by Hazel Hunter
“I don’t care about being a druid,” she snapped, but then she stopped and took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, that was rude. It would be better if you can tell me how and why my brother was enslaved by an undead Roman woman.”
“In years past ’twas common for the legion to abduct and imprison mortals, so they had a steady supply of blood,” Cailean said. “In these last years they have discovered the means with which to enslave their will absolutely. Now those they take are happy to serve as minions and guards.” Since they were speaking about her brother’s fate, he decided not to tell her about how thralls were also used for sex. “We have learned that the unnatural influence can be broken if the undead who enthralled the mortal is killed.”
Jema’s mouth tightened. “Good. Then all I have to do is stab her in the chest.”
“In the heart,” he gently corrected. “Or you may cut the throat deeply, sever the spine, crush the brain, or set the undead to burn.” He saw her horror and cleared his throat. “May you never have to encounter the legion, Mistress McShane, but should you, ’tis better you ken how to end them.”
In the map room Bhaltair read off the locations of the sightings, which Diana marked on the wall with chalked circles.
“Looks like the mortals are headed straight to Morven,” Diana said. The redhead stepped back from the wall to study the marks to the east. “Fenella and Jema’s brother are moving due north, to the sea.” She marked a spot on the coast. “If they don’t change direction, they’ll end up here.”
“We’ve had no reports of undead attacks or missing mortals in that region,” Raen pointed out.
“Aye, and Seneca hasnae the men nor the resources to build a new stronghold beneath our notice. He would need a great many thralls.” Lachlan regarded the redhead. “What do you think, Diana?”
“We sank two of their black ships, but they probably had more.” She tapped some of the islands off the coast. “The Orkneys would be my pick for an undead hide out. Lots of sea caves, water all around, and the mortals are cut off from the mainland.”
Kinley nodded. “With the smaller populations, they could easily enslave an entire island, and no one would be the wiser.” She looked at Cailean. “Are there any druid tribes living on the islands that we can message by bird?”
“None, my lady.” The ovate’s stomach churned as ugly memories flashed through his thoughts. “The Moon Wake tribe once dwelled on Everbay, but they were massacred by raiders some twenty years past.”
“What will happen to my brother?” Jema suddenly demanded.
Bhaltair nodded to Cailean, who said, “Most thralls now are kept alive to serve their undead masters. A few are killed protecting them from warbands, or die because they have been bled too often.”
Jema shook her head, backing away from the wall map, as her face blanched. Diana hurried to her side, grabbed an empty scroll case, and opened it in time for the other woman to wretch into it.
“We’re talking about her twin brother, guys,” the redhead snapped. “Put a cork in the gory details, will you?”
Once Jema emptied her stomach, Diana took her down the hall to tidy up. That gave Cailean the chance to speak freely to the McDonnels about her and her brother.
“Master, did you read her aura?” When Bhaltair nodded he said to the laird, “Jema McShane is no’ completely druid kind. She carries the blood of other magic folk in her veins. Since her brother is a twin, so must he.”
“What difference does that make?” Kinley asked. “They had enough druid blood to cross over to us.”
“Mixing the blood of two different magic races produces children of a peculiar nature,” Bhaltair said. “Some are affected physically. Others grow very powerful.”
“The Skaraven were both,” Lachlan said. At Kinley’s quizzical look he added, “They were an ancient race of Pritani warriors, purposely bred from two different tribes of magic folk to be bigger, stronger and faster than ordinary men.”
His wife grimaced. “I bet that worked out well.”
“’Tis said that they were as unstoppable as berserkers, and twice as frightening,” Raen said, and regarded Bhaltair. “The first druids had a hand in creating the Skaraven, did they no’, Master Flen?”
The old man snorted. “I am no’ so old as that, Seneschal.”
Cailean admired how deftly his master dismissed what had been a disastrous time for their people. In reality the Skaraven had been ever more terrifying than their legend maintained.
