Goddess Born

by Kari Edgren

  His skepticism weighed upon me. I heard it in his voice, saw it in the way he remained standing at a distance. “We’d best stop for tonight. You’re already having a difficult time believing me.”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you.” Henry blinked several times, seemingly surprised by his own admission. “You’ve given me a lot to consider is all. I would like to know the rest.”

  “If that’s your choice,” I said, secretly pleased. Maybe there was hope after all. “Brigid called her descendants leath’dhia. Do you speak Gaelic?”

  He shook his head. “Hardly a word.”

  “What about Latin?”

  “I speak and read fluently.”

  “Then you should know semideus.”

  “Half god,” he translated. “Is that what you are? A demigod?”

  I shrugged, not entirely comfortable with the term. “In a manner of speaking, but we’ve been called many things through the ages. Several ancient texts refer to another race of divine beings who would occasionally visit this world. In Hebrew and Aramaic they were called Mal’ach. The Greeks called them Angelos. When Christianity first came to Ireland, some of the priests thought my kind belonged to this race and mistook us for angels.”

  Henry arched a brow. “An easy mistake from what I witnessed tonight.”

  “I guess so, but my mother preferred another name. She referred to us as Goddess Born. Are you familiar with the Latin term seraph?”

  “Burning one,” Henry said, so quietly I almost missed it. “It’s what the Lenape call you.”

  “Yes, but I’m not a fiery six-winged creature like the prophet Isaiah described. The Lenape call me Tenteyuawen because my first mother Brigid was born of fire. As her descendent, I experienced a similar birth. The power you’ve felt and what you saw tonight comes from that same sacred fire.”

  Quite unexpectedly, Henry came over and knelt on the floor in front of me. Taking my hands in his, I felt a slight pressure on my wrist and noticed that he had placed a finger over my pulse. “It’s doesn’t make any sense. You’re flesh and blood just like everyone else.”

  “My body is mortal and will eventually die like every other human. But Brigid’s blood flows inside of me. It’s what gives me the power to heal and it’s why I couldn’t ignore Nathan’s pleas tonight. Once he asked for help, I couldn’t refuse without corrupting my soul.”

  “Do all Brigid’s descendants have a similar power? Can they all heal?”

  The defensive edge had left his voice, and I smiled inwardly, grateful that we had made it past the most difficult part. “While Brigid lived in this world, she was goddess of many things—fertility, poetry, smithcraft, healing, and, to a lesser degree, agriculture. The gift can manifest in many ways and to varying degrees, but in our family it has always been healing, at least among the women. My father may have had the gift of agriculture, but his power was insignificant compared to my mother’s.”

  “Are there more of your kind in Hopewell?”

  I shook my head sadly. “Not even in all of the Colonies. My maternal grandparents were the first of our kind to cross the Atlantic. They both died before I was born and with my parents and brother dead, there is no one else.”

  Henry looked at me with new understanding. “That’s why you had to marry another Kilbrid. He would have already known what you are.”

  “Or a MacBres from my mother’s side.”

  “Is it a law?” he asked hesitantly. “I mean do you have to marry another of Brigid’s descendants?”

  I placed the palm of my hand against his cheek. “I can marry whomever I chose. It’s revealing my identity that is prohibited. And from our own experience, you know how impossible it can be to reconcile the two.”

  “Oh, yes,” he readily agreed, a spark playing in his eyes. “Is there a special clause for our situation? Is that why you’re telling me now?”

  “There are only two circumstances when this rule can be broken without repercussions—to save a life, like tonight, or with Brigid’s permission. I loved you so much that Brigid granted me permission to tell you.” I couldn’t resist from running my fingers through his unbound hair, making him shiver without even the smallest hint of power. “She knew I would be happy with no other man.”

  “And I would be happy with no other woman.” He took my hand and pressed it to his mouth. “Human or not, you are the only woman I will ever love.”

  It was my turn to shiver.

  A dark shadow crossed his face and he suddenly pulled his mouth away. Putting my hand down, he got to his feet and strode over to my dressing table. “Do you have a pair of scissors or a knife in here?”

  “There’s a penknife in the top drawer,” I said, bewildered by his actions.

  He rifled around the drawer and returned with the knife. Kneeling in front of me again, he winced as he sliced open the palm of his hand. Blood rushed to the surface.

  My eyes widened with shock. “What are you doing?”

  He cupped his hand to keep the blood from spilling onto the floor. “Will you heal this?”

  “As if I have a choice,” I muttered, irritated by his seemingly irrational behavior.

  “Please,” he added for good measure.

  Taking his hand, I healed the cut in a matter of seconds, knitting the flesh back to perfection. I used his shirttail to mop up the blood. “Satisfied?”

  He studied the mended flesh. “Oh, yes.”

  “Do you intend to tell me why you just did that?”

  He flexed his fingers and smiled. “I wanted to know if it felt the same as when we kiss. The idea that other men might be able to experience something so intimate with you was...intolerable.”

