by Tamara Gill
“But I can help. I can do something.”
Her earnestness sailed straight to his heart, melting the protective fortifications. What bride price he would pay to be free to pursue a woman like her. Nay, not like her. Her. If his circumstances were not doomed, he would travel through time again to make her his own. Ah, the fanciful musings of a weary, beaten soul. He was dreaming like a love-struck youth. Yet dreams were beyond him now. He had this dream, this one moment where they both happened to think of each other at the same moments to dream-trail together. Centuries apart. ‘Twas a rare occurrence and not likely to happen again so he would remember this time with her, cherish the promise of violet eyes and a gentle soul and pray that would be enough to sustain him for the coming trials Aldreth would put him through. “Ye have helped me. More than ye know.”
“But your entire—” She looked away as she worked her bottom lip between her teeth.
Ah. He understood. She'd been about to tell him something of his future. 'Twould be easy for her to have searched the histories of his people and find out what had become of him and for a moment the temptation to ask how his clan fared ran great. But knowing could be a danger as well, could unwittingly change an already set outcome.
Except...from the worry in her expression and the urgency in her tone, he'd wager all was far from well.
His Adam's apple bounced hard in his throat, the words dry in his mouth. “Tell me” he wanted to ask, but said instead, “You're right to not say anything.”
“I know.” Her free hand twisted patterns in the air again. Her other hand curled inside his palm. “That whole stupid time continuum thing. It's dumb. What's the point of having knowledge if you can't do anything about it? Who even made that up?” She dropped her arm to her side and tilted her face up to look him in the eye. “Well, I don’t care. I'm going to save you Toren Limont. Don't think that I won't.”
And for just one moment, regardless of the lack of innate magic he sensed flowing through her, he believed that she could.
CHAPTER SIX
Aldreth paced in front of the large wall-spanning hearth, stepping through the dancing light and shadow the fire cast across the floor. Damnu Toren Limont. Damn the entire Limont clan. Foolish, foolish pawns the Fae manipulated like pieces on a board.
Protectors of the balance of magic and mankind. Bah. A lie. Magic needed no balance.
Whirling, she faced the fire and froze, transfixed by the lapping spikes and flow that cradled birth and death in powerful heaving flames. Of all the elements, fire enslaved her. She rarely looked straight into the sparks as the blazing heat sifted away all thought and purpose, drawing her to its hypnotic spell like a hapless moth.
Her chest rose, cinching on a tight painful breath as images stirred within the tumultuous surge and ebbs, coalescing into phantom forms within the smoke curling away from bright conflagrations—sinewy wraiths of the past set loose.
As always, her grandsire stared back at her through the hungry flickers, his blue eyes hard and penetrating as though he could see her, though she knew he could not. He was not real, no longer alive. Death claimed him centuries ago. He and his magic with him. Aldreth flinched back even knowing 'twas nothing more than a spectral memory emblazoned upon her soul. A magical conjuring of an event every time she looked into flame, a lingering curse of the despicable Fae, that all in her bloodline forever forced to remember the shame of Burnes Alduein.
In the fire, the apparition of her grandsire, Burnes, turned away. Chains of resplendent gold trapped his wrists, clinking along the crackle and hiss inside the large hearth. Slender ethereal Fae stood around him, light robes whipping about willowy frames in a harsh breeze. Whipping about within a riot of flames, sending sparks flying about the room.
One of the Fae dipped his staff toward Burnes.
“Ye have broken your trust.”
The High Sorcerer lifted his head. “You dare speak of trust.” Defiance curled the corner of his lip.
The oldest of the Fae leaned forward. An ancient being, though he looked a tender boy of untested loins. The long slender hand coiled tightly around his staff in constrained fury. “Ye were the buffer between our realm and yours, endowed with gifts beyond all other mortals, yet you willfully violated your oaths. Had ye succeeded, our realm would be overrun with darkness.”
“Dark magic that rightfully belongs to the Shadowrood. 'Twas trickery of the Fae these many centuries ago. Ye first thrust the darkness from your realm to the world of mortals, binding my clan as little more than a cork in the passage.”
“Enough.” The Fae slammed his staff upon the ground.
Burnes continued on. “Gifting an entire clan of magic to forge a bond strong enough between them to be the one bright hope of keeping the darkness at bay. The darkness that ye brought into our world. Ye have manipulated, tricked, and lied to us.”
The Fae moved closer, the hem of his robe trailing behind like the spill of milk. “I said enough.” Light hair flew upward, pulling back from his wide forehead. Aldreth gasped, helpless to look away though she'd witnessed this moment a thousand times before.
“Death.” The end of another of the Faes staff lowered to the ground.
“Banishment of the entire bloodline.” Another staff tilted downward.
“The balance must be maintained else darkness return.”
“A new bloodline will be established.”
“One that holds true.” The fifth staff lowered toward Burnes Alduein.
“One that holds true.”
“One that holds true.”
On a cry, Aldreth spun around and through force of will tore her gaze away, closing out the final scream of her grandsire as energy poured from the staffs to melt the High Sorcerer of Alduein in a crackling concussion of searing light.
