PRINCE OF THE WIND

by Charlotte Boyet-Compo

  "Think, Golden One! Four hours by land is only a matter of perhaps an hour by air ,and there is no traffic to speak of!"

  "No!" she said, the word an emphatic denial.

  "Why not?" he said, his lip thrust out in a pout.

  "There are airplanes flying up there…" She pointed to the ceiling. "Can you imagine what would happen if one of the pilots saw two humans—"

  "One human being, one horse," he corrected, grinning.

  "Oh, now that would be one for the F.A.A. annals! UFOs are one thing. Flying horses are another! The pilots would be grounded for life!"

  "I can not carry you if I am in my nature Raven form. It would have to be by horse or—"

  "No! And that is final, Cree!"

  They glared at one another for a moment, then his shoulders dropped, realizing he’d lost the battle of wills. He folded his arms. "All right, but I will not enjoy this."

  "As long as you don’t get car sick, it won’t matter." She snatched her overnight case. "Let’s go."

  "Car sick?" he asked, frowning.

  "I’ll explain later."

  "Explain now. How does one get car sick?"

  Goldie rolled her eyes and jerked open the door. She refused to answer as they took the stairs to the parking lot.

  "How sick can one get?" he asked as they pushed through the double doors.

  "Let it rest," she ordered. Her heels echoed on the concrete as she hurried to her car.

  "Sick enough for a human to die, Golden One?"

  She turned and narrowed her eyes. "You will not get car sick, Cree."

  "I won’t?" he said, relieved, but then suspicion took its place. "Why will I not?"

  "Because Irishmen do not get car sick."

  He thought about that for a moment, then nodded, letting out a long breath. "You had me worried, Golden One."

  "Sorry," she said through clenched teeth and continued on to her car.

  Riain looked at the sleek black vehicle and thought it looked far too confining. Knowing he’d have to sit within its tight perimeter for four hours filled him with unease.

  "We’ll stop every fifty miles and take a potty break," she said, as if sensing his nervousness. "How’s that?"

  He wanted to ask her what she meant, but figured he find out when they’d gone their first fifty miles.

  "The door’s unlocked," she said. When he didn’t move, she sighed heavily and opened the door. "Get in."

  The chair within the vehicle looked comfortable, but crawling inside it proved otherwise. His legs were cramped as he sat down, and as soon as she slammed the door behind him, he felt the constriction of the surroundings.

  "I don’t like this," he mumbled, looking at the ceiling, the floor, the strange round clocks before him.

  "It’ll be all right," she said as she got behind the wheel. "I’ve got some Celtic music you should like and I’ll turn it on once we’re out of the city."

  He nodded, having no idea what she was talking about. He scrunched down in the seat, trying to get comfortable.

  "You’ll have to buckle up," she told him.

  "My belt is buckled."

  Goldie reached across him and pulled a band from the door beside him. Before he could protest, she crossed it over him and snapped it into place.

  "No!" he shrieked, pulling at the confining band.

  She grabbed his hand. "Cree, you have to!"

  "No, I do not!" He tried to pull the band out of its holder.

  "If you don’t, you’ll get so car sick you won’t be able to hold your head up! You want to puke for four solid hours?"

  He stopped tugging at the band and stared at her. She was glaring at him, her chin lifted, her lips tight, eyes pinpoints in her angry face. For a long moment, their gazes held, then she sat back in her seat, pulled a similar band over her body, and turned the key in its lock.

  As the engine started, Cree grabbed the door handle and the edge of the armrest to his other side.

  "Now, sit back, relax, and let the buckle keep you from getting sick."

  Riain looked at the band over his chest, decided she must know what she was talking about, and relaxed as best he could. When the vehicle began moving, he closed his eyes, feeling sweat popping up on his forehead.

  "Don’t worry, Cree," Goldie said. "I’m a good driver."

  * * *

  "No!" Suzanna screamed.

  "I will tell you how to follow him, Daughter," Raphian whispered in her ear. "I will show you the way."

