Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture

by Ruth A. Casie

  “Not until we have more information about the significance of your staff and the Orkney stone. We’re missing something. I can feel it. Orkney is Bran’s seat of power. We have no idea what to expect there. Even after all these centuries there may be danger. He threatened your life before you married Arik. We have no idea what he’ll do now that you two are married.” He was stalling. Perhaps it was a reaction to his vocation. Attorneys always wanted to have all the information before they acted. She, on the other hand, was content with the information they had. Her and Arik’s sigil lit up when the staff was passed over the Orkney stones.

  She took her staff and ran her hand over the familiar carved runes. “George, I’m going to Orkney. You can come with me or stay here but I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  George waited without saying a word, challenging her to go through with it. She supposed the scowl he gave her was his best intimidating attorney stare. It didn’t faze her.

  “I’ll have Trudy make reservations on tomorrow’s flight. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  She hoped she did, too.

  “All set?” George asked Rebeka. She read a text message as they settled in the rental car at the Kirkwall Airport in Orkney. They had no baggage for the short day trip.

  “Cora sent us a message from the Skara Brae archivist. She found some papers we may be interested in seeing. She has them at the information center for us.” Rebeka clicked off her phone and stowed it in her pouch.

  “As an attorney I’ve been schooled never to walk into a situation without knowing my opponent and with certainty not when I’m unprepared.” His hand hit the steering wheel. “I have no idea what to expect when we arrive.” His gaze slid from the windscreen to her face. He took a breath. “I don’t know Bran’s capabilities, especially with Dark Magick. Nor do I have any idea how to protect you.”

  She was tired of his challenging stare. She much preferred to distract herself by admiring the wildflowers that carpeted the meadow. “You don’t have to. I’m capable of protecting myself.” She didn’t have to worry about protecting herself. All she had to concern herself with was traveling through the portal. It was uncomfortable but that didn’t matter. She’d be with Arik soon.

  He didn’t say anything. She knew George well enough to know he wasn’t easy to scare. If he was concerned, she should be terrified. But she wasn’t.

  “You think we’ll find a portal at Skara Brae.” She didn’t want anything negative. She wanted him to be positive. Intent, focus and determination—that’s what magick needed. She straightened in her seat and put on a poker face that would have made Arik proud. Confidence began with two things: knowing your abilities and a bit of attitude. Right now she was heavy on the attitude and light on the rest. She hoped that would be enough to see her through.

  Stay calm, she told herself. Keep focused.

  “We shouldn’t be here. This is a place of Dark Magick.” His vehemence caught her off guard until she understood his anxiety had increased as they got closer to Skara Brae. The world is a duality. Everything has two sides. It was the first magick lesson Arik had taught her. So it is with magick, good and dark.

  The air crackled with energy. The gentle breeze of good magick that gave you a rush of energy—the feeling of being one with nature—along with the blustery gusts of Dark Magick with its swirling anger, anxiety and feelings of helplessness, it was all around them. Her instinct to come here was right. This was where the magick gathered. This was where she had to be.

  “You think Arik called you here.” She disregarded the sarcastic ring in his voice and swallowed hard, trying to keep her anger to herself. Couldn’t he feel the energy?

  “The glowing runes on my staff were an interesting invitation. It would be foolish to ignore it. If I can get back and stop this feud, if things can get back to normal, it will all be worth it.” His pursed lips indicated he wasn’t convinced.

  “We’ll do nothing until we understand the state of affairs.” George’s expression was determined and set. He left no room for negotiation. She turned away and stifled a small snort. She would decide for herself what she needed to do.

  George glanced at the dashboard clock. “We’ll get to the estate a bit ahead of schedule.”

  They drove a few more minutes before he pulled off the road into a car park. They got out of the car and were pelted with a strong, salty wind. As far as the eye could see there were no trees. In its starkness the barren and desolate landscape had a unique beauty, but only in small doses. Nothing had changed in four hundred years. Even with her family around her this place had been difficult.

