“ANSWER ME.” His new king faced him, his features set in rigid angles.
Slowly, Keegan’s eyelids lifted. “I never intended Valor to claim Lana. I only needed her to guide me to where the enchanted sword was held. I meant no disrespect to the sword spirit.”
“KNEW LANA BE SWORD HOST?”
“Aye, the old druidess told me.”
“WHY HANDFAST? TAKE HER INSTEAD, AS BE OUR FEY RIGHT.”
“I lived among our mortal brethren and chose to follow their ways. I intended to return her to her tribe once I rescued Valor. I wished her a normal and happy life. If I had taken her as be my fey right,” he echoed the king’s words, “her life would have been different.”
“YOUR INTENTIONS BE DIFFERENT, METHINKS.”
Keegan shrugged. “Mayhap. Lana always fascinated me.”
“THIS BE THE FRAIL LANA OF THE VILLAGE?”
“She is not frail,” he said in defense. “She has the strongest spirit I have ever encountered in my lifetime.”
The king looked away, disgusted. “YOU LEAVE ME NO CHOICE.”
“Aye, let us end it. I grow weary of the delay.” Keegan watched the king pace in front of him, trying to find a way out of the dilemma of obligation and duty.
“Lugh,” Keegan said. “I have found you a just warrior. Doona change your heart now that you are king. I have made a mistake, one I would willingly make again. In all the years I have lived, only Lana has… fascinated me.” He refused to say, I have loved, in front of his new king. “I would claim her again no matter the cost.”
The king stopped his pacing and turned to him, his face harsh and regretful.
“AS YOU WISH IT, RAIN.” He sighed heavily, a great burden forming within him. “WE BEGIN PUNISHMENT. KNEW LANA A SWORD HOST?”
“Aye.”
“KNEW THIS AND MATED WITH HER?”
“Aye,” Keegan answered.
“KNEW HER FORBIDDEN?”
“Aye.”
“TOOK HER STILL, IN DEFIANCE?”
“Not defiance. Wanted and craved her touch,” he said, casting out his grief, “held her in my arms and then… wanted her in my heart.”
The king shook his head in disdain and moved out of his line of sight.
Keegan stared at the purple light sweeping the sky, his body tensing.
Here it comes.
“FIRST GUARDIAN OF THE WATERS,” the king began from somewhere behind him. “DISHONOR VALOR, YOU DID. MUST BE PUNISHED.” He paused, “GRIEVES ME TO DO THIS. GRIEVES ME,” he mumbled.
From behind, small hands stretched out his wings until the muscles in his back strained.
His hands clenched around the bindings that held him fast.
“Your name be cast from our history, from our lands, and from our waters. that be valor’s wish. No Remembrance of you shall be.”
“Valor will remember me,” Keegan said in bold rebellion. “Lana will see to it.”
“CLIP HIM.”
A tidal wave of pain sliced into his back.
Screams of soundless agony locked in his throat and then hurtling darkness washed over him, carrying him away in its numbing embrace. His head sagged from bloody shoulders. Trembling eyelashes fluttered closed.
They severed his wings, stealing away the magical part of him.
He did not know how long he hung there in the crawling darkness of the eternal night, bathed in pain and the light of a hurtful moon. For him, it was evermore. His existence slowly dwindled. White blood spilled from two open and ragged wounds, soaking his back, running down his legs, and into the land. His head rolled listlessly from side to side. Not a groan or whimper did he make. His mind floated, wandering in and out of consciousness.
Slowly, his thoughts drifted back to Dowth, memories washing over him.
It had been at Dowth that a faery’s wings entangled in the ropes holding Valor’s cage above the water. Blinded by blood and frenzy, the faery cut the ropes, sending the cage and enchanted blade falling to the bottom of the pool. It was in that instant his life abruptly changed. From across the pool, Lana looked at him, a sad smile spreading across her lovely face.
And he knew, before she dove into the black waters.
He knew what his foolish arrogance cost him.
A love exceedingly precious and rare was gone before it ever bloomed.
He lost her to a greater destiny.
