Tallisun: God of Ostara (Sons of Herne, #3)

by J. Rose Allister

  “You have a position of respect and power, and the admiration of many. What else do you require?”

  He reached up to feel the knob where his new set of antlers would sprout before long. “Something more than my position affords.”

  “Is this about your father’s refusal to let you attend the hunt? I know you have been setting your cap for his title for many sabbats.”

  “It is not about the hunt.” Tallisun wandered over to where the budding branch hung. He sighed and spun around on his boot heel. “It is about the spring maiden.”

  Storell strolled into the chamber, pausing beside the dais in the center where the sabbat horn sat on a pedestal display. “The spring maiden as in the role of earth females, or as in one particular maiden?”

  “A very particular one.”

  Storell grunted. “There was much conjecture about your sudden decision to choose the maiden yourself this year. I daresay near as much as long ago, when it became clear you had no interest in choosing. Not that I hear much official talk these days. Tones hush quickly when outsiders come on the scene.”

  “Your father gave wisdom to the Counsel for generations. I would hardly call you an outsider.”

  “Yes, but we digress from the topic of your woman.”

  “She is not my woman.”

  “And is that the problem?”

  Tallisun didn’t answer.

  “Ah. That is why you no longer desire the hunt. The prey you seek now walks on two legs and dazzles with a pretty smile.”

  “And fangs that would tear into my flesh the next time I must seek a spring maiden.”

  “Indeed.” There was a pause. “Unless you did not.”

  “Did not what?”

  “Do not seek another spring maiden.”

  Tallisun folded his arms. “Step away from my calling, you mean? No longer be god of the sabbat?”

  “You make it sound as though you have a problem with that. You’ve long complained that your true desire is with the hunt, not as a spiritual manifestation of the sabbat.”

  “My father had other plans.”

  “So make plans of your own. It is the year of the Thousand Seasons. Perhaps the time has come for a change.”

  Storell had a point, one Tallisun had been thinking of since he had phased back through the veil. Still, it wasn’t his usual dissatisfaction that brought him back to this chamber day after day. Indeed, the sabbat this year had been exhilarating and rich in meaning. He had connected with the spirit of his calling in a deeper way than he ever imagined. No. His life was missing something else entirely.

  In moments when he dared allow himself to think of it, he realized he no longer thought of the hunt in the same way. The thrill of the chase, the triumph of the kill, he had always placed great store by these. But now, they were empty and hollow victories. What was the point in it? His father had kept his title and his focus for thousands of years. But becoming a god of the hunt held little sway for Tallisun now. Existence as a whole had taken on a gray tinge, a cloud over the clarity he once had for his life and the future.

  “You don’t seem convinced,” Storell said, plucking at the knife sheathed on his belt.

  “The truth is, I feel as though I am detached from my own life. It floats overhead, out of reach, mocking all of the goals I once set for myself. None of them hold any meaning now.”

  They stood in silence.

  “It is a woman, then,” Storell offered at last. “Nothing else can cause such disarray in a man’s mental faculties.”

  “Honestly? You may be right.” He wandered back over to the antlers. “I never intended on choosing my ritual partner. I was even late for opening preparations, did you know? The counselors were so put out that they pulled me back to the realm.”

  Storell shook his head.

  “I had been tarrying in the earth woods, angry with Father for not allowing me to take part in the Hunt of the Three Horns. I decided to go on a hunt of my own, perhaps bag a kill to rival the great Herne’s. Instead, I encountered a woman in the woods. She became my first chosen since near the beginning of my calling.”

  “She is a great beauty, I take it.”

  “Very. But that was not why I chose her.”

  “Other attributes below the neck, then.”

  “She is a hunter. A strong, independent, a woman who knows her own mind.”

  Storell screwed up his face. “That sounds like trouble. These are not attributes I recommend in choosing a bed partner.”

  “Worse. She cost me my kill. Walked right up to the watering hole where a stag was awaiting my arrow.”

  Now Storell gaped at him. “No wonder you are in such a state. You question your own sanity in choosing a female with so many flaws.”

  “They are not flaws in my eyes.” He heaved out a sigh. “The ritual, what happened in that moment, I cannot forget the singular import of it. I grasped as never before why I am the god of spring. And she was part of that.”

  “So you had a stellar year. That does not mean you need make more of it than what is. There is rumor that the Yule light kicked off the Thousand Seasons with unprecedented power. Perhaps you merely carried that energy forth.”

  “No. It was more than that.”

  Although what, he could not say. Harper had asked him why this ritual had been different, but he hadn’t been able to give a complete answer. It just had been. He hadn’t gone seeking a revived interest in his faith when he’d gone into the woods, but he had found new meaning in the Ostara sabbat nevertheless. He had found her.

  “You like her.”

  Tallisun’s head snapped up. “What?”

  “You have taken a fancy to the spring maiden.”

  The familiarity tugged at his stomach. “That is precisely what she told me.”

  Storell’s eyes shot wide. “She told you? You revealed yourself to her?”

  Tallisun nodded.

