stained Maere’s cheeks. “You take much for granted, don’t you, Dylan mac Connall?”

  A flash of lightning in the distance warned of a turn of the weather and lit up Dylan’s face. “I take what is mine. Nothing more. Absolutely nothing less.”

  For the first time since he’d appeared, Maere looked at him, really looked at him. Until this moment, she hadn’t allowed herself to do so. It was much easier to look away and carry the image in her mind of this man as a monster.

  His presence was strong but there was pain in his eyes and on his face. She could read it in the lines around his mouth, in the faint circles under his eyes. And strangest of all, Maere could feel it herself, in the pit of her stomach. It was if she had experienced the same pain he had. Felt the same anger. Dylan must have felt it too, for in that moment of Maere’s realization, a single tear fell from the corner of his eye. Without thinking, she reached up and traced its path down his cheek, as it followed the light scar he bore, along the strong line of his chin, to where it rested in the hollow of his neck. He sucked in his breath as she touched him, as if the simple act pained him even more.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, as lightning illuminated the sky again. Large drops of rain began to fall. They washed over his face, cleansing away the line of the tear. When Dylan opened his eyes again, Maere saw the sense of purpose in his soul. And she now realized his struggle with that purpose.

  “What is it? What pains you so?”

  Dylan blinked away the new moisture forming in his eyes. “It’ll do me no good to try to explain it to you. You need to remember for yourself.”

  Maere touched his arm. “What is it I should remember?” He didn’t need to explain, though, for as she finished speaking, a shiver came over her. It started in the center of her gut, feeling like the rush of a hundred birds flapping their wings. She saw them in her mind’s eye: Blackbirds. Crows. Ravens. Evil birds with silver eyes, unleashed and running rampant. More images floated into the scene. A man in a white robe. A cup of poison offered in false friendship. Maere pulled her hand away from Dylan. Sweet Jesus, what had happened to this man? What had tainted him so? And how was it she could see it all as if it had only just happened?

  She searched his eyes, struggling to explore the images further, but they vanished as surely as if an iron door had dropped over them. Maere knew Dylan had seen the same images. She knew it by the expression on his face. The pain was still there, but it was softened, now that it was shared between them.

  Dylan leaned forward, tilting his head slightly, and Maere knew he meant to claim her mouth with his own. Truth be told, she suddenly realized she welcomed it and would be disappointed if he didn’t kiss her right now. There would be solace in his touch.

  She reached her hand toward his face as their lips met. The kiss was slow and sweet. As their forms mingled, Maere inhaled deeply of his scent. He smelled of wild pine groves, of the moon at night, of morning dew. Maere’s senses filled and she pushed her mouth against his, savoring the taste of him as their tongues met.

  Dylan’s arms encircled her in a warm embrace, one around her waist, the other cradling her head. His hand played with the back of her neck, sending delicious tingles down her spine, as they continued to explore each other’s mouths. So, this is what Seelie had found so appealing.

  The rain began to fall harder and Maere was dimly aware of the pine boughs on either side of the clearing where they stood, as the branches seemed to bend and
shelter the two of them from the coming storm. Lightning bolted across the sky and then struck the ground not twenty feet away. Dylan jerked his head away from Maere, releasing her and pushing her behind him. The forest floor, still dry under the heavy foliage, burst into flames. Aided by the burgeoning wind, it began to travel in their direction.

  “Come,” Dylan urged as he turned around to face her. “The fire will consume us if we tarry any longer.”

  But Maere found she couldn’t move. She was rooted dead to the spot as she stared in awe at the flames. She wanted to move, really she did. But there was something so familiar about a fire in the forest. The cup of poison passed before her mind’s eye again. The rest of the memory hung at the dark edges of her mind but refused to become visible. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

  Maere looked at Dylan. The pain she was feeling reflected in his eyes.

  Dylan grabbed her arm. “I know of some caves near here, where we can wait out the storm.”

  They left the trail and moved deeper into the forest. Again, it seemed to Maere the trees were either moving intentionally out of their way or covering them as they hurried through the rain. How could that be?

  “Are the trees—are they—helping us?” she shouted over the wind. Another branch shifted before her, moving away, and Maere realized she needed no reply. It was obvious they were, as the trees intervened to offer some measure of shelter. Given everything she’d seen and lived the past few days, why did she even bother to wonder over it?

  Dylan called out an answer, but it was lost to the storm. The water was coming down harder now. The cold drops stung as they hit the tender flesh of Maere’s face. She ran along behind Dylan, shielding her head with her arms.

  There was something else odd happening, even odder than the recent turns of events. Maere couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was, but the quiver in her stomach was growing again. Then she realized every time Dylan changed direction—and Maere did as well, following him—the wind changed. It forced them to turn away, to seek another direction, as if the storm were pushing them toward a specific place.

  “There.” Dylan stopped and pointed ahead. “It’s not the cave I had in mind, but it’ll do for now.”

  Maere stopped beside him, training her eyes on the black opening he indicated. Bushes covered with white linen knots all but concealed it. She couldn’t go in there. This was a holy shrine, each tied rag symbolizing a petition offered to the patron saint of the region.

  “We can’t use this cave. It belongs to a saint. It’s sacred ground.”

  Dylan looked at her curiously as he gave her a little shove forward. “We haven’t time to discuss this. It’s the only dry place around.” He laughed as she made the sign of the cross once again. Dylan leaned forward and spoke in her ear. “Besides, this was a pagan shrine long before the Christians took it over.”

  Maere glanced over her shoulder at him, a reply on her lips, when lightning split the night sky. The wind lashed out, its empty howl mixing with a raven’s caw, and she hurried through the entrance of the cave.