  So furious at being told her quarry had slipped through her fingers before she could confront him, Suzanna ripped handfuls of her hair from her head, ignoring the pain and the blood that ran down her cheeks.

  "All is not lost, Daughter. You will have him. Have I not promised you this?"

  "I want him now!" she shrieked.

  She was flung against the wall with enough force to crack a rib.

  "Be careful how you speak to me, bitch!" The demon appeared out of the dark night, thrusting His malevolent head in her stunned face. "I will tolerate only so much disrsepect!"

  Suzanna cowered against the wall of the McHatton woman’s apartment, knowing she needed to tread carefully with the Destroyer of Men’s Soul.

  "Forgive me, Master," she said in a contrite voice. "I was overcome with my frustration at missing him again."

  Raphian’s maw opened; thick green acid dripped from His wicked fangs to the floor. "One more such outburst and you will forego my help. Do you ken my meaning, woman?"

  "Aye, Master," Suzanna said, tears filling her eyes.

  "I will leave you to your own device and seek another to serve me! Such as you are like chaff in the wind to me. Do you understand?"

  "Aye, Master." She trembled so badly, her teeth clicked together.

  The demon pulled back until only his glowing scarlet eyes neared the ceiling. "Cross me again and suffer the consequences!" In a violent blast of sulphurous stench, he was gone.

  Suzanna buried her face in her hands and dug her nails into her forehead and chin. As oblivious to that pain as she had been at pulling out her hair, she sat and keened, her whine loud enough to cause McHatton’s neighbors to beat against the apartment wall.

  "You are mine, Riain," she cried over and over. Even as Raphian snarled instructions in her ear on how to go about following Cree, she sat there repeating the mantra.

  * * *

  By the time the morning sun began filtering into the room, Suzanna de Vienne’s sanity had completely vanished.

  And with it, any help Raphian would give her.

  Chapter 6

  * * *

  Maeve looked up as a shadow moved over her. She frowned. "Why are you here?"

  Rhiannon eased her heavy body to the rock beside Maeve. "She will find him this evening."

  "I know," Maeve snapped. In her hands were a string of brightly-colored stones.

  "She will slay him."

  Maeve glare at her visitor. "You are telling me useless information, sorceress."

  Rhiannon rubbed her distended belly, coloring slightly at the look of hatred Maeve sent her way. "Such was the decree that I bear his bantling."

  "Such was your deceitful lust, witch! Do not try to blame the gods."

  The Windweaver sighed and shifted to a more comfortable position. "I have thought of a way to keep her from taking him with her into the Abyss and thus starting this entire sordid business over again in another century."

  The crystal beads ran through Maeve’s fingers and landed in a jeweled pool in her lap. She ground her teeth, hating the Windweaver almost as much as she hated Suzanna de Viennes. To show her disdain, she did not reply to the woman’s words.

  "You will have him for an eternity," Rhiannon complained. "Why do you begrudge me a place in his heart?"

  Maeve stood, spilling the beads to the clover at her feet. "You have no place in my beloved’s heart, witch. What you have, you stole from him." She glared down at the beautiful face turned up to her. "Am I to forgive your sin
and wish you well of the bairn you are within hours of birthing?"

  Rhiannon folded her hands demurely. "What bothers you more, Maeve—my bearing his seed or your womb being barren so you may not?"

  "Oooh!" Maeve shrieked, then started down the hill, away from her tormentress.

  "Why put him through pain that can be avoided?" Rhiannon called after her.

  "Go to hell, witch!"

  "He can be with you the sooner if you will but listen!"

  Maeve stopped, almost losing her balance in the thick heather through which she was stalking. She turned, eyes narrowed. "What are you about?"

  Rhiannon struggled up and carefully made her way to Maeve. "I have a way to save him. If my plan works, he will be with you come first light."

  "Why would you help me? We are enemies!"

  The Windweaver grimaced, and patted her belly. "I need your help and I am willing to trade my own in exchange."

  Maeve lifted her chin. "My help to do what?"

