A Conspiracy of Ravens: A Raven Saga Book 1

by Crymsyn R. Hart

  "I'll leave you alone with him,” Caleb whispered.

  She looked up at Caleb and smiled. He was a good leader. She could see that. “Thank you."

  He closed the door leaving her with Tremain. “What am I going to do with you? Why do you make me feel this way? Was my power waking up all because I'm supposed to help you find Maili? Was it because of her? Or you?"

  She stared at him and the longer she did, the more the box around her heart unfurled like a rose. The Warrior hovered on the edge of death when he was supposed to be immortal, making her see how much she wanted to save him. She had tried to save her grandmother but didn't have the power then. When her parents had died, she had been unable to do anything about it. Now her birthright had kicked in, and she had power at her fingertips. How could she use it to help him? With Caleb, her power had ignited from the touch of his own.

  She took up the dry cloth next to the pillow and dabbed at his forward. He moaned something that sounded like a name, but she couldn't make it out. Linnea's fingers longed to twine in his hair and trace the outlines of his muscles. She was not into muscled guys, but looking at Tremain, he was perfectly proportioned to her. Not too much definition and yet just enough. When he stirred, she saw he had a marking on his left shoulder. She wanted to taste all of him and tease him until he begged her name like a prayer to free him from his torture. Her deep center was already moist thinking about him as the lust and heat rose from the depths of her soul, inflaming her body. It touched her cheeks and spread farther down into the center of her palms where the heat flared at the energy points.

  "Heal him, Lin."

  Linnea heard the whisper next to her ear. The voice had been her grandmother's. She looked around. There was no one in the room with her. The witch shook her head. I must be hearing things. She smelled the lemon candies her grandmother used to suck on. There was no one there.

  "You know I'm here. Heal him."

  This time she knew her grandmother was with her. It must have been her the other night when she thought she heard her say goodnight and just last night when she asked her for help with the light. Tears came to her eyes. She felt a light press on her shoulder like the ones her grandmother would give her to let her know she was there with her. How was she supposed to heal Tremain? She didn't know how to use her power.

  "How, Grammie? I don't want to hurt him. I—God, I don't know how I feel about him and I hardly know him."

  There was a chuckle in the background. "That answer will come to you when you need it to. For now, let your heart guide you."

  "Thanks,” Linnea whispered.

  However, she didn't get an answer. She looked at Tremain again. He shivered against the white sheets. His whole body was tense as he clenched the cloth.

  "No. No! Beatrice, no!” Tremain yelled out.

  Her attention was pulled back to the Warrior on the bed. Who was Beatrice?

  "Damn you! I didn't kill her. No! Please don't!” Tremain shot up and knocked Linnea off the bed. She landed on her butt and looked up at him, but he didn't see her because he fell back down falling unconscious again.

  "God, what happened to you?” Tremain had fallen more on his side, and she saw the mark on his shoulder. At first, she thought it was a tattoo, but as she eased over to the bed, she saw it was a brand. It was three inches across in a perfect circle. Inside the circle were three ravens each touching tail to beak and their feet gripping each other. Tentatively, she reached out and touched the flesh. It had been healed for a long time, but the details were as intricate as any kind of metalwork or tattoo she had seen. Caleb had called them Raven Warriors. She assumed it was because of the brand, but she also recognized it from the Book of Shadows her grandmother's friend Henrietta, one of the Old Cronies, kept. It was the Triple Ravens, the sign of the goddess Morrigain, the dark goddess of the Celtics, a war goddess. She didn't know what it all meant. Some things were starting to make more sense, but there were still a lot of unanswered questions. One day she would have all the answers, like who Tremain was moaning about. She got up and dusted herself off. As she did, she stared at his prone form and saw his aura suddenly in her mind like she had seen it on the subway with the other passengers. However, his was barely there. The hand of death was on him. Her energy flared to life again, and she knew she could help him.

