Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel

by Alisha Ashton

  That’s right, answers to the forty two billion questions that had formed in her head in the past week alone. Answers that would quell the confusion once and for all.

  Latharn nodded. “We Call this Gathering in pursuit of the answers Skye requires,” he declared before placing his arm into the opening in the stone. He muttered softly in Gaelic. After hearing her name in the mix, she knew that he was saying the same thing as he had just said in English.

  She vaguely wondered if fate was fucking with her when – less than a moment later – the very same light that she had such an inexplicable, irrational fear of suddenly erupted from the stone’s center. It enveloped the stone’s surface completely. With a harsh impact in the air akin to an explosion, it shot skyward, forming a pillar of light that stretched up into the heavens.

  Okay, she thought as she gaped up at it, this is a far more inventive means of entertainment than watching ESPN.

  Several moments of stunned silence passed on her part – as well as Miko’s, because he was currently leaning on Taran and Ciaran in total shock – before someone called out in Gaelic behind them.

  She turned toward the speaker, recognizing him as one of Eògan’s pups. He was pointing out at the forest. Following the direction of his outstretched finger, she spotted it – a second pillar of light, the twin to the one in front of them.

  Her brows arched in surprise. Someone, evidently, lives out there in the weird woods of will-kill-you, she thought. Well, isn’t that just an unexpected development?

  Drostan’s hand gripping her shoulder and the cries that escaped him brought her head whipping back around in an instant. He was trembling, convulsing, and she realized quickly that he was having a vision. She cursed under her breath that this was what she must look like when they hit her. She struggled to get his arm around her shoulders so that she could hold him up, watching sympathetically as he pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead in an effort to ease the pain.

  “Are you okay?” She asked, though she felt like a dumbass the second the words left her mouth. No, of course he wasn’t ‘okay.’ He was having a little mind-matinee like the ones she loathed so much.

  “I’m fine, my sister,” Drostan answered... from behind her.

  “What the f—?” She cried as she turned to face him, but broke off at the sight that awaited her.

  Everyone else was suddenly gone, including the Drostan that she had been holding up just a second earlier.

  She frantically spun around in a circle, searching with wide eyes for any of the tens of thousands of men that could not possibly have disappeared so fast. Fear began to snake into her gut. ‘Wrong’ did not begin to cut it as a description for what she was experiencing.

  “Umm... Drostan?” She breathed anxiously as she looked over at him.

  Drostan merely pointed skyward in explanation.

  Skye gaped openly at what he was directing her gaze toward.

  The sun was just beginning to rise over the trees.

  She blinked repeatedly.

  All right, she thought, unless I just lost – what? Nearly ten hours? The sun can’t possibly be rising already.

  Her brows drew together as the trees began swaying and bending rapidly. The sun raced upward and across the sky. She realized in surprise that she was witnessing an entire day passing before her eyes. The moon was now shining – the instant its light was unmarred by the presence of the sun, Drostan’s voice reached her ears.

  “Tomorrow night,” he groaned.

  She turned to him, bewildered beyond any possibly preconceived notions of bewilderment when she found herself sprawled on the grass beside him. She looked up in confusion at the faces of everyone huddled around them.

  “The Call for a Gathering has been accepted,” Drostan continued telling Latharn. “We have been granted safe passage tomorrow night at the rising of the moon.”

  “Wait,” Skye said, sitting up and gripping her throbbing head as Taran steadied her. “So, that... that was like some kind of response?” She demanded in disbelief. “It couldn’t have just – I don’t know – maybe spelled out in light, ‘Gathering tomorrow, 8:00 pm, BYOB’?”

  “I very much like tha suggestion,” Drostan said with a labored laugh as they were both helped to their feet. “Be sure to voice it during the Gathering, will ya?”

  She turned and gave Taran a pleading look. “Aspirin. You gots?”

  He laughed and lifted her up off her feet.

  “I’ll do ya one better than tha, wee one,” he said, leaning down and whispering an addition to her list of requests.

  “Sold!” She agreed happily, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing in appreciation of his ability to carry her as the crowd set out for the castle.

