Oracle Dreams Trilogy

by Teri Barnett

  But the rain of the previous day had soaked Seelie clear through and by this afternoon she was thoroughly chilled. He couldn’t leave her behind to fend for herself, so they stopped for the day to let her rest and dry her clothes. He’d offered her a shirt from his sack. She twisted her wet hair into a knot and wrapped a thin piece of wool around it as a covering against the cool night air.

  He rose and walked to the low branches of a hawthorn tree to check her clothing for dampness. Feeling the seams, he nodded to himself. Good. They would be dry by morning.

  Dylan glanced over to where Seelie lay near the fire. She was sleeping and, from the looks of it, would sleep straight through the night. That was a good thing. She needed the rest for their journey.

  Nearby, an owl hooted. “Has someone died, my friend?” Dylan whispered. “Or is it death you bring with you?” A fluttering of wings and the bird was gone. Dylan sighed. No answer. Not that he had truly expected one, but stranger things were known to happen in his world. He smiled ruefully and shook his head. An understatement, to be sure.

  Looking toward the fine sliver of moon highlighted against the now-indigo sky, he uttered a simple prayer. “Nimue, look over my love and keep her safe ‘til we are together again.”

  Dylan walked back to the fire and sat cross-legged. He pushed his black hair out of his eyes and picked up his leather pack. Opening it, he dug deep inside. He closed his eyes and felt around until his hand touched what he was looking for. Carefully, he pulled out the tattered linen cloth. Placing his sack beside him on the ground, he spread the fabric across his lap. Dylan caressed it and raised it to his face, inhaling the long-gone fragrance of a little girl he once knew. A little girl who smelled green like the trees, talked to the fays, ordered him about, and healed with just a touch.

  His hand moved to the center of the material where a jeweled brooch glinted in the firelight. It was the pin Maere’s family had given her in honor of their betrothal. Dylan smiled at the memory. Maere had looked utterly terrified when she entered the gathering with her mother and father on that Beltane night so long ago. He remembered winking at her and wondering what she was thinking as Manfred made the announcement…

  “Before the sacrifices begin, I have something to say,” Manfred had said. The gathering grew quiet as their leader arranged his family in front of him. He gestured for Fox mac Connall to join them, who in turn pulled Dylan along by the arm. Fox was a big, burly man with thick arms and muscled legs, a warrior, used to fighting. His hair, as black as his son’s, was tied into a knot at the nape of his neck.

  Maere covered her mouth as she giggled nervously. Rhea squeezed her shoulder to quiet her and leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “Hush, child. This is important.”

  “But Ma,” Maere said, “Dylan looks like a scrawny bird next to his Da!” Rhea smiled and patted her on the head. Dylan elbowed Maere so she’d be quiet.

  Manfred continued. “Tonight, I announce the joining of our two families.” He took Maere’s hand in his left, Dylan’s in his right. With great solemnity, he placed their hands together and took a step back. “Tonight, I announce the betrothal of Dylan mac Connall to my daughter, Maere cu Llwyr.”

  Murmurs of approval reached their ears. Maere managed a shy glance up at Dylan. He sensed her looking at him and gently squeezed her hand. Oh, he could only imagine what the girl had been thinking, so full of ideas was she…

  But it was not to be. Eugis, in his bid for power, murdered their families and carried Maere off. All these years, Dylan lived on the memories, quenched his thirst with the promise of retaliation. He’d finally found her, only to lose her again. He buried his face in the linen, already stained with countless tears, and quietly added more.

  “Blast this,” Maere said under her breath. She’d been trying for what seemed like ages to unfasten the sinew tethered tightly around her ankle, binding her to a large central column of the longhouse. Grimnir had deposited her here. Whatever the knot was these Vikings used, it defied her nimble fingers. It seemed as if the more she fussed with it, the tighter it became until—her nails torn and bloody—she finally gave up.