  Without thinking, she placed her right hand on his forehead and the other over his heart. As soon as she did, she felt cold and hot. Whatever the poison had done to him, it was still in his system. He was dying.

  How can you heal an immortal being when your magick is new? You wing it. She closed her eyes. It was almost as if she could see the dark lines of the remaining poison inside her mind.

  Goddess, help me. Morrigain, if he is your Warrior, then you must feel his suffering. Help me to heal him. I can't lose him. Please!

  Linnea was amazed at the amount of emotion she felt for Tremain when he was virtually a stranger to her. Yet she seemed to have known him for centuries, like he was her other half. After a moment, she felt a bone-chilling energy fill her from above wash over her as if the moon had put her in the center spotlight. It filled the top of her head and tumbled along her vertebra, making her drown in the frigid power she thought it would freeze her to the core. Her breath escaped her lips in a white vapor. Finally, she stopped fighting against the cold and let it completely possess her. Once that happened, it broke through her hands and into the ailing man beneath her fingertips.

  She saw the cold immediately smother the fiery fingers of the poison and muzzle its squelching bites. Tremain convulsed as it touched every part of him. His back arched a foot off the bed, but she rode the tide with him, feeling the echo of the fire receding in his veins like a cooling river. It made her breath quicken as the power gripped her like a fierce orgasm and she had to clench her thighs together as it was so intoxicating she wanted more of it. With the power rushing through her, she had stepped aside from herself even though she was healing Tremain. She was on autopilot as she witnessed the miracle of his rebirth. The cold power took her down a dark road she had not expected. In the distance was a form. Her body continued its mission, and she walked toward the form clad in black.

  At first, she thought it was the Angel of Death come to take her in exchange for Tremain since she was tampering with magick and domains she did not understand, but as she neared, she saw that it was really Tremain or his spirit. She was not sure which. It was him coming back to himself and that thought made her heart fly on the dark wings of a raven until he got to her in the corridor of their joined minds. He stood and stared at her. Linnea saw his confusion, felt it as if it were her own since they were linked.

  He thought he was dead. He had seen the Dark Goddess, knelt before her feet begging forgiveness for his sins, and for her to take pity on him and not send his soul into some black abyss. She had recognized he had been cursed without cause, but he still had to atone for his sins.

  "Who are you?” he finally asked. “Are you a demon come back to drag me to the curse I am bound to?” His tone was cold, but she felt for him.

  She shook her head. “No, Tremain. I'm not a demon. But it's not your time to join the Goddess. You know that."

  "Then what do you want with me?” he snarled. “Do you expect me to go back to the feathered prison I was trapped in just so I can do the bidding of Her Highness the rest of my endless days? And you. I recognize you now. You're that pet human of Maili's. The witch I had to save from Betha's assassins. What are you doing here? Casting a spell on me so I will stay in this limbo? Are you the one blocking me from death?"

  His words stung. Pet human? She would have to work on that later when she talked to Maili. She was not going to let him get to her. He was still hurting more mentally than physically. Linnea had seen some of his past and saw why he was so pissed at the world. That he thought he was stuck in a form and unable to be human was horrible. She still did not know truly what he was, but she wanted to find out. Linnea took a step forward and place
d a hand on his cheek.

  "I'm not your enemy, Tremain. The poison was still in your body even though Jet thought he had gotten it all. I'm helping you, but I'm not sure really what I'm doing. I'm supposed to bring you back. Will you come with me? I don't want to leave you here in this cold place. At least back in your body so you won't be alone. No one deserves to be alone."

  He stared at her. “I've always been alone. No matter what. We are always alone. It's the one thing I have learned in this hell of an eternity."

