“Stand down. Yer exhaustion is palpable. The lesson is complete.” He crossed his arms obviously impatient at her slow intake.
“You’ll attack me again,” Brenawyn heaved.
He waved a hand and the last of the constructs lost their solidity, mud splashed the ground, water leached out, and a thick layer of dirt lay over the ground. The last to go was the mound on which Brenawyn stood, one second solid under her feet, the next gone. She landed sprawled on her back, the painful impact knocking her out of breath.
He stood over her, “Stand down. Aye, I did attack ye, but only ta see how far yer focus reached. I ne’er meant any harm ta come ta ye. Besides, ye are nay match for me, mortal.” Then he strode to the Oracle and without preamble crushed her windpipe.
Chapter 12
The tightness in Brenawyn’s chest and the throbbing of her lower back eased in increments until she was able to sit up.
“Mmhumuph!” From across the way her grandmother grumbled and gesticulated, as much as could she while having her hands tied behind her back.
Brenawyn closed her eyes, giving her stomach time to settle as the clearing gyrated in lopsided circles. When she ventured to open her eyes again, the clearing was spinning more slowly and it didn’t seem as if she was going to vomit up the remains of her breakfast. After a few more minutes of sitting still she stretched out her legs to ease the pinpricks she felt there.
Finvarra leaned against the side of the tree from which he had emerged thoughtfully considering her. “Visions, glamours, constructs, shields. I am intrigued.”
“Yeah, I’m full of surprises.” She rolled her eyes, uninterested in discussion with this crazy son of a bitch, god or no. She climbed to her feet, her shaky legs felt like rubber, and looked across the clearing. Her grandmother, still bound and gagged, was sobbing. Spencer had his head on her lap. Her stomach dropped. Where was Maggie? Cormac?
Panic rose in her throat and she turned on the god. “Where’s Maggie? Did that son of a bitch take her?” She strode toward her grandmother, penknife out already.
Freed of the gag now, “I couldn’t stop him.” Leo cried, struggling with her binds.
Brenawyn knelt behind Leo, sawing at the rope that bound her hands. She spoke to Finvarra, “And you didn’t stop him?”
“Should I have?”
“Yes, damn it, you should have!”
“I dispatched the Vate as tasked.”
“Nana, do you know where he took her?” She looked down at Leo’s wrists, irritated and bloody, her hands swollen and purple.
“I don’t know, Brenawyn. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look in my direction. He looked scared though.” She rotated her shoulders.
Brenawyn kneaded a shoulder blade holding the arm out straight. Leo grunted. “I’m sorry, Nana, that this hurts.” She moved to the other side to do the same, holding her lower forearm careful of her bloated hands.
“He took her as insurance. Her presence will compel ye ta follow through and go back.”
Brenawyn helped Leo up. They traipsed through the woods slowly back to the Caverns Motel and while the heavy canopy overhead sheltered them from the heat of the day, it was muggy and rough going. The brush was thick and in it lay hidden holes and roots to twist an ankle or worse. If Finvarra was following, he wasn’t making any noise. It was just as well. She couldn’t do more than one thing now anyway. She had to get her grandmother to the relative safety of the motel at the very least.
They followed the dog, stepping where he stepped for easier going. A pounding in Brenawyn’s ears began like the beat of her heart, but soon became blinding. She stopped, holding her head in her hands, doubled over. The sound of the forest, her grandmother wheezing, and the jingling of the dog’s collar all drowned out.
She lifted her head to find she was in the woods of Tir-Na-Nog. The trees were the same but the light was different, shifting in different patterns when it touched the wings of the dryads. She must have been called here. She straightened and her head cleared. Looking back, she couldn’t see Nana or Spencer. This was a forced crossing, perhaps that was why her head hurt so much. Finally, the headache dissipated and she began walking along the path ahead of her, since she had no clear marker for which way to go. If she had been brought here, then whomever had done it would ensure that she find the right path.
After only a few yards the Wolf emerged and joined her, whining, crying as he approached. She patted its side when he fell into step with her; she felt like crying too. The Wolf leaned into her and she stepped to the side. So he was her guide. “All right, lead on, my furry friend.”
