I snorted at my own absurd thoughts, but as I crested the small slope behind Meghan’s backyard, I tried only to think of what I would say to her and wondered if she would ever forgive me for not giving her more warning with regards to the Celtic goddess who so desperately wanted to destroy her.
* * *
Meghan slept peacefully in bed, her figure very still in the dark. One leg was free of the covers, the one the Cumorrig had broken. The cast made it look swollen. I clenched my teeth and fought a swell of anger. Before I could so much as punch the wall, Meghan stirred and turned her head towards the door. I froze, not sure if I wanted her to see me yet. I allowed a small trickle of glamour to help me blend further into the darkness. Even that little bit made my head pound.
She threw back the covers and sat up, but then paused. Had she seen me? I couldn’t tell. Sighing, I called my glamour back. Time to stop hiding, Cade.
Meghan tensed and then scrambled to get back under the covers. I grinned beneath my hooded jacket. So, she hadn’t seen me . . .
I waited a bit longer, to let her decide whether she wanted to invite me inside or not. A small nod of her head informed me that I was welcome. With my heart beating erratically, I reached out and nudged the lock with a little more glamour, then gently slid the door open. Once inside, I removed my trench coat and set it to the side. When I got close enough to see Meghan’s bruised face and cut skin, I heard her make a small sound of distress. I froze.
“Oh Cade,” she murmured, reaching out.
Instinctively, I flinched away, then immediately regretted it. Had I not dreamt about this? Had I not longed for Meghan’s touch?
“I’m sorry Meghan,” I whispered. “This is all my fault.”
I glanced at her broken leg and then pulled up a chair and practically fell into it. I was so weary I could hardly stand.
“I should have told you so much more,” I murmured, more to myself it seemed than to Meghan. “You never should have crossed into the Otherworld.”
And then I told her, all that I could. At some point, she tried to comfort me again, but I wouldn’t let her. I had nearly caused her death, all because of my fear and stubbornness. But I couldn’t erase the compassion in her eyes and I did allow myself to enjoy her concern if only for a moment.
I told her that I had been learning what I could about her heritage and that an old friend had been doing some research for me. I couldn’t tell her anything more than that since I hadn’t had a chance to really discuss his findings with him yet (I’d been pretty tied up with my own problems for the past several weeks), and that he wasn’t an old acquaintance but my foster father. He had assured me that what he had found proved Meghan was far more important than I could have imagined, and right now she didn’t need that extra shock added on to everything else she’d been through. But she tried to get it out of me anyway.
“Your geis,” Meghan said quietly. “You can’t tell me because it will violate your geis.”
I opened my mouth to deny that claim, but paused. Lying to her was a very bad idea, especially since I wanted her to trust me. But a small lie now wouldn’t hurt.
“Yes,” I said, “in a way. I violated my own geis just recently and one of my punishments is to keep certain information to myself.”
She seemed to deflate in front of me and I hated myself for misleading her. But you will be safer now Meghan, for not knowing, and I don’t even know the details myself. Let’s deal with your recovery, and then we can hunt down your family tree.
To my great relief, she recovered quickly and then asked me about my own broken geis. Blanching at the memory of that terrible night, I admitted I had broken my geis by saving her life. I also told her about how the Morrigan wanted her dead and how she had wanted me to deliver her to the goddess.
Meghan’s shock didn’t surprise me in the least, so I continued on, undeterred. “She distracted me with an assignment in the Otherworld and I hate myself for not being there to help you.”
Okay, that wasn’t a complete lie. It wasn’t an assignment that had tied me up, but the fact that I was trying to recover from using my riastrad at one of her rituals. But there was no way I was going to tell Meghan that. She didn’t need to hear about any more death and suffering and I was too afraid she would shut me out forever if she knew what I did in my free time.
“So, tell me more about my geis,” she prompted after clearing her throat.
I drew in a sharp breath, then let it out slowly. Here goes . . .
In so many words, I informed her that her geis had been a magical shield, protecting her from the faelah so long as she never set foot in the Otherworld. When I was through with my explanation I held my breath, waiting for her anger. But she never got angry. She simply sat calmly, nodding her head ever so slightly.
“That’s why they could never really hurt me. And that’s why the Morrigan didn’t harm me in the clearing in the swamp. Because she couldn’t.”
She glanced up at me, her beautiful, changeable eyes wide with realization. “That’s why she told me you needed my help, to lure me into the Otherworld . . .”
I flinched and she stopped speaking. There was plenty to focus on in what she had been saying, but of course all I heard was that she had gone to Eile for one reason.
“Help me?” I asked, not truly believing it.
Her cheeks turned pink and she glanced away, muttering something that could have been an acknowledgment to my question.
I smiled, but didn’t allow it to grow too wide. We were, after all, speaking about broken geasa and the wickedness of a wrathful Celtic goddess. No longer able to stop myself, I reached out and took her hand. It felt warm in my own icy one, so I brushed my thumb against her skin, reveling in the sensation and trying to communicate my appreciation of her act.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice slightly hoarse.
