by Nya Rawlyns
She croaked, “Why can’t I get better?”
Eirik shrugged, “We don’t know. Theoretically you should be responding to the nutrients and physical therapy. However, you were subjected to an alien environment for an extended period. In truth, no one has ever spent that much time in an alternate dimension such as that one. We have no metrics by which to measure adaptation to such extreme conditions.” He ignored the ‘least of all a human’ aspect of that equation.
“My father?”
“Not to fear. He is alive. I’m assuming he’s well. But he is incarcerated and shall remain so indefinitely.”
“K-kieran. How is he?” Though her throat burned, the need for information flamed hotter than physical discomfort. She needed to understand what these people wanted from her. She’d been treated with nothing but kindness and respect—and obvious concern for her welfare—but that did not preclude ulterior motives.
“I have no additional information, I’m afraid. We have limited contact with the organization, as you know. Of course, we monitor communications but that can have limited utility in this day and age. Counter measures. You understand.”
She didn’t but she had little reason to doubt what she heard. There was one last question, but she’d been too weak and frightened to contemplate voicing it. When Eirik had told her Trey lay near death and had gone into surgery, she’d collapsed into a coma. She knew, on a level defying rational explanation, that her disintegration—the gradual wasting away—could only be due to her separation from his energies, his essence. Each breath was one step closer to her last. When he left the world, so would she.
“What’s wrong, Caitlin? Are you tired?”
“No, just worried.”
“Ah, yes. Trey. Well, I do have some hopeful news. He is recovering. However, there are complications and perhaps more surgeries. I have my people keeping an eye on the situation.”
Caitlin’s body tensed and wavered, as relief washed over her like a tidal wave. She fought to control her face, forcing her features into a mask of casual interest. Given their enforced isolation and intimacy over an extended period of time, they would suspect that some kind of relationship had developed. Instinctively she understood that this was a secret she must take to her grave.
Eirik looked at her kindly, then sighed. “I wish there were an easier way to tell you this, Caitlin.” She sat up straight and stared hard at him. “You asked us to help you find your mother.”
Caitlin waited, knowing the truth before the old man muttered the words. “I regret to tell you, your mother died.”
She bowed her head and rasped, “How?”
“We have it on good authority that she may have encountered hostile forces.”
Caitlin raised her eyebrows. Those hostile forces had to be Greyfalcon, the group that held her father hostage. The group that had destroyed her brother with drugs and God only knew what else. Dry-eyed, she raised her eyes to find only concern and sadness on the old man’s face. She silently prepared herself for what was to come.
“This is difficult. Trey was my right hand, my confidant. But he made some bad decisions that resulted in your mother coming under fire from a retrieval squad sent to reacquire her.”
“Greyfalcon.”
“Yes. They recognized her unique talents and wished to explore how best to place her in their program. I do not have particulars. All I know is that she was wounded.”
Caitlin allowed the tears, and regret, to flow. She’d thought her mother had abandoned them. She’d been wrong once again. Nothing was as it seemed.
“Trey?”
“Ah, yes. He, uh, can heal. It is one of his very unique talents. From what I understand he took her through a Portal, then left her for his own reasons. I’m afraid she succumbed to her wounds.”
Caitlin could not process the information. She knew of his healing powers, knew he could have put her mother in stasis as he’d done for her. Why would he not save her? Eirik approached, his body old and bent and weary from grief. Clearly he did not understand either.
He murmured, “We’ll probably never know why he did what he did. I’m sure he had his reasons. All I know is that he stole you away from us. Unforgivable.” He patted her hand. “Come. You look tired and you must try to eat some solid food.”
Caitlin followed Eirik into the corridor where the orderly took her elbow and guided her back to her cell.
****
“You look well, Ma’am.”
“Please, call me Caty.”
“Yes’m, I mean ... Caty. Can I get you anything while you wait?”
