She wished she could bring Francine and the babe here.
“You are a practical person. That is good. Not everyone is, and you were not raised among us, so I feared otherwise.”
Mariel wasn’t quite accustomed to the leaps in topic that came so easily to the Oracle and her children. “Thinking of house foundations is practical?” she asked warily, trying to follow the path of her logic.
“Yes. Others see the stones and have fanciful notions of faeries and witches and giants. You think of houses. And of your sister. She cannot come here, but I’m sure you realize that.”
In some manner, Mariel understood why Francine would be forbidden these pleasant shores. That did not mean she’d accepted it. The finality in the Oracle’s comment forced her to admit that Francine would never see this land—especially since the woman guarding it seemed to have the power to read minds.
“The legends of the Ancient Ones have been garbled over time,” Dylys said, “interpreted to suit people and society, much as has been done with your Bible. I think our legends and your holy books have much in common, as most religions do. It’s my belief that they come from the same source but have been interpreted differently as cultures grew apart.”
She waited again, giving Mariel’s thoughts time to catch up. Since realizing the Church would most likely condemn her to death should her unusual abilities be discovered, Mariel had been wary of the religion into which she’d been born. She knew there was a God, because she could not imagine the myriad creatures of land and sea and all the wonders of nature could exist without a Supreme Creator. But she questioned Father Antoine’s narrow teachings far more than she ought.
“You are saying your God is the same as mine?” Mariel asked, hoping she and Trystan had more in common than she’d believed.
“Quite possibly. I am not so arrogant as to believe we on this small island worship the only true god. At the same time, I fully believe in my God and His apostles and cannot envision the heavens populated with different gods looking over all the diverse people on this earth, or a pantheon of unruly giants as the Greeks and Romans believed. I believe there is only one God. The difference in our religions is simply in how we choose to worship Him.”
“I thought you worshipped Aelynn, the volcano?” Mariel asked tentatively, before biting into the last roll.
Dylys placed a plate of fruits on the tray. “The mountain is a symbol and has become part of our society, just as your statues of Mother Mary. It is simpler to assume one’s god lives inside a mountain when this island is all one knows. The more well-traveled of us have wider perspectives, but sometimes we use the simpler references of our childhood. And since we believe that God is everywhere, it is not unreasonable to believe He is in the mountain.”
“Trystan believes in Aelynn,” Mariel argued.
“Of course he does. He feels her force just as you do. He has seen the world and knows our people are blessed as most others are not. That does not mean he can’t understand that Aelynn is a physical representation of the same god you worship, and that our minor gods are similar to your saints.”
Mariel sighed and shook her head. “It would take a lifetime to ask all the questions necessary to understand you.”
“Precisely. All you need to know now is that you and Trystan worship the same god, just in different ways. Just as we interpret the will of God in different ways. The two of you must work out these differences between you for the sake of your children.”
“Any children I have must be raised in the Church,” Mariel protested. “To do elsewise would make them outcasts even more than I am.”
Opening the cupboard, the tall Oracle reached into the hidden depths of the highest shelf and brought down a vial. She assembled an assortment of jars and tins on the table. “I have not learned of any other amacara living off the island in recent times. The ones earlier have all been disastrous. You may wish to seriously reconsider your decision to return to your village.”
No judgment tinted her voice. She continued mixing her powders as if she’d merely stated a mathematical theory rather than asking Mariel to give up her life.
“I cannot,” Mariel whispered, no longer hungry for the delicious fruit bowl. “I have agreed to come here only because Trystan insisted that it was necessary. I knew it would create difficulty. If you think I should, I will leave now. I promise not to tell anyone of this place.”
She broke her heart and handed it to Dylys in saying this. She would love nothing more than to live in this ideal world making love and babies with Trystan. But she may as well say she’d like to die and go to heaven. Heaven didn’t need her. Francine did.
“Don’t be foolish, child,” Dylys scoffed. “Finish your breakfast. From what I can see, you would be swimming here or Trystan would be sailing to your world on a daily basis if we did not go through with this ceremony. The bond is forged. It needs only approval of the Ones Who Have Gone Before. After that, the two of you will have to find your own path.”
“You will not force me to stay here?” Mariel asked, still wary of imprisonment.
“No. Once your vows are made and you wear the ring of silence, you are as free as the rest of us to come and go. It would be preferable if you returned here for the birth of your children so they can be official Aelynners and granted their rings without any ceremony. But if that is not possible, then they must return before they reach puberty so they may be initiated without need of a spouse or amacara.”
Mariel sucked on a sweet orange and pondered this complication. She truly had not thought this through at all, but there had scarcely been time to discuss all the elements of courtship, much less the problems of children. “It will seem strange to my family for me to leave home to give birth, but I would like any child we might have to know his father. Trystan must teach our offspring of Aelynn and the things I never learned. Perhaps that would make our child more confident than I was growing up.”
“Excellent, and very wise. The two of you will need wisdom to reconcile your different upbringings. You would not marry a prince or a Russian without considering these things.”
Given the disparity of their homes, she may as well have been marrying Russian royalty. Mariel shivered, feeling more like a broodmare or a mistress than ever. She and Trystan truly had only one thing in common.
