Something burned against my chest, and blood thundered in my ears as time began to slow down by clicks. One click. Two clicks. Three clicks. The blade growing slower and slower until it hovered just a hairsbreadth from my abdomen. I had never wielded power like that, controlled time, bent it to my will. With a sharp grunt, I parried the attack, and time sped up again. But my abrupt assault sent Scáthach spinning, staggering across the clearing and tripping over her own feet. She stumbled to the ground, and without a second thought, I slammed the butt of my spear toward her solar plexus. Her arm blurred and she grabbed my staff, her wrist straining, the muscles so tight I thought they might pop through her skin.
I let out a long exhale, and she met my dark stare with an even deeper frown.
“When you fight, you are just mirroring the moves, the things people have told you,” she said. “Now it is time to fight as yourself, with all the gifts the gods have given you.”
I shook my head, glancing down at my hands. How had I stopped time? Slowed down the world? A cold chill swept through my veins, and I flexed my shoulders, wondering if I could repeat that power. I glanced up at Scáthach, clutching my spear against my body as if I could hide behind it.
“But isn’t that a crutch?” I said. “Like cheating?”
She let out a barking laugh. “Oh, you think this is fair? Is it fair the gods made women small and men like Cuchulainn into giants?” She pounded her chest. “What I lack in strength, I have made up with skill and precision. But you…you have a gift. Embrace it. Do not fear what you are and what you can do. That is what will ultimately defeat you. The fear.”
She marched back toward the camp, the burning mist swirling around her knees.
“I believe you can win, sorceress,” she called over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have trained you if I didn’t.”
Chapter Ten
I stood on a hill flanked by Maeve and Scáthach. Below the craggy cliffs stood a single warrior guarding a narrow pass. He skulked across the opening, restless as a tiger in its cage.
“So that’s Cuchulainn,” I said.
Scáthach let out a long exhale. “You will need to overcome him in single combat in order to gain possession of the bull. Weapons must clash in order for you to take the beast.”
I nodded. “So I can’t melt his face off or anything.”
Maeve turned to me and smiled. “You can do that?”
I merely stared straight ahead, studying the lone warrior. My body had settled into an eerie, resigned calm, but my mind raced, trying to remember how the Táin Bó Cúailnge ended. Fergus had ended up fighting Cuchulainn, but they had reached an impasse, because Fergus was Cuchulainn’s foster father. There was a lot of talk of single combat, but no mention of a sorceress or an American girl crashing the Celtic party. I would be writing my own script.
Fergus came lumbering up behind me and knelt before Maeve.
“My Queen,” he said, “Allow me to battle Cuchulainn first. I do not trust this outlander sorceress.”
I narrowed my eyes at the crown of Fergus’s head. Asshole.
“And why should we trust you?” Scáthach stepped forward, almost nose to nose with Fergus. “You were his foster father.”
Fergus frowned. “And you trained him. Why should we trust you?”
Scáthach’s lips parted in a snarl, but Maeve raised a hand.
“I would not spare you, Fergus,” the Queen declared, her red hair flowing behind her and catching the waning sunlight, a corona of pure flame dazzling around her face.
Fergus bowed low. “I will not fail you, my queen.”
Maeve frowned and turned on her heel. “We’ll speak of this later,” she called over her shoulder.
Fergus scrambled to his feet, flashed us a death stare, and followed her down the hill.
Scáthach made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “That idiot. Like a little puppy. She cares nothing for him but for the strength of his arm and the length of his cock.”
I raised my eyebrows, giving Scáthach a side-eye. “Fergus doesn’t seem so bad.”
“They’re all bad. All worthless,” Scáthach spat. “They think they can tame her, but they all fail. One by one.”
I turned to Scáthach, studying the hard lines of her jaw. “So why don’t you do it? Fight Cuchulainn?”
She smiled. “Because I don’t want the bull. Only someone who wishes to possess it can confront the warrior Cuchulainn.”
“I see.”