  39: Across the Sea

  Dinner was eaten quickly – as the company of raucous faoil was doing nothing to alleviate Skye’s pounding headache. When Taran shook 10 aspirin out of the bottle and into her palm, she stared up at him in surprise. Thinking back on the dose of sedatives required to knock her out now, however, she realized that her intake of all medications would need to be adjusted accordingly.

  All she wanted in the world was to lie down and wait for the aspirin to kick in. When they stood from the table to make their way up to bed, those plans were abruptly abandoned.

  Skye turned to say goodnight to Miko, but found him pressing his cell phone to his ear. Seeing the frightened look on his face, her heart skipped a beat.

  She gripped her mate’s arm to stop him.

  “Taran,” she said worriedly and directed his gaze to Miko.

  They approached him quickly and watched as he pressed his hand to his ear and struggled to hear. All it took was one pleading, fearful look from the mortal to spur Skye to action.

  “Silence!” She barked at the crowded dining hall.

  The men obeyed her command so quickly that the sound of that single word was able to echo through the instantly still room. All eyes were on her, but her eyes were only on Miko.

  “What’s wrong?” She asked softly and crouched down in front of him as he let his hand fall from his ear.

  With a wounded look and tearful eyes, he only shook his head in response and handed the phone to her.

  Her eyes went to the clock on the wall. She figured out quickly that the voicemail he was asking her to listen to had been recorded nearly 12 hours earlier. As the message began, she listened with her heart in her throat. There was screaming in the background, gunshots and explosions. It was difficult to discern most of what was said, but the fear in Aiyana’s voice was crystal clear.

  “Vamps... here at the... took out our... killed... can’t hold them... ! We have to... hit all of our bases at... highly organized... never seen so many in one... have to regroup... not sure if it will... to try and get to... if you get this message just... coming there... bring everyone I can... have children with us... ! ... on flight 193...”

  The line went dead at that point.

  The sudden absence of chaos was replaced by the cheerful standard voice prompts to replay, save, or erase.

  And just that quickly, the peace that Skye had experienced at Faol Seunta was shattered.

  The surge of adrenaline that coursed through her veins in response to Aiyana’s pleas was overwhelming in its intensity. Her heart hammered in her chest with the need to fight...

  But Miko’s trembling voice quickly sobered her from the violent intentions.

  “Do you think she... ?” He asked weakly, breaking the brief but stifling silence.

  Skye gave him a pained look and squeezed his hand. “Aiyana is fine, she just needs backup. We’ll get to her, wherever she is. Don’t worry,” she offered and locked eyes with Latharn.

  Miko nodded and took a deep breath, trying as desperately as she was to believe those words. Unfortunately, his fear for Aiyana was easily perceived by Skye’s faol senses.

  “Latharn, can I have a word with you?” She asked as Ciaran helped Miko to his feet.

 
Every man in the dining hall stood when Latharn did, all of them awaiting orders.

  “Carry on, lads. I’ll let ya know if you’re needed,” Latharn called to them before exiting the room with the members of his table.

  “The fògaraich have attacked,” Skye informed Latharn a moment later in an office down the hall.

  He arched a brow at her from where he was seated behind the desk.

  “Attacked who, wean?” He asked purposefully.

  Skye’s nostrils flared in anger. She understood full well the point of his question. The fògaraich had attacked the Ashers. They had not made a direct attack on the clan.

  “They have attacked the Ashers, including a dear friend of mine who – in turn – is an ally of the Tàcharain Fhaol Clan,” she answered heatedly. “This was not an isolated incident. The fògaraich have organized. From what I heard, it seems they coordinated attacks on all of the Ashers’ bases today. It explains why their servers were down this afternoon. The fògaraich must have knocked out their communications before making their move.”

  Miko paled considerably at Skye’s words. It made him sick to know that earlier that day, when he had been sitting in Taran’s room with Skye speaking without a care in the world, Aiyana had already been under attack. All of his friends, everyone he knew in the world outside of these castle walls, were in danger.

  “The ones that got out alive are on their way here seeking refuge... at least, they were 12 hours ago,” Miko managed in a heartbroken whisper.