A cool wind caressed his cheek, dragging him unwillingly back to the present and the overwhelming pain. He licked dry lips and stared unblinkingly at the ground, mulling over thoughts of death. He preferred not to go on living without her, knowing her locked in a forevermore enchantment of a fey defender.
He felt the draining of his life, the ending of a guardian, and embraced it.
“FOOLISHNESS,” a female voice shrieked at him.
His head slowly came up. “Lana?” he rasped.
“BLODENWEDD!” a goddess screamed, causing him to recoil. White hands made quick work of his fey bindings. “There,” she said firmly.
The bindings slithered away from his flesh. He fell forward, a limp rag, smashing his face into grass and soil.
“Stupid guardian.”
He got one eye open and peered at a white knee, kneeling in the grass beside his nose.
“DIM-WITTED, MINDLESS GOAT, STUBBORN IDIOT…” she ranted at him as she lifted and cradled him in her lap. Gentle hands pulled hair out of his eyes while a dank grayness swirled in around him. For a moment, he thought he felt a goddess’s cool tears splashing on his cheek. That canna be, he mused in a sea of spinning blackness. Goddesses doona cry.
He lost consciousness.
———
A fortnight later Keegan stood on the rain-slashed cliffs, staring outward to the sea, arms folded across his chest, warm winds lifting the hair from his shoulders.
His goddess rescuer brought him to this remote haven, the farthest west end of land where he regained some of his strength over the fourteen days that had come and gone.
“CONNEMARA,” she said softly in the lilting voice of one who cared, and then called him “stupid guardian,” yet again. Never had he thought so selfish a creature as Blodenwedd would risk a king’s displeasure by saving a condemned guardian. He was as judgmental of her as he had once been of Lana.
Standing on the windy ledge, wrapped in bandages and ill-fitting clothes, he looked outward upon the early morning brightness. He remained always in his mortal form now, the other no longer possible without severe pain. His ruined back continued to throb as it mended. His heart was locked in ice; his mind remained engulfed in grateful numbness.
To his left, dark mountains rose within rings of mist, offering glimpses of a herd of wild goats standing on the ridge, their horns perfectly formed. Their white coats were long and majestic in so barren a place, and he felt one with their isolation and solitude.
“GUARDIAN.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Blodenwedd, I am no longer a guardian.”
“TO ME, YOU BE ALWAYS A STUBBORN GUARDIAN.” She wore a cloak of gold webs matching the color of her hair. He stared at a golden curl resting on her breast and then his gaze fell away without further comment.
On the ledge below, a single jackdaw was building a nest. The small, black-faced crow lived on the sea cliffs, a new companion of his. The bird tended to steal things. He noticed earlier one of his clean bandages poked out of the bird’s nest.
“RAIN.”
Sighing, he once again turned to her.
“YOU CANNA BE MY CONSORT.”
He nodded, not really hearing her.
“YOU CANNA BE MY CONSORT FOR YOU BE BLEMISHED NOW.”
A brow arched at her fixation. “I understand,” he said politely. “Being clipped was not one of my finest moments.”
“I CANNA COME BACK HERE ANYMORE,” she murmured with a slight edge to her tone.
“I understand.”
“THE KING SUSPECTS I SAVED YOU.”
He nodded. “I am grateful to you fo
r my life.”
“YOU DONNA SHOW IT.”
“I have never been one to grovel, nor show adoration, even for you.”
“NAY,” she said, “STILL BOLD AND REBELLIOUS YOU BE.”
He smiled and she gave him a sad smile back.
He looked back to the sea, refusing to feel the loss and disgrace of his existence. Blemished. There was nothing worse to the fey, who valued superficial beauty above all things. Shifting his arms, he felt the twinges of tenderness in his disfigured back muscles.
“RAIN.”
“Blodenwedd,” he echoed her consoling tone.
“WHAT WILL YOU DO?”
He supposed she had the right to ask, given she saved his life. He gave her question some thought. “I will diminish beside some loch, I suspect.”
“I DINNA RISK MYSELF TO SAVE YOU FOR DIMINISHING!”
It was not a scolding, but close to it.
“Blodenwedd,” he said quietly, “Go home. You have done all you can here.”
She stomped in front of him, her beautiful face set in an unemotional mask. She stared at him with cold goddess eyes.
