Mystic Warrior

by Patricia Rice

  She understood. They were never so close to the earth as when undressed and in each other’s arms. The hampering clothing prevented their connection to nature as much as it prevented them from feeling the caress of each other’s hands. They needed the mist touching their skin and the soft soil rubbing their toes.

  She helped him tug off the boots and stockings. She caressed the bottom of his feet, and he shivered, tensing with the bond between them. The air throbbed with expectation.

  “Keep touching me,” he muttered through clenched teeth, staring into the clouds. “I can feel more. I think I can feel the entire universe.”

  As they would if they shared the temple bed together.

  Remaining seated, Murdoch planted his soles firmly on the soil, and she ran her fingers over his long, shapely feet, circled one strong ankle with both hands, rode her palm up his calf and shin. He shuddered along with the earth.

  “Close, we’re close,” he whispered, his voice no more than the wind in the trees. “I feel water draining from the core, through the rock. The chalice is there, where the springs rise.”

  Spellbound, Lissandra listened and memorized his words as his spirit guide took him deeper into the bowels of the earth. She’d never seen Murdoch go into a trance. He looked more omniscient Oracle than human as his harsh features settled into serenity. The sun glowed from within and without. His eyes were shuttered by long lashes, and the breeze blew around his head, swirling his hair in loose tendrils.

  Like a warrior of old, he should be naked to the sun. She clung to his bare leg, willing him to find the focus that so eluded him, praying her energy could somehow guide his.

  “The chalice resists me,” he said in sorrow, as if from a dream. “I am not strong enough for it. Danger! There is menace all around. No, I can’t—”

  He jerked abruptly back to the moment, rubbed the sweat from his brow, and stared blankly at the shaded grove.

  Lissandra could sense his distance. She sat still, waiting, shivering with cold inside, though the day was mild. She knew it often took time to absorb everything Seen. Disturbing him now could cause him to lose valuable insights.

  Finally, he rested his hand upon her head, and she felt safe to rise from her knees and sit beside him.

  Murdoch wrapped her in his strong embrace and rested his chin on her hair. “You must go home now. Send Trystan here. Your life, and the one you carry, are too precious to risk.”

  “You don’t intend to wait for Trystan, do you?” she replied. “You think it’s too dangerous for either of us, and you intend to go alone. That is very noble of you, but you forget one thing.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.

  His eyes were dark with world-weariness when they looked down on her. “And what is that, my princess?” he asked in a voice tinged with irony.

  “That we are joined as one. Even if we have not said the vows, I will feel your death as surely as my own. ‘Whither thou goest, I will go,’ ” she quoted in the same sardonic tone. “For I refuse to suffer the torment of your absence for the rest of my life.”

  Her declaration knocked the cynical expression from Murdoch’s face. He stared at her in stunned astonishment.

  Lissandra meant what she’d said. What they had shared was so profound, so earthshaking, that she knew she would be as uprooted as the oak if she could not be with him.

  Twenty-seven

  “Then take me back to Aelynn and let the Council stone me,” Murdoch said, collapsing on the fallen dolmen and staring at the stockings in his hand as if he didn’t know what to do with them. Lis had knocked all the stuffing from his head. She wouldn’t go home without him? One of them had to be mad—she for claiming such a thing, or he for believing it. “At least you’ll be safely home where our spirits can live on.”

  “Spirits live here. I can feel them.”

  Lis set her chin stubbornly, and Murdoch knew he was in trouble. The last time he’d seen her do that, she’d been twelve and he’d refused to let her follow him to the rock cliffs where he and Ian wished to practice diving into a waterspout. The next thing he knew, she was flying off the cliff on her own—not because she was trying to imitate them, but because she’d seen a patch of some valuable herb growing where she couldn’t get at it otherwise.

  She’d only broken her wrist that time. This time could be much worse. Once Lis decided that an action affected Aelynn, she was beyond reason—witness her search for his worthless carcass.

