The Gathering Storm

by Varna, Lucy

  “Yeah, that’s my point. It’s the People’s way to breed strong Sons, but you, you left me here to run The Omega and raise Casey, and I did. I did everything you asked. I did it without complaining, without once mentioning that maybe I had something different in mind for my life.”

  “Will,” she said softly, and he rushed on, afraid if he stopped, he’d never speak again.

  “I did that because you asked it of me. I did it because I loved you so much, I would’ve done anything for you. Anything, Mom. And in return, when I finally found somebody I loved as much as I loved you, you tried to come between us. Threatened to disown me. Turned your back on me.” He fixed his gaze on the even rise and fall of Sigrid’s chest, and swallowed down the bitterness coating his throat. “You were the one who abandoned me.”

  “Will.” The word trembled and broke. Wilhelmina touched her fingers to her mouth and two tears streaked down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby, so sorry. I didn’t realize you felt that way, that you wanted something different. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He shrugged, uncomfortable now that the words were out. He could’ve been kinder, maybe should’ve been, but how? How could he have cushioned his mother from the truth, when it was so hard and harsh inside him?

  Wilhelmina slid off the bed and knelt beside the one Sigrid lay on. She rested a hand over his, on top of the afghan, stilling his movement. “I always thought we could tell each other anything. When did we stop doing that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He shook his head, trying to pinpoint the moment they’d stopped talking. Had it been when he’d taken over The Omega at sixteen, or later, when his parents had embarked on their world tour, leaving him and Casey here to depend on each other?

  What did it matter now? The past was gone, over and done. There was nothing he could do about it now.

  He sighed and dropped his hand, and looked straight at his mother for the first time in a long while. Fine lines were etched around her eyes, laugh lines, he hoped, and a few strands of silver shot through her hair. She was no longer a proud immortal Daughter of the line of Abragni, but a mortal wife and mother, his mother.

  And he loved her.

  He stood and leaned across Sigrid, and pressed a kiss to his mother’s forehead. “We’ll work on that.”

  Her fingers tightened on his hand and she laughed, low and soft. “Yes, we will. I’ll leave you to your duties now. We’ll have a feast tonight, to celebrate. A Daughter has found her heart, and my son has found his.”

  And those were always cause for rejoicing.

  Will sat back down and watched his mother leave the room. As soon as the door shut behind her, he resumed his watch over the woman who had stolen his heart and claimed him as no other could.

  Sigrid slowly rose through the thick fog clogging her head and woke to a brightly lit, unfamiliar room. Will was sitting beside her, his forearms propped on his thighs, staring at her with the same inscrutable look he’d worn since the end of the challenge.

  His eyes met hers, and he slowly leaned back, trailing his palms over his thighs. “You ok?”

  She mentally probed the corners of her mind, then ran through a subtle check of her body. “I’m fine. What happened?”

  “You passed out.” One corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. “Amma said you submitted your will to me.”

  The statement rose on a question, as if he weren’t quite sure his grandmother had the right of it. Sigrid sat up slowly, careful of the muzziness filling her head. Had Will somehow broken her curse, by dint of her submission? But when had that—?

  She bit the thought off. When she’d decided to exchange her own happiness for his, of course. What else could explain her fainting when she was largely healed and otherwise hale and whole?

  Will touched her knee, let his hand fall away. “You scared me.”

  “Oh, Will. No. I’m fine.” She sighed and slipped off the bed into his lap, and curled up there like a kitten at naptime. “We’re fine. Aren’t we?”

  His arms came around her and he tucked her head under his chin. “Yeah. Mom quit bitching when you passed out.”

  “Every cloud has a silver lining,” Sigrid murmured.

  He huffed out a short laugh. “If you say so.”

  “What happened? My memory is a little fuzzy.”

  “The usual. Blustering and fussing, a lot of accusations. Then you scared the ever loving hell out of me.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  “I think that’s a one time thing.”

  “For any reason,” he amended firmly. “I carried you up here. Mom followed a little later, probably after Dad calmed her down and the shock of seeing a Daughter as strong as you faint had passed. We hashed it out. She’s backing down.”

  The finality of his words worried her. There was more there, she was sure, but wheedling it out of him could wait for another day, when things were running a little more smoothly.