“Not true.” Dylys matter-of-factly threw her mixture into a steaming cauldron over the fire. “You have acknowledged in your heart that Trystan is not like other men. You converse together, and he listens, honors you by giving you choices and respecting the ones you make… And you really must learn to curb your thoughts when you visit here. They can be quite painful to those of us who are sensitive to them.”
Mariel contemplated crawling under the covers, then deliberately attempted to blank out that thought.
Dylys chuckled. “You might have difficulty thinking nothing. Your mind is much too active. For now, it will be easier if you try to remain composed. Emotions shout more loudly and are harder for us to screen out.”
“It is a little difficult to avoid hysteria under the circumstances,” Mariel said carefully, practicing serenity. “You truly believe that Trystan and I have more in common than a bed?”
The Oracle laughed, a pleasant chime that warred with her ascetic features. “Well done. You learn quickly. I only felt your rebellious desire to scream at me this time. If you were of the hysterical sort, Trystan would have drowned you before now. He is not normally a sentimental man. He lost his parents when young. His sister raised him until he was fifteen. He’s been sailing the seas since then. His pets are the main recipients of his affections.”
Rather than scream her frustration at never receiving a direct answer, Mariel sought the screened chamber pot she had used the prior night. She took advantage of the break to assimilate all the information the Oracle doled out in chunks as large as she could consume.
When she returned, the bed was gone and a tub of aromatic water stood in its place.
The older woman gestured at the bath. “We will begin with the cleansing ritual. This is usually performed by the bride’s friends, but I don’t think Trystan’s crew is appropriate, or in a state to do the honors.”
“You raise more questions than you answer,” Mariel complained, examining the enormous tub with suspicion. “Where is this place? How did you fill the tub so swiftly? Do you mean to boil me alive?”
“We are in a limestone cavern beneath the forest floor, and the hot springs provided by Aelynn are piped in to fill the bath. We could use the grotto, but I prefer to contain the full effect of my herbs in the tub. Vows of silence are not magic. They happen for reasons not easily explained. I believe you have a man of science called Mesmer who might shed light on some of the powers of the mind, although he doesn’t possess my herbs and can’t do what I do.”
Dylys gestured at the nightgown Mariel had been given the night before. “If you feel better wearing the gown into the bath, please do.”
Feeling like a fool climbing into a bath wearing linen, Mariel clung to this last measure of modesty in a place where even her thoughts were exposed. She caught her breath as she climbed the step and dipped her toe into the scalding water.
“You won’t burn, I promise.” Dylys had already crossed the room to light tapers whose incense filled the air with the fragrance Mariel remembered from her first visit.
This was really happening then. She was preparing for her wedding night. Of a sort.
Lifting the hem of her linen, she dipped her leg deeper. The water welcomed her like smooth silk. “Tell me what Trystan and I have in common,” she asked again, to keep hysteria at bay. For all she knew, Trystan’s people were cannibals.
At the Oracle’s chuckle, Mariel flushed and lowered herself into the tub. For whatever reason, the grandmotherly Dylys reminded her of her own mother. She trusted the older woman to teach her what she must know to make this joining with Trystan work.
The heat relaxed Mariel’s muscles until she felt like seaweed floating on the ocean’s edge, and the Oracle’s voice came to her from beyond the gentle lap of waves.
“You are both intelligent, independent, headstrong, and care for others above yourselves. You lead with your heart and Trystan leads with his head, but together, you possess the best traits of Guardians to pass on to your children.”
Children. Dreamily, Mariel lay back against the tub rim and let the water lap where Trystan would plant his seed. She was finding it amazingly easy not to think while snuggled in the luxury of steam and the scents of exotic flowers. Dylys set a brace of candles on a table beside the tub, and incense wafted around her, adding to her disorientation.
“I cannot help but think the gods have chosen a mermaid for a l’Enforcer’s mate for a reason. My powers fade with age and must be passed on soon to my children. There are times of trouble ahead for which I am not adequately prepared.” The Oracle’s voice twisted languorously into the smoke and steam, while Mariel floated in pleasure.
“I see your children protecting us from underwater. I see some things poorly and cannot always understand,” the Oracle continued. “Perhaps they carry the force shield beneath the sea.”
Mariel could not respond. The high-pitched, haunting quality of the Oracle’s sing-song voice held her captive with its resemblance to her mother’s. Somehow, she understood the prophet was drifting into a trance.
“But just as Lissandra does, I see your children growing up elsewhere than on the black sands of Aelynn,” Dylys continued dreamily. “They do not belong here, with us. They are like seals who warm on our shores and then swim away. You cannot take the easy road and let Trystan rule their future by keeping them here. It will be your duty to open their eyes to a wider world. As it will be your duty to guard your shores from the terrors of fire and blood to come.”
Terrors? Mariel had drifted on a cloud until an unruly wind arose with her fear. In her mindless state, she tried to grasp the mist and only wafted deeper into shadow.
The Oracle’s predictions murmured like leaves on a tree, spinning on the breeze raised by the smoke of bonfires, swirling Mariel further away.