  She sighed and leaned against the column, watching the cook fire for a moment. Seeing the play of flames made Maere uneasy, as it had for as long as she could remember. Looking for a distraction, she dug around in her pocket and was surprised to find the circular stone given her by the Viking girl. Maere turned it over and over in her palm, feeling the smoothness of it against her skin.

  She opened her hand and held the talisman out to the fire. The mottled golden quartz picked up the color of the flames and glowed. It was much like her own necklace, the one Dylan had forced her to look through and see those devilish beings.

  But were they really devils? The miniature woman had seemed harmless enough. She shook her head. She was truly going daft to even contemplate such thoughts.

  Maere considered the stone again. Should she? After all, what harm would it do to look through the hole? If nothing else, it would put her mind at rest that such small beings didn’t exist—surely that black-hearted Dylan mac Connall had cast a spell to make her see them.

  Muffled voices outside the blanketed opening told her she wouldn’t be alone for long. Spying a scrap of sinew on the floor near her, she grabbed it, tied it through the center of the stone, and slipped the makeshift necklace over her head. She would find time later to investigate the matter of little people and dark spells.

  A man pushed back the woven fabric hanging in the doorway and stood in the portal for a moment.

  Maere scrambled to stand, recognizing the burly warrior named Oluf. “What do you want?”

  The man’s pale blue eyes gleamed in the firelight. He was shorter than Jorvik and the other warriors, but he was heavy, with arms like clubs.

  “I’ve developed a terrible itch,” he slurred, raising a skin to his lips and guzzling it down. He stalked closer to her, grabbing his crotch. “And it’s in need of scratching.”

  “Grimnir ordered you to stay away from me. Jorvik will have your hide.”

  Oluf snorted and drank again, wiping the droplets of wine from his mouth. “You think I fear Jorvik? The great and mighty warrior? He steals from your rich churches and nobles and brings it back here to share with his people.” Oluf spat. “He keeps nothing for himself. He is weak, not strong.”

  Maere glanced at the opening. She had to get there and call for help, but the tether would only allow her to move so far.

  Oluf grinned as he stalked closer, with the caginess of a wolf moving on its prey. His intent shone in his eyes, the firelight reflecting a feral light within them.

  Maere pulled at the tether but it wouldn’t budge. She glanced all about her for something that would keep the man away. For heaven’s sake, there wasn’t even a stick of firewood within her reach.

  Oluf stopped his advance and leered. Lifting the skin, he took another long swig.

  “Stay away from me,” she said, holding up her hand.

  He chortled. His hand snaked out and he yanked her against his chest. She screamed and kicked out, trying to squirm out of his grasp. He roared with laughter. “You are only making me more excited.” He rubbed himself against her and she almost gagged at the press of his hardness. “This will help relax you, my flame-haired beauty.” He grabbed her chin and brought the skin to her mouth.

  Maere managed to free an arm and slapped the wine away. It landed on the floor, the reddish contents spilling out like blood. The sight transfixed her. Blood. There was something about it that shook her memory. In her mind’s eye, she glimpsed a bowl filled with the dark liquid, held by a man whose hands were covered in it. A hot burning sensation began to build in the pit of her stomach.

  Olaf had stumbled back but now he moved forward again and grabbed Maere by the shoulders.

  “Get away from me!” Maere shoved at him. But the man was a mountain, unable to
be moved from his intent. The heat in her stomach traveled up to her chest and down her legs. The internal fire spread out her arms and rushed through her head. “Sweet Jesus,” she whispered. “I am on fire.”

  Maere pressed her hands on Oluf’s face and his eyes widened in shock. The heat was intensifying. Maere broke out in a sweat. The fire centered in her hands—a white glow emanating from them.

  It’s happening again. Just like with Seelie.

  Maere had somehow brought Seelie back to life. Her power had come from her grief and love. But what of Olaf? This time she was feeling rage and loathing. She had no time to ruminate. All she wanted was to stop him from attacking her. She pressed her hands to his cheeks, unable to stop the flow of fiery heat through her hands.