  And they would run smoothly. Of that she was certain. Now if she could only get him to tell her he loved her, here in this quiet room with no one watching.

  Trust was a two way street, one it was past time they trod together.

  She closed her eyes, gathered her courage, and finally said, “I love you, Will.”

  His arms tightened around her and his breath whooshed out, warming her skin. “Yeah, I figured.”

  She waited for him to continue, for him to reciprocate, for something. After a long moment, he laughed softly, lifted her chin, and kissed her, slowly, tenderly. Her hands curled into his shirt and held him close as her heart tripped into a jog and she silently begged him to say it, to just tell her how he felt.

  At last, he drew back and met her gaze evenly. “I love you, Sigrid, maybe since the first time I saw you, maybe since that day you and Moira got into an argument for the hundredth time and I lost my temper.”

  “And you kissed me. I remember.”

  “It’s a helluva cute meet.”

  Giddiness rose in her and laughter followed, spilling out of her in a mad rush to share this rare jubilation with the world. Will loved her, and she loved him. Wasn’t that something?

  He jiggled her in his arms, a grin slowly growing on his face. “This isn’t a laughing matter, woman.”

  “Oh, Will. If you only knew.” Her laughter petered out and she cupped his hand against her cheek. “Where do we go from here?”

  “Well, now that you’ve despoiled me—”

  She choked on another laugh and her eyes widened. “Will!”

  “I figure the least you can do is make an honest man of me.” He leaned down and touched his nose to hers. “What do you say? Do you think we have it in us to master the whole husband and wife gig?”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she whispered, and kissed him until he had no doubt whatsoever how much she believed in that very outcome.

  Epilogue

  The storage room was dark and empty when the Woman with No Face picked the lock and slipped inside. A long table stretched down the middle of the room, supporting five boxes specially made to hold the skeletal remains of a human body.

  She shut the door quietly behind herself and flipped on the overhead lights. The work she did tonight required illumination of more than one kind. Light so she could see what she was about, yes, but also a revelation.

  The youngest of the Seven, the People’s Light, was hidden no more. Slowly, the pieces fell into place one by one, moving the People inexorably toward a time the Woman had witnessed only in visions.

  Their future.

  She could feel it building within her, suffusing her bones with the same illuminating portent. The stage was set, the players were in place, and she had played her part well. Their time had come, the grand finale the People had anticipated for so long. Now it was left to Abragni to choose a path from among the many spread before her, and the Light would, with the help of the Great Mother, choose the correct way.
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br />   Blessed be Ki.

  The Woman scrounged through some papers scattered on a table set against the far wall and located a marker. She had so few tasks left, so few visions left to fulfill. This small task, this labeling of the Sisters, she had left as long as she could. She had followed the progress of the women and men working here, encouraging them as she could, but she had foreseen a snag only she could correct: Science would not reveal the identities of the women resting here in these simple boxes. Only the Woman could do so now.

  And so she quietly opened each box and discerned which Sister was which, not through any outward marking or sign, but by her inner voice, the Mother Goddess who had guided her for so many millennia. She worked until each box was marked correctly with the name of the Sister it held.

  Lilleni. Eleni. Ganenda. Bagda. Marnan.

  Five Sisters dead, one revealed, and one still hidden in the shadows.

  The Woman closed the boxes and set the pen aside, then stood back and gazed at the boxes as memory pushed through the remnants of visions and war and a life lived too long without the camaraderie of another human being. Yes, it was almost time. Soon, the People would confront their age old enemy and shed the hardships of the past. Soon, she could rest as she had not for so very, very long, rest and perhaps die as she had wished so many times.

  That, the Great Lady had never allowed.

  The Woman dug a scrap piece of paper out of the untidy pile, sketched her symbol on it, and let it flutter to the floor. Let them know who had solved the mystery here. Let them fear the Woman’s coming one last time before the end.

  The Woman touched each box in turn, then slipped out of the room, leaving her sisters to the peace they had earned so long ago.

  Continue reading for a preview of the next book in the series.

  * * * *

  Thank you for reading The Gathering Storm (Daughters of the People, Book 6). If you enjoyed this story, please leave a review for it at your favorite online retailer.

