Destiny Fulfilled

by Laire McKinney

“Why did you stop?”

  “Because we became worried about how it would affect your mind.”

  “Oh.” She thought of her mother. “How did you meet her?”

  “Simple travels. That is all. I was visiting the portal near your home. She was there.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Twenty, I believe.”

  His eyes closed and his lips swept upward. “We continued to meet until I realized the toll it was taking on her health.”

  “Her mental health.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, is she actually mentally ill?”

  “According to your human medicine, yes. But beyond those rigid diagnoses lie many other explanations.”

  “All those times I thought she was hallucinating, was she actually talking to a faery?”

  “It is likely. She became very close with many of the fae.”

  “Will my mind fracture like hers? Will I be visited by fae?” She glanced at Riagan. “By druids?”

  She sought Riagan’s reassurance, but the answer was written all over his face as if he’d scrawled it there in permanent ink. He met her stare with an expression of agony the likes of which shattered her already breaking heart.

  “Riagan?”

  He strode forward and pulled her into his arms. She settled against him, trying as desperately as she could to melt into his body. Leaving this realm, these people, him was not an option.

  “Riagan, tell me it’s not true,” she whispered against his chest. Her nails dug into his skin as she tried to attach herself to his body so she could never be pulled away.

  But she knew his answer by the shudder that ripped through his powerful body then tore through her own. She didn’t belong on his realm, and he didn’t belong on hers.

  “WHY?” HER VOICE was raspy with emotion as she turned from Riagan’s chest to face her father. “Why are you saying this? I can’t leave. Not without…” She looked around. She couldn’t be expected to just leave.

  Riagan’s arms were tight around her, as if his strength alone could remedy this impossible situation. She feared it would not be enough.

  The king spoke, “The Brotherhood is charged with protection of the Murias Cauldron. There are other Brotherhoods throughout the worlds charged with protection of other artifacts whose fates must lie within a web of security and safety.”

  He floated back and forth. “Redeemers are a rare breed.” He turned toward her, his expression serious. “A very rare breed. Only the child of a fae king or a druid male and human woman can hope to produce one such as you. And even then, it is rare, only occurring when the worlds become unsettled with the influence of evil and feel a need for a Redeemer to arise.”

  He took her face in his hands. “Redeemers are the only ones who, if a treasure is captured, can hope to bring it back to its rightful place. You are the only one of your kind in the worlds now. You must return to Earth. You cannot survive on this realm, and Earth is the only place from which you can be summoned.”

  Wren fingered the side of the diadem, its coolness mocking her.

  “I don’t want to leave.” Tears spilled over her cheeks.

  Riagan was staring away from them, into the oak forest, the side of his lip twitching. Sadness covered the faces of everyone present: Oephille, her father, Drake, Duke. Even Gwyon had the graces not to smirk or laugh.

  Despair settled around her heart like a vise.

  Devastating despair.

  Duke tugged at her sleeve. “I will come back with you, Miss Wren, and stay by your side. You won’t be alone. It’ll be you, me, and your mama. Just like before.”

  His offer brought a ripple of comfort, but his words were not enough.

  “Destiny,” her father started, but Riagan stepped forward and her father did not continue. Riagan lifted Wren into his arms, cradling her against him, and walked away from the group without a word. She closed her eyes and clutched his cloak in her fingers until they turned white.

  He walked for a long, long time, until he finally came to a stop. They were along the side of the river but in an area that she didn’t recognize. Here the trees grew up to the river’s edge, the long and ropey roots disappearing underneath the surface. Across the river sat the moon, watching over them like a protective parent.

  Riagan found a small opening between the closely grown trunks and sat down.

  He did not let her go.

  He cradled her as sobs wracked her body. Finding out she was not crazy had opened up a whole new world. And she belonged in this new world. She couldn’t go back.

  She belonged here with Riagan, in Riagan’s world. Maybe she could bring her mother here. There must be some form of magic to allow such a thing.

