by Hazel Hunter
“Hey, I’d love to,” Rowan lied through her teeth, “but I can’t just disappear without making the clan suspicious.”
“We could go together to your time, through one of the grove portals,” Ochd urged. “The Skaraven couldnae follow us, nor could the Wood Dream or my brothers. We may build a life there, Rowan. A family, with bairns and a home.”
He had it all worked out, she realized. Ochd was expecting a happily ever after ending, with her as his princess. Judging by the mention of kids, he seemed to have forgotten that they weren’t even the same species. But to reject him might ruin everything. She had to swallow her disgust and cater to his fantasy, just this one last time.
“We wouldn’t be any safer there than we are here.” She felt something strange inch like ice down her spine, and glanced over her shoulder to see a shadow moving through the trees. “Crap. I think my horse got loose.”
Ochd was looking the other way. “’Tis no’ a horse.”
The ground beneath her boots shook, and trees behind Ochd began uprooting and falling. Rowan saw the mounds of earth rising and shoved the famhair away from her.
“You led them to me?” she shouted, stunned and furious. “That’s your idea of loyalty?”
“I swear to you, I didnae. Say naught to them,” Ochd warned her, and then tried to grab her. “My lady, please.”
Rowan whirled to see Taran burst out of the brush on his stallion, one long arm outstretched to her. Shock made her stagger backward. He’d followed her here? Had he known all along?
“Run to me,” the horse master bellowed. “Rowan.”
Before she could sprint in his direction cold, hard hands seized her from behind, and dragged her back against a tall body in a thick wool druid’s robe.
“We meet again, Sister,” a cold voice hissed in her ear.
Rowan twisted around to see a much younger version of Hendry Greum, and tried to break his hold on her.
“Get off me.”
He grinned. “After I’ve sought you for so long? I think not.”
Dha shot up from the ground in front of her and snatched Taran from his mount. He clamped his heavy arms around the horse master, pinning him against him before he slammed his face into the back of Taran’s head.
Rowan’s vision blurred as she watched the horse master go limp in the famhair’s grip. She blinked back the tears and looked at Ochd, who stood between Aon and another giant.
All of her anguish came out in a single word. “Why?”
“We’ll protect you, my lady,” Ochd promised her before he turned to Hendry. “We should leave this place before his clan track him here.”
“Indeed,” the druid said, and handed Rowan off to Aon. “We’ve so much to do.” He nodded to the giant. “Go.”
Being dragged through the earth again made Rowan relive another nightmare: the first time she’d been grabbed by the famhair. He’d come up through the floorboards of her backstage workshop and stunned her with a single blow before hauling her into the pit. Now the hard, cold soil crumbled around them as Aon burrowed his way through the earth. She knew to keep her face turned toward him so she could breathe, but the feel of his hands on her made her stomach heave.
Don’t vomit. Don’t resist. Hendry would’ve had them kill you right there if he wanted you dead. You have to leverage the situation to keep Taran alive.
She’d bet faking calm while utterly terrified was something she’d learned from being adopted by Marion. She knew how much her adoptive mother had enjoyed making her cringe and cry, as if it fed some twisted need she’d had.
Finally, Aon changed direction and burrowed his way to the surface, shoving her out onto some frost-covered dead grass. Before Rowan could push herself up, he lifted her by the back of her jacket and held her dangling as the rest of the famhairean surfaced. She didn’t resist, but scanned the edges of the broad glen, where towering wooden totems stood in long lines. Some appeared still rooted in the ground, but most had been refined into immense humanoid forms.
As creepy as the place looked, it also had a strange familiarity, as if she already knew it well. Immense dead oaks made up most of the ancient forest surrounding the glen, and they looked like old friends. She could smell stagnant water from a loch she felt sure lay to the west of the glen. The empty sky should have been filled with birds.
What had happened here?
“No,” Aon grated, and Rowan looked to see Ochd coming toward her. “You betray Wood Dream.”
“Rowan’s to be mine,” the famhair countered. “You ken this.”