  “You are a witch!” the drunkard gasped. He tried to pull away, but he could not move. All he could do was stare at her in horror.

  Her eyes grew wide as the power overtook her body. She couldn’t fight it. Whatever magic it was, it owned her. It possessed her soul. Her sight grew narrow and was confined to the face in front of her.

  “Don’t ever touch me again,” she snarled. The heat surged through her and out her hands, flinging the heavy warrior away. Oluf yelled as he flew across the tent and landed with a heavy thump against Jorvik’s leather packs.

  Maere held her hands out in front of her, palms up, and studied them as if they belonged to another person. Slowly, she turned them over. The heat was gone from both her hands and her body. The intensity of the light abated. She dropped to the floor, drew her legs up under her gown, and wrapped her arms around them.

  “What goes on here!” Jorvik stepped into the tent and took in the scene before him. In the blink of an eye, he understood what had happened. Maere was rocking back and forth, still tied to her tether and Oluf was moaning at the other end of the tent.

  Jorvik roared in rage and grabbed the warrior by his boots dragging him out of the tent. “Bastard! This is the last warning you will get.” Jorvik called his men over. “Take him away. I’ll deal with him later.”

  He walked back into the longhouse and crouched down in front of a shaking Maere.

  Maere looked up, dazed, as if seeing Jorvik for the first time.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Maere hesitated before speaking. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “I heard a scream, and I saw a flash of light,” Jorvik began. “When I got here, Oluf was writhing in pain over there and you were huddled here, rocking back and forth. Did he attack you?”

  “He-he tried, I fought him off.”

  Jorvik snorted. “You certainly did.”

  “I don’t know what is happening to me.”

  “Neither do I, but whatever you did to him, I approve.”

  Maere couldn’t help it. She burst into tears.

  “Oh, by the gods, save me from a woman’s tears.” Jorvik blew out a breath and gathered her in his arms. “You did something good. You should be proud of yourself.” He patted her on the back, as he tried to console her.

  “I suppose so.” She sniffed, wiping the back of her hand over her nose. “But I don’t know how and why this is happening.”

  “Neither do I, but right now both of us need to get some sleep.” He took out his dagger and sliced through the sinew binding her leg.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He grunted and handed her a fur robe. He motioned at the fire. “You can sleep here and be warm.”

  She nodded, wrapping the fur around herself.

  “I will sleep there.” He pointed to the entrance of the tent. “Rest. You will not be bothered again.”

  Maere lay down and closed her eyes, the weariness of the past few days overwhelming her. Jorvik’s actions had surprised her. She found herself trusting he would keep her safe. For tonight at least.

  Before blessed sleep claimed her, she thought of Dylan and prayed he was safe. Dylan would understand what was happening to her. He would help her through this.

  I’ll find my way back to you, Dylan. I will.

  Chapter 28

  Dylan rose early the next morning. He’d slept fitfully, the night filled with dreams and nightmares. Seelie was still sleeping as he picked up his bag and headed to a stream nearby. The water would be cold, but it was what he needed to clear his head so he could focus on his quest.

  Reaching the gentle stream, he disrobed, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping his breeches to the ground, and entered the cool clear water. He leaned into the soft current and let it take him along its path. Water droplets clung to his lashes as he closed his eyes. Images of the water goddess came to him unbidden. She had been resting beneath the surface of the water the night Maere was born.

  “Dylan,” she had called out softly to him. “Come to me.” And so he went, a boy of four, to see the pretty lady of the lake. She’d granted him the magic of the trees that night and he thought there could be no one more beautiful than she, with raven hair and silver eyes.

  Except Maere…his stomach twisted and he opened his eyes. No, he had to stay the course and not be weakened by feelings. His first priority was to avenge the deaths of his loved ones and to keep Eugis from taking Maere’s power…

  Dylan stood and scooped up a handful of sand from the bottom of the creek and scrubbed his body with it. Diving under, he rinsed and returned to the surface, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

  He left the water and dressed. The air hung heavy around him as he started back to camp, as if it would push him back into the water. Magic? Perhaps. Perhaps only a portent of more rain.