  His friend’s smile broadened. “Yes, yes, it is plain to me now. That is why you barely ate or drank at the feast, even though you had fasted for the sabbat and, one might assume, performed with vigor during the ritual. Has your appetite returned?”

  Tallisun glanced away. “Not as such.”

  “Sleep?”

  Tallisun paused. “Gods do not need much sleep.”

  “That reply was not in the least convincing. And the circles beneath your eyes are not the kohl of warrior paint.”

  No. His sleep had not been particularly restful since the sabbat. He tossed and turned, his mind unable to shut off images of her. Harper bathing in the lake. Harper as she first emerged from the tent, as wide-eyed as a frightened doe. Harper tackling him to the ground from a tree. Harper, walking into the clearing with her hand-crafted, mouthwatering outfit for the ritual. Such visuals flashed before him over and over again, along with the free tinkle of her laughter, the gleam in her pale greenish-brown eyes, the woodsy and enticing scent when he pressed kisses along her neck.

  “You are there with her even now,” Storell said, disrupting the memory. “So I will not bother to inquire whether you have been distracted by thoughts of this unfortunate maiden.”

  Tallisun’s jaw tightened. “Unfortunate? How is she unfortunate?”

  “Because she has had you now. Mortal women have told me that once they taste the wonders of lying with a god, they never wish to return from the journey.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “You have spoiled her for mortal cock, my lusty friend. By revealing your presence, allowing her to feel your touch, you are not the only one who suffers your parting now. She will crave your return.”

  “I do not think so. She was the one who hurried me out of the realm when it was over.”

  “Truly?”

  His lips pressed tight. “She could not say farewell fast enough.”

  “Ah. So that is why your antlers are tied in knots.”

  “I have none at the moment.”

  “Making this even more of a trial.”

  S
torell walked up to Tallisun, who stood regarding him with tightly folded arms, and punched him in the bicep.

  Tallisun staggered back, rubbing the spot. “What makes you bold enough to strike a god of the sabbat?”

  “You know what you must do,” Storell said. “All of this is a simple matter to fix.”

  “How?”

  “Go to her, of course. Scratch that itch and release your ball sac.”

  “What, return to the earth realm now, after the sabbat?”

  “Why not? It is not as though your ritual involves sealing the veil between worlds.”

  “We do not often cross realms.”

  “More than you might think. I myself have enjoyed a few earth females in my day. How else would I know of our potent and rather incurable effect?”

  “Because you can pass for human.”

  “Not what the ladies tell me.”

  Tallisun rolled his eyes. “Visiting the other realm is a different matter for those of us whose appearance would raise alarm among humans. Discretion is tantamount, for a vast many mortals would not be pleased to know of our existence.”

  Storell waved a dismissive hand. “I have heard the propaganda. And you surely must be aware that such cautions are not always observed, not even by you. Your female is already aware of you, and fucking humans is part of your job description. I should think you above most have the right to cross realms and take advantage of it.”

  “I have already performed the ritual. There is no reason to return.”

  “No? Who cares whether you wish a repeat performance with the spring maiden? You are not bound to celibacy year-round, are you?”

  Tallisun blinked. “I must remain chaste only during the month before the sabbat.”

  “Then off you go. Get in a few more ruts, until you are satisfied. Then you can move on from these diverting fantasies.”

  That was just it. He was not certain he could move on, especially if he was lucky enough to sample Harper again.

  “Father would have a fit,” he said, although his mind was already racing with possibility. “You didn’t see him when he came back from dealing with Dominus after Yule. He wouldn’t even speak. Herne, blustering god of the forest, silent. For two whole days.”

  “Dominus was a fool to bind himself to the Earth realm,” Storell said. “You are smarter.”

  “And Eradimus fought with Father over the Imbolc sabbat.”

  “Tensions were high. The storms caused by his failure to complete the ritual the previous year were of grave concern.” Storell stepped forward. “But you have no such issues. You merely want to see the woman again, wet your god stick. No harm done, is there?”

  Tallisun wondered about that. But why not? He could go through the veil. Particularly now, as his appearance was more human than ever. Except for his eyes.

  “Humans have something called sunglasses,” Storell said, as if reading his thoughts. “They are darkened lenses that obscure the eyes, altering identity. Stuart the groomsman collects oddities from the other realms. Perhaps you can borrow these glasses from him.” He thumped Tallisun on the top of the head. “Good thing those antlers have come off. Although I should be most distressed if body parts started detaching from me after a fucking.”

  Tallisun was too wrapped up in thoughts of seeing Harper again to respond. Could he really do this? What if she didn’t want to see him?

  What if she did?

  His heart skipped while he and Storell headed for the stables in search of the groomsman. Within the hour, he had his quiver on his back, the veil pendant around his neck, and his thoughts focused on the place where they first met.

  He phased and walked into the area near the lake where she had made camp. All traces of her time there were gone, save for the ring of stones marking the campfire that had long since gone cold. He stood near the spot where he had been while she hid inside her tent, warning him to declare himself.

  A small smile warmed his face while he thought of that moment. Then he turned and headed through the woods, ducking through narrow gaps between brush and bark with ease now that his antlers were no longer an obstacle. He came to the clearing and stopped, taking in the sight. The area teemed with spring. Daylight streamed down on the altar, illuminating it as an object of honor much the way his antlers were lit in the chamber. The blanket of white flowers were still there, waving a greeting on a soft breeze, releasing their delicate scent and welcoming his return.

