by P. C. Cast
I understood exactly what he meant. “What did it say to you?” I asked quietly.
“It called me Shaman and told me to awake.”
Clint was blushing adorably as he hurried to finish his story.
“So I pulled all my money out of the bank, cashed in some CDs and bought this place. And made new friends.” This time his laugh was free of sarcasm. “Mostly old Indians. There’re a lot of Choctaw who still live in this area. They try to keep the old ways alive. I’m learning how to help them, which usually means driving them to the doctor, or to the store for supplies, but sometimes it means just sitting and listening.”
“You have people to take care of, too,” I said to him.
“I guess that’s something we have in common.”
I didn’t respond because it wasn’t myself I had been comparing him to—it was the other High Shaman in my life.
“So you don’t actually hear the trees speak anymore?”
“I just feel them. Sometimes they put ideas into my mind, or warn me of a storm. Once in a while I’ll stumble onto an especially ancient tree, like the ones in the grove, and I can hear it whisper the word Shaman.” His face radiated the joy of that single word.
The word that had saved his life.
“Anything else you want to know, my Lady?” He bowed me past another low-hanging branch.
“Yes—I want to know what it’s like to fly an F-16.”
His face took on a faraway expression. “Shannon my girl, the power…it’s unbelievable. And it’s all at your fingertips. It becomes a part of you. The cockpit is a glass bubble. You can see all around you. No sides, no boundaries. Imagine that the visibility is like you’re flying on the end of a broomstick.” He laughed. It was a joyous sound.
“Is that some kind of crack about me being a witch? I’ll have you know I’m a Goddess Incarnate, and we don’t use broomsticks to fly.” Please. How gauche.
He continued speaking, pointedly ignoring my quip. “The view is like you’re hanging out there in the air, and the jet becomes an extension of your body. You become pure power.”
I blinked in surprise. “Like when I channeled the energy of the trees through my body?”
“Yeah, probably something a lot like that. It’s bigger than you. You’re just along for the ride.”
“And what a ride!” We smiled at each other like gleeful children and once again linked arms, moving ever closer to the heart of the forest.
Soon the path took an abrupt right turn, climbed steeply and narrowed. Looking around, I realized I recognized this distinctive area. We couldn’t be far from the grove. I let Clint go ahead of me, and as he turned to give me a hand up, his foot slid off the side of a snow-crusted rock.
“Damn!” he cursed, catching his balance by twisting his weight around, arms flailing. I saw a flash of pain cross his face.
Scrambling up after him, I said breathlessly, “Hey, I thought I’d healed you from that back pain last night.” Hadn’t I? That’s what it had seemed like to me.
Regaining his balance he grabbed my hand and pulled me up next to him.
“Shannon my girl, it wasn’t my back that you healed.” Then he turned and started quickly down the narrow path.
I hurried after him. I hadn’t healed his back? I was sure that I had felt pain beneath my fingertips. I remembered focusing the energy within me through my hands and into him, and he had responded—I was sure of it.
He needs you, My Chosen One.
Epona’s words came back clearly to my searching memory. I stomped after Clint, my mind whirring. What was happening to me? What was I becoming? I hugged myself, feeling suddenly insecure and frightened.
A Goddess speaks to me. And, more than that (as if I needed more), it was apparent she was using me to impact people’s lives, not just in an ancient world where they were used to that kind of thing, but here in the good old US of A.
But I’m not a spiritual leader or valiant modern-day Joan of Arc. I’m just a misplaced English teacher who is in love with one too many men/horses/whatever.
A wordless sound flowed across my mind, tickling my senses like the sweetest laughter imaginable.
Joan was impetuous, too.
Oh, friggin great. I’m being compared to Joan of Arc.
“If memory serves me correctly, Joan didn’t end up too well. You know,” I whispered into the air, “arrested and tried for heresy…blah…blah…burned at the stake.”
“Did you say something, Shannon?” Clint called over his shoulder.
“Just complaining about the weather,” I yelled back, scrambling to catch up with him.
We rounded another sharp right turn just as I rejoined Clint. The trail had widened a little and I could walk beside him again. He took my hand and we continued doggedly forward. Every few feet I’d reach out and let my hand brush against the nearest tree. I thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of warmth and homecoming. The contact with the ancient forest filled me. Looking around, I soaked in the beauty of the untamed wilderness. Just this one little path—we move off of it and we’d be smack in the middle of a forest as deep and thick as any I’d seen in Partholon.
Distracted by the joy I felt immersed within the forest, I didn’t notice Clint’s tense silence.
I drew in a deep breath. “Jeesh, even the air smells different out here. It’s cleaner, more alive.” When Clint didn’t respond I elbowed him. “Come on, you have to feel it, too.”
He responded with a preoccupied grunt. He’s such a guy. Not letting him spoil my Marlin-Perkins-Mutual-of-Omaha-Wild-Kingdom moment, I gawked at the forest. The overhead tangle of snow-covered limbs lent us the facade of traveling through a canopied world. Even though some of the icy crystals escaped the clutching branches, it still appeared that we were encapsulated in a winter wonderland. Kind of like being trapped in one of those snow globes. Weird, but not altogether unpleasant.
“This place is just damn lovely,” I said with my usual delicate vernacular.
“Shush,” Clint shushed me.