  “I am not an Oracle,” she told him, reading his mind clearly without actually Seeing into it. “I am of no great use to Aelynn. As much as it makes me weep to say it, the child I carry is not of Aelynn, and his destiny may not be there. I put my trust in the gods to protect him. But the gods have declared their intent for you, and it is my duty to guide you home. This much I know.”

  “Can you be that blasted certain of what your damnable gods want?” he demanded. “Do you have any idea of what we risk if we go inside that hill and I see you endangered?”

  “You will lose control, make the earth quake, and bring the whole hill down on our heads,” she retorted. “That threat wears old. We survived a sea battle without sinking. I’ll take my chances.”

  He was an idiot for loving her false bravado. Where Lis was concerned, he’d always been an idiot.

  Jerking on his boots, he scowled and tried not to remember the heated power of her hand on his foot. Lissandra coursed through his blood. Denying her was akin to denying himself. She was his moral compass. And she was telling him what he didn’t want to hear.

  “I don’t want it to be this way,” he said angrily. “It’s much easier risking my neck than yours.”

  She kicked his boot with her soft shoe. “You’re not listening again.”

  “Because I don’t like what you’re saying.” Boots on, he rose to tower over her. “Why don’t we send Trystan down the tunnel and see if it falls on his arrogant head?”

  “You know where the tunnel is?” Her face lit with excitement instead of the dread he felt.

  “The water has carved several tunnels from the limestone formation beneath here. The entrance closest to us has been widened by human hands. There are no supports. It is wet, dark, and deadly. We have no right to disturb the spirits inside.”

  “But you See the chalice there?”

  Murdoch stared up at the magnificent bowl of the sky, the clouds scuttling across the surface, and knew he did not want to die now. He wanted to take Lissandra for his wife, have many rowdy children with her, and live life to its fullest.

  For the first time in years, he felt a satisfying future within his grasp.

  And his Sight said they might never come out of this hill. They could die for a damned chalice that he wasn’t sure he completely believed in. For a country that had banished him.

  For a woman he wanted more than life.

  Selfishly, Murdoch dragged Lis into his embrace, crushed her against him, and took her mouth with all the force he possessed.

  And she wrapped her arms around his neck and took everything he gave and returned it threefold. He wanted to weep at the beauty of her spirit.

  They both jerked apart at the sound of boots tramping the hill toward them.

  “Badeaux,” Murdoch said, without looking up. Reluctantly, he released Lis.

  A moment later the stocky miner trudged around a bend and into view. Huffing from exertion, he leaned his hands against the knees of his leather breeches while he caught his breath, then straightened. “Good, I found you before you did anything foolish.”

  Murdoch could feel Lis’s questioning glance, but he had no answers. He’d sensed danger in his vision, but as usual, the danger could come in any form—human or otherwise. “I’m not much inclined to foolishness,” he responded coldly.

  “Ah, but the lady is,” the old miner said, coming abreast of them. “Women are like that. My wife wasn’t one of us, and she tried to protect me from the committee that wanted my neck.”

  He stepped past them, i
nto the nettles and briars, where he began scuffing his boots against the dirt and stone. “So even though she had her citizenship papers and swore oaths of loyalty and all that other humbuggery they place so much pride in, they killed her just the same.”

  “She died in prison protecting you?” Murdoch asked, testing the man’s mental shield. As Lis had warned, it had corroded with time and grief, but it was still sound enough to shut Murdoch out.

  “Aye. I could not go near her for fear of arrest, so I had friends bribe the guards in hopes of saving her. All for naught. They wanted me, and they would not let her go. In the end, it would not have mattered. She was frail and sickness killed her. By the time my friend reached them, the children were dead, too. Bastard peasants, may their revolutionary souls rot in hell.” He casually rolled a large boulder to one side as if it were no more than a child’s toy. “Here we are.”

  Lis squeezed Murdoch’s hand, and he understood she warned him that the miner’s mind was not stable. But Badeaux had just uncovered the opening Murdoch had sought through his vision, and he hadn’t paused once with doubt.

