Predestined

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Predestined Page 19

by R. Garland Gray


  Outside the woodlands, snow blew in wintry gusts, carpeting the land in a tapestry of white. Here, in this faery place amongst the great oaks, holly, and yews, spring bloomed eternal, cradled in a warm mist.

  “I am here,” he murmured.

  A long silence came to the clearing.

  “SO AM I.”

  Tynan stiffened at the sound of the lilting voice. He felt her move behind him, a golden and vain creature of twilight.

  Her cool scent was one of Anemone, named Wind-flowers because the flowers never opened unless the wind blew. Her fragrance floated in the air, a beguiling scent of yearning and arrogance.

  “YOU COME TO HONOR ME?” she asked.

  Tynan felt the possessive brush of long tapered fingers at his temple.

  “Are you the territorial goddess?” he asked. Even with his eyes closed, the otherworldly light hurt.

  “HOW DARE YOU NOT RECOGNIZE ME, CHIEFTAIN.”

  His jaw tightened. “My eyes are closed, goddess.”

  “YOU NEED NOT SEE ME WITH YOUR EYES TO KNOW ME. I AM THE GEAS IN YOUR BLOOD BY ANCIENT PROMISE. YOU BELONG TO ME.”

  “BELONGED,” a male voice stated from somewhere above him.

  Tynan kept his eyes closed against the cutting light.

  “NAY, THIS CANNA BE. HE BE MINE BY ANCIENT PROMISE, THIS DARK CHIEFTAIN. THIS ONE I CLAIM AS IS MY RIGHT,” she protested.

  Tynan shifted uneasily, feeling a tug at his scalp.

  “THIS ONE,” she murmured longingly. “I WANT THIS ONE.”

  A brush of gold gently smoothed through his hair. A terrible tension built in him at her continued caress. He felt golden threads weaving through his soul, trying to bind him to her.

  “HIS BLOOD BOILS FOR ME. SEE THE TENSION IN HIM.” Tynan breathed in his fury. He knew she spoke to someone else, someone of power.

  “ANSWER ME, CHIEFTAIN. DOES YOUR BLOOD NOT HEAT FOR ME?”

  “I answer only to my goddess. I do not know if you are she.”

  She jerked his head back. “I AM YOUR GODDESS.”

  “BLODENWEDD,” a voice warned. “RELEASE HIM.” Her hands slipped through his hair. Golden threads evaporated.

  “STAND ASIDE,” the male voice commanded. Tynan knew the faeries gathered here to see the fulfillment of an ancient promise as they, too, suffered from his father’s betrayal. From the tiny, prankish piskies who were no taller than a mouse, to the nasty spriggans with large heads, the knockers who worked underground, the gentle small people who lived in faery gardens with perfume, and finally to the good people who helped his ancestors build Kindred. They all suffered with the land.

  “DARK CHIEFTAIN,” the male voice commanded, “LAY DOWN THINE OFFERING.”

  Tynan heard the velvet compulsion in his mind and suspected the voice belonged to the dangerous Faery King.

  He placed his sword and shield on the ground beside him. They were tokens of his honor and strength. He had come to fulfill his geas and mate with the territorial goddess. A heavy disgust settled in his body at the thought of lying with a creature of twilight and cold mist.

  Bryna.

  His heart and body warmed with thoughts of her. His geas calmed in fulfillment of her.

  It felt right to be in her arms, to be sheathed in her softness. He wanted Bryna as his faerymate, not the vain, golden creature that played with his hair.

  The golden creature hissed at him, sensing his thoughts. The harsh brush of her hand against his cheek warned of her displeasure with him.

  Tynan turned away instinctively, his countenance hard.

  “YOU SEE BLODENWEDD, HE DOES NOT LIKE YOUR TOUCH. HIS GEAS RECOGNIZES ANOTHER GODDESS.”

  His geas recognized Bryna as the territorial goddess. He had left her safe in the fortress with the rest of his tribesmen. Work had already begun on rebuilding Kindred.

  “HE BELONGS TO ME BY ANCIENT PROMISE.”

  “BLODENWEDD, MY WHITE FLOWER, YOU BE SO YOUNG IN THE WAY OF THINGS. NO CREATURE BELONGS TO ANOTHER. EVEN THE ANCIENT PROMISE ABIDES THE HEART’S CALL.”

  Silence paused in the clearing.

  Tynan held his breath, sensing a change in the air.