Diana returned with Jema, who tried to retreat to a corner. Bhaltair stepped into her path and said, “Mistress McShane, would you permit me to read your bloodline? ’Twillnae harm you, and we may learn much from its revelations.”
Jema looked at the laird. “If I do this, will you release Tormod, and help me find Gavin?”
“We shall send a warband to track and recover your twin, Mistress McShane,” Lachlan said, looking grim now. “The Viking violated an oath he gave of his own accord. I cannae pardon him for breaking his pledge to me, as it doesnae respect all the other men who hold to it.”
She stared at the floor and said nothing for a long moment. “All right, I’ll do as you ask.”
Bhaltair gestured for her to sit, and took the opposite chair before he held out his gnarled hands. “If you will place your palms atop mine, Mistress.” Once she had, he folded his fingers over hers, and his eyes took on a faint shimmer of power.
Cailean stood behind his master and added his power to that of Bhaltair’s. The old druid murmured the spell and it materialized in the air between him and Jema. Two images coalesced almost instantaneously.
“Anea Fhost, druidess healer of the Stone Feather people, shares your bloodline,” Bhaltair murmured, nodding at the glowing female figure. “As does Eryk Fire Blade, Norrvegr raider.”
Cailean sent his thoughts through the connection to Bhaltair’s spell and read the past lives of Jema’s ancestors. “Anea was a powerful herbalist who came upon Eryk as he lay dying,” the ovate said. “She took pity and had him brought to her home, where she cared for his burns. As she brought him back from the edge of death, they fell in love. Although Eryk was a shaman, and as powerful as she in his own right, they both knew he would never be accepted by Anea’s people. Since his tribe had been wiped out, they left her village. They joined a settlement of renegades like them in the islands, where they lived out their lives in peace.”
Bhaltair blinked and regarded the two figures hovering in the air before he muttered a phrase and they disappeared. “The child of a druidess healer and a shamanic warrior.” He met Jema’s wide-eyed gaze. “You have a foot in the magic of two worlds, Mistress McShane. You are Viking as well as druid kind.”
“It also explains her brother’s behavior toward the female undead,” Cailean said. “He is likely too powerful for her to bring him entirely under her sway. We must be very cautious with how we manage him.”
“My brother isn’t powerful. He was dying of a terminal disease in my time.” Jema jerked to her feet. “Even if crossing over healed him, as you’ve told me, he’s lost and alone and confused. He’s been enslaved by a woman who drinks blood. How can you talk about him like he’s an enemy?”
“And I think we’ve had enough druid chit chat for one night,” Diana said and touched Jema’s shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart. You need a break from all this.” She looked over at Raen. “I’ll stay with her. She can spend the night in the old guest room. We’ll get moving on the rescue op in the morning, okay?”
Her husband didn’t look happy, but he nodded, and Diana guided the distraught woman out of the map room.
Jema felt numb as she accompanied Diana down the passage to a set of stairs that led down several levels. She should never have revealed herself to Rachel. If she’d just stayed cloaked Tormod wouldn’t be locked in a dungeon now. Somehow she had to shift the blame for this mess away from him, and convince the laird that it had been all her fault.
As the air grew steamy Jema emerged fro
m her misery to look around them, and then stared at Diana. “There aren’t any guest rooms by the cistern chambers.”
“No, but there is a back way into the dungeon. Took me forever to find it, too.” Diana ducked into a narrow passage, and motioned for Jema to stay back as she eased open a creaky door. She peeked inside. “We’re in luck. Evander hasn’t sent a guard to watch him yet. Come on.”
Jema slipped through the doorway after the redhead, and walked as quietly as she could through a room crowded with medieval instruments of torture, all of which sat dust-covered and cobwebbed from lack of use.
“We don’t actually torture anyone, by the way,” Diana said as she stepped in front of a barred cell, and planted her hands on her hips. “But I’m making a recommendation that we start with this one.”
“It took you long enough to find me,” Tormod said. He was stretched out on a cot, but sat up and grinned at Jema. “But you brought a present for me. I forgive you now.”