  Chapter 18

  Flashes of lightning lit the cave just enough to illuminate the interior. The back wall wasn’t quite ten feet away, creating more of a grotto than an actual cave.

  The wind howled as another bolt ripped the sky. Dylan looked around. No nests or piles of bones, sure signs of wild animals. Good. And there, off to the left, was a hoard of wood and tinder.

  “Here, Maere. A place to rest.” He indicated a large stone, near the opening, but well enough away from the rain pummeling through the brush just outside.

  Dylan took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and focused inward. When he opened his eyes again, he didn’t need the lightning to show him the woodpile. It glowed for him with the tree life still left within it. As Dylan gathered an armload and placed it in the center of the grotto, where the floor was already charred from many fires, he softly offered up a prayer to the woodland god Hu Gadarn, thanking him for the shelter and the abundance of wood.

  “Did you say something?” Maere asked as she twisted her hair to squeeze the moisture from it.

  Dylan glanced up, his concentration broken. He looked at her for a moment, then smiled. “Only a simple prayer of thanks.”

  Maere stood and went to his side, sitting easily on the dirt floor. She watched his profile as he returned to the task of assembling the wood for a fire. “To which god do you pray?” she asked quietly.

  He laughed. “Do you truly wish to know?”

  She drew herself up. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

  “Hu Gadarn, the god of the woodlands and forests.” He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and added, “The horned one.”

  Maere’s hand flew to her mouth and she quickly made a sign of the cross with the other. “You pray to the Devil!”

  “Not the devil, girl.” He turned to fully face her. “This Christian faith running over our land has turned him into such. He is naught but the keeper of nature, consort to the great lady, our mother goddess.” Dylan reached for the tinder and tucked it around the base of the wood. “He is not evil, but nor is he good. He is what he is.”

  A loud crash of thunder shook the walls of the grotto. Maere jumped, her eyes wide, and she shifted closer to Dylan, their shoulders nearly touching. “He is what he is,” she repeated, realizing she could say the same of this man beside her. She should probably feel some outrage over talk of how this pagan god wasn’t evil, but the fight within her was waning. She rubbed her eyes in exhaustion.

  With the flash of lightning that followed, she saw Dylan passing his hand over the pile, his mouth moving but the words were silent. Suddenly, blue flames burst from the tinder and ignited the wood.

  “Sweet Mother!” Maere scrambled to her feet and bolted for the entry, ready to run out into the storm. In an instant, Dylan was at her side, holding her tightly.

  “Where would you be going on such a night?” he gently teased. Gesturing toward the fire, he added, “I’ve created this for you. Come. Warm your bones.”

  “I won’t!” Maere shook her head wildly, sending curls tumbling over her face. “All this talk about how the Devil isn’t the Devil. I’m not believing it, Dylan mac Connall.” She pointed a shaky finger at the fire. “Those are the very flames of Hell, they are!”

  Dylan laughed and the deep sound filled the cave, echoing off the walls. Maere fought the urge to cover her ears as it vibrated in her head. “Nay. ‘Tis but a trick of magic.” He extended his hand. “Come. Please.”

  Taking tiny steps, Maere allowed herself to be guided to the warmth. As she sat, she peered into the dancing brightness and discovered the small fire stirred memories of larger fires. She stared, mesmerized by the play of colors, entranced by the dance of the red, yellow, blue, and orange flames.

  Leaning against the stone wall, half-hidden in the shadows, Maere could feel Dylan watching closely, even as she was deep in thought. She absently dried her hair before the fire, fanning it out over her hands.

  Finally, he spoke. “What are you thinking?”

  Maere tugged her eyes away from the flames and raised them to meet Dylan’s. His eyes glowed with the light of the fire. Her stomach quivered. Why did he have to look at her like that? Like he was ready to devour her very soul, given the chance? Even his shadow jumped and floated above him, as though it were ready to pounce on her as well. She hugged her knees and looked away. How could his presence be so frightening yet so reassuring at the same time?

  “What makes you believe I’m thinking anything at all?” she murmured. She glanced up at him again. “Perhaps I’m just sitting here enjoying the heat.”

  Dylan smiled and those blasted eyes went right through her. Sweet Mother! She sucked in her breath.

  “Aye, it is hot in here now.” He slid down against the wall and crouched, looking at her pointedl
y. She was a beautiful, wild creature of the night sitting there. Her hair in disarray from the storm, her face flushed, and her eyes shining. “And growing hotter still.”

  Maere considered his words for a moment. Her cheeks burned as the double meaning came to her. She hugged her knees even tighter and leaned away a bit.

  Dylan laughed. Laughed at her, for heaven’s sake. This man possessed more nerve than anyone she had ever met. Oh, but she would like to knock him right to the ground. Then she would be the one to laugh. Why, he must have been raised in a forest by animals, blind to the world around him, to behave so! She glared at him.

  “I’ve been knowing you a long time, Maere cu Llwyr. I know your mind is constantly searching. I know you’re always exploring the nature of things.”

  He smiled and this time she found the gesture not to be condescending. She found it warmed her like no fire could. She rubbed her eyes. What was the matter with her? “You know nothing of me.”

  Dylan smiled, a tinge of sadness playing at the corners of his mouth. “That’s where you are truly wrong. I know much of you, which is why I know you must have thoughts running through your head.”

  She raised her hand to him, as if to block his scrutiny. Or perhaps to block the mix of emotions she was afraid she might be showing.

  Dylan moved next to her and sat down. He touched her cheek and she stiffened. “I remember the night you were born, and your father held you high for the gods and goddesses to see, the triple signs appearing, marking you as one destined for greatness.” He gently turned her face to his and their eyes met. “I remember the magic of your girlish laugh and your healing touch.” He took her hand in his and turned it over, caressing the open palm with his thumb. “How can you say I know nothing of you?”