The Kala Trilogy: An Urban Fantasy Box Set

by Teagan Kearney

  "Okay. To start with ol' fire head lays you on the ground, real careful I might add, and then the pair of them start going at each other. That's when I get this." He indicated his forehead, "’cause I go over to get you, and instead catch a passing whack. When I come to, I'm lying halfway across the lot and the two of them are flying—honest, literally flying at each other, with the redhead taking a swing with this huge sword, trying to hack off Vanse's arm. But our hero has the drop on this dude. He pulls out this fancy Colt 1911 and shoots him full of silver bullets."

  "Did he kill him?"

  "No, he took off real fast. That was when Vanse gave you his blood," he hesitated. "I know you hate his blood being inside you, it's written all over your face, but Tatya, you were a goner. He saved your life."

  She pushed herself up and looked around. "Where am I, anyway? This isn't St. Raphael's."

  "St. Mary's Hospice. It’s the other side of the Catholic church, next to the station."

  "I'm fine Bill. Honest. I just need to go home."

  "Sure, but I'm sending a doc along to check you over first." He held up his hand. "I insist. If the doc says you're okay to leave, I'll have someone drive you home. Deal?"

  "Send the doc. You are aware vamp blood has great rejuvenating properties, aren't you? I mean, those guys live forever."

  "Yes, I know and, no, they don't always."

  The doctor agreed to Tatya's release, told her to rest and she'd be back to normal in no time. She thanked him, thinking she'd never been normal. It was the degree of distance from normal that had exponentially increased. Corwin insisted on providing a driver, so Tatya sat in the passenger seat of a police vehicle while a deputy drove her home, followed by the neat and tidy Deputy Bellamy driving her Ford.

  Later, Tatya sat staring out of the kitchen window, nursing one of her special recovery teas; lavender, lemon balm, rose, and cinnamon with a generous dollop of honey added.

  The small orchard at the far end of their lot had a crop of late apples and pears waiting to be harvested, and the weeds they'd fought since they started growing herbs had reinvaded. Most plants, except the ones you didn't want, died off as autumn departed. She should do something. Aunt Lil wouldn't approve of her lack of attention to their cultivated herb garden.

  She took her tea and crossed to the living area of the room, and sank into her favorite armchair. The comfy brown leather chair had been her father's favorite whenever they'd visited Aunt Lil when she was a young child, and she always found comfort sitting where he'd once sat.

  Warming her hands on the cup and sipping her drink, she enjoyed the flush of warming herbs spreading through her body, and let her thoughts roam. Changing Sky had taught her that when your mind is in the right place, it's easier to observe those patterns invisible to the busy mind.

  She went over yesterday's events, trying to make sense of what was happening: Aunt Lil with an illness the doctors couldn't diagnose; Vanse’s hints about its possible supernatural origins; young men in their prime collapsing in comas with no apparent cause; and a powerful unknown vampire had attacked her right outside the police station.

  Fragments of last night's attack began to surface, and she stiffened at the memory of those riveting blue eyes. Angelus. Angel. Angel of what? Death? It was as if he was standing in front of her. He smiled. She shielded herself and the image faded, although a faint trace of his presence remained. He'd drunk her blood. Surely she wasn't connected to him as well?

  Vanse knew his name, and who he was. How well did he know this vampire? As if evoked, her connection to Vanse surged to life, far stronger than to the other, and try as she might, she couldn't break it. Warm shades of the morning's emotions lapped at her mind, and she shied away from thinking of the vampire master. It was becoming clear that to think even the slightest passing thought about him was dangerous if she wished to remain free of his dominance.

  Now she understood the attraction a vampire master exerted over his minions. A master would never have to compel anyone. Being turned meant you were willing—more than willing—you'd be abjectly eager to fulfill the slightest of your master's desires.

  Tomorrow, she'd go out and visit Changing Sky. He might know how she could break these connections.

  She must have dozed off, because a loud knock on the front door brought her awake with a jump. Who was calling on her? She checked the time on the grandfather clock in the hallway as she hurried to answer the door. At five o'clock in the afternoon?

  "Sean!"