  “Riagan, is there no other way?”

  With a deep inhale, he blew out a puff of air. “I know not, lass. This has never happened before.”

  “This?”

  “This.” He waved his hand in the air. “You. Me. The attempt on the Cauldron. None of this.”

  She nestled between his legs, leaning against his chest. He had such a grip on her she wondered if they just stayed locked together like this, could they make her go home?

  “I have to leave tomorrow,” she choked.

  “Aye.” Riagan’s voice broke. “Tomorrow.”

  RIAGAN DID NOT want to release Wren from his arms, but when her father appeared and asked to speak with her, he had no choice. Besides, there was someone he wanted to see, and he couldn’t do so with Wren by his side.

  Once he arrived at the village, he found Gwyon huddled in the hut that he used to share with his mother, where he would remain under guard until his punishment was decided.

  Riagan had never been inside this hut. In all the years he’d lived within the same village as his half brother, why had he never visited his small home? How poorly had he, they, treated him? Had he given Gwyon any consideration during his younger years?

  Trying to halt that landslide of conjecture, he looked around. Woven tapestries covered the walls, each depicting a scene from their land. One was of the moon, nearly consuming the entire piece, but with glimpses of the countryside. Another with the river and the soft glitter of the water was captured to make it look like the water moved upon the wall. A third piece was of the Cauldron, nestled in its cave. The blackness of the treasure was as rich as oil. The faint green aura was brilliant, as if it was painted on and not created with thread. The inside of the cave was expertly depicted, an exact replica of the one just a stone’s throw away.

  Nestled in the bottom right corner of this piece was something unexpected, and he couldn’t quite make out what it was. Riagan leaned forward to see it clearly, and froze. Woven into the bottom of the tapestry was a man, gazing upon the artifact. The image was almost too small to see but upon closer inspection, each detail became obvious. The black beard, dark hair, dark eyes. There was no mistaking who that being was, but in this depiction, the man’s feet were splayed forward, straight and normal and perfect, and he wore the green robe of a Protector. He stood upright with no cane, no assistance.

  Riagan touched the fabric, running his fingers over the rough surface.

  “Who did these?” Riagan turned to Gwyon.

  Gwyon shrugged.

  “Did you?” Riagan tried to temper the surprise when Gwyon confirmed this with a curt nod. “They are magnificent.”

  Gwyon shrugged again and struggled to stand.

  “Brother,” Riagan said, and he could hear the pleading in his own voice.

  Gwyon turned, leaning heavily on the cane. Suddenly Riagan was speechless. What could he say now? After all this time? He stared at his brother as regret and sadness swam through him.

  Gwyon hobbled forward, the scraping of his cane never more piercing, then stopped in front of Riagan.

  “I’m so sorry,” Riagan managed.

  Gwyon’s expression did not alter from its mask of indifference, but he nodded, as if accepting the apology.

  After a moment, he s
aid, “I, too, am sorry. I should never have helped Caswallen. But in my defense, he was very persuasive.”

  “You were desperate. It was so cruel not to let you drink from the Cauldron’s waters. To grant you immortality but not healing was unacceptable.”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish I had done something to help you.”

  “There was nothing you could’ve done. One with the gene must remain outside the Brotherhood. Our father would not strive to change that.”

  “But once he passed to the fae realm…” Riagan flipped through all the things he could’ve done but didn’t.

  “It is done, Riagan.”

  Riagan stared at the tapestry, focusing on the image of the small, healed man.

  AFTER A LONG walk with her father, Wren veered off toward the forest to be alone. She was having trouble processing everything that had happened, along with everything she’d been told. Her father had offered more details of his relationship with her mother, as well as evidence of the many times he had visited Earth to watch Wren from afar. Thinking back, she often had the feeling of someone watching her, but had always chalked that up to blossoming paranoia and pending mental demise. How could she have anticipated any of this?