  “OPEN THINE EYES, DARK CHIEFTAIN, SO WE MAY KNOW THY HEART.”

  Tynan forced his eyes open and stared at them. Silver, gold, and copper light shimmered and softened, no longer hurtful. The delicate petals of the purple orchids bloomed beside red yewberries, silver ferns, and fallen acorns. Black wolves walked beside boars, pigs, and badgers. Faeries sat on snails or on the backs of blue hares. Some stood in their red velvet coats. Some hovered, their sparkling diamond wings beating silently. The woodland’s good people were the only ones near human size. The only ones able to mate with a mere mortal. Once upon a time, the good people were of the Tuatha Dé Danann, but their bonds with enchantment changed them, made them draiochtach agus sidhe, magical and faery.

  “LOOK YOU HERE, CHIEFTAIN.”

  Tynan did as commanded.

  Like an immortal king, a male faery with long white hair sat atop a granite boulder flanking the ancient well.

  He wore a long coat of silver, black breeches, white stockings, and gleaming, silver shoes buckled with diamond drops. Silver eyes stared unblinkingly at him. Full lips curved with mocking amusement.

  Tynan met the male faery’s gaze. This one decided his fate.

  “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM, DARK CHIEFTAIN?” Tynan nodded.

  “I AM NUADA, FAERY KING, HOLDER OF ALL SOVEREIGNTY.”

  As a boy, he had heard of the great Faery King who led and lost the battle against the Fir Bolg. Losing an arm, he had been replaced by Bress mac Eladan, only then to grow another arm and reclaim his sovereignty.

  “I am here,” Tynan said simply.

  “AYE, YOU BE HERE. BUT NOT THINE HEART.” Diamond eyes watched him intently. “WILL YOU LAY WITH BLODENWEDD AND GIVE HER A CHILD OF THINE LOINS TO RESTORE LOYALTY AND BOUNTY TO THE LAND?”

  This is it, Tynan thought. “Aye,” he replied. He would rather die nobly in battle than lay with this golden creature of twilight.

  “WILL YOU LAY ONLY WITH HER?” the Faery King asked, his tone that of taunting enjoyment. “GIVE UP THINE MORTAL LIFE AND IN SO DOING PAY FOR YOUR FATHER’S DISGRACE AND BETRAYAL?”

  Tynan reeled back. He never truly understood the sacrifice of his faery geas until now, this moment, when his response lodged in his throat. He loved another, as his father once did. However, Tynan knew he was a stronger chieftain; his choice would not doom the land to more years of grief. His sense of honor forbade it, and he set the desire of his heart aside.

  “Aye,” his voice quivered only slightly when he answered. “Aye,” he repeated more firmly, a willing sacrifice. “I will fulfill the promise.”

  Dark amusement glittered in Nuada’s eyes and Tynan tensed.

  “EVEN THOUGH THINE SEED TAKES ROOT IN ANOTHER GODDESS’S WOMB?”

  Tynan felt his stomach drop. “Bryna.”

  “AYE, THAT ONE,” Nuada murmured, reading the chieftain’s thoughts. He wondered if the prideful mortal would follow where he led.

  Blodenwedd hissed in protest. “IT MATTERS NOT.”

  Tynan and Nuada both ignored her. Tynan regarded the Faery King. A tiny smile curved the white-haired creature’s lips, and suddenly he understood what his body had known all along.

  “Bryna is my territorial goddess,” he stated boldly.

  “DESTINED SO,” Nuada nodded in agreement. “BUT, ALAS, STOLEN FROM US.”

  “I have met your faery obligation, then,” Tynan said firmly.

  Nuada arched a white-winged brow. “DO YOU BELIEVE IT TO BE SO?” he asked.

  Tynan did not hesitate. “It is so.”

  “A WISE CHIEFTAIN YOU BE, THEN.” Satisfied with the chieftain’s answer, Nuada sat back on the boulder and straightened his long silver coat with seemingly casual indifference. He had greatly disliked the other chieftain named Cormack, a young man of insult and arrogance. In punishment, he had secretly ordered the newborn territori
al goddess stolen and placed among humanfolk. It had been a foolish impulse that resounded throughout the land in hurtful ways, terrible ways that bestowed unforeseen consequences. Now, he must wait for the unfolding of time, a mingling of burdens past and obscure futures. For what had been lost long ago, had now returned.

  Bryna stood on the parapets in the purple twilight of the ending day seeking solitude in her grief. They were near the end of Feabhra, February, the mi na ngaoth, month of winds, and Tynan had gone to her, had gone to his goddess.

