Burned

by P. C. Cast; Kristin Cast

  “That’s really what this place is making you feel?” Stark tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his smile.

  “Yes, asstard, it is.”

  Stark looked at Darius, who nodded in agreement because instead of speaking, he was obviously choosing to clench his jaw and shoot suspicious glances downward at the “spooky black waves.”

  “Huh.” Stark quit even attempting to hide his smile and grinned at Aphrodite. “Just water and a bridge to me. Damn shame it’s freaking you out so badly.”

  “Walk,” Aphrodite said. “Before I forget you’re holding Zoey, and I push you off this bridge so that Darius and I can run back the way we came, screaming or not.”

  Stark’s grin only lasted a few more feet. It didn’t take an ancient “go away” spell to sober him up. All it took was Zoey’s unmoving weight in his arms. I shouldn’t be messing with Aphrodite. I need to focus. Think of what I decided to say to them and, please oh please, Nyx, let me be right. Let me say what will get me on that island. Unsmiling and resolute, Stark led them across the bridge until they stopped in front of an imposing archway made of an ethereally beautiful white stone. The torchlight caught veins of silver in what Stark thought had to be a rare marble, so that the arch glittered seductively.

  “Oh, for crap’s sake, I can barely look at it,” Aphrodite said, turning her head from the archway and averting her eyes. “And I usually love sparkly things.”

  “It is more of the spell.” Darius’s voice was rough with tension. “It’s meant to repel.”

  “Repel?” Aphrodite glanced at the archway, shuddered, and then looked hastily away again. “‘Repulse’ is a better word.”

  “It doesn’t affect you, either. Does it?” Darius asked Stark.

  Stark shrugged. “It’s impressive, and it’s obviously expensive, but it doesn’t make me feel weird.” He moved closer to the marble and studied the archway. “So, where’s the doorbell or whatever? How do we call someone? Is there a phone, or do I yell, or what?”

  “Ha Gaelic akiv?” The disembodied male voice seemed to come from the archway itself, like it was a living portal. Stark looked into the dark with bewilderment. “It’ll be in the English tongue, then,” the voice continued. “Your unwanted presence here is all that is required to summon me.”

  “I need to see Sgiach. It’s a matter of life or death,” Stark said.

  “Sgiach isnae concerned with uze wains, even if it be a matter of life or death.”

  This time the voice sounded nearer, clearer, and it had a Scottish accent that was more growl than brogue.

  “What the hell is a wain?” Aphrodite whispered.

  “Sssh,” Stark told her. To the faceless voice he said, “Zoey isn’t a child. She’s a High Priestess, and she needs help.”

  A man stepped out of the shadows. He was wearing an earth-colored kilt, but it wasn’t like those they’d seen on their hurried trip through the Highlands. This one was made of more material, and it wasn’t prim and proper-looking. This vampyre didn’t have on a tweed jacket with a frilly shirt. His muscular chest and arms were bare as he wore only a studded leather vest and forearm guards. The hilt of a dirk glinted at his waist. Except for a strip of short hair down the center of his head, his hair was shaven. Two gold hoops glinted at one ear. The firelight caught the gold chieftain’s torque he wore around one wrist. In contrast to his powerful body, his face was deeply lined. His close-cropped beard was completely white. The tattoos on his face were griffins, claws extended onto his cheekbones. The overall and immediate impression Stark got from him was that this was a Warrior who could walk through fire and emerge not merely unscathed, but victorious.

  “That wee lass there’s a fledglin’, no a High Priestess,” he said.

  “Zoey’s not like other fledglings.” Stark spoke quickly, afraid the guy who looked like he’d stepped out of an ancient world would de-materialize and fade into the past at any second. “Up until two days ago, she had a vampyre’s tattoos, plus tattoos over much of the rest of her body. And she had affinities for all five of the elements.”

  The vampyre’s appraising blue eyes remained on Stark without glancing at Zoey or Darius and Aphrodite.

  “Yet today I see only an unconscious fledgling.”

  “Her soul was shattered two days ago fighting a fallen immortal. When that happened, her tattoos disappeared.”

  “Then it’s a dyin’ she will be.” The vampyre raised one hand in a dismissive gesture and began to turn away.