She didn’t know whether to be grateful or horrified, but she was definitely saying nothing for now. Somehow, she had to keep the giant on her side while convincing the druid and the others that he wasn’t.
Hendry came out of the ground with another giant and shook the soil from his robes before he came over to Aon. “Well done, my friend.” He studied Rowan’s dirty face, his viper-green eyes glowing with satisfaction. “How I’ve craved this moment.”
“I haven’t,” she told him, and shot a dirty look at Ochd. “But your spy did an excellent job of luring me into your ambush. He had me completely convinced that he was on my side. You should rent him out to despotic governments.”
“My spy.” The druid frowned. “I didnae send Ochd to find you, or trap you. He’s been leaving the settlement without my permission. This morning we tracked his spirit directly to you.”
“I found Rowan after you freed my spirit, Wood Dream,” Ochd told Hendry. “She welcomed my return. She even carved a body for me.”
That wasn’t true, or what Rowan would have chosen as a cover story, but she could work with it.
“Not like I could chat with a ball of light.”
“You claim she gave you sanctuary.” The druid nodded toward Taran, who still hung unconscious in Dha’s arms. “Why do you look like that one?”
“’Twas to deceive the Skaraven if they discovered us,” Ochd said. “I’ve gone several times, hoping to persuade my lady to return to us, and aid our cause. The Skaraven havenae treated her well. They use her as they would a peasant, to tend to their horses and chop their wood. She barely sleeps.”
And there was her out, Rowan thought. “I told you, Ochd, I’d rather be worked like a slave than be beaten and starved again.” She gave Hendry a grudging look. “Things haven’t gone exactly great for me with the clan, but even with the makeover, you and your crew are a lot worse.”
A teenage druidess capered into the broad glen from a direction that Rowan would have sworn held the village.
“Hendry,” she chirped in Murdina Stroud’s voice. She said his name over and over until she flung her arms around his neck. “’Tis done, my love. ’Tis done.” Her high voice cackled as she peppered his face with kisses.
As Hendry carefully extracted himself from her embrace, Rowan ground her jaw. The druidess might look like a kid but she sounded just as loony as ever.
“Let the whippings begin,” she said, looking at Murdina.
The mad druidess covered her mouth with both hands, sputtering with laughter.
“I wouldnae have caused you to suffer,” Hendry said. “But I couldnae single you out from the other females. As the last of my bloodline, I recognized your fortitude. ’Tis a trait shared by all Wood Dream.”
“So now I’m a member of your tribe?” Rowan covered her shock by making a rude sound. “Sorry, Hendry, but no sale. Ruadri and Emeline went back in time and witnessed the massacre. They saw everyone but you and your girlfriend die.”
“Aye, every member of our tribe perished that day,” Hendry agreed. “Including our headman, who had a dalliance with a mortal in a nearby village. When she swelled with his bairn he sent her away. That winter after the massacre she gave birth to his daughter.”
“You’re saying that kid was my ancestor?” When he nodded Rowan regarded Aon. “Could you put me down, Moron? I’m trying to have a conversation with potential family here.” The giant dropped her, and Rowan s
taggered a bit before she found her footing. “All right, so let’s say for the sake of argument that I’ve got Wood Dream blood.” She began brushing off the dirt clinging to her. “So, what? You want me to put you on my Christmas card list? Carpool to the next tribal reunion? Try out for Dancing with the Druids?”
“I dinnae ken of what you speak,” Hendry told her, and lifted a hand. “But we need you to break the spell left behind on this land, and help us avenge the slaughter of our tribe.”
That wasn’t all he wanted from her. She’d put money on it. He was practically licking his lips over getting her back.
“I’m a carpenter, not a druidess.”
“Look,” Murdina said, repeatedly jabbing her finger toward the sky. “Look. Look.”
Rowan glimpsed something stretching out over them and tilted her head back to see a seething, angry red light forming a dome over the glen and the forest around it.
“What is that?” she asked.
“The unfinished spell that holds our territory lifeless,” the druid said, looking even more pleased. “One that may only be ended by a member of our tribe performing the remainder of the solstice ritual. You, Sister, shall finish it.”