She put a hand on his back and felt the subtle shifts of the direction change and soon they cleared the forest and the Well of Segais lay beyond. Nimue was nowhere in sight. She approached scanning the distant treeline, but nothing, no one showed themselves. She sighed and sat next to the Wolf, pulling her knees up to her chin. She knew that to wait was wasting time, but through her short acquaintance with the pantheon, she also knew that they wouldn’t hurry on anyone’s account. Even Nimue, with Alexander, her son taken, wouldn’t be moved to act before she was ready. Brenawyn was stuck here. She didn’t know how to get home, to cross the veil, to find Maggie, to interact with anything here except …
She looked at the Wolf, his eyes an iridescent amber, and she looked at the Well. The Wolf padded over to it and stepped in, wetting his front paws. He looked back at her and then to the depths.
“Well, all right, then,” looking around to see if Nimue, Finvarra, or any other god appeared. “I don’t think I should be doing this, but … ” She dove into the center of the Well. “No one is here to stop me.” She took a deep breath and drove to the very bottom, the deepest part, choosing a hazelnut that lay in the silt of the sandy bottom; she had to dig through inches of nuts to get it.
By the time she chose, she felt the pressure of the lack of oxygen. Putting the nut, shell and all, in her mouth, she began battling back up to the surface. She burst through gasping for breath and the Wolf was there, paddling beside her. She took a fistful of his ruff and let him tow her back to the shore. Once there she climbed up and collapsed in the thick reeds just beyond the water line.
She took the nut out of her mouth, making it easier for her to breath, but the Wolf was there immediately nosing it in her hand. She turned over looking at the purplish sky and cracked the softened shell in her hands. Bracing for the pain she knew was coming, she squinted her eyes to shut out any light and put the nut in her mouth. Flavor, much like the coffee she so loved, exploded in her mouth from the softened meat. She slowly chewed, making sure to grind up the meat entirely before swallowing. She sucked on her teeth to get the tidbits that wedged in her molars. That gone she braved peeking out through an eye. The sky retained its purplish hue and she could see the Wolf pacing from the corner of her partially opened eye. She sat up slowly. Nothing changed. No pain. No vomiting. Nothing.
She wiped her hands on her wet jeans to rid them of pieces of nutshell and looked around confused. Was this the wrong well? She looked at the Wolf. “Well, it’s not like I can ask you, insightful as you may seem.” She was contemplating getting another as she squatted over the edge of the pool. As her hand broke the surface of the water, the reflection of the sky shifted and became cloudy, murky. She saw a cave lit by a sole lantern glinting off the slick reflective surfaces of stalagmites and the dark waters of an underground lake. A lantern sat on an unmanned boat, a lonely sentinel. She leaned in, the ends of her hair flopped in the reflection, scaring her, that the reflection would be gone, but no …
The boat was much closer now; it had but a single oar stuck in the oar lock. In the bottom arranged in perfect symmetry, were five white beeswax candles. She didn’t need to see them to know that her stones: amethyst, tourmaline, obsidian, bloodstone, and tiger’s eye were there also, a vision of the path she must travel, the conduit, not far.
The Wolf bolted to the safety of the trees when a voice boomed out b
ehind them, “Interesting, I wonder what else she can dae?”
Brenawyn pivoted to see Nimue standing a short distance off with Finvarra. Standing next to each other, she noted similarities: ethereal, golden beauty, fair-hair, wide shoulders, his masculine, a sculpted chest and abdomen, hers willowy and feminine. But there was a familiar echo to their structure.
Brenawyn looked back at the reflection, gone now. Shit, what if it had something further to tell her: where, when, anything. She stirred the water, attempting to recreate the initial vision but nothing happened. It was done.
She got up to face Nimue and the other, still conversing quietly. She called out but they ignored her; she stepped closer, ignored again. She was losing patience and who knew how much time. She strode over to them and reached out to touch Nimue.
Finvarra, enraged, turned on her backing her up until she hit one of the hazelnut trees. “I ha’ a mind ta test yer mettle again.”
“Yeah well, wake me when it’s over.”