She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Maeve can sense the desire in you. You have a magical connection to that animal, but it won’t be yours.”
I glanced at her for a moment before turning back toward the camp, my mind racing. I needed that beast’s blood. A few drops, at least. But if Maeve caught wind of my plans, she would have my head on a stick. I had no choice but to go through with this battle and return victorious. I would find a way to get the sample I required, but first I had to find my courage. Somehow.
…
Fergus and Maeve argued all night on their side of the tent, going back and forth in hushed whispers before their argument regressed into violent fucking. Scáthach sighed, rolling over, and I shut my eyes tight, aching for Finn. I tried to dream, but sleep escaped me. After hours of tossing and turning, I slipped out of the tent. The camp had settled, the only sound the occasional murmuring of male voices or the pop of sparks from a fire. I walked back to the hill from earlier in the day and sat down in the cool grass, the night wind whispering through my hair. Cuchulainn paced, a tiny dot against the cliffs. How could I, Elizabeth Tanner, defeat one of the greatest warriors who ever lived? The very idea made me laugh out loud, and I shook my head, planting my chin in my hands.
“You cannot win, you know,” a silky female voice said beside me.
I started, my eyes widening and taking in the glowing, translucent being sitting beside me. Black hair flowed down the length of her back, her eyes so dark they appeared as nothing more than two deep pits in her perfect porcelain face. Bloodstained red lips smiled at me, sharp teeth gleaming.
I scrambled away, but the figure waved her hand, paralyzing me. I struggled against the weight of her spell, a crushing weight on my chest, but no matter how hard I strained my muscles, I couldn’t budge an inch.
“But I might be able to assist you in thwarting the great Cuchulainn.” She crawled over to me, her breasts pressed up against mine.
Who are you? I longed to ask, my throat muscles tightening.
“Oh, you know me, Elizabeth Tanner,” she whispered, her lips grazing against my neck. “You took one of my greatest warriors from me.”
A cold frost chilled my heart, stopping it for a moment. It was the Morrígan. Who else could it be? I had stood in the way of Finn’s blood oath, Finn forsaking this goddess for me. And now, she had come to collect her debts.
“You left him behind to fight alone.” She shook her head slowly, narrowing her hollow eyes. “Foolish girl. You should hold on to your warriors better.”
My heart leaped into my throat. “What’s happened to him? What do you know?”
“I know a lot of things,” she replied. “The past…the present…and the future…”
My mouth strained with the invectives I longed to throw at her, but Morrígan simply laughed, her breath cold against my skin.
“It is no matter,” she said. “You fight Cuchulainn tomorrow. I can help you.”
I tried to shake my head. I didn’t want her help. She would only assist me to steal Finn away again.
“The choice is not yours, Elizabeth Tanner,” she whispered. “Defeat Cuchulainn. Steal the bull. Return to your lover, Finn. But know this…” She sat up, staring at me, her long black hair floating around her blank white face. A flicker of a flame quickened in her eyes, turning into a great red inferno. I swallowed the hard lump in my throat, pure terror racing
through me. My hearth pounded like a snare drum, fast and violent and threatening to tear through my chest.
“When it comes to the Fianna,” she continued, “all roads lead back to the Morrígan.”
The wind roared in my ears, and I blinked. When my eyes snapped open again a half second later, the world was still and the Morrígan had vanished. I pulled my cloak over my shoulders, panting and gasping for breath. I glanced around in the darkness, the expanse of stars glittering above, and fisted the grass, tugging great handfuls and throwing them to the side.
Fuck.
I scrambled to my feet, retreating backward, my gaze never leaving Cuchulainn until I could no longer see him. I had traveled back in time for one simple reason—to get at that damn bull. But all I found were more snares and traps. My heart ached for Finn, for the rebellion I had left behind in the future. What was Malachy doing right now? Did Grainne raid the stores at Cnoc Fírinne? What if we didn’t have enough weapons and our guerilla tactics failed? My hands trembled and a seismic tremor shuddered down my spine. What if I couldn’t get back there? What if Cuchulainn slaughtered me tomorrow just like he had slaughtered thousands before?