  She started toward the estate house, carrying her staff.

  “Don’t you want to get the papers from the archivist? You told me we’re to meet her at the information center,” George called after her.

  “Would you mind getting them? I want to get familiar with the surroundings.” She didn’t wait for him to answer or to interfere. She continued toward Bran’s house. The brisk wind muffled the rhythmic tap of her walking staff on the long flagstone path. Leaning into the wind, she moved on with determination. The tall cotton grass on either side of the walkway swayed with the breeze. Its mop cotton-like flowers dotted the landscape as if a truckload of cotton balls had been scattered across the area. A small crack in her determination surfaced and her step faltered. She had to be right. Her anxiety in check, a soft, rhythmic vibration from her staff encouraged her to keep going. She was almost there.

  She had a clear view of the house now. It was made of fine Orkney red sandstone blocks. From afar the stones had a rosy glow in the fall sun. For her the building had a sad beauty that started at the front door. She hurried forward. But the closer she got to the structure the more she noted its worn, tired appearance. Its warmth had been deceptive. By the time she got to the front gate a sense of dread filled the air. She flicked her hand in the air in defiance, as if she could banish the mood. The staff’s slight vibration had grown steadier and with it her eagerness to find the portal.

  When she arrived at the doorway she glanced back in time to see George enter the information center. Good. He wouldn’t interfere. Straightening her shoulders, she let herself in and closed the door behind her. The damp, musty air tickled her nose but she ignored it. Instead she focused on her staff’s delicate throbbing and the knowledge that this was the way back to Arik. She would be with him soon. All she had to do was be quick and find the portal before anybody stopped her. She couldn’t let that happen.

  Her staff in front of her, she moved it like a probe on a Geiger counter and followed the clicks. The gathering speed of the clicks led her up the stairs and down a dark musty hall to a door in the older section of the house. She hesitated, her heart pounding in her ears. Arik. Her hand was poised above the doorknob. “This is ridiculous. Open the door,” she muttered.

  The doorknob turned by itself and began to open. She pulled her hand away. Had she pushed it? Uncertain, she remained where she was. “Rebeka, do come in.” The door opened wide. In front of her a man stood near a wingback chair by the fireplace. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  She remained at the doorway peering through an iridescent haze. Tilting her head she tried to focus on the man. An acute sense of loss washed over her. It wasn’t Arik. She glanced around the room but it was empty. “Who are you?”

  He clamped his hand over his heart. “I’m offended. Surely you remember me, dear sister. Come, come. Don’t just stand there. Join us and make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to a chair near him.

  Bran.

  Her staff heated. Where was Arik? She crossed the threshold not remembering how she got there. The haze thinned as she came deeper into the room. The door slammed shut behind her. She stopped. Her staff went cold. She drew it close to her chest. There would be no going back now.

  A breeze, not stronger than a breath, ran across the room and cleared the haze, giving her a clear view of everything around her. The room was dark with heavy curtains that
kept out the sunlight. Large pieces of furniture cluttered the space.

  They were not alone. Someone was in the large wingback chair. She turned to Bran. Behind his unkempt appearance, frowning face and threatening presence she sensed a desperate man in deep pain. Why had he brought her here? She focused on the chair in front him.

  “Caylyn has been a bit under the weather. I’m sorry my wife is unable to greet you properly.” His protective arm rested around the top of the chair. Caylyn was dead. She remembered Arik and Ellyn rushing to Orkney to tend to her. But they had arrived too late to help her.

  Her eyes were drawn to the woman seated there. She had an ethereal quality about her. But the woman didn’t move or say a word. Could it be Caylyn? What had Bran done?

  A muffled noise behind her pulled her attention. Bran’s handsome features morphed into a sneer as his eyes shifted toward the door.

  He brought his attention back to her and beckoned with his finger. Her arm holding her staff extended. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she fought for control.

