Oracle Dreams Trilogy

by Teri Barnett

  Eugis stared hard at the trio a moment longer before turning his attention to the woman before him. “It’s been a long time, niece.” He ran a finger along her smooth cheek and down her chin. “Have you missed me?”

  Seelie slapped his hand away. “You’d do well to keep your hands to yourself.”

  “What I’d do well with is to make you my wife.” He smiled and spread his arms wide. “Am I so hard to look at? Would it be so difficult to bed me?”

  “What have we here?”

  Eugis turned to find Morrigu approaching.

  “Forgive me.” He bowed his head. “I didn’t hear you arrive, Goddess.”

  Morrigu dismissed him with a flick of her wrist. She stepped closer to Seelie, who instinctively took a step back. “Hold her,” Morrigu said to Eugis. Her eyes locked with Seelie’s for a moment before traveling the length of her body. “Does she have any identifying marks?”

  Eugis thought for a moment. “None that I can remember. Why do you ask?”

  “Are you certain this is the girl you’re looking for?” she said, offering a smug smile.

  A jolt of panic shot through Eugis. He released his hold on Seelie and walked around her, looking her up and down. “Tell me your name, girl.”

  Seelie met his stare head on. “Maere.”

  “What of your parents?”

  “What of them?”

  She was defiant enough, that was certain. He stepped closer to her, their feet almost touching. “Tell me about them. What do you recall?”

  “I don’t remember much. Only that they were murdered by Viking invaders.” She squared her shoulders. “And that you, kind uncle, rescued me and brought me to the abbey. Isn’t that correct?”

  Eugis turned and put his arm around Morrigu’s shoulders, leading her away from Seelie. “That’s the story as the girl knows it,” he said. “The abbess herself told me last I checked that Maere had never recovered her past memories.”

  “Maere could have told her story to anyone, could she not?”

  He considered this. “Why are you suspicious when victory is so close?”

  “Why did you send your men to do your bidding, not believing Jorvik succeeded in his task?”

  Eugis fought back frustration. “You told me he betrayed me. You told me I couldn’t trust him, that he’d gone north instead of after Maere as instructed.”

  “I did not. I told you to decide for yourself as to the trustworthiness of the Vikings.” She shook off his arm. “Last we talked, you did trust them.”

  “But I thought more of your words,” he said. “I value your counsel and came to believe Dylan and Maere awoke and escaped the cave themselves, that Dylan still possessed the girl.”

  Morrigu smiled that terrible knowing smile of hers. His face blanched. He’d been tricked!

  Eugis called out to the men who had brought Seelie to him. “Was there anyone with this woman?”

  “She was alone, said she’d escaped from a man.”

  “Did she fight you?” Eugis ran a hand through his hair, fear gnawing at his gut.

  The man shrugged. “No fight. She gave herself up peacefully.”

  “What?” He looked sharply at Seelie. “You were never given to going quietly anywhere you didn’t want to go.”

  “But sir,” the man said. “It’s like I said. She came willingly.”

  “Is that true?” Eugis asked.

  Seelie’s hands began to tremble as she nodded ever so slightly. “There was no fight because it was my choice.”

  “Eugis?” Morrigu said. “Doesn’t our Maere have red hair?”

  Seelie froze.

  “Yes, she certainly does. At least, she did as a child.”

  “Then it should still be some shade of the color, wouldn’t you say?” Morrigu raised an eyebrow.

  Eugis reached out and ripped the woven scarf from Seelie’s head, sending her long blonde curls tumbling about her face. He grabbed her by the chin. “I can’t imagine your hair would have turned so light over the years.” Seelie tried to pull away, but Morrigu was standing directly behind her now.

  “Tell us who you really are,” she whispered in Seelie’s ear. “Maybe then we’ll let you live.”

  Seelie’s eyes grew wide. “I suppose it makes no difference now if I tell you. They’re already to the other side of the country.”

  Eugis grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Seelie’s head back. He put his mouth near the young woman’s face. “Who? Tell me who you’re speaking of or I’ll snap your neck.”