  Jealousy had driven him to slice open his own hand! It was probably wrong to be flattered, but I couldn’t help it. “Did it feel the same?” I asked curiously.

  “Not in the slightest. When you healed my hand, it felt like warm water flowed into my skin. I’ve already told you how it feels when we kiss. It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever felt, like I’m touching your soul.”

  Taking his hand, I traced my finger along the path he’d made with the penknife. “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve healed you. When Fletcher shot you, the ball entered your lung.”

  “And I saw your light,” he said excitedly, recalling the memory. “At the time, I thought I had died and you were an angel come to take me home.”

  “I was so scared of losing you, I may have used too much power,” I confessed. “Usually people are unable to see my true identity.” The last few words came out in a yawn as the evening’s activities began to catch up with me. Not yet ready to let go of the moment, I ignored the urge to close my eyes and curl into the chair.

  “If I remember correctly, you poked me with a needle when I mentioned it later.”

  “It was an accident,” I laughed, embarrassed by the memory. “You would understand better if your ancestors had been repeatedly mistaken for witches and burned at the stake.”

  “But I thought the priests considered your kind to be angels.”

  “They did for the first five hundred years, until superstition replaced their better judgment. My mother told me that after living together in peace for so long, the Goddess Born fell from angels to demons practically overnight.”

  There was still so much to talk about—including whether we were really married, or at the very least, betrothed. But, that discussion would have to wait for another time. “Tomorrow I need to go into the Otherworld to renew my power.”

  He gave me an odd look. “So that’s a real place? Apart from this world?”

  “Of course it is. Where else would the Tuatha dé live?”

  “I don’t know. I thought they were driven underground or something by another invading force. Isn’t that what the legend
says?”

  “You’re getting confused with faeries again,” I laughed. “No one lives in the earthen mounds, they’re just used as passageways between our worlds. The night you found me in the woods, I’d just come back.”

  He gave me a slow smile. “You did have an otherworldly look about you, dressed in that strange shift with your hair unbound.”

  “Brigid requires certain attire when her descendants visit.” I yawned again and my eyelids drooped with sleep.

  “You’re tired,” Henry said. “I have been selfish to keep you up so long.”

  I’d begun to nod my head when Henry reached down and scooped me into his arms. Carrying me over to the bed, he set me down and pulled the quilt up to my chin. I was already missing his touch when I felt him lie down beside me.

  “Sleep well, Selah,” he whispered, drawing me closer with only the quilt between us. “I love you...”

  With these three words, I drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  The dream started in the same way. I was floating peacefully on my back in a pool of dark water when a hand suddenly grabbed me from below, pulling me beneath the surface. The hand tightened as I struggled to break free, dragging me further down where I became entangled in the long grass growing up from the muddy floor. For the past four years, the dream had always ended at this point, just when I was on the verge of drowning. But this morning it lingered, shifting into my most dreaded memory. No longer in the water, I stood on the bank of the pond, staring down at my mother’s dead face just below the water’s surface.

  “No!” I screamed, thrashing about wildly. Strong arms closed around me, and I screamed again, fighting to get away.

  “Selah!” Henry said, pulling me too him. “Wake up!”

  His deep voice broke through the darkness, and I fell against him, sobbing.

  “You’re safe,” he said. “It was only a nightmare.”

  “I was back in the pond,” I sobbed. “I was drowning again. But then everything changed, and I was standing on the bank. My mother was there. Her face looked just the same as when she died.”

  “Oh, Selah.” He pulled me closer. “You didn’t tell me it was you who found her.”

  “She had gone into the Otherworld the night before and hadn’t returned by the morning. The family went out searching for her. My father and brother started in the forest, and I was told to search the grounds near the house.” Fresh sobs rose up inside me.

  “There, there,” Henry said, gently stroking my hair.

  “Ever since she died, I’ve had nightmares about drowning, but this is the first time she’s appeared. Why do you think it changed?”

  “I don’t know, unless Nathan’s attack last night affected it somehow.”

  The idea came to me like a flash of lightening. Twisting out of Henry’s arms, I scrambled from the bed.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, startled by my actions.

  “I have to ask him,” I said, frantically pulling a robe over my nightgown. “I have to know if he killed my mother.”

  Henry swung his legs over the side of the bed and followed me across the hall.

  Too angry to think straight, I threw the door open. In one fluid motion, Teme sprang to his feet, a long blade in his hand, ready to strike. Seeing Henry and me, he relaxed and re-sheathed the knife. He looked tired from sitting up all night guarding Nathan.

  Gray light filled the room from the quickly approaching dawn. Omitting any wishes for a good morning, I marched right over to the bed. Nathan was wide awake, propped up by several pillows.

  I wanted to strike him, to wrap my fingers around his neck and strangle away every last bit of life. Instead, I stared at him, my hands fisted at my side. “Did you kill her?” I demanded.

  Nathan looked at me, clearly distressed. “I’ve never killed anyone.”

  “A year after you arrived in Hopewell, my mother was found dead in the same pond where you tried to drown me last night.”

  Shock filled his face. “On my honor, I did not kill your mother.”