Caitlin waved the young man off. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the weak sun. After the weeks of heat in that hell dimension, the cool autumn breezes cascading off the forested slopes caressed her skin with a delicious tingle. She loved New England in the fall. The leaves had yet to turn but it would not be long. They’d had a hard frost the night before, leaving the rushes and grass coated in an icy splendour. She switched the cane to her left hand. Walking was easier now, her body not so debilitated, but it was still hard to eat much at a sitting. Eirik had gone off to tend to his business and other interests. The orderly-with-no-name saw to her needs. She hadn’t asked, nor did she particularly care what he was called. She’d had enough of the name game.
Caitlin wandered down a deer path, content to breath in the clear, crisp air—a balm to her tortured lungs. Though Trey—or demon as she was wont to call him when she thought of him at all—had healed the rib, her lungs had yet to assume full functioning. She suspected the transformation to an alternative respiratory function had something to do with it. She would need to study human anatomy if she were to explore how her system could make such unearthly alterations. She’d avoided changing, though the lab rats had watched her like a hawk. Perhaps they thought she could shape-shift into a field mouse and escape through some crack in the wall. How ridiculous.
The void and the emptiness continued to consume her, leaving her perpetually hungry but unfulfilled no matter how much she ate. The link pulsed like a phantom limb, severed, with her mind and body at odds with a soul that had abandoned her to perpetual agony and despair. At first she’d resented not dying, perverse as that seemed to her rational side. Now she revelled in the half-life, each moment a waking nightmare of exquisitely fashioned torture. Pain. It had been her welcomed reality and ultimately her path to such pleasure she still ached for the feel of it. She had sparred with the devil, with his lust and alien temptations. She’d entered the arena naked, naïve, but a child no longer.
She wandered down to the cabin, stopping to admire the sturdy construction, and noticed a van parked on the sandy drive to the right of the wrap-around porch. Eirik. She grinned with pleasure. She had missed the old fellow. He was good company. Gentle and always concerned for her welfare, he never pushed or asked for more than she was capable of offering.
“Eirik,” she called out and waved.
“Caitlin, my dear. You look wonderful!”
Caitlin embraced the frail shoulders. He seemed older, the limp more pronounced. She knew today was the day.
“Would you like to sit on the porch, Eirik? I can have what’s-his-name make us some tea.”
Eirik laughed and took her proffered arm. She led him up the steps and guided him to a comfortable chair.
Caitlin fussed over the tea service, pouring, adding his two lumps of sugar and skimmed milk. She liked hers plain, the slight bitter taste appealing.
“So what is the news that brings you all the way into the wilderness, Uncle?” She had taken to calling him ‘uncle’ to his everlasting delight. He beamed at her and winked.
“Bright. And sassy, as always.” He took a sip and put the mug down on a small table separating the cushioned chairs. “I do have a reason for making the trip. And, I’m afraid, what I have to say is of the good news, bad news variety.”
Caitlin chewed on her lower lip. “My father?”
“It’s not what you think. He is actually quite well. And
he is free. He has apparently thrown his lot in with Greyfalcon. He seems to be working with a small team composed of,” Eirik faltered, unsure how to tell her the next bit, “uh, your brother and another.”
“Another.” Caitlin’s voice was flat, emotionless. She knew but she wanted to hear the words. It would make her decision that much easier.
“I can see you’ve already guessed. Trey. They are involved in certain of Gunnarr’s business interests.”
She spat out, “Arms.”
“We believe so.”
Caitlin rose and walked to the railing and leaned over, studying the carpet of russet leaves, thin and dried, so like her soul. It was time.
“I’m ready.”
“Are you sure? I’ve hesitated to ask but we think they are using the Portals to ship the arms undetected. As you know, this violates everything we believe in. You are the only one who knows the principals so intimately. We need your insights. And your special gifts.”
“Agreed.”
“So easily. Are you sure? Say the word and I will never mention it again.”