  “The tunnel is not safe,” Murdoch warned, trying to think of some way of keeping the miner out. Or was Lis right, and the gods had sent Badeaux here for a purpose?

  “That’s why I’m here,” Badeaux said smugly. “It’s men like me who built these tunnels. I know the stone and the earth and how to hold them together. I sense no gold here, but if this is where you wish to go, then I can help.”

  Lis tugged Murdoch’s arm, warning him again, but he had few options. Aelynn needed the sacred chalice. He didn’t want to risk Lis or the child she carried, but his own gifts were more focused when connected with others, and a miner’s energy should be an ideal protection against the tunnel’s dangers.

  Murdoch traced the aquiline bridge of Lis’s nose with his fingertip and stared deep into her worried eyes, trying to reassure her. “This is best,” he murmured. “You can rest here while we explore. Trust me.”

  “But the dream . . . ,” she protested. “It showed both of us.”

  “Bring her along—it will be safe enough now that I’m here.” Badeaux stepped back from the opening he’d uncovered beneath the boulder, gesturing for them to enter first.

  Murdoch resisted. If the miner could roll the boulder that easily, he could just as easily entrap them by rolling it back. Murdoch might have the strength to move it, but he had an equal chance of causing destruction if his fury got the better of him.

  “Between us, we can move mountains,” Lis whispered. “Surely the gods would not lead us so far only to kill us. And if we must die, I’d rather we did so together.”

  “You are a morbid creature.” He scowled down at her.

  “ ‘Whither thou goest . . . ,’ ” she repeated cheerfully. And without further warning than that, she stepped into the dank air spilling from the long-closed tunnel.

  Cool air flowed around Lissandra as she took careful steps over the rocky ground. She could hear water trickling, but she could tell this part of the tunnel had been widened by tools and not water. Ancient torch marks darkened the ceiling only inches above her head.

  Behind her, Murdoch wrapped his hand in her braid and tugged gently, with no intent to hurt. “You really mean to be the death of me, don’t you?”

  “I almost was, once,” she whispered, letting her despair show. “Because of me, my mother nearly killed you. We’ve wasted too much time already. Don’t make me lose more worrying over you.”

  “What I did, what your mother did, was not your fault,” he said firmly. “If it is purity of heart the chalice requires before it will go home, then you are the one who possesses it, not me. Let us rescue a chalice.”

  She nearly stumbled beneath the weight of relief. “We are stronger as a pair.”

  “I’ll not deny that,” Murdoch agreed. “I just deny the need for both of us to die.”

  “That’s fine, then,” she said cheerfully, setting off down the tunnel in the glow of their flames. “Let’s not die.”

  “No one’s dying here,” Badeaux agreed, following them in.

  Lis sighed in relief when the miner did not roll the boulder back in place. She could still see the light at the end of the tunnel. His good humor after days of gloom, however, was odd. Perhaps he needed earth over his head to stabilize his disturbed thoughts.

  “You do realize fearlessness is next to foolishness, don’t you?” Murdoch grumbled, placing a hand at the small of her back to support her as they traversed the uneven path, Badeaux huffing and puffing behind them. The tunnel inclined uphill.

  “Would you like my mother’s lecture on fear being wasted on our sort?” she asked, just to hear human sound rather than echoing blackness.

  Having heard that lecture countless times, Murdoch switched his line of attack. “I don’t suppose you See us walking out of here?”

  “Have you ever received such a clear message?” she countered. “All I know is that I’m supposed to go with you. If we have lessons yet to learn before we can take the cup home, then let us learn them quickly.” Eagerness and anxiety warred behind her brave words.

  The tunnel narrowed. Water coated the rocks they touched. But the ground was more dirt than rock, hard-packed and rutted from human use. Lissandra felt the tor’s power even stronger here, so strong that it distorted her perceptions. Murdoch appeared larger than life, like one of the ancients strolling through the real Olympus. His broad shoulders sheltered her. His formidable energy was a force field more durable than the one around Aelynn. Even ordinary clothes could not conceal his naked strength.