“Ye must learn how ta harness the power without expending yer own energy.”
“Really?” Brenawyn responded sarcastically. “Since we’re being obvious, might I add that of my two possible teachers, the first was dragged off by one of you for entertainment value and the other … that son of a bitch tied up.”
“Are all mortals this irreverent or is it just you?”
“All mortals, especially ones,” pointing at herself, “who don’t give a damn.”
“Remember the prophecy,” said Finvarra. “The knowledge combined with an unknown ability from another line—together, she is the unknown quality, either our salvation or … ”
“Or what?” Brenawyn piped up despite the nearness of Finvarra and his terrifying rage.
Nimue looked at her, silencing her companion. “Brenawyn, ye are either our salvation or our extinction. Choose wisely, though either choice willna bode well for ye. Yer fate, and hence ours, irrevocably tied together, is clouded. What is destined for us rests in the decisions ye make.”
“Ye are giving her too much leverage. She knows nothing; else she wouldna ha’ freely given her hand and her name. And ye trust her with the knowledge that she could bring about our ruin.” Nimue, let me … ”
Brenawyn sensed the brightness before she opened her eyes, the harsh jarring colors and vivid white light intruded casting a red haze over her lidded vision. She wished she could wait and adjust to the brutal change in light naturally, but need compelled her to move. Once she lifted her arm to brush away the grass seed heads tickling her cheeks, she realized she was stretched out with her hands at her sides, a totally unnatural way to fall, arranged this way probably by her grandmother—always trying to make people comfortable. Squinting, she located Leo a short distance away, sitting with her dog.
Brenawyn brought her hand up to shield her eyes, “How long was I out?”
“Long enough, but we’re close, just over the next rise.” She trailed off looking down at her empty hands, “What’s it like, Brenawyn? Tir- Na-Nog?”
“It’s beautiful. Like here but more.”
“It is not for your ears, mortal.” Brenawyn recoiled from the sound of Finvarra’s voice, skittering away, retreating to a safer place; she turned in time to see him step out from tree hollow she was sat beside. Her grandmother fell to her knees, sobbing, at her side knowing that now after so many years she was going to face the wrath of the gods in performing the Phoenix. Even though it was used to save Brenawyn, it was not the enchantment’s purpose. It was sacrilege to perform it for any other reason than the perpetuation of belief and history. She always knew that she’d have to face a reckoning. And it was pride that bolstered her naiveté over the twenty-nine years since her decision to employ it. After all, pride doeth cometh before the fall. She knew that time meant nothing to the gods. Her desperation wouldn’t be accounted for, it would measure as an meager excuse. The gods did not love, not in the same way people did. Not for individuals. For children. Grandchildren.
Brenawyn bent to help her stand, but she batted her hands away, choosing to remain prostrate on the ground.
“Ye, Leoncha Anne Callahan are relieved o’ yer responsibilities. Leave haur now or suffer my wrath.”
Leo trembled on the ground, cowering lower. Finvarra rushed at Leo and grabbed her hair which had fallen loose from the ever present bun—fear etched every line, every winkle, accentuated the paleness of her strained face.
“Insolent mortal. For that alone, I should let Nimue ha’ ye.”
Brenawyn’s heart hammered in her chest as she put her hand on his shoulder, “That won’t be necessary.” She expected an immediate rebuff, but instead felt the hardened muscles relax. Gaining some confidence from his reaction, she pulled his shoulder away. Power surged through his muscles under her fingers again, this time focused on her. If only he would let her grandmother go before he brought his wrath on Brenawyn. She couldn’t have her be witness to it.
She placed her hand gently on his chest, a pitiful barrier to the building force behind it, and turned to her grandmother. “Go, Nana.
Clutching at her hand, Leo begged, “Brenawyn, no. I won’t leave you.”
Brenawyn squeezed her hand in reassurance and stepped back, her heart echoing what she felt in her now empty hand, “You have no choice. Neither of us do.” Fear speared and she grasped her grandmother by the shoulders and embraced her. Would she ever see her again? “If I don’t get back … ” She shook her gently, “Leo, listen to me. The paperwork for the car and bank accounts are in the boxes nearest the bed. You have access to the accounts and if you need more, sell the car.” She pulled her grandmother to her chest. She could feel the frailty of her bones. When had she grown so thin? “Nana, I love you.”