Caitlin smiled. “There’s only one reason my father has decided to work with Greyfalcon again. He has a plan. And that plan is to get my brother out of their clutches. I promise you, Uncle. I will figure out that plan and we will help him carry it out.”
“Where are you going?” Eirik watched Catlin walk toward the door. She looked over her shoulder and gave him a feral sneer.
“I’m just going to practice, Uncle.”
“Practice?”
“...taking out the trash.”
Caitlin walked up the narrow stairs to her bedroom. She threw a few items in a duffel bag and looked around the cheerful room. This time she would know her opponent. That gave her an edge, sharp like the fractured surface of her heart. She exited the bedroom, finally feeling at ease and no longer alone. She had a companion for this journey, this time one of her own choosing. They would get to know each other well and she would call him by his name...
Revenge.
~~~~
BOOK TWO
WOLF
Betrayed at every turn, Caitlin turns to the Althings as her last hope to revenge
the wrongs done to her family.
Wolf is the Captain who safeguards the woman from those who would use her
for their own ends.
Two men, enemies and competitors, lay claim to Caitlin’s heart and soul.
With Revenge lurking close, who will she choose?
Chapter One
"Try again, dear." Eirik tapped the woman's wrist but she jerked it away, annoyed.
"It isn't working today, Uncle. I know the marks are gone but something's wrong. It's inside."
"Caitlin O'Brien, listen to me. There's nothing inside, you are fully healed. It's all in your head." Eirik pushed away from the metal table and reached for his cane. Though he missed his homeland of perpetual ice and snow, the damp New England winters still wreaked havoc with old bones. He limped to the window and fingered the sheer curtain that filtered weak rays reflected off a crystalline canopy.
The elder muttered, "Looks like more snow coming." He turned to Caitlin, willing to distract her with her favorite exercise, a mutual enjoyment they'd learned to savor as winter's grip tightened on their Green Mountain retreat. "Why don't we give it a rest today? I have a surprise for you. I wanted to save it for later, but perhaps now is a good time."
Caitlin kept her eyes on her clenched fists, pressed into the unforgiving metal surface, the base of her palms whitening with the strain as the blood flow cut off. As instructed she willed the changes, small in comparison to everything else she'd learned to control, but her errant body resisted this one last request. He tried not to let her see his frustration, mirroring her own.
Biting his tongue, he cast the mental image, using supreme control to penetrate her resistance. Drain your thoughts, girl. Blank your mind. Go beyond the obvious, peel the layers back, easy, soft. Inner space, inner peace.
He'd intended the mantra to echo and resound in her head, to direct her thoughts and energies. His hidden voice disrupted her focus instead of allowing the shift to flow. She grimaced and whispered, “Damn,” on expelled breath, emptying her lungs as her shoulders slumped once more in resignation. She visibly shivered as a chill breeze swept the backs of their necks. Her caretaker had returned.
"Come, my dear. Let's sit by the fire. I think both of us could use a spot of warmth."
He wandered toward the grouping of love seats and deeply cushioned recliners clustered about a Vermont wood stove. Sinking into his favorite seat, he pulled a fleece throw over his legs and sighed with contentment. These last months had been difficult, his people under siege, and his legendary patience tested to its limits. He'd put plans into place, safeguards against intrusion, but their resources dwindled and he felt the reins slipping from his grip. He needed Caitlin. He needed her gift if they were to survive.
Caitlin murmured, “Uncle,” once more, a small smile tilting her thin lips upward for a fleeting instant. It was a small endearment he much enjoyed though in fact he was no relation at all, but more a trusted friend and advisor, a mentor of sorts and her salvation when all had seemed lost. Her words, not his. In truth his meddling, and that of his brother, Gunnarr, had contributed to the quagmire of competing interests that haunted them at every turn. She bent down and brushed her lips across his thinning steel gray hair—and smiled as he unconsciously hunched his shoulders and leaned in for the touch. He had not anticipated the flutter of affection, both of them shy and still hesitant to fully breach the wall of distrust she'd constructed.
