by P. C. Cast
When Alex finally came to the edge of the trees, the day was waning and the battle was finished—as was Boudica’s war. Alex pulled the mare up, and from the lengthening shadows of the forest, stared across a sea of carnage. What she saw was so horrible her mind couldn’t completely comprehend it. There were dismembered bodies…gutted bodies…still-alive and writhing bodies. Women, men, old and young, in a valley turned black with blood and the cawing birds that were already feeding. Roman soldiers waded among them, plundering the dead and dying. Amid all of the horror, Alex saw souls wandering, dazed and disoriented.
“There are just too many of them.” She spoke aloud to herself, trying to take comfort in the familiarity of her voice.
Guide them home….
The words drifted through Alex’s mind at the same moment she realized what she had to do. Wearily, she kneed the horse toward a huge oak that towered over all the other trees in the area. She pressed her palm to its bark.
“I need your help.” The warmth danced around the spiral in her palm. “Please open the veil to the Otherworld. I’m a Soul Speaker and Priestess of Andraste. I need to guide these spirits home to the goddess.”
Power from the ancient oak flowed into her, warm and sure. The air in front of her, through which she could see the battlefield, rippled, and then the veil between worlds parted.
“Spirits of Boudica’s Celts! Come to me!” Alex’s voice sounded weird. Though it was magnified by the power of the oak, it wasn’t so much the loudness that had changed. Rather, her voice had a completely different timbre, echoing through the Valley of Death like a lamentation from the Underworld that had escaped to haunt the living.
She saw the Romans pause in their looting and, as the souls of the dead began to follow her voice, they shivered and made signs against the evil eye. Alex was grimly pleased to note that several of them left off their grisly looting and hurried away. None of them even glanced her way.
As the ghosts got closer, Alex pulled more of the warmth from the tree and straightened on the mare’s back, smiling at the ghastly, milling group. “It’s me, Blonwen, Andraste’s priestess.” She saw recognition on several of their semitransparent faces. “You’ve done well. Andraste is proud of you. The goddess is waiting just through there…” She motioned to the parted, shimmering veil. “Join her and leave behind the pain and sorrow you have known here.”
There was no hesitation among the spirits. They moved forward—not rushing, just walking to their next life as if strolling down a forest path. Some of them nodded at her as they departed. Some even called farewell. All of them moved on—except the tall, regal woman with the blazing red hair.
The dead queen’s spirit had come to stand beside the Otherworld entrance. She watched silently as the dead who had been her subjects and friends passed on.
“Boudica!” Alex cried.
The queen’s gaze shifted to her. “I failed, Priestess.”
“You gave your people hope, and those who died here died free,” Alex said.
“Tell me, Priestess, would that be enough for you had this—” she gestured at the bloody field “—been your life’s work?”
“That’s not what you’ll be remembered for. I know, because I came to you from the future, and there you’re remembered as a strong queen who led her people in a righteous revolt against Rome.”
“The future? Truly? Are my daughters safe there?”
Alex wasn’t sure what had happened to the queen’s daughters. She assumed Caradoc had sent them on to safety when he’d discovered she was missing, but history was foggy about them; she really had no idea if they survived their mother long. “I am from the future, but it’s a distant future, one where you and your daughters are written about in history. I can tell you, though, that Caradoc and I got them safely away from here, and I have not seen their spirits pass to the Otherworld.”
The queen closed her eyes and seemed to crumble in on herself. “Yet if they live, they will be slaves of Rome.” She looked up at Alex. “In your time, are the Celts free?”
Alex smiled. “Yes, very.”
“That is something, then.”
“But to be sure we stay free, I need your help.”
She held out her transparent hands. “I am little help like this.”
“Just tell me where your body is. I need to take the medallion piece in your torque to the future. It has magical powers there.”
“The torque will be burned with my body on a warrior’s pyre.”
“Where? You have to tell me!”
The dead queen pointed to the west. “Ride through the forest there and you will come to a sandstone ridge. Beyond it is a wood we call Andraste’s Wald. They build my pyre there.”
“I have to go. I have to get that medallion before they burn it.” Alex turned her horse. “Goodbye, Boudica. I have been honored to know you.”
“I should come with you, Priestess.”
“No.” Alex’s reaction was so gut deep that she knew she was speaking the goddess’s will. “Move on to the Otherworld. Your time here is finished. You fought so hard for freedom. Don’t stay now and make yourself a slave to the past.”
Boudica bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment. “You should remain here, Blonwen. This time suits you, and I have a feeling your time here is not finished. Fare thee well, Priestess of Andraste.” The queen’s spirit moved through the veil, the last of the dead to leave the valley, and the curtain between worlds shimmered once more and then was gone.
Alex dug her heels into the mare and headed west.
The warm power of the oak had been buffering the pain in Alex’s body as well as lending her strength, and as soon as she broke contact with it, agony slammed back into her full force. Her vision blurred and she pressed her arm against her side, trying unsuccessfully to lessen the pain of her cracked ribs.
“Help me, Andraste!” She thought she shouted the words, but the sound that emerged was hardly a whisper.