“There are so many things I wish to tell you. Here, put this on.” Brenawyn looked down and saw the medallion she had left in her bedroom, “Never take it off.”
She pressed her grandmother in the direction of relative safety. “You have to go now before he changes his mind.”
But Leo pulled out the neck of Brenawyn’s shirt and dropped the medallion in. “Remember, never take it off. Promise me,” holding her hand over the fabric covered medallion.
Brenawyn pulled her to her feet. “I promise. Now, get out of here.”
Chapter 13
Finvarra rose and slung his bow over his shoulder, “Come, we must go.” He walked to Brenawyn and held out a hand. “I’m ta deliver ye ta yer instructor. T’is a long way even for sifting time.”
Brenawyn slunk down to sit on the ground, the rough boulder at her back. It didn’t even register that her shirt rode up in the back and she got scraped from her efforts. The only thing that mattered was obstinacy.
Finvarra looked amused, not the response she wanted. He chuckled, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, “I like ye, Brenawyn McAllister for yer impertinence.” He patted her rump. “But doona be deluded inta thinking ye ha’ any control.”
She screamed all combinations of expletives as she pummeled his back but he neither noticed nor cared.
Her surroundings, as much as she could see with her hair over her face, were blurred but she had the impression of moving quickly between realms. Brief glimpses of the incandescent light and shimmering dryads of Tir-Na-Nog and the vibrant bright green world of her own flashed by. Somewhere along the way she gave up fighting and hugged his midsection so her head didn’t bounce so much.
Holding her head that way strained her muscles so when he finally stopped and bent to take her off his shoulder, she cried out, clutching her midsection. She batted his hands away, turning her body to curl inward, to ease the screaming of her abdominal muscles. She shifted back but he was persistent. He gripped her thighs and yanked, her weight offering little resistance and he straddled her hips. Her body went rigid and bucked to get him off of her. Capturing both her wrists he held them above her head, “Hush, priestess, I am trying ta aid ye.”
“Bullshit, you’re tryin
g to help yourself,” she spat.
“Believe me, priestess,” shook his head and Alexander’s eyes looked into hers. “I ha’ ne’er had ta resort ta force … especially when I ha’ other means o’ persuasion at my fingertips.”
She went still. Alexander—his eyes, his face, it couldn’t be! If Brenawyn didn’t see it herself, she wouldn’t believe it.
“Dae ye ken that Alex was the only one who can shift? Who dae ye ken taught him ta dae that trick? Though he’s no’ gifted with the ability ta shift inta other than animals.” He ground his hips down into hers. “Interested? No, I didna kin so.” He placed his hand on her abdomen, lifting the shirt as he did, she started at the intimacy but he hushed her again, forcing her to lie flat. His hands were too warm and she had the conflicting urge to lean into them, press up against them, pleading for some of the warmth pooling in her belly to seep into her extremities. “If ye e’er ha’ the penchant for a tryst,” he leaned close, “call my name.”
~~~
She awoke some time later shivering, hearing the echo of small movements and a distant drip, almost imperceptible. The darkness was consuming. She saw nothing, not even her hand in front of her face, as her eyes tried to adjust. Where was she? Her cheek was pressed against the damp smooth surface of a clay brick walkway, the solidity of rock at her back. There was a metallic click off to her right and—light! She squinted, trying to clear the large black spots from her vision. Once her irises adjusted, she saw that the feeble light shed by the lone battery lantern barely illuminated the slick surfaces off the surrounding walls. A stray drip, liquid ice, found its way through the gap in the neckline of her shirt. She knew where she was without having to let her eyes adjust to the dim light, if they ever would. She had seen this place in her vision, in her childhood, and as recently as that afternoon. She was in the caverns.
Movement off to her right startled her, “Doona fear. Nothing haur will harm ye. When ye are ready, we will begin.”
Reliquary's Choice: Book Two of The Celtic Prophecy Page 13