They'd been wronged, she and her entire clan, forced to live as outcasts among mankind and the magically gifted. But the magic inside Aldreth had been strong. She did not let it die out, but instead sought wielders of dark magic and learned the ways to enhance what was innately hers. She had made pacts with demons, discovered their secrets. She had become the most powerful witch this realm had ever known and with the darkness her life had been extended. Three hundred years she explored the earth and honed her craft, while the embers of retribution burned hot within her bosom. Her course was right and just. The Fae had wronged Burnes Alduein. They had wronged her and her people.
She was the rightful heir, the last of Clan Alduein, bred to maintain the balance of magic in this world. Not the Limonts. The task should never have fallen to them. ‘Twas her burden, her right by birth alone.
So she'd gone to Crunfathy, disguised as a beggar woman, those many years ago. 'Twas a small task to unravel the spell of their defenses and coat the High Sorcerer's and his beloved wife's lips in poison. Took naught but one kiss between them. To this day, none knew she was the cause of their overlong illness and demise. She would have led the four young children to the same fate, yet...
When her gaze set upon the oldest child Toren, a sober lad, tall and gangly. With such pure untapped power. She felt the strength within him, she knew fate would see them rule together. He was destined to become one of the most powerful sorcerers the world had ever known. She felt the power within him, craved it. He was preordained to be hers. So she had slipped quietly from the village to bide her time, to let him grow into a man, to allow his magic to mature. He had the blessing of the Fae. She came from the true bloodline.
Yet his stubbornness to even consider the possibility of a blending between them was maddening. He acted like a lapdog, too loyal and obedient to question his masters though the Fae kept the leash too short for Toren to see beyond to the limitlessness of how powerful their magic could be together. She had made a dreadful mistake. She should have taken him when he was but a child and molded him to her course. But the time was gone and passed for that now. She would have to make him understand. Albeit through harsher means. ‘Twould be a match like no other.
She let her senses drift to Toren, deep in her dungeon constructed solely for him and smiled. He would soon be broken, pliant beneath her ruling. She'd thought of him under her heels for years, savored this time she had of breaking him. She would be patient and enjoy it until she owned him, magic, body and soul. In every way, he would be hers. A delicious shiver passed through her.
She felt him breathing on the cold stone floor far below her in the dank dungeons. It wouldn't be long before he welcomed the softness of her bed, yearning for the difference. Yearning for her. She felt him drifting off to sleep so she let her essence follow the glowing lines of his dream to trail him to where his mind might escape to in slumber. She smiled at his tenacity. He'd thought to thwart her by finding a healer by traveling through time and now it appeared he meant to find comfort and solace in the dreamworld. Clever, clever, stubborn sorcerer. She would have to work on that as well. Soon he would come to understand that there was nowhere, through time or dreams that she couldn't find him.
Aldreth weaved her own spell to see the lines and angles of the trail he'd taken into the dreamworld. Brilliant azures and greens too bright and rich to look into for very long hummed around her. His magic was so vibrant and full. Powerful. Heady. She followed him into the realm of sleeping.
He wandered his moor, tall and hale, a figure cut of the strength of the mountains attired in his snowy white shirt and plaids.
She coveted his power, aye. As High Sorcerer of Limont, Toren was the linchpin that held the magical balance of an entire clan, which in turn, held the balance of magic which flowed through the earth.
All that power, his for the taking if he would only reach forth and pluck it from his people. His people, Aldreth scowled, the pain of exclusion burrowing through her. His people adored Toren. He merely need crook his finger and they'd fling every ounce of magic they had unspoiled into him. He was a magnificent vessel capable of holding the magic of hundreds of gifted.
There wasn't another sorcerer on earth who could take the balance of the world on his shoulders like Toren Limont. She'd waited for his ilk for a long time, for that strength of magic that should be hers.
So aye, she coveted the sorcerer's power, but she also desired the man.
He was hers.
A rustle echoed upon the air.
Aldreth looked to the side and her heart turned brittle. A young maid dashed across the moor, trailing mist behind her like gossamer threads.
The lines around Toren's mouth smoothed. Something indefinable darkened the hue of Toren's light eyes as he caught the maiden's hands within his. For that look alone, Aldreth wanted to plunge a dagger into the woman's heart.
So this was her?
His Healer Enchantress.
The one who had dared to heal him and given him added hope and endurance to withstand her.
Toren kissed the tips of the maid's fingers and Aldreth's blood burned.
She could extinguish the lass where she stood.
Except...
The maiden could prove useful. Aldreth cared naught for the look of adoration upon Toren's handsome face, but she could use it against him. She did not desire his love nor adoration. She wanted to own him. Threatening his siblings had proved useful up to a point, but it had also reinforced Toren’s determination to hold out against her with the foolish belief they could somehow escape her given enough time. Yet she hadn’t gotten what she truly desired, his obedience and fear and if his pining for this insignificant woman led him to that point...
Her heart sang, recognizing another pawn upon the board. Allowing him to have the lass and then taking her from him 'twould be one more reminder of how she ruled every aspect of his existence. There was not anything or anyone she could not take from him.
With a growing smile, Aldreth sank back into the shadows and watched.