  She had been wandering aimlessly when she spotted Riagan coming out of one of the village huts. The look on his face made her hurry toward him.

  “Riagan, what’s wrong?”

  Without a response, he closed the space between them and grabbed her into his arms. Shoving his hand into her flowing hair, he tugged her head back, forcing her to stare up at him.

  “I love you.” The seriousness behind his statement made her heart at once swell and splinter.

  She rested her palm on his face. “I love you too.”

  He scooped her into his arms and took off for one of the huts.

  Words hovered on the tip of her tongue—she wanted to ask for reassurance, explanation, something to give her an idea what had happened to make him look so broody, but as soon as they entered a hut, he severed the release of those words with his mouth.

  She needed his kiss to be as forceful as it was. She needed him to imprint himself on her like a tattoo. With her nails, she clawed at his back, and he bit at her skin. He yanked her garments off, as she yanked his, and when they were naked, they came together like powerful magnets.

  Pushing her down on the bed, he shoved her knees apart and thrust into her. She screamed with the sudden sensation and squeezed her legs around his back, urging him closer, closer still.

  He slammed into her and she took it, wanting more. More.

  They were wild, desperate, clutching, raging. They took the unfairness of the situation and used it for a moment of pleasure.

  Afterward, they lay shaking, breathless, and wrapped together as one. They stayed that way for a long, long time, willing that the next day would never dawn.

  The next day Wren awoke to feel like someone was choking her. She could feel the deadly grasp of fate around her throat like a clamp, severing her airway. She tried to fight whoever was doing this to her, tried to flail her arms and legs. Someone was there, trying to help her, but the choking persisted. She was going to die. Die, and never see Riagan again.

  “Wren, wake up.”

  She couldn’t breathe. The hold around her throat was killing her. Her skin started to tingle with lack of oxygen.

  “Wren.”

  Fingers dug into her shoulders, making her see stars.

  “Wren, wake up.”

  Her eyes flew open to find Riagan before her. “Lass, what is it?”

  She coughed and sputtered, gulping air into her lungs. There was no one there but Riagan. Who’d been choking her?

  Riagan stroked her hair, wet with sweat. “You had a nightmare, my love. Shh, it’s okay now.”

  “A nightmare? It felt so real. Someone was choking me. I was dying.”

  He said nothing as she realized the nightmare represented how she felt about leaving this realm, leaving Riagan. She would die if she had to go.

  Riagan’s fingers were soft and tender against her brow, but then a knock on the door made her jump in panic.

  “Who is it?” Riagan’s voice was gruff and impatient. Wren grabbed his cloak and pulled it around her body. She swam inside its voluminous fabric but didn’t care and inhaled deeply, relishing Riagan’s unique, masculine scent.

  Eogabail entered the hut, his face sad, his eyes imploring. “Daughter.”

  At the heartache she heard in his voice, she started to cry. She stumbled across the compact room and fell into his embrace. It was at once familiar and strange, but it held the strength she needed, the strength she didn’t have for herself.

  “I know this is difficult.”

  With a shudder, she made a whimpering noise, not able to find words.

  Riagan inched up behind her. “Is there no other way?”

  “She cannot live upon this realm. Earth is the center from which the Redeemer must dwell. If the need arises, the gods forbid, those in need can only contact her there.”

  “And Duke? Duke can return? And Oephille?” Riagan managed.

  Eogabail nodded.

  “Were you the one who sent Duke to watch over her?”

  “Yes. She must have a Protector, much the same as the Cauldron.”

  “Then why can’t I take over Duke’s role as her Protector?”

  “Because you are a Protector of the Murias Cauldron. It is what you were born to do. We have no others to take your place. And, as you know, you must remain upon the druid realm. You would not long survive on the realm of man.”

  The thought was a Shakespearean tragedy in real time.

  Riagan’s fists clenched into massive balls of power. “There must be another way.”