  Sean stood on the porch, blinking nervously. He was still the Sean she'd known; the kind, gentle, peace lover. Even if he did drink blood. Knowing Sean, he'd only drink from blood donor packs that were past their sell-by date.

  "Can I come in?"

  Tatya winced as a rush of colors flared in her memory, and the link to Vanse sparked. She damped it down, tried to cut it off, but it remained, a quiescent presence in the background. She refused to accept this might be permanent, that there was no going back. But as she looked at Sean, his shoulders drooping, a hangdog look in his eyes, her previous antipathy toward him melted—she'd glimpsed what he must experience on a daily basis.

  "Of course." She stood aside, and as he walked toward her, she opened her arms wide. "Sean, I'm sorry. I didn't understand."

  He pulled her close, hugging her to his chest. "Thanks, Tat." He hugged her tighter.

  "I've missed you, you basket case. You want to do some weeding?"

  He laughed. "I always knew it was my body you wanted. Just a minute." He signaled, and three of Vanse's vampires glided into sight.

  "Sean, I'm warning you. They're not coming inside."

  "That's fine. They're for outside. Vanse sent them for protection."

  She glanced at the waiting vamps. Nope, she wouldn't tangle with them, but she hoped they could handle the red-headed vampire as efficiently as their master had. The thought of Angelus sent a premonitory shiver up her spine; she'd not seen the last of him.

  Chapter Six: The Northern Isles, 2800 BC

  She walked beside her mother, as her younger sister, Kerra, skipped along the beach ahead of them. She shivered, looked up, her bright green eyes scanning the sky, and made the sign against the evil eye. For a second, she had felt the weight of someone’s gaze on her, but the sensation vanished as quickly as it came. She looked back at the settlement. How small it appeared, crouched, almost hidden, among the low hills by the shore with the wide sky above. Despite being the first, their settlement had remained the smallest. “I’ll just help Mara pick the crowberries, and then I’ll join you.”

  She and Mara, the village healer, had found an early crop of crowberries yesterday. Some would be served in tomorrow's midnight feast, and the rest dried for the winter months.

  The young woman pushed the wild curly strands of her russet-brown hair out of her face, tossing back her long braid, and waved to the fishermen landing their coracles. The little stick figures, jumped out and dragged their round boats up beyond the tide line. If they'd caught plenty of fish, it would good augur well for them.

  She stared out at the cobalt blue sea with scarce a ripple on its surface, the bowl of the sky a paler shade of blue, and not a cloud in sight. The signs were that Neudon, the God of the Sea, was already smiling on them. Tomorrow, she and Vanse would celebrate their joining ceremony. Her stomach fluttered, making little flips, at the thought of Vanse.

  Mara, the village Sagart, was training her. One day, when the ancestors decreed it was Mara's time to join them, she'd inherit the role and responsibilities of priestess to the Great Mother. Mara had sought her out when she was young, announcing that the Goddess had sent one of her own to serve them. She'd prophesied a glorious future for the child, saying she possessed powerful healing abilities, the foreseeing power, and would bring much honor to them.

  When she became a woman, Mara taught her the ancient wisdom handed down from Sagart to Sagart, unchanged from time beyond memory: how to purify herself, and perform her roles in the cer
emonies for the Mother Goddess; how to attend birthings, her role in the death rituals; the herbs to cure illness, and where and when to harvest them. As Mara weakened with age, she would relinquish more and more of her duties. By the time Mara's spirit departed, the young Sagart would be ready.

  "Come quick!" A child’s high voice floated across the wide stretch of the bay. "The Bard’s approaching!"

  "Mother, will you and Kerra, help Mara with the baskets. I must go and greet the Bard.”

  “Go see if Vanse’s catch was good, because you will be the one to prepare it. You have time before the Bard reaches the village."

  The younger woman's bright green eyes twinkled as she kissed her mother on the cheek. She dashed off across the beach, small flicks of sand flying into the air behind her.