“Oh, right, because I’m so good at ritual wrap-ups,” Rowan said, trying not to look at the ugly light show again. “Come on, Hendry. What I know about all your druid crap couldn’t fill a cold pill capsule. Do it yourself.”
“I ken the way of it,” Murdina declared, suddenly serious. “I shall teach you.”
“To keep us imprisoned in the Storr those bastarts who judged Murdina and me made us immortal.” A muscle on Hendry’s jaw ticked. “We’re no longer druid kind. You’re the last of the Wood Dream bloodline. Only you may bring life back to our land.”
If he was right, which she suspected he was, then she had them over a barrel. Striking a bargain she had no intention of keeping would be ridiculously easy.
“All right. Maybe I could lend a hand. What’s in it for me?”
He spread his hands. “We’ve much to offer. What do you want?”
Rowan pretended to think about it. “A little revenge would be nice. Maybe a front row seat to watch you guys beat the Skaraven into the dirt.” She nodded toward Taran, who was now stirring. “And him. I want him.”
The druid chuckled. “Lily used that ruse at the mill farm. You’ll no’ convince me that he’s your lover, and later use him to escape.”
“My lover?” Rowan laughed. “Hardly. You should hear him talk about me. He says nicer things about you. But then he has a very good reason to hate me. I’ll show you.” She gestured to Aon, who after a nod from Hendry carried Taran over to them. “Put him down, right here.” She pointed to a spot directly in front of her.
Taran started to come to as the giant put him on his feet. “Rowan?”
Quickly she grabbed his jaw before he could say anything more. “You only answer my questions honestly now. Did you force me to work in the Skaraven stables so you could keep an eye on me, and keep everyone from finding out what I could do to you?”
“I did,” he said, his eyes darkening.
“Did you ever trust me?” It hurt to see him shake his head, but Rowan simply patted his cheek. “Good boy. Now, why did you tell Brennus to send me back to the future? Is it because you’re afraid of me and my power over you?”
His body shook, and then the word burst from him. “Aye.”
Rowan glanced at the fascinated druid. “At first I couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t let me get near him. Then he got sloppy, and I found out.” She regarded Taran. “What happens to you when I touch you?”
This time Taran fought visibly not to answer her, but then muttered, “You compel me to do as you command.”
Hendry looked unconvinced, so she had to do something outrageous. “On your knees.” As soon as Taran went down she smiled at the druid. “Now pledge your loyalty to me, Hendry, and Murdina. Swear on your battle spirit that you’ll serve us faithfully.”
The horse master writhed as the words burst from him. “I…vow…by the…centaur spirit…to serve…you all.”
“You’re now my slave, pal. You don’t speak again unless I first give you permission.”
That would keep him from trying to control her by voice, Rowan thought, and ruining everything.
Murdina clapped her hands and laughed, while Hendry looked stunned.
Rowan smirked at him. “Any questions, Granddad?”
Chapter Ten
SINCE LOSING AILPIN in the battle outside the McAra stronghold Brennus had been unwilling to visit the clan’s caibeal. While the small, subterranean chapel usually provided him with some clarity of purpose, his lingering anger had made him unfit to brace his battle spirit. The loss of the hunter felt as if the Gods had torn away a part of him that might never heal. Even now, standing before the caibeal’s granite slab door, he felt his temper roiling. How much more would the Skaraven have to sacrifice to follow the twisted, stony path of righteousness?
“Hey,” said a soft voice. Althea came to stand beside him, her lovely face solemn. “Want some company?”
As ever his wife’s presence spread calm over his seething emotions. Without understanding the danger involved Althea had once defended him against his own raven in the caibeal, and he felt tempted to take her with him. Yet as chieftain he knew his responsibilities to the clan and the Gods. This task he would have to face alone.
“I must seek guidance alone this day,” he told her, curling an arm around her waist and kissing her temple. “’Twill be well, my lady.”