  “No!” Stark shouted, and stepped forward.

  “Stad anis!” the Warrior commanded, and with otherworldly speed, the vampyre whirled around and leaped forward, landing directly under the archway and blocking Stark’s path. “Are yie stupit or a feckn’ fool, man? You havnae permission tae enter the Eilean nan Sgiath, the Isle of Women. Should yie try, ’tis yer life yie will forfeit, aye, make no mistake about that.”

  Inches from the imposing vampyre, Stark stood his ground and looked him eye to eye. “I’m not stupid or a fool. I’m Zoey’s Warrior, and if I think I can protect her best by getting her on this island, then it’s my right to take my High Priestess to Sgiach.”

  “Yie have been misinformed, Warrior,” the vampyre said placidly yet firmly. “Sgiach and her Isle are a world apart from yer High Council and their rules. I am no a Son of Erebus and mo bann ri, my queen, isnae in Italy. Warrior tae a wounded High Priestess or no, you dinnae have the right tae enter here. Yie have nae rights at all here.”

  Abruptly, Stark turned to Darius. “Hold Zoey.” He gave his High Priestess to the other Warrior and then faced the vampyre again. Stark lifted his hand, palm out, and as the vampyre watched him with open curiosity, he slashed his thumbnail down his wrist. “I’m not asking to enter as a Son of Erebus Warrior; I walked out on the High Council. Their rules don’t mean shit to me. Hell, I’m not asking to enter! Through the right I’ve inherited in my blood, I’m demanding to see Sgiach. I have something to say to her.”

  The vampyre didn’t take his eyes from Stark’s gaze, but his nose dilated as he sniffed the air.

  “What is yer name?”

  “Today they call me Stark, but I think the name you’re looking for is what they called me before I was Marked—MacUallis.”

  “Remain here, MacUallis.” The vampyre disappeared into the night.

  Stark wiped his bleeding arm on his jeans and took Zoey from Darius. “I’m not going to let her die.” Drawing a deep breath, he closed his eyes and got ready to pass beneath the archway and go after the vampyre, counting on the blood of his human ancestors to protect him.

  Darius’s hand caught his arm, keeping him from crossing the threshold. “I think the vampyre meant you to remain here because he’s coming back.”

  Stark paused and looked from Darius to Aphrodite, who rolled her eyes at him, and said, “You know, in this lifetime you’re probably supposed to learn patience along with a little ‘get a clue.’ Jeesh, just hang on a couple minutes. Barbarian Warrior guy told you to wait here, not to go away. Sounds like he’s coming back.”

  Stark grunted and took half a step away from the middle of the arch, though he slouched against the outer side of it, shifting Zoey’s weight so that she might be more comfortable. “Fine. I’ll wait. But I’m not waiting long. They’re either letting me onto the damn island, or they’re not. Either way, I want to get what happens next over with.”

  “The human is correct.” The woman’s voice came out of the darkness of the island. “You need to learn patience, young Warrior.”

  Stark straightened and faced the island again. “I only have five days to save her. Otherwise, she’ll die. I don’t have time to learn patience right now.”

  The woman’s laughter made the fine hairs on Stark’s arms lift. “Impetuous, arrogant, and impertinent,” she said. “He reminds me of you several centuries ago, Seoras.”

  “Aye, but I wasnae ever that young,” answered the voice of the vampyre Warrior.

  Stark was struggling against
shouting at the two of them to come out of the dark and face him when they seemed to materialize from the mist directly in front of him on the island side of the arch. The archaic-looking vampyre was there again, but Stark hardly glanced at him. His entire focus was captivated by the woman.

  She was tall, with a broad-shouldered body that was muscular, yet entirely feminine. There were lines at the corners of her eyes, which were large and beautiful and an amazing shade of gold mixed with green, the exact color of the fist-sized piece of amber that hung from the middle of the torque around her neck. Except for a single streak of cinnamon red, her waist-length hair was perfectly white, but she didn’t look old. She didn’t look young, either. As he studied her, Stark realized that she reminded him of Kalona, who was ageless and ancient at the same time. Her tattoos were incredible—swords with intricately carved hilts and blades framed her strong, sensual face. He realized no one had said anything while he’d been gawking, and Stark cleared his throat, held Zoey close to him, and respectfully bowed to her.