  Ciaran was still standing beside him. His beautiful features were tensed in concern as he laid a reassuring hand on the mortal’s shoulder.

  When Latharn opened his mouth to voice his objections to the involvement of the clan in Asher affairs, Skye quickly interjected, “There are children among the survivors.”

  Latharn winced at that and closed his mouth. He sat in silence for a long moment before turning to Ciaran.

  “Why don’t ya take the lad outside for some air?” He said, though it was in no way a suggestion.

  Reluctant to leave before a decision had been reached, Ciaran’s eyes wandered first to Skye, then to Taran. Receiving nods from each of them that it was all right, he offered his hand to Miko and helped him stand.

  As he was led from the room by Ciaran, Miko’s pleading eyes locked with Skye’s. She inclined her head to him purposefully, assuring with the simple gesture that she would do all she could.

  Once the doors had closed behind them, and just as Skye opened her mouth to speak, Latharn held up his hand to silence her. The look of pleading in his eyes as he did so confused her.

  “Eògan, go on and summon the others,” he said and sank back in his chair heavily.

  In that moment, Latharn looked suddenly... older. For the first time, Skye took note of worry lines at the corners of his eyes. His movements were not as lithe as an ancient’s should be. His features bore evidence of a weary exhaustion that had settled in over the course of his hopelessly long life. She wondered about the light she had seen earlier that evening – the light that had seemed to originate from the symbol at his wrist.

  What was it, she wondered? Did it leave him as tired as the visions do me?

  Her thoughts were interrupted when the door opened a moment later.

  As the ancients filed in one after another, each looking as grave as Latharn, it slowly dawned on her that this had just turned into a meeting of the Faoil High Council.

  Her hopes of joining in on their debate were dashed when Latharn began. He spoke in their language so that she would not hear anything unintended for her ears.

  “Lads, it has been brought to my attention that the banished ones struck back against the Ashers today,” Latharn informed them somberly. “The banished ones are working together, as they did in the first war – we all know what this means. The days of the Ashers are surely numbered. As we speak, however, a group of their survivors are travelling across the sea to us, seeking refuge. The decision before us is not to be taken lightly. We must decide whether our path is to risk potentially fracturing the truce by rendering assistance.”

  Skye opened her mouth to ask them to speak in English so that she could partake in the discussion, to reiterate the presence of children amongst those seeking protection – but she closed it when Taran shook his head and gave her a purposeful look.

  “Oh, sod the truce!” Ailean declared venomously and motioned over to her. “We have Skye here, safe and sound with us. We would – each and every one of us – gladly give our last breaths to defend her. If the banished ones want a war, then let them summon the balls to knock on our door and ask for it. And with a fury to rival that of the Great Mother, Herself, let us answer their request!”

  Several others adamantly voiced their agreement.

  “And what if Skye is not the One?” Cathal offered.

  Many members nodded solemnly and muttered that this was precisely the problem at hand.

  “True enough, Skye is safe with us – but what if she is not the One we have waited for?” Cathal posed. “What if that child is still out there somewhere in harm’s way? The truce will be broken prematurely, the life of the One will be forfeit, and it will be our doing. Think of the repercussions. It is not as simple as it seems.”

  “Then sod the repercussions, as well!” Drostan snapped as he paced the floor.

  Many of his brothers angrily shouted their approval.

  “For 4,000 years we have turned a blind eye to the betrayers!” Drostan shouted. “For 4,000 years we have been held prisoner by our efforts to protect something we had no way of knowing still existed! It is beyond me how anyone here could still have doubts as to who Skye is, but still – enough is enough. We must abandon this crippling fear of forcing the banished ones’ hands!”

  “Blasphemy!” One of the members cried as he stepped forward. “You dare speak against our Maker’s wishes?”

  “Our Maker wished us to think for ourselves!” Drostan fired back, punctuating that declaration by slamming his fist down on the desk.

  Skye jumped in surprise when the wood splintered with the force of the impact.