“Your life will be a long one. Do not fear when danger lies ahead. The gods have appointed you for a purpose. Heed them, and your future will be safe. Heed them not, and you will die as selfishly as you lived.”
Mariel lost consciousness as the Oracle whispered, “Beware of Murdoch until he repents and the chalice returns….”
Twenty-eight
“The guardian succumbs,” Iason said dryly as Waylan and Kiernan lugged Trystan into the grotto.
Awakening to the clatter of sandals on rocks, Trystan grimaced in pain. He didn’t attempt to unwrap his swollen tongue from his gritty teeth for fear one or the other would fall out of his head. What in Hades had happened? He never got drunk.
“Took a dozen of us to bring him down as you requested,” Waylan said. “We thought we’d have to slam an iron skillet into his skull before he’d give in. I don’t suppose you can explain why he had to be rendered unconscious?”
“All will become clear in time,” Iason intoned. “Although alcohol is preferable to mashing his brains with a skillet.”
Trystan’s head felt as if they’d used that skillet. Or two. He never lost melees. He didn’t remember going down. But now that he was awake again, he was feeling the sharp sting of cuts and bruises, and remembered the mugs of ale with which they’d rewarded his wins. The dastards.
“I need him ready to accept Aelynn’s will, but turning his skull to mush wasn’t what I had in mind. Couldn’t you have at least had a healer look at him before you brought him here?” Iason asked, poking at a particularly agonizing slice in Trystan’s shoulder.
“If anyone so much as said a word within a hundred feet of him, he went for his sword. Lust and frustration and the strength of ten men form a lethal combination.”
Kiernan’s voice. His friends had tried to kill him.
Trystan wrinkled his brow. No, he’d tried to kill them. The memory of the battle swirled away on alcohol fumes.
Iason growled something contentious, but Trystan lost the gist of it when he was unceremoniously tipped into the steaming waters of the grotto. Water closed over his head. Gasping and thrashing, he fought his way up through the bubbles.
By the time he reached the surface, his friends were gone, and Iason alone remained.
The tall mystic looked down with amusement from his lofty perch on the edge of the waterhole. “My father once told me he was relieved that your father did not take an amacara but chose to use the altar with his wife. It seems all l’Enforcers have hard heads. It is not easy to soften them with mere herbs. An amacara ceremony requires surrendering independence, and men of power have difficulty accepting that.”
Paddling water, Trystan rubbed his eyes and tried to wipe away the grogginess of alcohol and the saltiness of the mineral water dripping down his brow. Aelynn’s hot springs mixed with the sea’s currents in the cavern. The grotto was the birthplace of Trystan’s talents and of the fog that shrouded the island’s secrets—the ideal setting for a ritual cleansing. But Iason was more friend than priest.
“I don’t think further softening is required in my case,” Trystan said with a hint of irony, squeezing his eyelids closed against the agony of his pounding head. “I have agreed to this without coercion.”
“That’s a matter of opinion. If my mother had not told you to either kill Mariel or bond with her, would you have gone after her?”
He didn’t know. He wasn’t the same man he’d been a week and a half ago. “I accept the fate the gods assign me,” he replied, recalling his near blinding panic every time Mariel was endangered. He’d been somehow bound to her from the first moment he laid eyes on her.
“You haven’t accepted as much as you ought. I am a poor Seer who refuses to predict the future as my mother and sister do, but I am not blind, either. You’re too damned stubborn and proud to follow anyone’s orders unless they suit yo
ur own desires.” The last words were said from closer than the first.
Trystan started to open his eyes, but Ian shoved his head under the water before he could speak.
Spluttering, Trystan fought his way back up and glared at the Oracle’s son. “Are you trying to get even for every time I bested you in swordplay?”
“My father isn’t here to act as priest, and my mother is busy anointing your intended for the ceremony, so the duty of teaching you Aelynn’s will becomes mine,” Ian said with a gleam in his eyes. “Remember who I am, if you please.”
“You’re an arrogant piece of—”
Ian shoved him under again.
Diving down, Trystan yanked his nemesis’s legs from under him, pulling Ian into the water with him.
With their clothes tugging them down, they could do no more than tussle and emerge coughing to glower at each other.
“That’s why a priest needs to be old,” Trystan pointed out. “It’s hard to take a man seriously when you’ve seen him in filthy breechclouts.”
“You’ll take me seriously before this is over,” Ian warned, swimming out of reach and melting into the shadows deeper in the mountain. “You’re still fighting Aelynn’s will.”
“How do you know Aelynn’s will?” Trystan yelled after him.
“How do you know how to shield the island?” Ian called back. “It is who I am, what I must be, and you will have to learn to respect that. I know Aelynn expects more of you than you have yet admitted.” Water rippled and splashed as Iason climbed out. “ Bathe, and I will send a healer to tend your wounds.”
He might survive if Ian left him alone. Trystan closed his eyes and let the steam bathe his bruises.
“Push aside your material desires and let Aelynn show you your true needs.” The words echoed hauntingly from the cavern’s interior, more eerie than human. “There are three hours until moonrise,” a final whisper reminded him.
Mystic Guardian Page 25