  “Merry meet, Sgiach.”

  “Why should I allow you on my island?” she said without preamble.

  Stark drew a deep breath and lifted his chin, meeting Sgiach’s gaze as he had her Warrior’s. “It’s my right by blood. I’m a MacUallis. That means I’m part of your Clan.”

  “Not hers, boy. Mine,” the vampyre told him, his lips curving in a smile that was far more dangerous-looking than inviting.

  Taken off guard, Stark shifted his attention to the Warrior. “Yours? I’m part of your Clan?” he said stupidly.

  “I remember you being smarter when you were that young,” Sgiach told her Warrior.

  “Aye,” the vampyre snorted. “Young or no, I had more sense than that.”

  “I’m smart enough to know that the history of my human blood still gives me a tie to both of you and this island,” Stark said.

  “Yie ur barely oot o yur nappies, boy,” the Warrior said sarcastically. “Yur better suited to schoolboy games, and there are nae o’ that ilk here on this island.”

  Instead of pissing Stark off, the vamp’s words triggered his memory, and it was like Damien’s notes were there in front of him again. “That’s why it’s my right to enter the island,” Stark said. “I don’t know shit about what it takes to be Warrior enough to save Zoey, but I can tell you she’s more than a High Priestess. Before she was shattered, she was turning into something vampyres have never seen.” The thoughts kept coming to him, and as he spoke and saw the surprise in Sgiach’s face, the pieces of the puzzle fit together, and his gut told him he was following the right line of reasoning. “Zoey was becoming a Queen of the Elements. I’m her Warrior—her Guardian—and she’s my Ace. I’m here to learn how to protect my Ace. Isn’t that what you’re all about? Training Warriors to protect their Aces?”

  “They stopped coming to me,” Sgiach said.

  Stark thought he only imagined the sadness in her voice, but when her Warrior moved a little closer to his queen, as if he was so attuned to her needs that he meant to take even that small note of discomfort from her, Stark knew then, beyond any doubt, he’d found the answer, and he sent a silent “thank you, Nyx” to the Goddess.

  “No, we haven’t stopped coming. I’m right here,” Stark told the ancient queen. “I’m a Warrior. I’m of the MacUallis blood. I’m asking for your help so that I can protect my Ace. Please, Sgiach, let me enter your island. Teach me how to keep my queen alive.”

  Sgiach hesitated only long enough to share a look with her Warrior, then she lifted her hand, and said, “Failte gu ant Eilean nan Sgiath. . . Welcome to the Isle of Sgiach. You may enter my island.”

  “Your Majesty.” Darius’s voice made everyone pause. The Warrior had dropped to one knee before the archway, Aphrodite standing a little way behind him.

  “You may speak, Warrior,” Sgiach said.

  “I am not of Clan blood, but I do protect an Ace; therefore, I ask for entry to your island as well. Though I don’t come as a newly made Warrior, I believe there is much here that I do not know—much here that I would like to learn while I stand at my brother Warrior’s side in his quest to save Zoey’s life.”

  “This is a human female and no a High Priestess. How could yie be Oath Bound to her?” asked the vampyre Warrior.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name. Was it Shawnus?” Aphrodite stepped to Darius’s side and rested her hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s feckn’ Seoras, are yie deaf, too?” the Warrior said, enunciating slowly. Stark was surprised to see his lips curling up at Aphrodite’s bitchy tone.

  “Okay, Seoras.” She mimicked his accent with eerie accuracy. “I’m not a human. I was a fledgling who had visions. Then I wasn’t a fledgling anymore. And when I un-fledgling-ed, Nyx, for reasons I’m still pretty clueless about, decided to let me keep my visions. So now I’m the Goddess’s Prophetess. I’m hoping that, along with all the stress and eye-aches it gives me, this Prophetess stuff means I age gracefully, like your queen.” Aphrodite paused to bow her head to Sgiach, whose brows went up, but who didn’t strike her dead like Stark thought she deserved. “Anyway, Darius is my Oath Sworn Warrior. If I’m getting the allusion right, and here’s hoping ’cause I’m shitty at figurative language, I’m an Ace in my own way. So Darius does fit in with your Guardian Clan, blood tie or no blood tie.”