  Tallisun saw Harper standing near the edge of the clearing, a crown of flowers in her hair, bare beneath the skirt of reeds, but it was only a memory. She wasn’t here. He hadn’t truly figured she would be. He could have focused his intention on her, rather than this place, when he took hold of the veil pendant. With the right power applied to his focus, he would have phased to her current location. But he had been pulled to come here, see again the magic that their ritual had brought forth. And now as he stood in that place, he felt stirrings of power, and the evidence of the magic they had called forth enthralled him all over again.

  He used his other sight to view the tree as it had been, tall and unwavering and wise. He wandered closer, basking in the energies that shot up, displacing the rays of golden afternoon sun, shimmering and warm. He closed his eyes, raised his arms, and tilted his head back, no longer encumbered by the weight of his antlers, the weight of duty. He simply stood there, existing in that moment, letting the life force of nature surround and penetrate and inform the god of spring. The more that power filled him, the more he felt the void inside, the spot where he had already made room for a woman he hadn’t intended on knowing more than a single day.

  He heard the rustling first, faint, careful steps that did not strike him as human. He froze and opened his senses farther, and he caught the whiff of animal musk.

  With slow and almost painful deliberation, he took the bow off his back and slid an arrow from the quiver. Still without a sound, he fitted the arrow in place and raised the weapon into position.

  The stag strode with bold steps into the clearing, exerting none of the caution a prey animal should in order to avoid calamity. Was it the same stag he had seen by the lake? The size, the heft of the budding antlers, they seemed familiar. As the animal was upwind, he could almost assume the creature acted this way because he hadn’t scented him. But their eyes met, and the creature advanced. Tallisun’s gaze narrowed as he lined up his arrow with the animal’s chest. Yet the stag kept coming forward, assured and steady, until he stood halfway into the clearing. There he stopped, holding Tallisun’s gaze, waiting.

  The god of spring, son of a hunter whose first bow had been granted on his third birthday, stood in perfect stance, knowing from vast experience that the time to let his arrow fly was now. His steady hand flinched as a shaking began deep in his muscles, a quiver that spread to his limbs and unfocused his vision. He drew in a breath, held it, and released the air, but it was a ragged sigh rather than a smooth exhalation. Tallisun blinked and refocused, staring into the dark rounds of wise eyes. Then he lowered the bow.

  He stepped backward, hearing a crunch beneath his feet when he dropped himself without ceremony onto the tree stump. The bow and arrow fell softly to the ground. His heart was pounding while the stag took two more steps forward, paused, and then lowered its head and front half in a majestic bow. The gesture of respect lasted a good five beats, Tallisun’s jaw dropped throughout, before the proud animal straightened, met his eyes once again, and then turned to stroll out of the clearing.

  Tallisun stared after the stag, his vision blurring from an uncustomary sting of moisture. He sniffed and glanced down at the weapon he had not the heart to take up again. Frowning, he bent lower, eying the scattered pile of white shards around the tree base. He dabbed his finger on one to pick it up.

  “Egg shells?” he whispered.

  “Why couldn’t you do it?” a voice asked from behind him.

  He spun on the stump and let out a breath. “Harper,” he said.

  She
stepped closer, her hair catching a ray of sun. She wore it loose and free, the way she had for the ritual, though without the flowers that had crowned her most attractively. Beauty still radiated from her, as bright as the light she stepped into. Indeed, it seemed more as if the sun’s rays were reaching forth, eager to touch her own light. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright, yet wary.

  Halfway into the clearing, she hesitated, and then she, too, bowed to him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Hail to the god of spring,” she said. “Or whatever someone should say when they come across immortal deity.”

  He rose. “You bow to me? When we first met, I believe you threatened that you were armed. I surrendered to you.”

  She smoothed a hand over the tight brown pants she wore. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  His smile fell. “Are you sorry?”

  “For threatening you?”

  “For meeting me.”

  She blinked. “Of course not.” She glanced around. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Incredible.” His eyes were still locked on her.

  “I’d wondered whether this part had been a dream.” She wandered closer. “I almost didn’t believe it when I came back and saw the blossoms were still here.”

  He nodded. She, too, had returned to the altar to see whether there had been a lasting effect from the mark they had made on the sabbat.

  His boots crunched again, and he glanced down. “There were eggs here.”

  “That was my fault.” She was close to him now, looking at the ground. “They were hard-boiled. I had my lunch sitting on the stump earlier.”

  She was in front of him now, gazing up with those large eyes. “You didn’t answer me before.”

  “About what?”

  “Why couldn’t you shoot the deer?”

  A pang went through him. He didn’t want to talk about the deer, and yet he would say anything, divulge any dark secret, if it meant conversing with her. Even if parts of him were tingling with her proximity, whispering ideas of things he could do with a beautiful woman besides talk.

  She sat on the stump, and he sank down beside her. “I am not sure why. I seem to have lost my taste for the hunt.”