The air in front of her shimmered and a beckoning spirit appeared. This way, Soul Speaker.
Alex turned the horse’s head, knowing only that she must follow the spirit.
Through here, Priestess. Another ghost materialized ahead.
To me, Soul Speaker. Ride to me, said another, farther off.
Barely conscious, Alex clung to the back of the horse and followed the path laid by the voices of the dead to the sandstone ridge and Boudica’s funeral pyre.
Caradoc’s first impression of the future was that it shone like the light of a trapped sun. Half-dead, suffused with pain, he slammed into what he now knew was called a laboratory, clutching the medallion and still screaming “No!” at Blonwen. There was a great and terrible cacophony of sounds, as jarring as the light, and women who wore strange dress rushed to him, speaking a language he could not understand.
Caradoc bellowed and struck out at them, not caring that they were women, too deep in shock to remember this was Blonwen’s time…Blonwen’s people….
Then a voice cut through the chaos, and in his own language said, “Be at peace, warrior. We are friends of Blonwen.”
Caradoc looked wildly around the alien room until he found the small women with the intelligent green eyes. “Carswell?” he rasped.
“Aye,” she said.
With a hand that shook as if he were an old man, he held the medallion out to her. “Take this and send me back to her. She is in danger.”
The woman nodded and walked to his side. She took the medallion, glanced at it and then looked expectantly up at him.
“Blonwen means to retrieve the other part of it, but she cannot do it without my aid. Send me back! She may be dead already.”
Carswell’s touch was gentle when she rested her hand on his arm. “Warrior, if we do not heal you, I’m very much afraid you will soon be dead yourself. Now, tell me your name.”
“We don’t have time for this. Send me back!”
“I will, but not until you can be of some use to her. You know
you are in the future, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Then believe me when I tell you we do have time.”
Caradoc hesitated.
“Did Blonwen trust me?” Carswell asked him.
“She did.”
“Then you must trust me, too.”
“My name is Caradoc, son of Eilwen, kinsman to Boudica, Queen of the Iceni.”
“Thank you for your trust, Caradoc.”
A woman rushed up to Carswell with a sharp tool, which, to Caradoc’s surprise, she pierced him with. Too late, he jerked back, arm burning.
“Everything is going to be okay. You’re safe now….”
And the room went black.
“Priestess?”
“I—I’ll follow in a second. I have to rest right now. Head spinning…” Alex was slumped over in the saddle, her face pressed to the mare’s mane. The horse had come to a halt. She knew she should sit up and continue to follow the ghosts, but she hurt so badly, and if the mare took one more step she was going to throw up all over the animal’s neck, which wouldn’t be good for either of them. If she could just rest for a little while…
“Priestess, let me help you.”
“You have. You are. Just—” Alex shrieked as the ghost actually touched her. She opened her eyes to see the confused face of one of Boudica’s inner circle of warriors, who was very obviously solid and alive. “Neill?” she asked, trying to remember his name while she pressed her arm to her ribs and took short, panting breaths.
“Aye, Priestess Blonwen. Let me help you down now.”
She nodded and then focused on not passing out as the big Celt eased her from the horse. She stood there, half leaning against the mare, half kept on her feet by the warrior, and mostly unconscious.
“Bring water for the priestess!” Neill shouted.
She felt the skin held to her mouth and automatically drank thirstily, even though the water was brackish and filled with the taste of her blood. When she was done drinking she leaned against the mare and trembled, trying to focus her mind on the here and now. But thoughts of Caradoc kept swirling through her memory. That first kiss when she’d gotten so angry at him…their handfast…their lovemaking. Please let him be safe and alive.
“We knew you would come, Priestess. We knew you would be here to guide our queen into the Otherworld.”
“Otherworld…” Alex repeated faintly, thinking that she very much hoped Caradoc was in her other world, alive and being cared for.
Then she smelled smoke, and reason beat through the haze of pain and exhaustion. She lifted her head and blinked to clear her vision. Her horse had come to a halt before a low sandstone ridge that had a shallow stream running between it and the edge of what appeared to be an endless green forest, covering rolling hills. Between the stream and the trees was a huge pile of wood—obviously fallen logs and timber scavenged from the forest. On top lay the body of Boudica, Queen of the Iceni, the torque of power still around her neck.
There were half a dozen or so bloodied and beaten survivors of her inner circle, men and women warriors, clustered around the pyre. Two of the warriors held torches made from branches. They were all looking expectantly at her.
“No!” she cried, lurching away from the horse and Neill, and limping toward the pyre. “You can’t burn the torque. I need…I have to have it.”
“Priestess!” Neill caught up with her easily and took her arm, trying to help her walk. “The queen did not pass on the torque before she drank poison. She disbanded us and bade us flee to Andraste’s Wald, where we are each to seek our freedom until better times. The torque must burn with her.”
“No,” Alex repeated stubbornly. “She would want me to have it.”
“Priestess?” Neill sounded as shocked as the other warriors looked. “You are not in the line of royal succession.”
“I don’t mean for myself.” She waded into the stream, almost pulling Neill with her. “I don’t want to be queen. I want it for Anasazi.”
“Anasazi?” Neill said. “Priestess, Boudica knew no Anasazi.”