"I don't seem to be making much progress." Ruefulness and a hint of anger made her words brittle and sharp.
"Nonsense, my girl, these things take time and you are still recovering your strength." Waving her toward the couch, he continued, "Perhaps we should try a different approach." He couldn't help smiling as her face brightened. "Something that will help you understand the importance of what we do."
It was such a small thing, this sharing of memories, but it grounded her in ways he could not explain. She curled up on the loveseat set at ninety degrees to the recliner and stared into the fire through the glass plate on the front of the stove.
"Should I get what's-his-name to bring in more wood, Uncle?" She and the man who tended to her every need, indulged her every whim, carried between them an uneasy truce that even his negotiating skills failed to breech. At his nod of assent, she called out, "We need wood. And tea."
He frowned with displeasure at Caitlin, but it did little good. He had no idea why she refused even the simplest of courtesies to his, and her, assistant. It wasn't that she disliked the man—she'd said as much—but her disdain and disregard seemed to stem from some deep-seated antagonism directed to all who guarded her from unwanted incursions from the outside world. It was a puzzle, but only one among many.
"Before you settle, bring the holo-table over. We can continue your education in comfort today." He watched her drag the wood folding table to the center of the grouping. She fussed over the projector, aligning it with compulsive precision.
He reminded her, "Don't forget the remote."
Grinning, she mouthed 'slacker', as he deftly caught the device that she flipped onto his lap.
He watched her bend over and plug the unit into a recessed socket in the pine flooring, marveling that after weeks of intense rehabilitation and near force-feeding by her attendant, she'd finally picked up enough weight that the scientists could pencil in 'thin' rather than 'emaciated' in their weekly reports. She moved aside grudgingly as the attendant sidled past her to dump the armload of logs into the hamper to the right of the stove. She flicked a thumb toward the small kitchen, an imperious gesture, as she bent her head toward the table, missing the clenched jaw and spark of anger on the man's face.
Eirik liked to think he'd selected Liuthr for his warrior prowess and stoicism, but in truth he was the last man available who did n
ot look at all like Trey. His nephew—her captor and former lover—would remain an issue for another day.
Liuthr's name meant 'shield wolf' in Old Norse, their mother tongue—apt, for the man was canny and tenacious, with legendary talent as a tracker. His men called him 'Wolf'—and all had sworn a blood oath to follow him to the hereafter. It was a measure of the woman's importance to their survival that Wolf had agreed to the demeaning assignment. Eirik gave his captain a nod of thanks and dismissed him with quick gesture.
That Caitlin suffered from post-traumatic stress syndrome did not require advanced psychiatric training. She'd internalized her experiences during those endless weeks in an alien environment, trapped, alone, and abused physically and emotionally. It had taken little nudging on his part to send her over the edge such that the care and feeding of her intense hatred for Trey required no input from him.
Eirik still found it difficult to believe his nephew capable of such abuse—his healers had called it 'torture'—but the evidence was irrefutable. Broken bones, scarring and soft tissue damage in a recurring cycle of healing and cruel mistreatment attested to Trey's reputation as a demon, a devil, amongst his peers. When Trey threw his lot in with the Althing, eschewing his clan and his heritage, Eirik had hoped to tap into the boy's more sensitive side, the one his father and siblings had systematically bludgeoned to a bloody pulp on the fields of battle. Despite his best efforts, he could never overcome the youngster's harsh upbringing, nor could he ever completely trust that Trey's loyalty would remain with the Althing indefinitely. So he'd elevated the young man to second-in-command to keep him close and assigned him to the task of enforcer. He'd executed his assignments dispassionately and efficiently. And enemies and colleagues alike still called him the 'warrior without a soul'.
Eirik twisted in the chair, annoyed that his brain seemed lost in an endless loop, reliving events over which he'd had little or no control. Perhaps today's lesson would help both of them resolve some of the issues. They needed clarity and focus. They needed Caitlin's talents.
****