Meghan took a deep breath and said, “I bet your girlfriend is really ticked off. That was you who I saw in the Otherworld the other night, right?”
Every muscle in my body contracted, including the ones in my hands.
Meghan gave a soft cry and tried to tell me that I was hurting her, but I had temporarily lost the ability to process simple thoughts.
“Girlfriend?” I rasped, my stomach roiling with revulsion.
Meghan nodded. With some effort, I relaxed my grip on her hand.
“The Morrigan is not my girlfriend. Is that what she told you?”
“No, I just thought-”
But she didn’t finish her statement. She didn’t need to.
“She would want you to think that.” Oh yes, that was just like her, to confuse Meghan and use her emotions against her. I shuddered, partially in disgust, partially in irritation.
“I assumed, well, after seeing the two of you in the woods-”
She bit back the rest of that sentence and retreated into herself again.
“You saw us in the woods?”
Oh no, what had she heard? A new wash of fear flooded over me. Had we discussed anything that might give Meghan the wrong impression? Well, worse than the impression she already had? I tried to think of what was said, but my brain was just too tired to recall my memories.
Eventually, I looked back over at her and searched her face. No, she hadn’t heard much. Thank goodness.
“Meghan, the Morrigan is definitely not my girlfriend.”
I suppressed a horrified shudder and remembered that soon I would have a new set of grueling tasks to keep me busy, and to keep the Morrigan away from Meghan.
“I have to go soon Meghan,” I said after awhile. “I have a broken geis to make up for.”
“Will I ever see you again?” she asked softly, not meeting my eyes.
I will do everything in my power to make sure that happens.
“Perhaps, when I’ve done my penance,” was all I said.
Then I remembered the torque I had bought in Kellston so many weeks ago, still tucked away in my trench coat pocket. I had seen it
while passing through the small town and I had instantly pictured it perched around Meghan’s throat. A woven band of silver with two hounds’ heads growling at one another. I had purchased it without a second thought. Now would be the perfect time to give it to her.
“I have something for you,” I said, reaching my arm behind my back and conjuring the torque from my coat pocket several feet away. The moment the cool metal found my fingers, I drew it forward and presented it to Meghan.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A torque. The Celts wore them into battle. It will help protect you while I’m gone.”
Meghan went very still and fresh tears began to spill from her eyes. I sucked in a breath and cast aside all my careful restraint. I reached out a hand and placed it against her cheek, catching the tears as they fell. I wanted so badly to lean in and kiss them away; to kiss away her pain. But I held back.
“Meghan, listen to me,” I whispered, my voice raw, “you are stronger and much more powerful than you think, but I’ll leave Fergus here to look after you.”
She blinked up at me, fighting the tears as she tried her best to be brave. “Can’t I come with you?”
Oh my darling, how I wish you could . . . I smiled, and I knew it was more an expression of sadness than joy. “No. Your fae power awoke when you came to Eile, but it is very weak.”
I explained to her that although the Otherworld would feed her power, it would take a long time and I still needed to teach her how to use it. And I wouldn’t be able to do that, not right away. It was safer to stay in the mortal world for the time being.
“Thank you for the torque,” she said eventually.
I grinned. “It suits you.”
The morning approaches, Fergus sent, jerking my attention away from Meghan. If you wish to be rested when you meet with the Morrigan, you should return to Luathara now. I will look after Meghan.
Thank you Fergus, I sent back.
I glanced back down at Meghan, studying every detail from her mass of dark hair, slightly disheveled from sleep, to her hazel eyes flashing from green, to gray and back again, to her small nose peppered with freckles. I would hold that image in my mind as the Morrigan gave me tasks I knew would tear away a little bit of my soul, one day after another. No, I wouldn’t succumb. I would hold Meghan’s image close and that alone would keep my spirit intact. It would have to.
I stood and turned to leave, but Meghan’s voice, quiet and pleading, stopped me.
“Cade?”
I turned my head and gazed at her.
“Be careful. And come back soon.”
Tilting my head ever so slightly, I answered, “I promise.”
Before any other words could be exchanged, I turned back around, stepped through the sliding glass door, and disappeared into the grey light of early dawn. Fergus followed after me, only to see me to the dolmarehn. I had meant what I’d said to Meghan; that he would stay behind. She needed him far more than I did and besides, he wouldn’t set a single toenail within a mile of the Morrigan if he could help it.
Dead eucalyptus leaves crunched under my feet and the gloomy fog dripped its discontent upon me as I made my way to the gateway of my world. My every nerve was drawn tight and my hands shook, not only because of the rest I so desperately needed, but also because of the raw emotion that coursed through me.
For now I would serve the Morrigan, as much as it horrified me just to think about it. If that was what it took to keep Meghan safe, then it was worth the sacrifice. And when I could extract myself from the goddess’s talons, if she didn’t kill me first, I would discover a way to bring Meghan to Eile, and I would find a way to earn her affection and convince her to become a permanent presence in my life. I would find a way to overcome everything that separated us.