Alex shook her head, sending waves of dizziness through her. “I didn’t mean to say that. I meant to say Andraste.”
“Priestess, you have been wounded and harshly used. You are not in your right mind. The torque must burn with the queen, as she did not pass it on, and none of her heirs are living.” He spoke gently but firmly to her. “This, too, is the tradition of the goddess.”
“But her daughters got away. They’re alive.”
“At the end, Boudica believed them to be dead, as no one could escape the Roman’s wrath. We must follow our queen’s will.”
“No! You don’t understand. I have to have it!” Alex wrenched away from him. Unable to stand on her own, she fell to her hands and knees in the water. Ignoring the rocks that cut her skin, she kept moving through the stream toward Boudica’s body.
“Light the queen’s pyre. The Romans cannot be far behind us. We will not let them desecrate Boudica’s body.” Neill glanced sadly down at Alex. “Grief has driven the priestess mad. We will bring her with us and care for her, as the queen would wish us to.”
The warriors touched their blazing branches to the pyre and Alex began to sob. She’d failed. She looked wildly around. Maybe if she could get to the woods she could pull some power from one of the trees—enough to clear her mind and make her body work, just for a little longer….
“Please help me…Andraste….” She bowed her head, praying with all her will. Then, remembering how Caradoc had drawn magic from water, she added, “Condatis, please…help.”
“Warriors of Boudica—will you pass the torque of the Iceni to me?”
Alex lifted her head to see Caradoc, strong and whole and well, step from the deep shadows of Andraste’s Wald.
“We will!” the warriors shouted as one.
Caradoc sprinted to the burning pyre and, reaching through the flames, pulled the torque from the dead queen’s neck. Without ceremony, he stretched it open so that it fitted around his own. Then, while the Iceni bowed to their new king, he rushed to the stream and drew Alex into his arms.
Telling the warriors to get ready to ride, Caradoc carried her into the forest. He went several yards into the woods before he stopped and gently laid her on the moss at the base of an ancient oak. She blinked away dizziness as she gazed up at him and tried to smile, wishing she was still in his arms—wishing she was strong enough to pull him to her.
“You’re not dead,” she managed to say.
“No, I am not, but you almost are.” He reached as if to touch her battered face, and then pulled back. “Ah, gods! Look what that creature did to you.”
“He’s dead,” Alex said.
“Good.” Caradoc pulled the torque from around his neck and punched his thumb through the circlet that held the second medallion piece, popping it out. He took her hand, opened it, placed the medallion on her palm and then curled her fingers around it.
“You got it,” she said, trying to think clearly enough to understand why Caradoc seemed so strange—so distant.
“All I did was pull it from the fire. You got the torque, Alex. You defeated Suetonius. You led me here.” He took the ESC cuff from his forearm and fitted it around her wrist. “And now you are going home.”
“I’ll give it to Carswell. Then I’ll come back. Where will you be?”
“No. There’s no coming back.”
Her brow wrinkled in confusion. He sounded so cold. “Yes there is. Carswell can send me back here, just like she did you.”
“No!” He spoke sharply, then drew a deep breath, and when he continued talking his voice was emotionless, as if he was explaining directions to someone who had gotten lost. “This isn’t your world, Alex. You don’t belong here. Look at you. You’re almost dead. I’ll be running and hiding—probably for years. You won’t keep up. You won’t survive.”
“But Carswell will fix me. When I come back I’ll be healthy again.”
&
nbsp; “There is no coming back for you, Alex,” he repeated.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Because it is your true name. Forgive me. I did not mean to hurt you. I should not have allowed what happened between us to go so far. I do not want you to return to me. You would be in my way. I couldn’t survive if I had to take care of you, too. And after coming so close to death, I find that I want to survive. Alexandra Patton, I break our handfast. Fare you well.”
Before Alex could stop him, Caradoc pressed the ESC crystal.
After she disappeared he bowed his head and wept.
Chapter 30
A lex leaned back against the rough bark of the scraggly hackberry tree and tried to see the beauty of the Oklahoma sun setting into the tallgrass prairie. The tree even pressed a tentative warmth into her skin, which made her smile and pat the bark absently, as if the little tree was a slightly annoying but well-loved pet.
“I’ll learn to be happy here,” she said, more to herself than the tree.
I think you should go back to the druid.
Alex sighed and didn’t even bother to look at the ghost. “Hello, Andred.”
Well met, Alex. Alex could hear the smile in her voice. Now, as I was saying, I think you should go back to the druid.
“I thought we decided to agree to disagree on that subject.”
You decided. I disappeared and gave you a month to calm down and come to your right mind again. Now I am here to return to my point, which is you returning to the druid.
“I’m not going to talk about it.”
You need to talk about it, said the ghost.
Alex looked at her then. She didn’t want to admit it, but she had missed Andred. “I thought you’d gone for good.”
The spirit smiled. No. I’ll be coming by here as long as you’re around.
“No, Andred, that’s not right.” Alex had never considered that she was what was tying this strange young ghost to the world. “You need to move on. The Otherworld really is very nice. You don’t have anything to fear.”