  And the warrior was hers. The realization melted every remaining icicle that had once guarded her heart. “Can you sense the chalice yet? Or the altar?” she asked.

  “Why would you seek such things when we have both on Aelynn?” the miner grumbled. “The pair of ye are as daft as the madmen who think they can overthrow an entire country.”

  Lissandra let the miner complain. She had little patience with someone who had not concerned himself with his homeland for so long that he did not know what was happening there.

  Murdoch held her more closely as he let his senses roam through the narrow corridor. “The hill is not large. The chamber is close, but the footing may be treacherous.”

  Water dripped on her nose from the low roof. Murdoch had to stoop to walk beneath it. Cool air flowed around them, and she shivered. “If the Ancient Ones were tall, then they did not traverse this path.”

  “Like us, they would use what was available. It’s not impassable. Can you feel the vibrations, hear the hum? The holy lines of energy our ancestors followed pass through here with such force that the potential for miracles or disaster is enormous. I think if we drew a straight line south, it would connect directly with Aelynn.”

  “Then it’s almost like being home.”

  “Except we cannot walk through a volcano.” Murdoch raised the light in his palm and eased more cautiously past a boulder carved in ancient runes.

  The tunnel widened into a high, narrow chamber. The trickle of water rang more loudly. Lissandra glanced nervously at the arched limestone ceiling where a crack down the middle occasionally dripped. She didn’t possess much earth energy, but even she knew limestone was fragile and splintered easily.

  “Don’t you worry,” Badeaux said, apparently following the path of her gaze. “I can hold that ceiling in place just as I’m shielding you now. Not a rock will fall with me about.”

  Murdoch held up the flame in his hand to better illuminate the shadows at the back of the long chamber.

  Directly beneath the peak of the tor was an altar very similar to the one on Aelynn.

  Serenely waiting on the altar, surrounded by an incandescent glow of blue light, sat a glittering, jeweled chalice—the answer to all their prayers.

  Twenty-eight

  Having the sacred Chalice of Plenty within his grasp was so overwhelming, so awe-inspiring, that Murdoch would have fallen to his k
nees had Lis not flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  He hugged her tight and let anticipation run wild. All things were possible now. If Lissandra was right and the gods were truly with them . . .

  He might have Lis to himself, might be able to return to Aelynn. He might even start believing her nonsense about the gods in his ring. Might. It was a powerful word.

  If the gods would let him take the chalice home . . .

  Badeaux whistled, breaking the spell of awe that had enraptured Murdoch and Lis.

  “I certainly didn’t sense that down here,” the miner muttered. “How can that be?” he asked, more to himself than to anyone else.

  “I fear it will disappear if I profane it with my touch,” Murdoch murmured against Lis’s hair, pressing a kiss to her brow to reassure himself that this moment was real. Her excitement fed his, and he was almost ready to dance her around the room.

  “If our vision runs true, the chalice won’t come with us if it isn’t meant to,” she warned, returning him to the practical. “If it is similar to the Arthurian tales, only the rightful king—the Oracle—will be able to hold on to it.”

  Turning in his arms, Lis leaned her head back against his shoulder, and together, they studied the gleaming silver object. The jewels on the cup’s base glittered with reds and blues that would sparkle like fire in sunlight.

  “The dream was more clear than most,” he agreed, “but I assume we must test it. I, for one, will not willingly forgo the chance of a lifetime without at least trying.”

  Badeaux looked at them with suspicion. “You knew this thing was down here?”

  “It’s the reason we’re here.” Murdoch didn’t think the old miner even recognized the Chalice of Plenty. It had seldom been removed from the Oracle’s protection. If Badeaux had left the island as a young man, it was conceivable he’d never seen it. Murdoch saw no need to explain to the miner.

  “The vision showed me trying first. Shall I?” Lis asked.