What made me think I was so special?
I bowed my head low to the ground, breathing in the clean earth smell. I let out a scream, the sound falling prey to the howling wind sweeping down the velvet hills unfolding on either side of me. When I looked up again, a bright golden light flashed in the sky like a smoldering fallen star and, like a burning slip of paper, drifted down to my feet to land before me. Soft flames pulsed from a swirling core of energy.
“Find me,” a voice echoed above me.
I glanced up and let out an exasperated breath. Bel stood over me, his full suit impeccable and ridiculously anachronistic to the Bronze Age. He pointed to the light.
“Find you?” I shouted. “Where are you?”
His image wavered like a hologram, and emotion filled his eyes. He mimed for me to cup the light orb, and then he pressed his hands to his chest.
“What? What do you want me to do?” I cried. “Put this fucking fire orb in my chest? Listen, I’ve had enough of demons and demigods for one lifetime.”
He motioned for me to cup the light again, his gestures more frantic. “Find me!” he insisted.
“But you’re here!” I exclaimed.
But was he? The man waved in and out of the air like a ghost, similar to the Morrígan, the outline of his shoulders barely visible in the darkness. Perhaps I had to find the real him, the source of his power. Was this a projection? And if so, could I trust it?
I let out a long exhale, glancing at the fiery orb of light. “I’m going to regret this,” I muttered.
But what choice did I have? If this suited man was the ghost of Bel, then I needed to do what he asked. I reached out for the fire, expecting a searing pain, but it felt warm in my hands, like sunlight on a spring day. Closing my eyes and praying the orb didn’t consume me in an all-encompassing inferno, I pressed it to my heart. For a moment, my body shut down, every nerve pausing as if on the crest of a wave—the beating of my heart, the neurons in my brain, the oxygen in my lungs— It all stopped. My vision crystallized and then burst in a thousand pinpricks of light, great yellow fireworks flashing before my eyes.
“What the fu—?”
The words refused to form in my mouth, and I slammed back into the ground as more and more blooms of bright light exploded in my mind. Minutes passed, maybe hours, and slowly my vision returned to somewhat normal, except a slight shimmer haloing everything, each blade of grass, each tree glittering with energy. When I stared down at my hands, they glowed with the same pale yellow flame as the orb. Dawn peeked through the hills, a thin band of orange on the edge of the horizon. I wandered back to the camp as morning broke, and each soldier I passed, each horse I encountered stood ensconced in a brilliant, shining aura. I should have been exhausted, but I felt energized, infinitely powerful, and as the sun pierced through the camp, my skin absorbed it, turning it into pure power. The light raced through my veins like jet fuel, and I smiled at the incredible sensation, grinning and soaking in the bright sun.
I found Maeve and Scáthach waiting for me as I entered the tent. Scáthach made a disgusted noise, but Maeve’s eyes widened.
“You are glowing,” she said, circling my body and peering at my shimmering skin. “You’ve been touched by the gods.”
I answered her by flashing a wide smile, and Maeve’s eyes glittered.
“You’re late,” Scáthach snapped. “We need to suit you up. Come here.”
I shook my head, some depth of knowledge triggering deep in my brain. “I don’t need armor.”
Scáthach clicked her tongue. “You may have been touched by the gods, but you’ll still bleed the same.”
I raised my hand, lifting a knife from beside the fire. It slammed into my palm, and I raised it over my arm. “No. Look.”
Maeve gasped and lifted her hands to stop me, but she was too late. I pierced my skin, and shimmering blood poured out, red tinged with bright gold. I didn’t even register the pain, and in seconds, the wound closed up again.
Scáthach’s eyes widened, but she recovered quickly, grabbing a breastplate. “Then, just a few pieces. The gods’ gifts are great, but they can also be fickle. We don’t want your luck to run out at the wrong time.”
Pulling at leather straps and twisting me around, Scáthach placed a few pieces of thick leather armor around my body. When she finished, she reached around a large wooden trunk.