  Stark thought he heard Seoras mutter, “Arrogant feckr,” at the same time Sgiach whispered, “Interesting.”

  “Failte gu ant Eilean nan Sgiath, Prophetess and your Warrior,” Sgiach said.

  Without any further discussion, Stark, carrying Zoey, followed by Darius and Aphrodite, passed beneath the marble archway and entered the Isle of Women.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Stark

  Seoras led them to a black Range Rover that was parked around the corner and out of sight of the archway. Stark stopped beside the vehicle. His face must have shown his surprise because the Warrior laughed, and said, “Did yie expect a wee cart an’ a Highland pony?”

  “I don’t know about him, but I did,” Aphrodite said, climbing in the backseat beside Darius. “And for once I’m super glad to be wrong.”

  Seoras opened the front passenger’s door for him, and Stark got in, holding Zoey carefully. The Warrior had started driving before Stark realized Sgiach wasn’t with them.

  “Hey, where’s your queen?” Stark asked.

  “Sgiach doesna need the motor tae be traveling her island.”

  Stark was trying to figure out how to ask his next question when Aphrodite spoke up.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means Sgiach’s affinity isnae limited tae any element. Sgiach’s affinity is with this island. She commands everyone and everything on it.”

  “Holy shit! Are you saying she can transport, like an undorky version of Star Trek? Not that it’s possible to be undorky about Star Trek,” Aphrodite said.

  Stark started to consider ways to gag her without Darius freaking on him.

  But the old Warrior was completely unruffled by Aphrodite. He simply shrugged, and said, “Aye, it will be as good an explanation as any.”

  “You know about Star Trek?” came out of Stark’s mouth before his brain could stop it.

  Again, the Warrior shrugged. “We do have the satellite.”

  “And the Internet?” Aphrodite asked hopefully.

  “And the Internetograph, too,” Seoras agreed, straight-faced.

  “So you do let in the outside world,” Stark said.

  Seoras glanced at him. “Aye, when it serves the queen’s purposes.”

  “I’m not shocked. She’s a queen. She likes to shop, ergo the Internet,” Aphrodite said.

  “She is a queen. She likes to be informed about the world and its goin’s on,” the Warrior said in a tone that didn’t invite further questions.

  They rode on in silence until Stark started to get worried about the lightening in the eastern sky. He was just about to tell Seoras wh
at would happen to him if he wasn’t inside and under cover at sunrise when the Warrior pointed ahead and to the left of the narrow road, saying, “The Craobh—the Sacred Grove. The castle is just beyond on the shore.”

  Mesmerized, Stark gazed to the left of them at misshapen trunks of what must be deceptively spindly-looking trees because they held up an ocean of green. He only caught glimpses of what lay within the grove, layers of moss and shadow and clumps of more of the marble from which the archway had been made that appeared as splotches of sparkling light. And in front of all of it, like a beacon drawing travelers, was what looked like two trees twisted together to form one. From the branches of the strange joining, strips of brightly colored cloth were tied to it in a strange yet complementary contrast to its ancient, gnarled limbs.

  The longer Stark stared at it, the odder it made him feel.

  “I’ve never seen a tree like that, and why is all that cloth tied to it?” he asked.

  Seoras braked, coming to a stop in the middle of the road. “ ’Tis a hawthorn tree and a rowan tree, grown together to make a hangin’ tree.”

  When that’s all the explanation he gave, Stark shot him a frustrated look, saying, “A hanging tree?”

  “Yer education is sadly lackin’, laddie. Ach, well, ’thon tree is a tree of wishes. Each knot—each strip of cloth—represents a wish. Sometimes it’s parents wishin’ for the well-being of a wain. Sometimes it’s friends remembering those passed on to the next life. But most often it’s wishes of lovers, tying their lives together and wishin’ fer happiness. They’re trees grown by the Good People, roots fed by passin’ on their well wishes from their world tae urs.”

  “The good people?” Stark looked exasperated.