  Seelie swallowed, hard. “Maere. And Dylan. The Vikings took her. Dylan and I were tracking them. He’s no doubt found her by now and they’ve escaped.”

  So Jorvik had succeeded. Eugis shoved the young woman to the ground and walked away, Morrigu’s laughter ringing in his ears.

  Chapter 29

  The sound of horns blowing in the distance entered Maere’s dreams and stirred her awake. Someone came into the longhouse and approached her.

  “You must come with me,” Sassa’s grandmother, Ragna, commanded. She wiped her hands on her woolen tunic and waited.

  Maere stood and rubbed her eyes. In the dim light, she noticed Jorvik was gone. Where had the tall Viking retreated to at such an early hour?

  Ragna tossed her single long gray braid over her shoulder and spoke again. “We must make haste.”

  “Where are you taking me?” Maere asked as she stepped gingerly to the doorway, her ankle still tender.

  “Not for you to worry over.” Ragna pushed the cloth aside and held it open for Maere.

  It was still dark, probably an hour or two before sunrise, and a thick mist hovered above the land. Several small fires dotting the campsite broke the ghostly cover in spots. Fire. Maere shuddered and looked away.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the night, she saw people gathering at the edge of the makeshift village, near Jorvik’s father’s body. The old woman tugged at Maere’s sleeve, indicating she was to follow her. “Come. It is almost time.”

  “Time for what?” Maere asked, her eyes finding the fires once again, wishing them away.

  “Time for the funeral. Everyone must attend, be they kin or not. It is a sign of respect for the dead and his family.”

  Maere jumped at the deep male voice speaking from behind her. She turned around to find Jorvik, clothed in his battle armament, talking quietly to one of his men. A breastplate of black metal with stags hammered in relief spanned his chest, thick leather jerkins covered his legs, silver and copper bands circled his upper arms, and his sword and dagger hung low at his waist. He was more formidable than ever, if that was possible.

  “You appear to be going to war, not to honor your father’s memory,” she said softly.

  “You know nothing of how we honor our dead. You know only your Christian ways.” Jorvik’s eyes narrowed and Maere realized the sadness they carried. She shouldn’t have spoken so.

  He turned toward his father’s body. “When a Norseman sends you to the Great Hall of Valhalla, you know it. My father’s spirit will receive a hearty send-off befitting his station.”

  Maere opened her mouth to speak, but her attention was drawn by Sassa, who was being escorted into the center of the group. She was made to stand near the body. The villagers stepped back, forming a circle around her and the men who served as her escorts. Four of them positioned themselves around her. Then they bent down, two taking an arm, two taking a leg, lifting the young girl until she was suspended flat on her back in mid-air.

  “What are they doing to her?” Maere asked, a feeling of dread creeping up her spine.

  Jorvik waved his hand to silence her. She turned to Ragna. “What are they doing to Sassa?”

  Ragna’s eyes filled with tears. “She is being prepared to join her master.”

  Join her master? What did that mean? Bu
t it wasn’t long before the meaning became clear, as another man approached the girl, dagger raised.

  “You cannot do this,” Maere screamed. She turned to Ragna. “Sassa is your granddaughter—” She suddenly understood Sassa’s cryptic words the day before. I don’t need to grow up…She grabbed Jorvik’s arm. “Make them stop. It’s not right.”

  Jorvik shook her off. The man with the dagger looked at Jorvik questioningly. Jorvik nodded his approval and the other continued.

  Speaking words Maere could barely hear, let alone understand, he approached and circled the men, stopping in front of each of them to mutter an incantation. When he finally stopped before Sassa, she was smiling. Smiling, of all things! Maere couldn’t believe it. This child was actually welcoming her death!

  Oh, dear Mother, what have they told her? She thinks this is going to be an adventure!

  The dagger was raised and, in one swift motion, the girl’s throat was slit ear to ear. Her eyes widened and her mouth worked as if to form words. Blood spurted and gurgled from the wound, soaking the ground.