“I have a gift for you,” she murmured.
“A gift?” I smiled. Everything made me smile. Scáthach’s golden hair, her muscled brown legs, the pattern painted on the roof of the tent, the smoke from the morning fire. Everything glowed and shimmered in a beautiful dance of light and energy.
She pulled a spear from behind the trunk, and the razor-sharp edge of the blade glimmered. “I had it made for you.”
She passed it into my hands, and I gripped the staff, staring at the gleaming pattern of the wood grain. A pulse of energy swept from the middle of my chest and down my arm, and light poured into the spear until it glowed. Then, as if someone had turned on a switch, the spearhead burst into a pale yellow flame.
“Oh, sweet,” I murmured, grinning wildly.
Scáthach’s face grew solemn and she bowed. “You’ve been touched by the Sun God. Some call him Lugh, but in the old language he is known as Bel. This is a great gift, sorceress.”
“Hell yeah,” I said, walking to an open area in the tent and practicing a few moves. Every motion, every form infused with energy, my body practically dancing through everything Scáthach taught me.
Finally, Maeve gave me a signal.
“Let’s do this,” I said, darting out of the tent and into the brilliant sunshine.
Chapter Eleven
On the walk to the pass, Scáthach drilled me on Cuchulainn’s weaknesses, his signature moves, tricks I needed to watch for. But I barely heard her as we marched through the high grass. The sun shone so bright and the sky stretched above in a searing shade of blue, clear and endless. Rumor had swept through the camp of Maeve’s new champion and her fiery spear, and hundreds of soldiers followed us, beating on their shields as they marched in a raucous line in our wake. All the terror from the night before, all the worry and the anxiety, the endless questions and the pain and anguish, all had vanished. The warm energy from Bel had replaced the paralyzing anxiety that had left me breathless and alone. I didn’t feel confident, necessarily. Not cocky or arrogant. The great light embraced me, and I felt safe inside it. Untouchable, relentless as a fire, as endless as a beam of light.
We reached the pass, and Cuchulainn looked up at us, readying the Gae Bolg at his side. I made to climb down to the valley, but Scáthach grabbed my arm and pulled me into a tight embrace. I tensed, shocked at the sudden gesture.
>
“Don’t be an idiot,” she whispered in my ear. “Move in and out swiftly and keep away from that spear. And just…don’t be an idiot.”
I nodded, clapping her arm. “You’re a great teacher, Scáthach. I won’t forget you.”
I turned away before she could catch me again, hopping from stone to stone with the bright sun on my shoulders. With every jump down into the valley, the sunlight continued to infuse me with energy, and by the time my feet slammed to the bottom, I practically pirouetted. What was fighting but another dance? I stared across the valley to my dance partner. My opponent. And yet, with the light bouncing off his steel helmet, the buckles on his breastplate, I wondered how different things would be in any other circumstances.
“My name is Elizabeth Tanner,” I called across the narrow valley. “I am Maeve’s champion.”
Loud cheers erupted from the cliffs above, the guttural cries of her army bouncing off the craggy hills.
Cuchulainn rolled his spear across his body. The legends didn’t lie. He was a giant, taller than Finn, even. Dark hair flecked with red trailed down his massive shoulders, and his arms were thick globes, as big as my thighs. Tattoos decorated his bronze skin, and he sneered, his dark gaze traveling from my boots to the crown of my head. His eyes lingered at my fiery spear, studying it, but then he burst into a fit of laughter.
“Maeve insults me by offering you,” he bellowed across the valley. “I will give you a moment to turn back now, little girl. And tell Maeve to find a champion worthy of me.”
I smiled, bowing to him. “I won’t turn back, Cuchulainn. But allow me to take the Donn Cúailnge. I have no quarrel with you.”
Hesitation passed over his eyes for a moment, but he let out another barking laugh. “I admire your boldness, but this is not a child’s game.”
Echoes from the Veil (Aisling Chronicles) Page 11