He told her what the use of magic did to him, and how making love helped him. How he’d gone through the stones to the future, to make certain Drustan had indeed been reunited with Gwen, needing to know that his sacrifice hadn’t been for naught. And how he’d stayed, unwilling to face his clan as he was, hoping to find a way to save himself.
He told her he’d not worn the plaid of the Keltar since, though he’d not mentioned the scrap she’d found beneath his pillow, so she’d not brought it up either. She knew what it meant. She could picture him lying alone in his bed in his museum of a penthouse, in a world that must have seemed so strange to him, staring at it. It had symbolized all his hopes, that worn piece of cloth.
She’d thought him an idle womanizer when she’d met him, this man who was so much more than that!
Now she understood the sensation she’d had on several occasions of an ancient, evil presence: It had always been when Dageus had recently used magic. She understood how he’d breached such impenetrable security systems: with a bit of supernatural help. She understood the quixotic nature of his eyes: They darkened as he darkened. She had an entirely new appreciation for his discipline and control. She suspected that she’d only glimpsed the tip of the iceberg, and couldn’t begin to fathom the battle he was waging every waking moment.
Although he condemned himself for carrying such evil within him, for having freed it to begin with, Chloe couldn’t quite see it that way.
Dageus had done what he’d done out of love for his brother. Should he have cheated death in such a fashion? Maybe not. It did seem to go against the natural order of things; still, if the power to do so existed, well … was that not then part of the natural order of things? It was an ethically explosive issue, not because of the act itself but because of the potential for a man to abuse such power, to cheat at every turn.
Yet Dageus hadn’t cheated again. Since he’d broken his oath he’d become the repository for absolute power, and not once abused it. Instead, he’d devoted every moment of his existence to trying to find a way to lay that power to rest.
What was his actual transgression? Loving so much that he’d risked it all. And heaven help her—she loved him all the more for it.
Surely his intent mitigated his action to some extent? Even in man’s court of law, punishment for a crime was meted out in degrees respective of intent.
“It wasn’t as if any of you asked for such power,” she said irritably.
Silvan and Dageus both glanced up from their texts. Since Dageus had confessed everything two nights ago, they’d spent nearly every waking minute in the dusty chamber, determined to find answers.
“Well you didn’t,” she seethed. She’d been quietly fuming about for days, and like every other emotion she felt, she could only hold it in so long.
“Verily, m’dear, I doona think man should possess the power of the stones,” Silvan said softly. “I canna tell you how many times I’ve wanted to topple them, to destroy the tablets and the formulas.”
“Do it,” Dageus said intensely. “After we’ve gone again, do it, Da.”
“It would be outright defiance of them, you ken,” Silvan pointed out. “And what if the world—”
“The world should have the right to either prosper or destroy itself, by itself,” Dageus said quietly.
“I agree with Dageus,” Chloe said, reaching for her cup of cooling tea. “I don’t think man should have power he’s not capable of understanding and discovering himself. I can’t help but think that by the time we’re evolved enough to fathom how to manipulate time, we’d be wise enough not to do it. Besides, who can really say that any of the times the stones were used, the outcome was better?”
Dageus had explained to her the only conditions under which they were permitted to use the stones: were their line in danger of extinction, or were the world in great peril. He’d told her of the few occasions they’d opened a gate through time: once to relocate sacred, powerful objects belonging to the Templars, in order to whisk them from the grasp of the power-hungry king who’d destroyed their Order. Yet, who could say that, had man been left to his own devices, he wouldn’t have found another way that would have served as well?
Dageus met her gaze and they shared a long intimate look. There was such heat in his eyes that she felt it like a sultry caress against her skin. I doona ken how this may end, Chloe, he’d said to her that night.
When it ends, she’d replied firmly, it will end with me at your side and we will have freed you.
I love you, he mouthed to her across the chamber.