  Ragna gasped. The tears streamed down her face as she continued to stand in stoic silence, staring ahead.

  A long buried memory shot through Maere. She swayed and Jorvik caught her.

  “She felt no pain,” Jorvik whispered. “She went willingly to help my father in the next world.” He held Maere’s arms, helping her stay upright.

  Maere watched, transfixed, as the thick red liquid seeped into the dirt.

  “It was a great honor for her to die so,” he added.

  Maere shook her head to clear it. What was the girl’s blood trying to tell her? What should she know? The girl, now dead, was placed perpendicular to Jorvik’s father, Otto, at the foot of the stone bier. The men who had held her were now busy stacking branches and logs all around and over the pedestal, careful not to cover the faces of the dead. The circle of people moved closer and closer until they stood in a triple ring, the nearest of them about nine feet from the bier.

  A battle cry—deep enough and frightening enough to make a faint-hearted man fall over and die—sounded from behind Maere. She clapped her hands over her ears and turned around. From her spot, at the outer edge of the third circle, she watched Jorvik dip an arrow, its pointed end wrapped with a rag, into one of the many fires around them. With another scream, he launched the projectile. It landed squarely on top of the bier and was followed by another and another. And other Norsemen joined him, lighting the early morning sky with flaming arrows. Soon, the wood caught fire and began to blaze.

  Maere froze. She stared into the fire, watching as the flames grew higher and higher.

  Run! Fire isn’t safe. It has never been safe.

  And why is that?

  I don’t know. I don’t want to know.

  You have to know. Look at it. Look into it. You have to understand. Why is it not safe?

  Maere did as her mind bid. She stared hard, fighting against her instincts to turn away. Then the funeral scene faded away and she saw another time, another fire. A frightened little girl. A desperate boy. Uncle Eugis. Her mother and father. Dylan’s father.

  Dear Blessed Mary! Her mother and father! And Fox mac Connall! Garroted. Blood everywhere. Soaking the ground. Filling the ceremonial bowls. Covering Eugis’s hands.

  Eugis’s hands.

  Eugis. Father’s brother. Her uncle. Beltane fires everywhere.

  Bodies committed to the flames in sacrifice. Ma and Da. Dylan’s Da.

  Maere shuddered, her legs weak, her entire being wracked with grief held so long within. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders. Looking up at the sky through her tears, she saw it all so clearly now. Vikings did not murder her family. Eugis did. Dylan mac Connall had spoken the truth.

  And where was Dylan this night? Where was her dearest childhood friend, her betrothed? Was he safe?

  She glanced at Jorvik. He stood near her, staring into the fire, his eyes brimming with tears.

  A hot flush surged through her. Moving with intent and strength of purpose, her power rising within, she easily pushed her way through the outermost ring, past the middle ring, stopping only at the last ring of warrior-men. Murmurs rose among the Vikings and joined the roar of the fire.

  The warriors held her at bay, refusing to let her pass. “Tell them to move, Jorvik,” she called out above the growing din. “I do not wish to harm them.”

  “Do not let her pass,” Jorvik shouted to the men. And then to her he said, “It is not fitting for you, a woman and an outsider, to step inside their circle.”

  Enough! The word echoed in Maere’s mind. “Enough!” Maere shouted aloud. The heat coursed through her once again. With a touch, the men found themselves separated.

  Stealthily, Maere approached the fire, as one would approach an enemy. In truth, it was an enemy. An old one who had never let her rest, one which taunted her to remember when she could not.

  But she remembered now.

  Without a second thought, Maere strode into the inferno now raging over and around Otto’s and Sassa’s bodies. Women screamed, men shouted. Maere heard their muffled cries through the dense call of the flames, but it didn’t matter to her. She felt no pain, no heat, as the brilliant white light of her gift filled her, swirled around her, and kept her safe.

  Maere shoved aside the wood and took Otto by the hand. With her free hand, she touched Sassa’s cheek. The fire grew brighter and stronger and blocked Maere’s form from the Vikings.