  “Father,” Wren started. The word sounded oddly familiar upon her lips. “Please.” She choked on a sob, then broke down into tears. Riagan pulled her from her father, into his own embrace.

  Eogabail stroked the back of her bowed head, nestled securely in Riagan’s chest. “I will wait for you outside.”

  RIAGAN SETTLED WREN onto the bed and covered her with a blanket. Her face was blotchy and streaked with the tears that had lasted long after her father’s departure.

  Anger boiled in his blood, but it was a different anger than when he’d learned of Caswallen’s betrayal. No, this anger seared itself upon him, creating a black cloud around him that he knew would never, ever disappear.

  Each time he thought he had the answer, some reason or other would pop up in his mind telling him why no other way would work.

  He paced around his home, his mind grasping and groping for another option. This hut he’d lived in for centuries suddenly felt alien, foreign to him, as if he didn’t belong here anymore. He stepped out into the fresh air.

  The realm lay silent around him. The full moon was only now losing its glow. It would never completely disappear but it would become smaller, less bright, until the next full moon. The trees were calm, beautiful in their glossy sheen.

  He could see members of the Brotherhood posted at various points along the river. The Cauldron was safe now and, gods willing, it would stay that way.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Drake approach.

  “What is it, Brother?” Riagan noted the somber expression on his twin’s face.

  “Brother. Gwyon’s trial is soon.”

  “I see.”

  “Will you come?”

  “I know not. I know not,” was all he could manage and he looked away, refusing to engage his brother further.

  DRAKE WATCHED THE druids of the Brotherhood of the Sacred Grove line up in their warrior regalia. Without Caswallen, Riagan, the elder of the twins by minutes, should have been the one who stepped into the leadership role until another Arch Druid was prepared. With his brother’s absence, the responsibility fell to him.

  Dressed in his ceremonial red robe, Drake scanned the eyes of those present: the faeries, his Brotherhood, King Eogabail, Duk
e, and most of the villagers as everyone was allowed to witness a trial such as this. None seemed eager for revenge, though. This half brother of theirs had cost them much, but he had also suffered.

  Two guards supported Gwyon as he was brought forth from the hut, clad in an undyed robe that hung in pools over his misshapen feet. With eyes fixed on the ground, it was impossible to read his expression.

  Drake cleared his throat and spoke in a loud voice, addressing both Gwyon and those gathered. “Gwyon, you are brought here, in the midst of the Sacred Grove, by this river, to stand trial for—” He stopped suddenly, unable to continue as his words became a jumbled mess in his mind. Coughing didn’t help. Someone brought him a mug of water, but he spit the vile mixture out, struggling against sickness that was threatening to rise in his throat.

  Gwyon observed him with his dark eyes filled with distrust and no small amount of sadness. Drake rubbed his hands over his face and stared at his half brother again. Those eyes. They were the same eyes that used to watch him and Riagan go toward their posts as Protectors. Haunting eyes. Sorrowful eyes. Yearning eyes.

  How had it felt for him not to belong? Not to be given the chance to drink from the sacred waters that held the cure for his deformity? To be made immortal, but immortal in a broken body? Better would it have been to allow him to pass a normal-length life.

  Suddenly Drake’s eyes pricked with unshed tears. Gwyon had never been given a chance. His heart hurt, as if Gwyon were squeezing that organ in a vise. By the gods, was there no other way?

  So quietly it was almost inaudible, someone said, “Drake.” He refocused and there was Eogabail, his lips moving, his eyes trying to tell him something. The words didn’t breach his comprehension so he stared at the fae king while everyone else stared at him, some with open mouths, others with sympathy and understanding.

  Eogabail motioned him forward.

  Drake moved to his side.

  Eogabail spoke softly in his ear.

  And like the snap of a rubber band, Drake understood. The fae king was agreeing with the sentence Drake hadn’t even realized he was considering.