  Three crows, Ankou's messengers, scavenged by the sea edge. Disturbed by her passing, they took to the air, flying over her head. She flicked her fingers for a second time. She pushed away the thought that one more inauspicious sign would not bode well for tomorrow night’s ceremony. Slowing as she approached the group of men, she smoothed her hair, and settled her clothes, preening herself. She didn't want to resemble her little sister when she came in from playing with the other children on the beach.

  Her soon-to-be husband glanced up and smiled. Her heart skipped a beat and drummed faster. With his generous smile, dark brown eyes, golden-brown skin, and straight black hair, he was the most handsome of the unmarried men in the village. Together they would have beautiful children. Lots of them.

  She laughed up at him as he approached. "Look at you! How did a maiden like me choose a fish-smelling man like you?"

  "You chose me, eh? Is that what you think?"

  He picked her up and swung her round. The fishermen cheered.

  "Soon, lad, soon," an oldster cracked.

  Midsummer was the most auspicious time for a joining, and tomorrow was the solstice. Plans and preparations for this day had been in motion since Mara blessed the approved couples at the spring equinox.

  The island's principal bard, Angelus, who held one of the most important positions on the island, was coming to officiate; without him, their memories were lost, and without their memories, their ancestors were lost. The villagers were determined to celebrate his attendance to the best of their abilities.

  Of course, they had their own bard, but he and Mara were getting on in years, and Angelus held the position of Bard to the island's Holy Ones, presiding at every ceremony at the great Circle of Stones. His coming to conduct the annual joining of their young men and women bestowed a significant distinction on their settlement.

  "Neudon smiled on me." Vanse pointed to the two-dozen fish piled in the bottom of the boat. "The others caught almost as many."

  She had chosen well. Her man wasn't just strong and charming and kind—he was an excellent provider. "Your mother will be pleased."

  "She's not the only one."

  "You have the most beautiful green eyes. Have I told you that before?" He laughed again, pulling her close, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

  She looked at the sun, still high in the sky. Tomorrow night, the first night of their joined lives, the father and mother of the world would come together in the sky to bless them.

  "Soon," she leaned against his chest, breathing in the salty tang of the sea on his warm skin, and heard the rapid beat of his heart.

  A shout and the cry, "The Bard! The Bard is here!" echoed through the settlement.

  "Bring them quick," she leaned away from him. "I have to go."

  The young woman stood on her toes and kissed the young man on the lips, ignoring the fishermen's jeers and lewd jokes; such jesting was compulsory before a joining.

  A few minutes later, she arrived out of breath at the marking stone. The large, weathered granite rock signified entrance to the village; it was where the people assembled to welcome guests, or, on the rare occasion of an expulsion, bar an offender’s return.

  Usk, their wizened Holy One, stood waiting with Makar, their bard, on his right, ready to greet their honored guest. Behind them stood the families of those being joined, who were always given prominent positions. The rest of the people stood a little distance behind them.

  She nodded at her father, and slipping into Mara’s position on the left of their Holy One, bowed her head in respect. The Sagart would take over once she returned, but it was a serious offense for the settlement's wise woman, or her representative, to be absent.

  One of the younger lads, acting as a lookout, flew toward them with the Bard striding along behind him. This man had only ever been seen at a distance during ceremonies when all the island people came together. As he approached, the murmurings died out and they stared in awe. Vanse was the tallest among them, but this bard stood a head taller. The sun struck fire colored glints from his thick, red-gold hair as he walked toward them. His eyes, a bright, mesmerizing blue, scanned the welcoming villagers, halting for an instant as they rested on the young Sagart in the front line.

  That night on the beach, the women surpassed themselves honoring the Bard at the prenuptial festivities: oat and barley cakes flavored with herbs, fresh roasted fish, and crowberries washed down with smooth mead. The grins of satisfaction and twinkling eyes said everyone's belly was full.

  Only the shouting out of jokes was less bawdy than customary, as even the rowdiest of men appeared inhibited by the weighty presence of the visiting dignitary. After everyone had finished eating, licking the last delicious juices off their fingers, the men built up the fire to a jolly blaze, and they waited to hear their guest.

  Their own bard had deferred to the guest's higher status, so they listened enthralled as the striking red-haired bard enchanted them with the singing of songs, interspersed with tale after tale of the Gods and ancient heroes. Tomorrow night, the main celebration would take place, but tonight's festivities had gone well.