  “Our Maker wished us to be fair and just in the world beyond His forest!” Drostan continued furiously. “Our Maker only chose those with noble hearts and wise minds to bear His gifts. Would He wish us then to refrain from using the very qualities He so obviously valued in us? He intended for us to be noble, brother. It is no secret, even from Him, that the suffering of millions over the passing millennia in place of the death of One has never sat well with His children. It is not a fair trade!”

  “It is not for us to decide,” Latharn reminded.

  “It may not be, Latharn – but one way or another, we are going to have to make the decision tonight,” Eògan declared. “We are here to gamble the lives of innocent mortals on our instincts concerning Skye’s identity.”

  “Well put,” Taran commended quietly.

  Skye’s eyes flicked over to her mate when he finally spoke. She noted in surprise that everyone else had fallen to silence. No one interrupted Taran. No one voiced agreement or objection until they were sure that he had finished speaking.

  Who the hell did I mate myself to, she wondered suddenly?

  Realization hit when she noted his position beside Latharn and the authority that was oozing from him in that moment.

  Taran is second in command over the entire clan!

  Her eyes widened in astonishment. That would certainly provide her and Miko with an unanticipated advantage. Taran had been the warrior lord of his mortal clan, she remembered. Apparently, his role had remained the same when he became a faol.

  “Eògan has used an utterly appropriate word to define what we are doing,” Taran continued in a steady tone. “For this is certainly a gamble, my brothers. Either we gamble that Skye is the One, and render assistance based on the belief that the banished ones have lost their bargaining chip – or we gamble that she is not the One, and we sentence innocent women and children to
death as a result. We are deciding whether or not to risk ending four millennia of adherence to our Maker’s wishes, based purely on the evidence we have seen to confirm who Skye is.

  “Had this occurred tomorrow, we would not be facing our current dilemma. Unfortunately, fate has ever had a cruel sense of humor. Given the short time we must wait until the Gathering, I pose this to you all – if we decide to abandon our position of neutrality, to provide refuge to the Asher mortals and their children, we will know for certain within a day’s time whether or not we were right in our decision. If we open our doors to these survivors and – in response – the betrayers come to our doorstep for them; they must cross the threshold and bring war upon these lands to do so. If it turns out that Skye is not the One, we will be able to isolate the incident. It will not be an end to the truce, for the truce is clear in its rules. Their crossing the borders onto this land, for any reason at all, permits us to react accordingly. We would not be triggering an all-out war between our breeds or giving Brandubh an excuse to execute the One.”

  “Brandubh... ?” Skye repeated curiously before she could stop herself.

  Suddenly, all eyes were on her.

  “What’s tha, child?” Latharn asked with a hint of a smile.

  “Nothing, I just... I know that word... that name somehow,” she offered self-consciously. “I mean not like I know... Brandubh... I just know the word.”

  Taran smiled and spoke in Gaelic to his brothers with his eyes still locked on her, “I think it is safe to say that Brandubh is no longer in possession of the One.”

  Even the naysayers, those that had yet to spend any time speaking with Skye directly, were now nodding their dumbfounded agreement.

  “Skye, what are your thoughts aboot us aiding the Ashers? How should we proceed?” Latharn inquired.

  The ancients exchanged looks at the significance of him asking such a thing.

  “Well, considering that I’m still not aware of all the critical, need-to-know information on the subject, all I can give you are my under-informed opinions,” she began impatiently. “You are all waiting for a reason to start a war against the fògaraich, right? But something is staying your hand? Fine, don’t answer that – I already know it’s true, so I’ll just move right along. My wolf said that my presence here would trigger the war. And now, less than a week after my arrival, the fògaraich are mobilizing. Instead of squabbling amongst themselves, they are fighting together against a common enemy. I don’t know about you, but that sure as shit sounds like the start of a war to me. Now, I know it might be easy for some of you to ignore the fògaraich’s attacks when they are not made against your own kind, but I haven’t been a faol long enough to see the mortals in danger as separate from me. The Ashers offered me protection and refuge – not because I was something special to them, as I apparently am to this clan – but because I was a person in need of aid. These mortals are out there every night doing what – for whatever reason – the members of this clan are prevented from doing. I believe we are well beyond the point where the mistakes of past generations can be held against them, and I trust that they will prove to be valuable allies in what is to come.”