  Chapter Twelve

  Tremain stared at the woman in front of him. He had hoped he would never see her again after he succumbed to the poison in her circle. She had dredged up old memories. He was ready go to Morrigain and give his soul up so it may fly free of the feathered prison he had been bound in for so many centuries. The Goddess had told him it was not his time to be free of his obligations. He still had work to do and life to live. He begged her, pleaded. Even though she was kind to him and her words were gentle, her decision was final. She gave him a loving touch and told him it was not his time to rejoin the ones he had lost. He was still bound to her and had to fulfill his obligations. It did not mean his soul was free, and for all he knew, he could wake up and find his soul was in hell and his body was dead. What hell was worse than being away from the ones he loved for so long? Anger coursed through him at it normally did. He had held onto that anger. The rage had turned his heart to ice until he pushed aside his emotions and fancied himself devoid of any feeling whatsoever. The poison was meant to torture and rape his soul just as it was a means to kill him. It made him relive his past and that was something he did every night in feathers or human form. He always went to sleep with the image of Beatrice, his beloved wife, floating face down in the water and the wails of her mother to the goddess ringing in his ears. In his dreams, they were echoes. Once he had fallen unconscious, he was transported back to the fateful day and the ghosts of the past came alive once more.

  His His Druid brothers kept him cloistered in their forest compound and bade him to meditate on his actions and ask forgiveness from the gods for his indiscretion. He dared not try and sneak out in the first few weeks that he was being watched. Now as he greeted the sun, it was his only chance. Besides, he had heard Beatrice would be leaving the encampment soon, off to be with her other husband. Rage burned in him as he thought of his wife with another man. He was not angry with her because he knew she did not want to leave him.

  Today was his best chance at trying to see her as he had a sympathetic brother who had told him Beatrice liked to walk on the edge of the lake in the early mornings hoping to run into him or some other Druid so she could get a message to him. She had only been able to pass on a message to him once, and that was the date she was leaving and that she loved him. Every morning that he had been meditating he was really praying to the gods to make it possible for them to be together and run away. He had a feeling there was other joyous news. He had been having dreams of them together in the near future with a child. The thought of that warmed his heart and filled it with enough joy. He held onto that idea and wondered if Beatrice knew she was pregnant. Tremain had been gifted with visions as a child, and they had come true. It was one of the reasons he had been placed in Druid training so young. What would the regular folks do if they knew the gods were speaking through the dreams of a child? His teacher at the time had explained to him it would frighten his friends to know he was the eyes of the gods. Tremain had learned to use his gift for the good of the Druids and the world around him. There were times he loved his teachings and being one with nature, but most of the time, he chafed under the yoke of such rigid restrictions. What did they expect? He was a child and a man growing up without any real family, except when they permitted his mother to visit him. Even then he was not to touch and talk to her because of his training purging his mind and body of any toxins so it would be a pure vessel for the working of the gods. He was a highly prized oracle and had learned to bring on the visions when he was in trance and not just in dreams. He studied the meanings of the trees and what the wind said as it lazily worked through the branches, read the other signs of nature as they moved overhead. His dream about seeing him and Beatrice with a child was not an idea his mind had created. It just had to be real.

  Dawn was minutes from breaking over the horizon. Birds chirped in the low branches of trees and frogs croaked in the tall reeds along the lake. A flock of white cranes had settled there for the night and were now only beginning to stir from their slumber and search for fish with their long pointed beaks. Pussywillows waved their fuzzy heads in the light breeze as the aroma of apples lingered on the wind. Water bugs skated on the still water as he walked round the outskirts of the lake, the main thing separating the Druid and the Priestesses encampment. They all used the forest on the other side of the lake as it was not owned by anyone. Who could own the wild? The dew from the grass clung to his robe as he walked barefoot, drenching his feet. He had always liked to feel the hard-packed earth layered with rocks, pebbles, and matted grass. It made him feel more connected. His heart was light, and he saw nothing more than the pale yellow coming over the horizon and the emerald of the leaves as they absorbed the early morning sunlight.