  His lips moved but he made no sound as he continued to stare at her staff. Pinned in place like an insect to a board, she was helpless. Her hand trembled but she was determined to stop him. She fought on and, with great difficulty, was able to keep her staff from him.

  A smirk lit his face. “I only want to borrow it—for Caylyn. You see, she’s not been well. Would you rather help her yourself? Come here.” He stepped toward her, grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the chair.

  The sound of pounding broke through the haze that clouded her mind. She hesitated and turned toward the door. Yes, that was where the noise was coming from. He pulled her hard and brought her face close to his, so close she saw the dark specks in his amber eyes. So close she saw the haunted, desperate look in his face. So close she knew he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Then he touched her mind.

  “Heal Caylyn. You’re Arik’s great sorceress. Heal my wife.” Focusing hard, she used all her strength to push him out of her head. She leaned on her staff. Light-headed, she concentrated harder and fought him for control of her mind. But little by little he claimed it.

  “Rebeka.” Someone screamed from the other side of the door as the pounding turned to the sound of splintering wood.

  She glanced back at the chair. The glimmer that had surrounded the woman faded. The woman, her withered hands grasping a faded handkerchief, drew a deep breath from Rebeka. She recognized the dead body of Bran’s wife. The handkerchief was her gift to Cay the day she married Bran.

  “Rebeka, I’m almost through,” George called as the door splintered.

  “Is this why you called me here? For Caylyn?” She stared at the woman and wrinkled her brow. She turned to Bran and searched for any semblance of the boy she remembered but she couldn’t reconcile his features. Something—the Dark Magick, she imagined—had erased all remnants of that boy. That’s when she understood what he had done. He’d sacrificed everything to bring Caylyn back.

  “I can’t do anything for her.” Her voice was a whisper and his face was awash with tears. “No one can.”

  “You were my last hope.” For a moment his features changed and he was Bran. “I tried everything. There is no other place for me to turn.” He slid to the floor and put his head on Cay’s lap. His eyes, with a pained expression, searched her face.

  She stood next to him. She knew the grief of losing someone you loved. There was nothing she could do.

  His body quivered and he bolted up. With his hands fisted at his sides and determination marked on his face, his features appeared to stretch and change.

  “Fight it, Bran. Don’t let it take hold,” she encouraged him. “Let me help you.”

  “No,” he screamed at her. “Don’t mind-touch. I don’t want to hurt you, Rebeka.”

  “Don’t lock me out.” She concentrated and touched his mind at the edges. There wasn’t any resistance.

  “No. Stop. It’s a trap. Don’t make me do this. I. Can’t. Stop. It.” Bran struggled to keep control. “Go, now. Tell Arik I…” Bran closed his eyes. She thought she saw tears. “It wasn’t his fault. Leave now,” he demanded.

  But she hesitated. One more attempt. She was transfixed as his face changed into a maniacal sneer. He grabbed her hair. “I don’t need your sympathy. I need my wife.” He shoved her away and sent her to the floor, her staff clattering across the room.

  In her compassion, her defenses were down. Bran hovered over her like a dark hawk. She tried to retreat, scuttling backward on all fours like a giant crab. She groped for her staff but it was beyond her reach. The sound of her heartbeat was dimmed by something else. Bran. He was invading her mind. She couldn’t get him out of her head but she could contain the damage.

  Splinters from the smashed door flew past her. She hoped the flying debris would distract Bran long enough for her to get a stronger hold of her mind and push him further out of her head.

  “Hold on, Rebeka.” She sensed George’s touch in her mind before he entered the room. Together, with their minds, they beat back Bran’s attack.

  Bran winced with her effort and gaped at her. He dropped to his knees, bent over her and let out a sigh. “You fight hard, I will say that. As dogged as Arik. But you’ll lose in the end.” A moment of doubt flashed across Bran’s face. She imagined Bran, the one she knew had returned. Encouraged, she pushed harder. She was gaining ground.