Chloe smiled radiantly. She knew that. Knew it more completely than she’d ever thought a woman could know. Since discovering what his “curse” truly was, she’d not wavered in her feelings for him, not for even a moment. What was inside him was not him, and she refused to believe it ever would be. A man who could withstand such a thing for so long was a man who was good to the very core. I love you too, she shaped the words soundlessly.
They fell silent again, returning to their work with quiet urgency. Though Dageus had not admitted his condition was worsening, both she and Silvan had noticed that his eyes no longer returned to their natural color. They’d discussed it earlier, when Dageus had slipped out to fetch Chloe some tea, and knew what it meant.
They took a brief break when Nell brought the midday meal down into the chamber. Shortly after Nell had cleared the dishes away, Dageus straightened abruptly in his chair. “Och, ’tis about blethering time!”
Chloe’s heart began to pound. “What? What did you find?”
“Aye, speak, lad, what is it?” Silvan pressed.
Dageus scanned the page for a moment, translating silently. “ ’Tis about the Tuatha Dé. It tells what happened when the thirteen were . . .” He trailed off, reading to himself.
“Read aloud,” Silvan growled.
Dageus raised his gaze from the fifth Book of Manannán. “Aye, but give me a moment.”
Chloe and Silvan waited breathlessly.
Dageus scanned the page and flipped to the next. “All right,” he said finally. “The scribe tells that in the early days of Ireland, the Tuatha Dé Danaan came to the isle ‘descending in a mist so thick it dimmed the rising of three suns.’ They were possessed of many and great powers. They were not of man’s tribe, though they had a similar form. Tall, slender, entrancing to gaze upon—the scribe describes them as ‘shining with empyreal radiance’—they were graceful, artistic people who claimed to be seeking no more than a place to live in peace. Mankind proclaimed them gods and tried to worship them as such, but the rulers of the Tuatha Dé forbade such practice. They settled among man, sharing their knowledge and artistry, and so ensued a golden age unlike any before. Learning attained new heights, language became a thing of power and beauty, song and poetry developed the power to heal.”
“That much is similar to the myths,” Chloe remarked when he paused.
“Aye,” Dageus agreed. “As both races seemed to prosper by the union, in time, the Tuatha Dé selected and trained mortals as Druids: as lawgivers, lorekeepers, bards, seers, and advisors to mortal kings. They gifted those Druids with knowledge of the stars and of the universe, of the sacred mathematics and laws that governed nature, even inducting them into certain mysteries of time itself.
“But as time passed, and the Druids watched their otherworldly companions never sickening or aging, envy took root within their mortal hearts. It festered and grew, until one day thirteen of the most powerful Druids presented a list of demands to the Tuatha Dé, including among them, the secret of their longevity.
“They were told man was not yet ready to possess such things.”
Rubbing his jaw, Dageus fell silent, translating ahead. Just when Chloe felt like screaming, he began again.
“The Tuatha Dé decided they could no longer remain among mankind. That very eve, they vanished. ’Tis said that for three days after they left, the sun was eclipsed by dark clouds, the oceans lay still upon the shores, and
all the fruit in the land withered on the limb.
“In their fury, the thirteen Druids turned to the teachings of an ancient, forbidden god, ‘one whose name is best forgotten, hence not scribed herein.’ The god to whom the Druids supplicated themselves was a primitive god, spawned in the earliest mists of Gaea. Calling upon those darkest of powers, armed with the knowledge the Tuatha Dé had given them, the Druids attempted to follow the immortal ones, to seize their lore, and steal the secret of eternal life.”
“So they really were … er, are immortal?” Chloe breathed.
“ ’Twould seem so, lass,” Dageus said. He skimmed the text again. “Give me a moment, there are no comparable words for some of this.” Another long pause. “I think this is the gist of it: What the thirteen did not know is that the realms—I can’t think of a better word—within realms are impenetrable by force. Such travel therein is a delicate process of … er, sifting or straining time and place. In their attempt to brutalize or coerce a path between the realms, the thirteen Druids nearly tore them all asunder. The Tuatha Dé, sensing the distress in the … weaving of the world, returned to avert catastrophe.