  I continued to stare at him, searching for any sign of deception. He had changed so much in the past months that I almost pitied him. His face was pale and sunken in from weight loss, exaggerating his eyes and giving them a haunted look. Beneath this altered surface, I caught a glimpse of his earnestness and knew he spoke the truth about my mother. Maybe her death really had been an accident like everyone thought. With nothing more to say, I turned to go.

  “I think I know who did though,” he said quietly. His words stopped me cold.

  Slowly, I turned back around. Was this just another of his games? “And who would that be?”

  “The same person who’s been sending letters to me for the past year. The last time he wrote, he said something about having already drowned two evils, that it was now my turn to act.”

  My knees began to give out, and if not for Henry I would have surely fallen to the floor. “My mother and my grandmother,” I cried in disbelief.

  Henry held me against him. No one moved or spoke, and the room fell silent other than the sound of my ragged breathing. Numb disbelief filled my chest, stifled the panicked screams that brushed against the surface. Both murdered...my family stolen...

  “Who sent you the letters?” Henry asked after a moment.

  “I don’t know. They just started appearing on my writing desk once a week. I was instructed to leave my letters in the abandoned dairy house any time I wished to write back.

  Rage shot through me and I rounded on Nathan, ready to pounce. “You’ve been corresponding with a murderer,” I said through clenched teeth. “Maybe now you can see which of us is truly evil.”

  Tears came to Nathan’s eyes. “I was goaded into madness. He knew I loved you and used it against me.”

  “How dare you try to justify your actions after what you’ve done. Have you already forgotten about accusing me of witchcraft in front of the entire town?” Hell’s teeth! His gall knows no bound!

  “I beg you, Selah, please forgive me.”

  It took all my self-control to keep from yelling. “And what about last night? Am I also supposed to forgive how you tried to kill me?”

  “I acted in a state of madness,” he said miserably. “We have been friends a long time. You must know that I would never hurt you if I were in my right mind.”

  “That’s a fine notion now that you’re facing the gallows,” I countered.

  “I deserve to hang, and I’ll gladly do so as soon as you forgive me.”

  The nature of his declaration sent a warning chill up my spine. “Why does my forgiveness matter so much?”

  “It matters because you’re innocent. And because I know what you are.”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “Your narrow mind is incapable of such understanding.”

  “You have always been different, Selah, and I was manipulated into thinking that difference to be evil. But last night I saw your true identity. I saw the fire that burns inside of you.”

  Henry tightened his hold on me.

  Nathan had been changed into clean clothes. He pulled up the linen shirt, exposing his chest. “Do I need any further proof than this?” he asked, the familiar intensity returning to his eyes. “Only an angel could have performed such a miracle. Though I behaved wretchedly, you came to me in my time of need. Selah, you must forgive me! I would do anything to gain your pardon.”

  Having no knowledge of the leath’dhia, it was natural that Nathan would mistake me for an angel. I saw no reason to enlighten him further. “What’s done is done,” I said sharply. “The past cannot be changed.”

  “If that is your opinion, then even an angel can be mistaken.” He dropped his shirt and started to slowly push up from the bed. Though his body was completely healed, it would take days to recover his f
ull strength.

  “What are you doing?” Henry asked.

  “I am going to Sunday meeting to declare Selah’s innocence. It is the only way to correct the past.”

  Fear gripped me anew, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Don’t worry,” Nathan said, seeing my reaction. “Your secret is safe.”

  Henry stepped forward to stop him. “What’s to say you won’t experience a change of heart on the way and run off?”

  “I give you my word.”

  “Your word is of little worth,” Henry said.

  “Nathan,” I interrupted, in need of some more answers before their argument escalated any further. “A week ago Saturday, Henry and I were crossing the river on our way back from the Lenape Village. My horse was struck with a rock, and threw me into the water. Was this your doing?”

  “I was nowhere near the river last Saturday.”

  “Is there anyone who can vouch for your whereabouts?” Henry asked.

  “My housekeeper. I was in my study for most of the day. When did it happen?”

  “Around five that evening.”

  Nathan fell silent while he thought back. “Anne and Gideon stopped by to visit at four that afternoon. They stayed past six.”

  I couldn’t have asked for a better alibi, but there was still another matter that needed settling. “And which of my maidservants has been acting as your accomplice this summer?”

  He looked genuinely confused. “No one.”

  “Then how did you know that I had locked Henry in his room our first night at Brighmor, or about my scar?”

  “I heard of the door by listening to the gossip. Hopewell has been rife with it since you and Henry married. The scar though, I learned about in a letter. The writer insisted that you had been marked by a demon.” He dropped his gaze, embarrassed by this last confession.

  “And what of the witch bottle buried under the walkway?” I asked him. “Do you know anything about that?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing at all.”

  I felt the prickle of cold sweat on my body. Not until this moment did it occur to me that someone other than Nathan could be conspiring with a member of my household. There was but one hope to find this anonymous fiend. “What will you do after declaring my innocence this morning?” I asked Nathan.