“I don’t understand,” Jema said as Tormod rose to his feet, and Diana took out a set of old iron keys. “You two planned this?”
“Ah, despite his bullshit in the great hall, the dumbass never plans anything,” the redhead told her as she opened the cell door. “I, on the other hand, am prepared for everything.”
Jema flew into Tormod’s arms, and he held her and kissed every part of her face he could reach as she laughed with relief.
“Now I can give you this.” He took out the map disc, which he had polished and hung from a fine silver chain. He draped it around her neck. “’Tis all that came with you and I didnae want you to lose it.”
She touched the gleaming silver and now knew it had to have come from the dig. “It’s beautiful.”
“Look, you two. I love a desperate romantic reunion as much as the next gal, but in about thirty minutes my husband is going to stop by the real guest room. Actually, he’ll probably want to swap me out for a guard so he doesn’t have to sleep alone because he’s a big baby that way. And as soon as he sees we’re not there, he’ll come running here.” Diana handed Tormod a heavily-stuffed purse and a small scroll case. “The village where they were last seen is called Dovebart, and I’ve marked it on the map. Go out through the cistern. You want to head due north. They’ll hit the ocean about twenty miles west of the sea stacks.”
Tormod hustled Jema out of the cell, and then turned with a frown as Diana locked herself inside and tossed him the keys. “What do you now, you mad wench?” he demanded as he caught them.
“Oh, I brought Jema down here to give you a good-night kiss, and the two of you jumped me. I think that’s why she insisted on it. You obviously knew what the laird was going to do to you, because you gave her the keys to your cell in advance.” She stretched out on the pallet and folded her arms behind her head. “You also stole Meg’s kitchen funds to finance your escape. By the time they find me you should be who knows where, you treacherous thief.” She tapped her lips. “Did I actually just use the word treacherous in a real sentence?”
The Viking muttered something vile under his breath.
“I adore you, too, you sneaky bastard.” She winked at Jema. “Take care of him for me, okay?”
Tormod took Jema by the hand and guided her back to the cistern level, where he kissed her again before he said, “I’ll tell you everything once we’re safe. For now you must trust me.”
She nodded, and then yelped as he scooped her up against him.
“Close your eyes, and when I say, hold your breath.” He waded into the old cistern pool up to his waist. “Now.”
Jema sank down into the steaming water with him, her body suddenly immersed in streams of bubbles. She felt light pressing against her eyelids, and then suddenly she was being pulled through the water, which went from hot to icy cold. Keeping her eyes closed took all of her nerve, but just as her lungs began to ache for air she surfaced with Tormod, and gasped.
“Look now,” he encouraged her, and when she opened her eyes he swam with her to a nearby mossy bank.
Somehow they had gone from the cistern chamber to a slow-moving river in the highlands. Jema thought she might be hallucinating until she saw the dark silhouette of a cow looking at them from behind a rickety fence.
Tormod brushed a lock of wet hair from her face. “You’ve got back your memory.”
“Aye, I have.” She rubbed her cheek against his hand before she flopped back and stared up at the trees. “My name is Jema McShane, and I am not married or promised to anyone. As I suspected, I have no children. I search for the past by digging holes in the ground, and studying very old things other people find.”
“You mean that you’re an archaeologist.” When she uttered a startled laugh he helped her to stand and looked a little smug. “Red is very fond of one of your kind, a man named Jones. She told me of his adventures one morning after our run. He mustnae be a handsome man, to forever be chasing treasure instead of wenches. And what manner of given name is Indiana?”
Jema wondered if she could adequately explain the concept of a movie to him. “We’ll discuss that another time. I don’t chase after treasure, but I do look for history. I’ve been working a dig in the Scottish highlands looking for a Viking artifact: a golden diamond called Freyja’s Eye.”
Tormod’s amusement vanished. “Why would you wish to find that facking cursed rock?”