“If you’re sure.” Her bright gaze shifted over his face. “Just remember that I love you, and if you don’t come out of there in an hour, I’m bringing the boys with me to get you.”
He held her for a long moment, and then watched her depart before he pushed open the heavy door.
Walking into the clan’s chapel felt to the chieftain like stepping back twelve centuries to his mortal life, when he and the Skaraven had created the spiritual retreat. Huge stone slabs, each carved with his brothers’ battle spirits, formed concentric circles around the giant black morion in the center. The enormous dark crystal depicted Brennus’s own raven battle spirit, whose protection he shared with the rest of the clan. Since they had been freed of servitude he had also depended on the raven to aid him in making important decisions that would affect all Skaraven.
Walking through the caibeal stones, he saw one slab that had cracked and crumbled. From long familiarity he knew it had belonged to the fox, Ailpin’s battle spirit. No Skaraven would have smashed the stone. The hunter’s battle spirit must have destroyed it. Seeing the remains provided a sobering reminder of the power each spirit possessed.
Brennus bent to take a piece from the rubble, and held it in his fist as he approached the center of the caibeal. Yet his anger paled as he looked around at all the other slabs. The loss of Ailpin’s fox had greater meaning than he’d realized. One that shook him to his core. Slowly he went down on his knees and bowed his head.
“In pride and anger I’ve mourned the loss of our brother. ’Tis my task to keep safe the clan, and I failed Ailpin. I came to beseech you for guidance, but now I see the stones yet standing. For the twelve centuries since the Skaraven died as mortals, you didnae abandon us. Our stones didnae crumble away. You awaited our return.”
His skinwork came alive with dark blue light, illuminating the crystal’s carving. The raven looking over its shoulder slowly turned its head to meet his gaze.
“I ever serve you and my brothers,” Brennus said, and placed the piece of broken stone at the base of the morion. “Guide me that I may do your will.”
The crystal raven fluttered its sparkling wings, and slowly rose, hovering just over the chieftain’s head. Its darkness spread until it engulfed Brennus. Stars glittered above him, and he felt the brush of soft grass against his body. The vague outlines of an immense forest appeared, and cool air from the wind that filtered through it caressed his face.
The grove. Brennus had no other name for it, but he knew the place. He had come here long ago. Movement drew his gaze, and for a moment he saw the silhouette of a hunter and a fox walking together through the trees. Ailpin.
The night sky became filled with falling stars, and then with the grove it vanished.
Brennus looked into the eyes of the crystal raven, and felt the battle spirit’s power funneling through him. Slowly the light faded from the morion as the carved bird looked over its shoulder and went still.
What the raven had shown him Brennus would have to think on, and perhaps consult with Ruadri and Cadeyrn as to its meaning. Yet as he left the caibeal he felt whole again. Somewhere beyond the mortal realm Ailpin and his fox still hunted together. The clan’s spirits had not forsaken the Skaraven.
As soon as Brennus stepped into the great hall Cadeyrn flanked by two clansmen came to intercept him.
“Chieftain, these men recovered two horses while patrolling our eastern boundary,” his second said. “We’ve missing riders, and signs of the famhairean near the outer edge of the Great Wood.”
Brennus regarded the patrol. “Tell me all.”
“We found Ceann tethered near the hollows by the south-facing slopes,” one patroller said. “Gael came to us there, as spooked as I’ve never seen. Both saddled, but no sign of their riders.”
“We followed Gael’s track to the entrance of a cave,” the second clansman added. “There we saw signs of struggle, and many furrow holes.”
Brennus stiffened. The place they spoke of lay less than a few miles from Dun Mor.
“Taran rides Gael. Who took Ceann?”
“Rowan has been exercising him every morn,” Cadeyrn said. “Like Tran, she’s nowhere to be found.”
“I may ken where they’ve gone, Brother.” Kanyth joined them, his expression grim as he related Perrin’s last vision. “I ken I should have told you last night, but my wife wished to first speak to the old druid. She believed he’d ken if some dark spell holds her sister under its sway. Had I guessed Rowan meant to betray us so soon, I’d have come to you at once.”