  Her heart welled in misery. She had not known it would hurt so, this deep plundering ache inside her body. Since Tynan had left, her thoughts strayed often to the battle in the tombs and what the Sorcerer Cormack had said.

  “That creature standing behind you is not a woman. Have you seen her true form, my son? Have you gazed onto her real likeness and felt passion in your blood? Nay, you have not, or you would not defend her so.”

  Bryna trembled inside her soul. A cloak of lavender blew about her chilled body, a chill of fear, not of cold. She inspected her hands, turning them this way and that before touching her face. “What am I?” she bitterly whispered to the winds.

  In the sky above, an unearthly cry answered and she looked up. A flock of black and gray hooded crows flew, holding her attention. It was said if an unmarried girl threw stones at scald crows, she would know the direction from which her new mate would come. Bryna looked away. It was also said that scald crows were the emblem of Macha, one of the three sisters of Mor-rioghanna, goddess of battle and carnage. She hoped the battle and bloodshed were finally over and the land would grow fertile once more. She looked to the black sea, a light mist settling over the rocky cliffs, questioning her own nature.

  “Child?”

  Bryna turned and felt a surge of warmth. “Teacher,” she replied, bowing her head respectfully. “Have the villagers moved all your things back to the cottage?”

  “Aye, they did. I still say that I doona like hiding.”

  “They only meant to keep you safe during the battle.”

  “I know this and am grateful.” Her teacher moved closer to the edge of the parapets and looked out with sightless eyes. “How is the wound on your back today, child?”

  “It gives me little pain. Rose’s herbs ease my discomfort greatly.”

  “At least that simpler is good for some things,” the druidess said, far too sweetly.

  “Teacher,” Bryna said firmly.

  Derina waved her hand in dismissal. “I dinna seek you out to talk of that one.”

  Bryna waited, her eyes becoming shadowed. “Child, there is talk of another territorial goddess among the chieftain’s people.”

  “I know.”

  “You are the territorial goddess, I say, handfasted and bedded. They all are fools.”

  Bryna dusted off her gray skirt without saying a word, her shoulders locked in tension.

  “Is that why you stay with me in my cottage, child?”

  “I like your home. It is at the edge of the village and I can see farmlands in the distance. Each morning I walk in the garden toward the western walls of the fortress where horses and cattle graze in quietness.”

  “Aye, bounty returns to the land joining, with the mild winter; a good spring comes this year. It is because the chieftain joined with you that this bounty comes to us once again.”

  “Mayhap, but it is a trial-marriage, not permanent.”

  “Doona take the handfasting so lightly. The land responds to you.”

  Bryna sighed heavily, not wishing to argue. “Let us go inside. Evening comes on fast wings and I am getting cold.” She took Derina’s thin arm.

  The druidess pulled free in mild protest. “I can find my own way, child of the faeries. I am not blind. Not like some others in this noble tribe.”

  “Aye, not blind,” Bryna managed a slight smile, “just willful sometimes.”

  “Most times.”

  Bryna laughed softly at that. “True.”

  They made their way carefully back down the wooden steps into the dusk-covered courtyard.

  “My stomach rumbles in hunger,” the druidess murmured in annoyance.

  “Aye, I hear it.” Bryna walked at the druidess’ slow pace.

  “The ground feels hard and cold beneath my feet.”

  “Mayhap you would do well to accept Rose’s offering of new shoes,” she suggested.

  “That one only knows how to torture plants. What does she know of good shoes?”

  Bryna sighed. “You must learn to get along with the simpler, Teacher. This is not like you.” She returned Edwin’s wave from the newly built stables. He called that he would join them in the feast hall soon.

  “Who is that?” the druidess asked.

  “Edwin, and doona change the subject.”

  Horses nickered contentedly out in the paddocks.

  “Ah. He is a good one, that youth.”

  “Edwin is good. Teacher, did you hear what I said?” she prompted wearily. “You must learn to get along with the simpler.”

  “Are the mews finished, child?”

  Bryna gave up and glanced left at the unfinished mews, housing for the tribe’s hunting birds. The simpler and the druidess would work it out themselves.

  “Nay, not yet. Mayhap another month.”

  “Have they prepared the gardens?”

  “They appear to be worked on.” Beyond the stable and mews, the inner gardens of the fortress showed signs of work for the spring planting of vegetables and herbs.

  “Are we at the keep yet, child? My feet grow sore.”