He stared back, refusing to bow down.
“I CAN COMPEL YOU TO LIVE,” she said softly.
He gave her a mocking smile. “I doubt it.”
Then, rising on tiptoes, she did something that utterly surprised him. She kissed him gently on the lips, a gift of comfort and of friendship.
Stepping aside, she pulled up her hood, covering her long tresses. “CHOOSE LIFE, STUPID GUARDIAN,” she said, and then winked out, leaving him to his solitude once again.
Keegan looked out to the sea, the small crow his only remaining companion.
CHAPTER 19
DERINA STOOD IN THE HIGH meadow, leaning on her hazel walking stick. With empty eye sockets, she watched Glenna mingle with the horses of the tribe. The guardian’s silver cuff rested against her hip, secured to her favorite rope belt.
“Did she like horses, too?” the woman-child asked, referring to Lana. All of Glenna’s questions seemed strangely centered around Lana.
“Aye, she did. The one over there with the scars on his chest be her favorite.”
“I heard one of the men call that horse Lightning.”
Derina shrugged. “I doona recall his name, only his temper.”
The girl smiled. “Methinks he is sweet-tempered.”
“If you offer him food,” Derina said, studying the girl.
Standing there in a blue cloak with a bronze brooch under her chin, the girl reminded her so much of Lana they seemed almost like twins. But whereas Lana had a physical frailness about her, this one emitted a deep grieving, an acute loss seeping from within.
“Did he come here, too?” Glenna asked.
“Who?”
“Her guardian.”
“Aye, he came to the meadows.” Derina looked up at the late afternoon sky, gauging the gray clouds for their watery threat. “He liked to stand in the rain sometimes.”
“He doona like it anymore?”
“I have not seen him of late.”
“He grieves.”
She looked at the girl. “Why do you say that, Glenna?”
Glenna shrugged, pushing blond curls from her cheek. “When Lana and I exchanged places, I felt her inside me. For that one moment, we were as one with Valor. If the guardian feels anything of what she felt for him, he grieves now.”
Derina suspected as much. “ ‘Tis forbidden for a guardian to take a mortal bride.”
“Lana be no longer a mere mortal,” the girl argued softly, “she be special, like me.”
Unable to argue that point, Derina unknotted the rope holding the guardian’s cuff to her belt. “The guardian has left you this silver gift.” She held it out in offering.
“I doona want it,” the girl rebuked.
“You refuse a guardian’s gift, Glenna?”
“It be meant for her, not me.”
“He asked me to give it to you. It be for you.”
Hiking up her blue gown, she came over and took the silver cuff, her light brows puckered in a frown. She held it in her right hand, the thin bronze bracelets on her wrists chiming faintly. With the tip of a finger, she traced the intricate metalworking. “Oh, I doona want it,” she cried suddenly, and flung it behind her, unsettling the horses.
Derina said not a word, but went and retrieved it. Very carefully, she secured the cuff to her belt. “Come back to my home, Glenna. The day wanes.”
“I doona like a roof over my head. I need the sky and stars above me.” She held out her arms, face upturned to the purpling sky.
“You canna stay here again all night,” Derina admonished. It had been two months of this, hiding in the round house by day and wandering the lands by night.
“I must,” the girl insisted.
Derina inhaled deeply, refusing to be frazzled by the whirlwind of emotions spilling out of the girl. “Tell me what troubles you.”
Glenna buried her face in her hands, her bracelets gliding down her forearms. She shook her head despondently.
“Tell me,” Derina urged.
“I am lost,” the girl cried in a flood of tears and anguish.
“Lost?” Derina did not at all understand. She shuffled over to the distraught young woman and placed a comforting hand on the girl’s slender shoulder. “Nay, Glenna, you have been found.”
The girl pulled away. “I doona belong here. The colors be all wrong,” she said tearfully. “The air smells wrong. Everything be wrong here.”
Derina leaned heavily on her walking stick, her legs aching. “You must give yourself time to adjust.”
“Adjust,” she shrieked. “I will grow old here like you.”
“Aye,” Derina acknowledged slowly, memories of her youth returning and then floating away into billows of forgotten pain. “Here we all grow old, Glenna. It be the way of things.”