  Returning to camp, Dylan found it empty. “Seelie? Where are you, girl?”

  He checked the hawthorn bush. Her clothing was gone. Dylan paced the clearing, checking behind each and every tree and boulder. Seelie was nowhere to be found.

  “Now what?” he called out to the sky, knowing deep inside who was to blame for this. “What new trial have you set for me, Morrigu?” The day would come when he would face down the goddess. It might be his death, but anything was preferable to being a pawn in her game.

  Dylan pulled his thoughts together and focused on the hawthorn bush. Seelie must have been here, when she dressed. Would his magic work here? Though large in size, the hawthorn wasn’t exactly a tree. It could do no harm to try. He spread his hands over the bush, letting them rest lightly against the dark green leaves. “Tell me, good plant, what happened here this morn?” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Show me Seelie.”

  Images flooded Dylan’s mind. He saw two men ride in on horses, and one dismounted, and approached Seelie. The men were large and dirty and wore the fur and leather clothing of the Picts. Seelie sat up. “What do you want?” she asked, her eyes darting from one man to the other.

  The one nearest to her spoke. “We don’t want no trouble from you.” He took a step closer. “Master Eugis says we’re to bring you with us.”

  “What?” Seelie stood. “Why would he want me?”

  “Aren’t you the girl Maere?” He stepped closer. “He has need of you.” The other man, still sitting atop his ride, guffawed.

  “Maere, you say? And Eugis sent you?” She touched a finger to her cheek as if in thought.

  “He is tired of waiting for those cursed Vikings to do his bidding.” The man tapped his chest square in the middle. “Sent us, he did, his own countrymen, ‘cause he knew we’d do better.”

  “But how did you find me?” She folded her bedding as she talked. It was obvious to Dylan that she’d been trying to extend their stay, in the hope he would return soon to help her. He never should have left her alone.

  “The goddess said those northern ones cheated Eugis, but she didn’t say more than that. He decided you’d be out here somewhere, with a black-haired man, so here we’ve come a-tracking. You are Maere?”

  “Aye, ‘t
is me.” Seelie placed the bedding in a neat pile.

  “You’ll give us no trouble, then? You’ll come nicely?” He glanced about him. “Where is your companion?”

  “If you mean the man who stole me from the abbey, I’ve escaped from him,” Seelie said. “I would very much like to see my uncle and will come quietly. Please, let me dress first.” She gestured toward the hawthorn. “My clothing is there.”

  The man walked back to his horse and mounted. “Be quick.”

  And so Seelie took her clothes and walked behind the bush. As she dressed, she spoke quietly to it. “Dylan, I hope you can see this. I hope you can hear me.” She glanced at the men. “What I do is in hope of giving you time to find Maere. Do not come after us.” Seelie finished dressing and adjusted the scarf she’d put on the night before, making certain her blonde hair was still covered. “Stay away. I will be fine.”

  The taller rider trotted over, helped her atop his horse, and the three left the camp.

  Dylan opened his eyes. He wavered, uncertain whether to ignore Seelie’s command and follow her anyway or continue his search for Maere. Seelie was brave, but she didn’t know Eugis, didn’t know what he was capable of doing. It was strange that Morrigu apparently hadn’t let on that Maere wasn’t with Dylan. By the sound of it, she was playing Eugis as well, sending him scurrying this way and that in his bid for power.

  Dylan decided he’d not let Seelie’s sacrifice be in vain. Without a backward glance, he headed into the forest in search of his betrothed.

  “Finally,” Eugis said, as his men approached.

  “We brought her right to you, as quick as we could,” the tall one answered. He dismounted and pulled the young woman off his horse and shoved her toward his master. “You didn’t tell us she was so comely.”

  “Did either of you touch her?” Eugis’s face grew dark. “Tell me now!”

  “No, sir. Not that the thought didn’t cross our minds.” He grinned widely.