  “I dare say you surprised Arik when you used the Dark Magick, but that doesn’t matter now.” He took a deep breath. “But I’ll be kind to you. I’ll take away your memories.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, don’t be concerned. I’ll take away the memories of him, none of the others. You won’t even miss him. He could pass right by you and you wouldn’t recognize him. But Arik will suffer. If he ever finds you he’ll watch you and know you remember nothing.” He glanced at the door, an uneasy look on his face. “Sorry, I haven’t got time to be gentle.”

  Her hands flew to either side of her head. Her scream started in the depths of her soul.

  “Little by little you’ll lose your memories. You’ll try to hold on to them but you won’t be able to. Then one morning you’ll wake and they’ll be gone.” He pulled her to her feet.

  The scream raced through her, building, gathering energy. She took no note of it being Dark Magick. Her sole plan was to stop him from taking her memories, taking Arik from her.

  “I’ve been kind to you, Rebeka. You won’t remember.” He glimpsed at the chair. “I won’t ever forget.”

  She opened her mouth and let out the silent scream.

  “Bran,” was the whisper that rustled in the room. “Bran.” The word got louder.

  Bran snapped around and glanced at the chair. “Cay?” He let go of Rebeka, as if holding her had scorched his hand. Standing stoic and still, she watched the confusion touched with fear play across his face. Now was the time to move, while he was distracted. She pushed Bran from her head as George rushed through the shattered door.

  “Cay?” Bran ran to his wife, ignoring George.

  Rebeka gasped in relief as Bran pulled his mind from hers. Weakened from fighting him off, she stood on unsteady legs and sagged against George. While her eyes were locked on Bran he reached out to his wife with a tender touch. She knew he searched for any sign of life. His love for Cay was so evident that all she saw was a dear friend grieving and for a moment she grieved with him.

  George squeezed her shoulder and shook her. “We’ve got to get out before he comes after us.” They made their way to the door.

  “Stay here. Don’t move.” George propped her against the doorjamb and in desperation searched the floor.

  Rebeka looked back at Bran trying to revive his wife. She pitied him but only until she remembered how much havoc and disaster he had caused them.

  She grabbed her head. Hundreds of whispers wracked her mind. Was it starting? Was she losing her memories of Arik? Blinded by her tears, she choked at the idea. George was once again
at her side carrying her staff. He pulled her from the room. As soon as they got over the threshold the whispers stopped and she collapsed on the floor.

  When she woke she was lying in the hallway. George was patting her hand. Arik. She said his name over and over in her mind, imprinting it there so she would never forget it.

  “Rebeka.” She opened her eyes and noted a slow smile spread across George’s face.

  “Where?” She tried to rise. George pushed her back with a gentle hand. She was lucky George hadn’t left her there after what she had done.

  “We’re in the estate house, outside the old master suite. How do you feel?” He had covered her with his coat.

  “My head hurts. I need to sit up.” In a rush, she remembered what had happened. George helped her sit with her back against the wall and gave her a bottle of water.

  “Here, drink this.”

  “Thanks.” Confused, she stared at the door in front of her that stood ajar. It was all in one piece. She peered into the room. Sunlight poured through the large, curtainless windows. The room was empty.

  “George, the room was filled with old furniture. The door…” She grabbed George’s sleeve. “It was Bran,” she whispered.

  George put his hand on top of hers. “Yes, it was. You’re safe now.”

  She studied his face. “It wasn’t a portal?” She’d been foolish to believe… “There are two of them.” She stared off into the distance.

  His face was in front of hers. “What do you mean two of them?”

  “I saw him.” She kept her eyes on the floor. She couldn’t look into George’s eyes. “The old Bran. The one we all loved. He told me to get out but I stayed. I couldn’t leave without trying to help him.” He raised her face to his. “I watched as he tried to fight off the Dark Magick. It changed his face. He fought but it took over.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “That was who attacked me. I couldn’t keep him from touching my mind.” She stood on shaky legs with George’s help. “It’s Caylyn. He asked me to help her but I couldn’t.” She stumbled trying to make her legs move.