  “What was she thinking?” Grimnir rushed to Jorvik’s side. “She didn’t even cry out when she entered the fire.”

  The words stuck in Jorvik’s throat. He could only stare in shocked disbelief.

  A flash of green light—the color of life itself—shot up from the bier and lit the sky. The flames parted beneath the eerie glow and out walked the girl, then Otto, then Maere. The entire gathering of Vikings went quiet, the circle parting without a sound, allowing the three to pass. Were these spirits?

  Jorvik fell to his knees in front of the old man. “Father? Can it really be you?”

  Otto smiled and touched his son’s head. “It is I, son. I tell you truly. I was in the Great Hall one minute, with Sassa serving me wine, then here the next.” He nodded at Maere and his eyes shone with gratitude. “This Light Elf brought me back to you.” He stretched his arms out at his sides and addressed his people. “Back to all of you!”

  And with his announcement, for the first time since he’d walked out of the flames, the villagers dared to approach him. Reaching out, they touched his clothing, his beard, his face. Others watched Maere in wonder. A Light Elf in their very midst! Such a blessing from the gods was always hoped for, but never expected.

  Sassa tugged on Maere’s hand. “Are you one of those angels you told me about?” she whispered.

  Maere knelt before her and held the girl’s face in her hands. “I don’t know. But I can tell you this, I am so happy to see you.”

  Ragna ran to them and swooped Sassa up in her arms twirling her around.

  “Grandma why are you crying, aren’t you happy to see me?”

  “I am my sweet child. I am so happy.” The old woman turned to Maere. “I thank you with every fiber of my being.”

  Maere’s eyes swam with tears as she watched Ragna take Sassa’s hand and walk with her back to their home.

  A man handed Otto a skin of wine. He took a long drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A cheer went up as the crowd surrounded him and led him to a smaller fire where they could all sit and hear the tale of his great adventure through the gates of death and back.

  Jorvik looked at Maere, amazement clear on his face. Her clothing was intact. Her skin as fair as a flower. Not even her hair was singed. There was no sign whatsoever of what she had been through. “What manner of woman are you?”

  Maere stood before
him. “A woman who values her freedom above all else.” She gathered her loose hair and knotted it at the nape of her neck. “One who now knows her truth.”

  “Not Sister Maere?”

  “Nay. Not Sister Maere. I’m no longer ignorant of my path in this life.” She smiled and gently shook her head. “You must promise me something, Jorvik.”

  “Anything.”

  “I respect and honor your ways, but please believe me when I tell you that our loved ones will pass on one day. And when they do, they will be greeted with love by those who went before us. We do not need to sacrifice our living for the dead. Sassa is a good child. She will make a good wife and mother one day to a lucky man. Please make sure she is wed to a good one.”

  “I promise it will be so.”

  “And can you do one more thing for me?”

  “I can do a thousand-and-one-more things for you, Maere,” he said with a warm smile.

  Maere understood at that moment Jorvik was not the same man who had kidnapped her. Or perhaps he had reclaimed the man he truly was. She smiled back. “Will you let me leave?”

  Jorvik took her small hands into his much larger ones. “Blessings on you, woman.” He glanced at his father, where he sat in the midst of the crowd. “For what you have brought back to me. I will prepare a beautiful mare and supplies for you that you might ride free from here.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jorvik’s pale eyes stared into hers. “I know ‘twas that evil, the one called Morrigu, who claimed my father’s life before his time. If I ever cross paths with her again, she will know my wrath. But you, little one, you must be wary of that raven. She is not through with you yet.”

  Chapter 30

  “This is how you would rescue me, Dylan mac Connall?”

  Sleeping under the bough of a great pine, Dylan stirred slightly. Maere spotted an owl feather nearby. Stifling a giggle, she picked it up and tickled the end of his nose.

  He swatted at the feather. Maere tickled him again. He sneezed and bolted upright, his black hair hanging in disarray over his gaunt face. The fierceness of his expression made Maere drop the feather. Suddenly unsure of herself, she rocked back on her heels and waited for him to speak.