***
Charity never wanted this dream to end. Or dream trailing or whatever it was. She’d never heard of such a thing, but it was wonderful being in a mist-shrouded moor, just the two of them. Toren had drawn her down to sit upon a mossy log where the mist ebbed and swirled around their hips and legs as though they were within clouds. It was all so romantic and surreal, even with the bleak reality that Toren was lying cold and broken inside a dungeon somewhere.
He kept touching her as though he needed the contact of another human being, a touch to her hair, the clasping of her knee, and then her hand. He succinctly evaded all her questions about the dungeon and the spelled bands keeping him prisoner, claiming there was nothing she could do anyway.
Well they’d see about that.
Not so easily put off, Charity tried another tactic, asking him about his brothers and sister, his life in Scotland, hoping he might reveal any hints about where the village of Crunfathy was and thus figure out where the witch’s dungeon lay in relevance. It couldn’t be too far away, could it?
As he spoke of his family and clan, Charity fell deeper for him. Sure she’d already been tangled up inside his emotions during the healing, but being with him, her hand resting on his knee covered by his larger palm, and seeing the way his eyes lit when he spoke of his youngest sibling Col’s antics, and the love for them all, well...guys like him were few and far between. Her heart was tumbling after him hard.
She’d never felt like this before. So completely connected to another.
He ran his knuckles gently down her cheek. “Tell me of another of the con...ven...ien...ces of your time.” She’d already explained how plumbing worked when he asked about her tub. He couldn’t believe it wasn’t wrought by magic and sat rapt as she explained about toasters and television and cell phones.
Uh, what next? They could stay here forever and barely graze the conveniences of the modern world that she had always taken for granted. “Well, there’s pizza delivery. Just call a pizza joint...” The tiny hairs on the back of her neck lifted. She jerked her gaze to the left, peering across the rolling mist.
The muscle beneath her hand tensed as Toren’s gaze chased after hers. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. It just feels as though someone is watching.” She looked back at him. “Is that possible here in our dreams?”
Toren’s lips thinned, his eyes had gone cool, alert, an eagle narrowing in on potential prey. “It should not be, but...” He released her hand to rub at his wrist.
“Her magic holds you captive. Could she have followed you here?”
Devastation drew his brows downward. “I...” He shook his head in denial of the possibility. “She is very powerful. She could have—” He was suddenly drawing her to her feet, clasping her shoulders hard. “You must awaken. Now. Flee this dream and never attempt to come back. She must not learn of you.”
A tremor of fear rolled through Charity, heightened by the urgency in Toren’s expression. If he was afraid for her... She grabbed onto his sleeves. “What about you? What will she do to you?”
His features lightened with bafflement as though the idea that she’d be worried about him when she was in danger caught him off guard. “She can do no worse to me than what she has done.”
“Oh that makes it so much better.”
He smiled at that. “Go Lady Charity. With haste.”
She folded her arms. “Tell me how to free you. What are those glowing symbols on the bands?”
Now he scowled. “You are in danger. Awaken and flee.”
“Tell me what you know.”
“Ye ken naught the danger.” His brogue seemed to intensify with his mounting frustration.
She jabbed him in the chest. “You ken naught my determination.”
His shoulders sagged deflated. “If there was a way, I would tell you. Truly. But there is none.” He lifted his fingers to her brow and her skin there suddenly tingled. A gentle wave of exhaustion pulled her under, her last thought as she was swept away was
damn sorcerers and their magic.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Charity lifted one eyelid to peek around her small living room. Nothing was happening. She lifted her palms higher and chanted out the Latin verse.
She'd been sitting cross-legged on her rug, reciting the time-travel spell for a good twenty minutes and nothing had changed. As a healer, her gift wouldn’t allow her to open a time rift and go back several centuries, nor could any sorcerer anymore even if she could find one who was willing to try it, but she should be able to manage a day. If Grandma could do it, she certainly could. Maybe she wasn't saying it right.
Leaning sideways toward the coffee table, she read the incantation in her grandmother's pink spell book again. No, she had the words right, even double-checked the pronunciation.
Charity shifted back into the lotus position and closed her eyes. Holding on a deep inhalation, she let her mind drift to Toren, which wasn't difficult since her thoughts had been filled with him since they’d met. She couldn't stop thinking about him, especially after dream trailing together. When she’d awoken she’d been spitting mad at him for sending her away like that without a clue. Then she’d been worried that the witch might come for her here. She fortified her apartment with every crystal, herb, and incense she could think of that was known to ward off evil. It might not hold off the wicked witch of the west, but it could give her a warning and a head start if anything was triggered.
Next, she’d gotten down to business, going through her grandmother’s book of spells and preparing the right one.
She exhaled and whispered the spell again with Toren Toren Toren as her focus. She replayed the moment Toren first popped into her kitchen in her mind—concentrated on that as the spell’s focal point. That was the moment she had to get back to. She needed to do this.
Energy crackled around her. She felt her hair lift off her shoulders and away from her face, caught in the current buzzing through her. The vibration intensified, curling around her stomach and tightening like a thick belt. She held fast to the thought of Toren, squeezing her eyes more tightly.