  As he got closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of his beloved wife, the serenity of the dawn was broken by what he saw floating in the water. His heart dropped. Tremain's dream died in his soul as he let out a wail. There in the middle of the lake was Beatrice, floating facedown. Her white gown, the one she had worn on their wedding night, spread out around her like a bell. Her hair streamed down her back and was a veil. Without thinking, he shed his robe and dived into the cold water to retrieve his wife. He swam as fast as he could until his arms ached. Each stroke separated the water as he tried to get to her in case there was any hope. Finally, he closed his arms around her form.

  He turned her over and saw the serene expression on her face. On her pinky finger was the ring he had given her as a token of his love. Lifting her hand to his lips, Tremain kissed her cold flesh and found tears were streaming down his own face. He hugged her to him again and let the tears flow as free as the rain. He could not hold the maelstrom of emotions charging over him like a herd of frenzied deer. The thunder of their hooves was the thunder of his soul cracking and being stomped on by the herd. The chill of the water was cut off from his flesh as all he saw was the woman in his arms. He laid his free hand over her stomach to see if his dreams had been true. For a quick instance, he felt the spark of life which had drowned along with its mother.

  "Why, my beloved? Why would you leave me? Please, Beatrice, come back to me. Goddess Morrigain, ruler over death, let her slip the veil and return. Please. She is my life."

  Tremain knew it was useless, but he begged the Goddess anyway. How was it fair that the gods had brought them together and then they were ripping them apart? Everything he had ever believed in shattered. Why should he put his stock in beings who didn't answer him anything? He was through with the Goddess. Dark hatred rose from the depths of his soul and he swore he would turn his back on everything he had learned. No longer would he go to the bale fires, and his visions were a thing of a past.

  "There he is!"

  His head shot up. He stared toward the priestess camp and saw the High Priestess coming along with the village elders and Genève's mother. A cold shiver of fear went through him. He began to move toward the shore with the lifeless body of his wife huddled against him. He stared at Genève. Tremain was not going to relinquish her to the priestess. She was his to bury, his to send off to the next world. Gently, he laid Beatrice down at her mother's feet, arranged her peacefully, and then stood slowly, feeling all the emotion drain from his heart. The warmth of the sun prickled his back as it began to bring feeling back to his flesh from the cold water.

  "You killed her!” the mother screamed.

  "How can you say that? You know I loved her,” Tremain whispered. Someone had sent for the other Druids. Now they stood behind
him as the priestess stood before him and some of the elders of the village as well. They handed him his robe. He slipped it on his wet form even though he barely felt the warmth of it as his heart was already shut off.

  "Liar!” she yelled. “He went against our Sacred Laws. He flaunted his love for her right in front our noses and used his wiles to seduce her. He killed my baby!"

  Tremain stared at Genève, not believing what he was hearing. His hands were trembling as the feeling returned to his limbs from the cold water. He had not realized how cold he really was. It seemed every part of his exposed flesh was frozen. Yet, he would not back down from the accusations she spewed at him.

  "Please, let's not do this now. We need to bury her so her soul will move beyond. Please, for her sake and the child."

  The former High Priestess was dumbfounded. “Child?"

  He nodded as he stared in her eyes. She bent down, traced the line of her daughter's cheek, and laid her hand on her stomach as he had, feeling the tiny dead spark which was inside Beatrice's womb. After a moment, she looked up and her features were painted with hatred. “You killed her! No earthly punishment will be good enough for him. Let the gods witness my plea.” She turned to the priestess and elder Druids. “I seek my right of vengeance upon my daughter's soul! I damn him to eternal skies."

  "Genève, before you utter your curse, think on what you do and what you know. Tremain would never hurt Beatrice. He loved her. It was wrong of him to go against our laws, yes, but do not be hasty.” The elder Druid turned to the young priestess who had told the others. She stood before them all with her head held high. “Tell me, child. Are you sure of what you saw? Did Tremain, a brother druid, push Beatrice, his claimed betrothed's, head under the water until there was no more life in her?"