“The Tuatha Dé’s fury was immense. They scattered their once-friends, now bitter enemies, to the far corners of the earth. They punished the evil ones, the Druids who’d chosen greed over honor, who’d loved power more than they’d valued the sanctity of life—not by killing them—but by locking them into a place between realms, giving them the immortality for which they’d lusted. Eternity in nothingness, without form, without cease.”
“By Amergin, would that not be hell?” Silvan breathed.
Chloe nodded with wide eyes.
Dageus made a choking noise. “Och, so that’s who the Draghar are!”
“Who?” Chloe and Silvan said as one.
He frowned. “The scribe tells that even before the disagreement with the Tuatha Dé, the thirteen Druids had formed a separate, secret sect within the larger numbers of their brethren, with their own talisman and name. Their symbol was a winged serpent, and they called themselves the Draghar.”
It was Chloe’s turn to make a strangled sound. “A w-winged serpent?”
Dageus glanced at her. “Aye. Does that mean something to you, lass?” he asked swiftly.
“Dageus, that man who attacked me in your penthouse—didn’t you see his tattoo?”
He shook his head. “I saw it, but I didn’t get a good look at it. I doona ken what it was.”
“It was a winged serpent! I saw it up close when he was on top of me in the kitchen.”
“Bletherin’ hell,” Dageus exploded. “It begins to make sense.” He leapt to his feet so abruptly that the Book of Manannán tumbled to the floor. “But . . .” he trailed off. “How could that be?” he muttered, looking baffled.
Chloe was about to ask what made sense and how what could be, when Silvan rose and retrieved the fallen tome. While Dageus paced, muttering beneath his breath, Silvan continued reading where Dageus had left off.
“ ’Tis said that some time after the Druids were scattered, and the thirteen locked away in their prison, a small band of those who survived regrouped in an effort to reclaim their lost lore. Och, listen to this: An Order arose, founded upon the divination of a seer who claimed the Draghar would one day, far in the future, return and reclaim the powers the Tuatha Dé had stolen from them. Apparently this seer wrote a detailed prophecy, describing the circumstances under which the ancient ones would return, and the Druid sect of the Draghar was formed to watch and await such events that would signify the prophecy’s fruition—” He broke off abruptly, read a few moments in silence, then flipped the page. Then he scanned through the final few remaining sheaves. “That’s it. ’Tis all that was written about it.” He cursed, skimming and reskimming the subsequent pages. Then he snapped the tome shut and placed it aside.
Chloe’s mind was whirling as she watched Dageus pace. She and Silvan exchanged uneasy glances.
Finally Dageus stopped pacing and looked at his father. “Well, that seals it. Chloe and I must return to her century.”
“Doona be hasty, lad,” Silvan protested. “We need to reflect on this—”
“Nay, Da,” he said, his features taut, his gaze dark. “ ’Tis evident that the man who attacked Chloe was a member of this Draghar sect. Their prophecy must have guided them to me. From what we just read, ’tis apparent they doona have the power of the stones, so they can’t come through time after me. I doona know how to find the sect in this century, but in hers, they know where I am.”
“You want them to find you?” Silvan exclaimed. “Why?”
“Who else might possess the most detailed information on these beings that inhabit me, than the Druid Order that has preserved their Prophecy all these millennia?” He cast a sweeping glance around the contents of the chamber. “We could waste many moons searching here, to no avail, and I … well, let’s just say I’ve a feeling my time is swift being exhausted.”
Chloe drew a deep, fortifying breath. “I think he’s right, Silvan,” she said. “The Keltar have all this lore about the Keltar, it’s logical to assume that the Draghar have an equally large collection of works about the Draghar. Besides, you can continue searching here, and pass it forward to us, if you find something. If I understand this time-travel stuff correctly, anything you find would be waiting for us when we get back.”
“I doona like this,” Silvan said stiffly.