“To prove that it actually exists, and become very famous, and land a better job so I can pay for my brother’s care.” She explained about Gavin’s ALS, and how teaching at Edinburgh would enable her to provide him with the best medical treatment available. “I thought it might be buried with the Viking warrior, but before I could finish excavating the grave something happened. Gavin and I fell in the trench, and crossed over to your time.”
She bunched up some of her shirt and squeezed water from it as he did the same.
“The portal will have healed your brother. To take him back to your time will cause him to become afflicted again. Aye, ’twas what happened to Diana when she was forced to return. The tumor in her head grew back, and caused her to have a…stroke?” He glanced at her, and when she nodded he said, “She was dying in the hospital when Kinley, Raen and I went to the future to fetch her.”
She stopped what she was doing. “Then Gavin can’t go back,” she whispered.
Despite her sodden, icy clothes Jema felt suddenly and inexplicably hot—the same kind of heat when she’d encountered the Aesir.
“Do you feel that?” she said and reached out to take Tormod’s hand.
The heat flooded along her arm into his, and steam began to rise from their bodies. When she snatched her hand back their clothes were warm and completely dry.
“I’m sorry,” Jema said quickly. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I’m no’. Heat me up whenever you wish, lass.” Tormod took out the scroll case Diana had given to him, and removed from it a very detailed, beautifully drawn map. He traced a short length on a swirling line, and tapped a cluster of triangles. “We’ll follow the river here, to Dovebart.” Without warning, he pulled his tunic back from his shoulder. “Ah, fack me.”
His ink lit up and began to spin, while the arrow on her forearm shimmered as it darted back and forth over her flesh. Jema felt the map disc grow hot against her breast, and quickly tugged the chain off over her head. The lines etched on the silver pendant glowed with white light, which reflected on Tormod’s map as a series of circles and arrows leading past the village to the north coast. Beyond the shore an oval briefly appeared, reflected from a tiny golden shard embedded in the center of the disc.
“I know this spot,” Jema murmured as she studied the light tracings on the map. “This is where the Picts tried to stop a Viking invasion. According to the sagas, there was a terrible battle at sea just beyond a small island that neither side won.”
“Aye, in the end all the ships went to the bottom,” Tormod said. “Every warrior drowned, and the place was cursed. Even now merchant sh
ips give the skerry a wide berth when they sail through those waters.”
The light on the disc gradually disappeared, and their tattoos stopped moving. Jema exhaled with relief. Then she saw how grim his expression had grown. “What is it?”
“The Viking invasion was led by a shield-maiden named Thora the Merciless,” he told her. “She alone survived the battle. ’Twas said Freyja’s Eye protected her by sinking the enemy ships.”
“Her name was Thora?”
He nodded. “She was my sister.”
Thora the Merciless had lived at the end of the first century, over twelve hundred years before Tormod’s time. “But that’s not possible.”
“’Tis a story for another time.” He rolled up the map and stuffed it back in the case. “We must speak to the mortals who might have seen your brother.”
Jema thought of all the other times Tormod had referred to people as mortals. He had a sister who had been born twelve centuries before him. She also knew no ordinary man could use bodies of water like his own personal tube.
“You’re not mortal, are you?”
Tormod looked up at the night sky, shook his head, and put his arm around her shoulders. “I’ve broken my oath to the laird, so ’twill no’ hurt to tell you. What I say now, you cannae repeat to anyone, even your brother. Give me your word, lass.”
“Of course, I promise I won’t say anything.” She started to feel a little alarmed. “Is it that bad?”
“I cannae name it bad or good,” he admitted, and guided her up to an old path leading away from the river. “’Tis what ’twas.”
As they walked toward the village, Tormod described his tribe leaving Norway for the Isle of Skye, where they built a small settlement. “Our jarl didnae realize the island had been claimed by the Pritani long before we arrived.”
Tormod spoke of how his tribe had prospered on Skye, and when the clashes had begun with the Pritani. Their arrogant jarl had decided to claim the entire island, and sent a messenger to tell the Pritani they had to leave. No reply came, and the messenger was never seen again.