  As the young Sagart lay in her sleeping place, next to her sister, keyed up with nervous excitement, she gazed at Kerra, fast asleep with her arms and legs akimbo. Her father and mother's bed lay on one side of the hearth, hers and Kerra's on the other. After their joining, the young couple would live together in their new dwelling place; Vanse had worked hard and it was ready and waiting for them.

  Her mother spoke softly across the darkness. "The great Bard favors you."

  She remembered feeling oddly uncomfortable at the heavy feel of his hand on her head when he blessed her. He'd rested it there far too long, but who was she to question her elders?

  "His glance turned often on you."

  Yes, she'd been aware of a certain intent toward her, but her thoughts were too full of her beloved to give it much consideration. "Vanse did not approve. He said nothing when we spoke, but I could tell."

  "Oh, men will get their nets in a knot at any opportunity. He knows you are marrying him and not the Bard."

  She and her love had stolen many sweet kisses, tasting the honeyed mead on each other's lips when they said good night. She smiled. "Dream well, mother."

  The young woman tried, but sleep had fled. Even the rhythmic breathing of her family, usually soothing, had no effect. Her imaginings were filled with the morrow. She slipped out of bed and crept over to the Goddess's altar, bowing before the small round stone female figure.

  "Bless me, Mother Goddess," she murmured. Sometimes she'd stayed awake praying while her family slept, and experienced the glow of the Goddess's presence—warm, comforting, strong. Twice, the Goddess had blessed her with visions, but tonight the Goddess did not favor her. Turning to the cold hearth fire, she offered up the ritual words of gratitude for the gifts fire granted and returned to her bed.

  An urgent banging on the door jerked her out of sleep.

  "Wake up! Wake up!"

  The young woman, her mind still fuddled in sleep, stumbled toward the door. Her father and mother woke. She heard the prayer whispered in the dark. Goddess protect us.

  Vanse's father stood outside, h
is eyes dark holes, his face white with shock. His chest heaved with emotion, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he struggled to speak. “Come." He strode off, leaving the young Sagart and her family to follow.

  "This doesn't bode well. You must be strong, daughter, for whatever is coming," her mother whispered as they hurried after the disappearing figure.

  Premonitory shivers sent goosebumps up and down her body as they approached the beach and heard the shrill keening of the women rending the air. People scuttled past, murmuring in low voices and casting fearful glances in her direction. She caught up with Vanse's father, grabbing his arm. "What is it?" she demanded. "Tell me."

  "My son…" His voice cracked and tears rolled down his face.

  She froze, and for a minute couldn't breathe. Her mother's warm arms encircled her, pulling her close. "What happened? Where is Vanse?"

  Nothing moved, and time suspended, in that long moment waiting for his answer. Mara's warning echoed in the dark cavern of her mind. You will see many tragedies in your life, but the people will look to you for guidance. The young Sagart stood ramrod straight, unflinching, listening to her mother's soft prayer. Mother protect us, Mother save us. Tragedy was part of life, she knew, but this morning everything ought to have been filled with joy.

  "Vanse is dead."

  "How can he be dead?" Kerra's petulant voice burst out from behind them. "He was alive at yesterday’s feasting."

  They followed the grieving father, pressing close to each other. She tried to breathe, slow and calm, as before a ritual, but her breathing came in small gasps. She wanted to run as fast as her legs could take her, to get the beach and see with her own eyes. This couldn't be true. Vanse was her other half. He completed her. They were supposed to journey through this life, and the next, together. Today was their joining. It wasn't possible. This must be some terrible mistake. Whoever they'd found—it wasn't her beloved. She shivered as the icy wind of chaos blew across her spirit.

  As they passed the last of the dwellings, the pregnant Moon Goddess sat low in the west. This was the season of long days and the Sun God waited in his appointed position opposite her. Today, they blessed the world by their presence in the sky together. Waves lapped the shore, the tiny slapping sounds smacked gently onto the sand, followed by the familiar sucking retreat in the cool of the early morning breeze.