  Rhiannon rubbed at her stomach, her face contorting. "My son will need a midwife, for I am—"

  "Hell, no! And a pox on you for even suggesting such a thing!" Maeve turned to stride away, but Rhiannon’s firm hand on her shoulder stopped her.

  "This is his child! It is a part of him. Will you let that part die because of your jealousy?"

  Maeve shook off the restraining hand. "Think you I care whether or not that brat ever sees the light of day?"

  "Think you he will forgive you when he finds out you could have saved his son’s life but were too proud to do so? Were it any other woman’s bantling, would you not do all you could to save it?"

  Intense shame filled Maeve’s soul. She turned away and closed her eyes. "You are asking too much of me."

  "I am asking no more than any mother would ask."

  "You stole what should have been mine!"

  "You could never have bared children for him. How can you say I stole what could never have been yours?"

  "He is my beloved!" Maeve said, tears flooding her eyes. "To know another can do what I can not for him is an agony!"

  "To bear his child and know he will not be at your side to see the bairn to manhood is an agony, as well."

  Maeve flinched. "I will hear no more such talk from you."

  "I love him, Maeve," Rhiannon confessed.

  "No!" Maeve shook her head. "Do not say it!"

  "And I love him enough to place him into your safekeeping, even knowing I will never see him again."

  Maeve put her hand over her ears and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. "Stop!"

  Rhiannon snatched Maeve’s hands from her ears. "Listen, bitch! I am giving you a way to have what you want. I am willing to help you. All I ask in return is that you aid in bringing Riain’s babe safely into this world!" She jerked one of Maeve’s hands to her distended belly. "Feel his child? Feel it striving to live?"

  Maeve tried to pull her hand free, but the sensation against her palm stilled her movements. Her eyes grew wide as the flesh beneath her hand surged upward and shifted lower. She groaned.

  "His name is Daemion," Rhiannon whispered.

  "I heard you tell his father," Maeve sighed.

  "Help me, Maeve."

  For one wild moment, Maeve wanted to jerk away and flee. A part of her loathed the mother as well as the child, but another part of her ached at the teeming life pulsing in a womb, a sensation she would never know.

  When Rhiannon saw Maeve’s shoulders slump, she squeezed Maeve’s hand. "You will help me?"

  Maeve raised her scrutiny from the Windweaver’s belly to her expectant face. She saw fear lurking in the lustrous eyes and made note of the trembling scarlet lips. Without speaking, she nodded.

  Rhiannon smiled. "Praise to the gods, Lady. Praise to the gods!"

  "What is your plan, witch?"

  The Windweaver’s smile widened. "One I know you will approve."

  * * *

  Riain climbed into the car, shot Goldie a damning look, then stretched out in the seat. "How much further?"

  "Less than an hour," Goldie said as she turned the key in the ignition.

  "You will never get me in another of these carriages," he seethed. "Tell me again why we are making this never-ending trip."

  "I wanted to be with my baby brother, who is undergoing surgery tomorrow morning."

  "I remember now." He touched her hand on the steering wheel.

  Goldie shrugged. "You’ve a short attention span, Cree."

  He winced. So concerned with his own problems, he had forgotten hers. "I am sorry."

  "You didn’t have to come along, you know," she grated. "You could have stayed at my apartment."

  He looked at her and saw the need for companionship in her eyes. The woman had lost her oldest brother to a dread disease called cancer and now her youngest brother was undergoing surgery for the same illness. The situation did not look good and he could tell she was worried. That was the main reason he had not taken to the air and followed her as she drove to her home. Though he wished that he had.

  "I wanted to accompany you."

  "Whatever," she sniffed.

  Riain sighed deeply and laid his head against the cool glass of the passenger window. He watched the countryside pass by and marveled at how different this land was from his native Chale. It bore the unmistakable likeness to Serenia and that made him wonder if this land was not a distant future of McGregor’s homeland.

  "Do you have a land where there are black beaches?" he asked.

  Goldie glanced at him. "Greece does, I think."

  "Greece. Are there mountains, too?"

  "I believe so. I’ve never been there."