  Bryna looked at the druidess. “I doona understand why you will not accept the shoes from Rose. Here, the steps are in front of us.” She assisted the druidess up the steps. In the day’s ending light, the gray stones of the keep appeared laced with slivers of silver. Well-fed wolfhounds, set loose to act as watchdogs, barked in greeting at their heels.

  “Leave the dogs alone.” The druidess gestured, more with impatience than any malice.

  “I have seen you feed these dogs with table scraps. I doona think a simple pat will do any harm. Why are you so bad-tempered this eve?”

  “I am, always grouchy when I am hungry.”

  Bryna climbed the remaining steps and pushed at the tall doors. They swung open easily on newly oiled hinges.

  She followed her teacher in. “Smells like sweet cakes.”

  “Tell me what you see, child. Have they finished the clean up?”

  “Wall torches flicker on clean white walls. Tapestries are hung on either side of the great hall. I have seen the repair of the two natural spring enclosures within the tombs. Cisterns and large tanks are to be constructed. In the storage area, rooms fill with honey and acorns. Large quantities of firewood, hemp, dry wool, and rags are being stocked for the poulticing of wounds.”

  “A wise chieftain.”

  “Aye,” Bryna agreed. “In front of us the servants carry platters of steaming food to the feast hall. Do you wish to go in?”

  “My stomach wishes it, even if I do not.”

  Bryna looked toward the hall in thoughtfulness. “Teacher, I am not really hungry this eve. I will see you at the cottage later.”

  “Nonsense, child. We go through this every night. You are handfasted to the chieftain. Your rightful place is here in this hall.”

  “It is a trial-marriage, a temporary madness,” she rejoined, but there was something else too. She had not felt right of late and wished only to lie down and rest.

  Her teacher snorted in displeasure. “Madness. Bah. If you did not show up, that Hawkboy would come and find you anyway. Now, let us go in before I faint of hunger.”

  Bryna bit her lip and nodded. “As you wish.” They walked the length of the entrance hall to the feast hall. Many of Tynan’s warrior tribesmen had come for the evening meal. Others, with families, chose to stay at home and end the day among themselves.

  “Is the fire lit, child? My bones rattle.”

  Br
yna glanced at the hearth. The druidess seemed to complain a lot these days; Bryna could only attribute it to her age. “Aye, a roaring fire sends heat and light from the hearth. Trestle tables and benches have been set in rows.”

  “The same as last eve?”

  “More tables, methinks.”

  “Here, Bryna!” Hawk waved from the long table on the dais.

  “I doona smell him. Is he clean?”

  Bryna laughed softly. “Aye, my teacher. The boy is clean.”

  “A first, I must say. Usually I can smell him from across the meadows.”

  Bryna guided the druidess past the other long tables to the dais.

  Hawk sat at the head in his father’s large wooden chair in a clean green tunic and breeches. He stood in welcome upon their approach.

  “How do I look, Bryna?”

  “Most fine, Hawk.” She turned in greeting to the simpler.

  Rose sat on the boy’s left in a gown of dark blue wool. Sprigs of dried rosemary and holly adorned her gray streaked braids.

  “Good eve, Rose,” Bryna said.

  “Good eve, Bryna,” the simpler replied warmly, her blue eyes dipping right. “And to you, ancient one.”

  Derina grumbled something about interfering simplers and Bryna pinched her teacher’s arm, warning her to behave.

  “Bryna, sit here next to me.” Hawk pulled out the empty chair to his right.

  “I think not, Hawk. That chair is meant for your father’s new faerymate.”

  The boy frowned looking down at the chair and then back to her, a child’s confusion mirrored in his brown eyes.

  “Bryna, Hawk has waited to take his meal with you.” Rose gestured to the chair. “Please, sit and join us.”

  “Oh, do sit, child, and stop making a fuss,” her teacher said tightly, taking her seat beside the simpler.

  Bryna could see there was no hope for it. She made her way around to Hawk and took the seat.

  “The tribe elders are in meeting, so I am the lord in charge.”

  Bryna smiled. “What of Ian? I thought your father left him in charge.”

  “I have his permission.”

  “Oh, well, then I must obey.”

  The boy beamed and returned to his seat.

  A servant carrying a trencher of meat moved between her and Hawk. They were serving roasted boar this eve with pudding and pancakes. Her stomach rolled into revulsion. She looked away while the servant filled the platter she would share with Hawk. Over the past few weeks, food smells made her unwell.

 

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