“Da, even if we’d not uncovered this information today, I wouldn’t have been able to remain much longer and you know it. In case you’ve no’ noticed, my eyes—”
“We’ve noticed,” Chloe and Silvan said together.
“Then,” Dageus said firmly, “you know I’ve the right of it. If naught else, I must get Chloe back to her time before ’tis too risky for me to use the magic to open the white bridge again. We must go back and best we do so without delay.”
They spent their final night in the sixteenth century over a leisurely dinner in the great hall, then passed the remainder of the gloaming on the terrace. Chloe sat on the cobbled stones with Silvan and Nell and watched Dageus playing with his young half brothers, chasing them about the lawn beneath the crimson-streaked sunset.
It was hard to believe they were going back again, Chloe thought, savoring the soft hooting of owls and hum of crickets. She’d missed such peaceful sounds since she’d left Kansas and had thoroughly been enjoying falling asleep each night to such sweet music in the strong arms of her Highlander. It occurred to her that though she’d been in the past for weeks, she’d scarcely gotten to see much of it, other than the castle and one dusty chamber. She’d so wanted to return to the village of Balanoch and explore more, and if she’d had enough time would have begged to go to Edinburgh to really get a good look at the medieval life. She especially rued having to leave Silvan and Nell, knowing she’d never see them again, except in portraits on Maggie’s castle walls.
But she understood his insistence that they return immediately, and knew that, even if he’d been willing to stay, she wouldn’t have been able to enjoy it. Until they found what they needed to save him, she doubted she’d enjoy much of anything.
“Ye will take care of him, won’t ye?” Nell said softly.
Chloe glanced over to find both she and Silvan watching her intently.
She smiled. “I love him. I’ll be at his side every step of the way,” she vowed firmly. “Doona be getting yerself all in a fankle, Silvan,” she added in a teasing lilt, hoping to lighten his somber expression. “I’ll take care of your son. I promise.” Her gaze skimmed back to Dageus. He was carrying Robert while chasing Ian, and both were squealing with delighted laughter. His dark hair was loose, and his chiseled face fairly blazed with love.
“Believe me, if I have anything to do with it,” she added fervently, “I’ll be putting my own babies in that man’s arms.”
Nell laughed delightedly. “Now there’s a fine lass,” she clucked approvingly. Silvan heartily concu
rred.
• 24 •
Dageus finished etching the second to last of the formulas necessary to open the white bridge. Though they’d spent weeks in the sixteenth century, they would return to a time in the twenty-first century, a mere three days after the day they’d departed. He would etch the final complex series of symbols when they were ready to go.
Outside the circle of towering megaliths, his da and Nell stood with his wee brothers in their arms. He’d long since said his good-byes. Now Chloe was hugging and kissing them, and both her and Nell’s eyes were suspiciously bright. How easily, he marveled, women faced those canyons of grief men were wont to venture far and wide in hopes of circumventing. He wondered if women were, in some intangible way, stronger for it.
While Silvan and Nell gave Chloe messages for Drustan and Gwen, Dageus pondered what he’d discovered last eve, after Chloe had fallen asleep. In the wee hours of the morn, he’d crept back down to the chamber library. He was no fool; he knew his canny father had broken off too abruptly when reading the final passage in the fifth Book of Manannán.
And indeed, there it had been. One crucial bit of information Silvan had opted to keep to himself. Dageus didn’t need to ask him, to understand why he’d omitted the telling words. Silvan would argue that a prophecy was no more than a foretelling of a “possible” future. However, Dageus knew (and hadn’t Drustan’s experience with the seer Besseta proved it?) that the future foretold was the most likely future, which meant it was going to be damned difficult to avert.
Inscribed in the fifth Book of Manannán, in a slanted majuscule script, had been his most likely future:
The thirteen shall be made one, and the world will descend into an epoch of darkness more brutal than mankind has ever known. Unspeakable atrocities will be committed in the Draghar’s name. Civilization will fall and ancient evils rise, as the Draghar pursue their unceasing quest for vengeance.
The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle Page 149