The next several weeks of my life would be hell, but if it meant seeing Meghan again, healthy and whole at the end of those weeks, then it was worth it. I would survive the Morrigan’s wrath, and when she was through with me I would do whatever it took to win Meghan Elam’s heart.
Acknowledgments
For this particular book, I want to especially thank all of my readers. I can’t express enough how much I appreciate your support, encouragement and kind suggestions with regards to the scenes you wished to read from Cade’s point of view. I only hope that these three short stories lived up to your expectations.
About the Author
Jenna Elizabeth Johnson grew up and still resides on the Central Coast of California, the very location that has become the set of her novel, Faelorehn, and the inspiration for her other series, The Legend of Oescienne.
Miss Johnson has a degree in Art Practice with an emphasis in Celtic Studies from the University of California at Berkeley. She now draws much of her insight from the myths and legends of ancient Ireland to help set the theme for her books.
Besides writing and drawing, Miss Johnson enjoys reading, gardening, camping and hiking. In her free time (the time not dedicated to writing), she also practices the art of long sword combat and traditional archery.
For contact information, visit the author’s website at:
www.jennaelizabethjohnson.com
Other Books by this Author:
The Legend of Oescienne Series
The Finding (Book One)
The Beginning (Book Two)
The Awakening (Book Three)
Tales of Oescienne - A Short Story Collection
The Otherworld Trilogy
Faelorehn (Book One)
Dolmarehn (Book Two)
Ehriad – A Novella of the Otherworld
Connect with me Online:
Twitter: @JEJOescienne
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jenna-Elizabeth-Johnson/202816013120106
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jejoescienne
My Website: http://www.jennaelizabethjohnson.com/
A sneak peek at the first book in the Otherworld Trilogy, Faelorehn:
-One-
Memories
The only reason I knew that I was awake was because of the pale green glow of neon stars staring back at me from my ceiling. I lay in my bed for a few moments, taking deep, steadying breaths and letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of my room. The remnants of a dream still danced in my mind, but as the approaching dawn light chased away the dark, it tried to slip away. Unfortunately, this particular dream was familiar to me, and it would take a lot more than my return to the conscious world to eject it from my mind.
I turned my head on my pillow and blinked my eyes several times at my alarm clock. Groaning at the early hour, I rolled over onto my stomach and buried my head into the pillow. I guess the darkness had some claim on the subconscious world, because instead of dispelling the dream, my actions only made it come racing back.
Huffing in frustration, I kicked off the covers and leaned over the side of my bed, scrabbling around stray pairs of shoes and forgotten socks as I searched out my current journal. Years ago the therapist I had been seeing thought it would be a good idea to keep track of these strange recurring dreams. Anytime I dreamt of anything that reminded me of my past before entering the foster system, I was supposed to write it down. That and anything strange that I saw or heard while I was awake. I hate to say it, but the visions happened more often than I would like to admit.
Although my collection of diaries held other frivolous information alongside the crazy stuff, at least once a year, on the same date, the exact same dream was described in near perfect detail.
I dusted off the cover of my latest journal, grabbed a pen from my bedside table, clicked on the lamp and opened up a brand new page. The dream was starting to slip away once again, but it wasn't as if I wouldn't be able to remember the details. I had written about this exact dream so many times before I could probably recite it in front of a crowded gymnasium without glancing at the page it was written on. Not that I would ever have the gumption to speak in front of a crowd. Nevertheless, I began writing:
I had the dream again; the one that always comes to me this time of year. The fog wasn’t as thick as usual in my dreamscape, but I could feel the grit and cold of the blacktop beneath my bare feet. I looked down. Of course I was naked, but at least I was a toddler in the dream.
I paused and thought about that. I had decided a long time ago that the dream was merely a subconscious illustration of the saga that was my beginning. According to my adoptive parents, I was found when I was two years old, wandering the dark streets of Los Angeles (on Halloween night of all times), completely nude and babbling some nonsense that no one could decipher. I know most toddlers babble nonsense, but according to the woman at the adoption agency, what I babbled was nothing like what normal human babies produced when trying to communicate with others. Oh well. Like the bizarre dream, I can’t explain that either. I was lucky, they told my parents, because the part of L.A. they found me in was notorious for gang wars.
Somehow, I survived that nocturnal stroll only to be reminded of that night exactly fifteen times, once a year for every year since I was found. And after fifteen years, I still don't understand why this dream won't leave me alone. I sighed and got back to my writing.
The dreamscape shifted and I noticed that my right hand was pressed up against a warm, solid shape, my fingers clinging to a wad of something rough and coarse. I could just see what it was out of the corner of my eye: a huge white dog, its bedraggled fur acting as an anchor for my small hand. The dog was massive, even from my child’s perspective. I wanted to turn and get a better look at it but something kept my eyes trained forward, as if some crazy hypnotist was twirling a black and white spiral wheel in front of me.
The city lamps glowed an eerie orange, the only color in this black and gray world, and I leaned closer to the dog next to me. It padded quietly along, not making a sound; almost guiding me to some distant point of interest. I wondered what it all meant, but before I could make anything of it, I woke up.
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