“I want to go home.”
“Home be here, Glenna,” she answered carefully. “Your family be here, if you but let me introduce you to them. Rianon be with child…”
The girl shook her head in swift objection. “They be Lana’s family, not mine.”
“They could be your family,” Derina offered sympathetically.
“Nay, I doona want them.”
Her aged hands tightened about the knob of her walking staff, showing her tension. “What do you want then?” she asked.
“I want Valor. I wish to return to her. She be my beloved.”
“Your beloved?” Derina repeated, not sure if she had heard right.
“She and I be one. I feel empty without her.”
“Easy, child,” Derina soothed. “Let us return to my home and we be talking more about this.”
“Can you help me, Derina?”
“Mayhap.” She held out her hand to the girl. “Walk home with me.”
The girl did not take her hand, but walked sullenly by her side back to the cottage. Derina was glad when the weepy-eyed girl chose to forego eating and retire early. She had much to do this eve, if she was going to tempt the wrath of the Gods and Goddesses.
Grabbing her walking staff, she went outside and lowered her frame upon a bench beside her pail of water. Adjusting her brown robes, she focused internally. Within her mind, she reached out, calling the territorial goddess, Blodenwedd, to her side.
Several hours later, when the stars came out in the night sky, her waiting ended.
“I HAVE COME AS YOU BADE, OLD CRONE,” Blodenwedd said with annoyance.
Derina wished she had eyes so she could glower her dislike at the beautiful goddess standing in front of her.
Grabbing her walking stick, Derina stood on legs stiff with age. “Come,” she commanded, and shuffled away from the doorway and the wild emotions of the girl sleeping on the bed of pelts within.
Her fey born visitor followed silently behind her.
A few horse lengths away, Derina stopped and faced the goddess. “Glenna wishes to return to
Valor,” she said, coming directly to the point.
“WHY SUMMON ME?”
“You be a friend to the guardian.” The goddess did not vow or disavow the statement and Derina continued with her request. “I wish you to take Glenna to Valor. Then, after the sword spirit reclaims her, I wish you to take Lana to Keegan, wherever he may be.”
“LANA,” the goddess said with strong irritation, her hatred for the sword host clinging to her every breath, her every heartbeat.
“Will you do what I be asking?” Derina inquired, unaware of the secret feelings of the goddess.
“THE GUARDIAN BE NO MORE.”
Derina was not sure she heard correctly. “Keegan be no more?”
“PUNISHED.”
“Who punished him?” Derina asked with outrage.
“HIGH KING.”
“For rescuing Valor, battling invaders, and saving our lands?” She could not believe her ears. “Why?”
“MATING WITH A FORBIDDEN CLAÍOMH HOST.”
Her heart sank. The olden ways had risen again to hurt those of a true heart. “Be the guardian alive, Blodenwedd?” she asked, fighting off her despair.
“NO LONGER GUARDIAN.”
“Be Keegan alive?” Derina jabbed her walking stick into the ground.
“HE BE RAIN, NOT KEEGAN.”
“I doona care what he calls himself. Be he alive?”
“AYE.”
She breathed in a sigh of relief. “Blodenwedd,” she made her request again, “I ask you take Glenna to Valor. I understand the magical sword be at Tara.”
“AYE.” The goddess‘s brows drew together skeptically. “VALOR WANTS GLENNA BACK?”
Derina shrugged. She could only hope. “Only Valor can decide that.”
“WHEN?” the goddess asked, her features set in a strange fierceness.
“Now,” Glenna exclaimed, peeking out from the cottage’s doorway and then joining them.
Derina could have never known the territorial goddess blamed Lana for the guardian’s punishment.
CHAPTER 20
LANA FELT STRANGE, AS IF her body was not yet connected to her will. She knew she was in the underground vaults of Tara, a place of magic and unmoving shadows, of enchanted talismans, and of crystal altars.
Closing her eyes, she bowed her head. Blond hair swept forward, caressing her cheeks. She held onto that achingly familiar sensation. The link to the sacred feminine sword spirit, Valor, remained strong — yet a new change trickled within the breath and flow of her, something arresting and hopeful.
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