  Dedication:

  For you, the reader.

  Thank you for your patience during the long lull between books.

  About the Author:

  Lucy Varna lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of northeast Georgia, surrounded by her large, extended family. Visit Lucy online at her website or Facebook page, or visit the People online.

  The Daughters of the People Series

  The Prophecy

  Light’s Bane

  The Enemy Within

  Tempered

  In All Things, Balance

  Sanctuary

  The Gathering Storm

  Omnibus 1 (Books 1, 2, and 3)

  Omnibus 2 (Books 3.5, 4, and 5)

  Daughters of the People Short Stories

  Dreaming of a Dark Christmas

  The Sons of the People Series

  Say Yes

  The Cullowhee Heritage Series

  A Higher Purpose

  A Wicked Love

  The Pruxnæ Series

  Thief of Hearts

  The Choosing

  Alien Mine

  A Warrior’s Touch

  Coming Soon

  Sweet Surrender (The Pruxnæ, Book 5)

  Redemption (Daughters of the People, Book 6.5)

  War’s Last Refuge (Daughters of the People, Book 7)

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  * * * * *

  A sneak peek of Redemption…

  India Furia eased the curtain aside a mere fraction and stared out the cabin’s window at snow fluttering onto the empty, graveled parking area. Three weeks, she’d been there, trapped in this An-cursed wilderness with no one for company except a herd of deer, the occasional black bear, and, when he could get away, Hiro. Seven weeks since he’d rescued her from the clutches of that goody two shoes Rebecca Upton. Seven weeks since her sister Indigo, beloved above all, had submitted to the Blade’s Son and become mortal.

  Which of those was more shameful escaped India in that moment. She flicked the curtain into place and paced away from the window’s temptation.

  Hiro was late.

  India stopped in the middle of the living room, her hands opening and closing into hard fists at her side. It’s not like she missed him or anything. He’d barely spoken to her since the day she’d woken in Hiro’s isolated getaway, handcuffed to his bed like the prisoner Rebecca had tried to make her.

  Chained like a common criminal and, worse, confined in one of the cave-like cells hidden away in the deep, dank dark tunneling through the mountain housing the Archives in Tellowee.

  India shuddered, shaking off the sheer terror tightening her spine. Never would she be a prisoner, bound by duty or force to the will of another. She’d rather die a hundred deaths.

  And had suffered worse escaping just such a fate.

  Two seconds later, she was at the window again, peering out into the frigid, late autumn landscape. Snow frosted the grass verging the forest surrounding the mountain cabin. Intrepid cardinals flitted through the pine, flashing hints of color among the grey-green tree trunks. The world outside was silent, serene, and entirely too rural for India’s taste.

  Blessed Mother, where was he?

  Her cellphone buzzed against the rustic coffee table sitting between the couch and the Navajo-patterned blanket thrown over its backrest, and the fire roaring in the woodstove. This phone was the one concession Hiro had made to her many demands for more freedom, the one lifeline she had to the outside world, but only because it led directly to him.

  Sneaky bastard had wiretapped the damn thing. No matter who she called or texted, no matter what she did with it, he would know.

  And that’s what she got for sleeping with a former Delta Forces Operator and current co-owner of a growing personal security business. For all she knew, he had bugs tucked into every nook and cranny of the cabin and was, even now, listening to her pacing back and forth across the oak floors in her socked feet.

  The phone buzzed again, yanking her out of her growing irritation. She strode across the room and snatched it up, thumbed into the first text message she’d received, and stopped cold.

  Finish it.

  Satisfaction flooded into her. She deleted the message, dropped the phone onto the table. The drone of an approaching vehicle fluttered at the edge of her hearing. She crossed to the window and lifted the curtain, spotted Hiro’s SUV, and allowed herself a small smile.

  Her little interlude with the Blade, and then with her rescuer, hadn’t alienated her as she’d feared. The job she’d left unfinished was waiting for her, and she fully intended to see it through, come Hell or high water, or any force that bitch Rebecca Upton chose to throw at her.

  India dropped the curtain and stepped back, affecting an impatient expression for the man who had, for a brief time, been her lover.

  Let the games begin.

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  Redemption (Daughters of the People, Book 6.5).