  "What of a land of dark people?"

  "You mean black people? People with brown or black skin?"

  "Aye."

  "Africa."

  "And a land where the natives have eyes shaped like almonds?"

  "There are several lands like that. China, Japan, Korea, Thailand…"

  "This really is our future," he said in awe.

  "God help you, then."

  He shifted in his seat so he could look at her. "How so?"

  "Well, I don’t know about your world, Cree, but here there is drought, pestilence, famine and—"

  "War."

  "More wars every year, it seems."

  "Such is the way on all worlds, Golden One."

  * * *

  The place of the Healers made Riain acutely uncomfortable. The smells stung his nostrils and made his eyes water, while the sounds jarred his nerves. As he walked beside Goldie, he looked about the corridor; everywhere he gazed, human misery was staring back at him.

  "This is an evil place," he whispered.

  "How can you say that?" Goldie chastised. "People’s lives are saved in hospitals like this one."

  "Death resides here," he said with a shudder. "This is the Gatherer’s entrance hall."

  Goldie stopped, glared at him, and didn’t say a word.

  "I’ll be quiet," he said, sensing her anger.

  "Good!" she hissed, then continued on to what she told him was the nurse’s station.

  Riain dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans, lowered his head, and followed her.

  "Trace McHatton’s room, please," she told the white-clad woman behind a tall counter.

  "Good afternoon," the woman said. "Are you his sister?"

  "Yes."

  "He’s been expecting you." The woman glanced at Riain. "Is this your husband?"

  "Yes," Goldie replied before Riain could disagree.

  "Mr. McHatton is in Room 502."

  "Thank you."

  "Don’t stay long. He’s very weak."

  Riain saw Goldie flinch and reached out to take her arm. He was not surprised when she leaned in to him, for he knew she was fast losing her strength. He nodded at the white-clad woman and gently pulled Goldie from the counter. "Which way?"

  Goldie looked around, her eyes suddenly too bright. "Down there," she said, pointin
g to their left.

  When they entered the room in which Goldie’s brother lay, Riain knew the young man would not survive the Healer’s blade come morning. The scent of death was strong in the room.

  "Well, look what the cat dragged in," the man joked.

  "The wolf, you mean." Goldie laughed nervously as she eased her hand from Riain’s grip and went to the bed. She bent over her brother and kissed his pale forehead. "How’s it going, Rebel?"

  "I’ve been better," he quipped. "And who have you brought to meet me?"

  Riain stepped up to the bed and took the weak hand thrust at him. "I am Cree." As soon as his flesh touched that of Goldie’s brother, Riain could feel the life leaching from Trace McHatton. He placed his free hand over the young man’s and held it as though he could keep the warmth from fading.

  "It’s okay," Trace said gently.

  At that moment, Riain knew the man had already made his Peace with the Wind and was ready to leave this world, perhaps even eager to do so. Tears filled Riain’s eyes. He walked to the window when Goldie pulled up a chair and began asking about their family.

  "So, tell me how things are in Hotlanta," Trace requested.

  Riain listened to the brother and sister, but he deliberately blotted out their words. He stared into the parking lot, watching people going and coming. Their movements mesmerized him for a time, then, bored, he looked up over the trees and frowned.

  There was a river crooking to the South, away from the hospital. He stared at it for a moment before he realized he had seen this waterway before. Even as the thought intruded, he saw lightning to the East.

  "Bainbridge," he said, his heart beginning to thud violently.

  "What?" Goldie asked.

  Riain looked around at her. "This is Bainbridge."

  "Yes, I told you that already."

  "And that," he said, pointing to the waterway, "is the Flint River."

  "Yes," she drawled. "So?"

  He turned and stared at the river. "There’s a storm coming."

  And with it, he thought, Suzanna de Viennes.

  He shoved his hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the amethyst vial.

  His first trip through the Abyss would be this evening, unless he could find a way to circumvent it.

  "Are you all right, Cree?" Goldie inquired.

  He looked around to see the McHatton’s watching him. "I must go, Golden One."