“Wh—” I started to question him and his free hand covered my mouth.
I shut up but glared at him. He took his hand slowly from my mouth, and pointed off to the left of our path. Putting his lips against my ear, he whispered, “Snowmobile tracks.”
I blinked in surprise. Sure enough, not far from the path were the clear tracks of two snowmobiles. They shadowed the path for a few more feet, before crossing over it and continuing into the forest to our right. Again Clint’s mouth was against my ear. Not that I minded.
“This is where we leave the path. Those tracks are heading directly to the grove.”
I swallowed as we left the path, following the well-marked ruts. I thought back, trying to remember how long the walk had been from the path to the grove. It hadn’t seemed very far. Granted, it hadn’t been snow-packed and had been much easier to walk through a few days ago, but it couldn’t be much farther. I glanced at Clint’s stony profile. We needed to get something straight. I stopped and pulled at his arm till he bent so that his ear was close to my mouth, then I whispered urgently, “I want to be alone when I confront her.”
Clint sucked air and I was sure he was getting ready for some kind of Fighter Pilot Military Guy Tirade (if I were a guy this would be a pissing contest). I shook him and let him get a good look at my face. He stopped trying to speak and gave me the universal look for “Go ahead and say whatever you have to say, which will definitely piss me off.”
I continued whispering. “Let me talk to her face-to-face. You may be surprised at her reaction. Maybe seeing me will be such a jolt that I can talk some sense into her.”
He looked skeptical.
“Remember how egocentric and self-centered she is. Don’t I look just like her?” Well, I added to myself, actually, she was looking lots better than I was last time I saw her, but…“She might be so shocked or intrigued or whatever, when she sees me that I can reason with her.”
He grunted the male sound for “I
don’t like it but you get your way.”
“You can hide at the edge of the tree line. If things get crazy you’ll be close enough to help me out of whatever mess I’ve gotten myself into.”
He smiled at my words and turned his head, catching my lips off guard with a quick, endearing kiss. “All right. We’ll do it your way,” he whispered.
“Good,” I said.
“Your way at first,” he mumbled.
Mr. Have To Have the Last Word and I crept forward, moving slowly and trying to be as soundless as possible. When Clint stopped I didn’t need any prompting to stay quiet. Silently he mouthed, the tree line, then he pointed to a thick area of trees only about twenty feet ahead of us. Through their tangled branches I could barely make out a break in the forest.
Clint elbowed me and pointed to a nest of what looked like wild black raspberry bushes. They stretched around the side of the clearing, just inside the tree line. They were only about waist high, but the snow had carpeted them so that they reminded me of blobs of cotton candy, only prickly.
“Those berry thickets are all around the outside of the grove.” Even though Clint’s lips were pressed against my ear, I had to strain to hear his words. “I’m going to make my way around until I’m closer to the two trees. That’s probably where she’ll be. Doubt if she’ll notice me in the shadows once she gets a bead on you.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, but I stayed silent.
“I’ll be close enough if you need me. I hope.”
I kissed him quickly and stood silently while I watched him step outside the snowmobile tracks and begin making his way stealthily around the tree line. When the forest swallowed him I squared my shoulders and marched forward, no longer making any attempt at silence.
“I’ll be needing your help now, Epona,” I said aloud.
I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I heard the limbs of the trees closest to me rustle in response.
I stepped through the tree line and into the knee-deep snow that covered the grove.
CHAPTER 5
The first thing I noticed was the amazing green of the pin oaks. Even seen through the steadily falling snow, the vibrancy of their healthy middle-of-the-summer foliage was quite a shock. The eerie familiarity of the area clouded my eyes, and for a moment all I could see was how distinctly this place mirrored the grove in Partholon. Of course, the snow was all wrong, and the mechanical tracks didn’t fit…
…My eyes followed those tracks until they found the two vehicles that had made them. They had been left riderless beside the little stream that twisted and spilled though the clearing. I looked beyond them and let my eyes travel from the green of the oak leaves down to the moss-covered trunks, and then to the two people near them.
Rhiannon stood close to the tree that grew on the left side of the brook just outside of the vague outline of what looked like the same kind of melted circle she had cast in the grove in Chicago. The circle encompassed both trees and the area of the brook that ran between them. The unmistakable shape of Bres huddled directly in the middle of the circle. He was on his knees, facing Rhiannon, whose back was to me. I could see that his chest was bare, which made me feel cold for him. I peeked quickly down, hoping the rest of him was covered. I breathed a prayer of thanks to my Goddess; he had on a pair of jeans. If his head had been raised he would have easily seen me, but his head was bowed and his hands were clasped in front of him as if he was deeply in prayer.
The thought of what he might be praying to made my stomach clench.
Rhiannon wore the same red-fox coat she had been wearing in Chicago. Well, she’d worn it for a little while, anyway. I started walking toward her, muttering through gritted teeth, “Damn, I hope she’s not going to get naked.”
Surprised she hadn’t noticed me yet, I studied her as I approached. She, too, had her head bowed. Her hair was loose and stood out in an untamed mass that swirled halfway down her back. I touched my own wild curls, wondering if that’s how I looked to other people. The beanie-like hat I had pulled down over my ears didn’t allow for much hair flamboyance, though.
A furtive movement at the far side of the clearing drew my attention away from Rhiannon. I could just catch a glimpse of Clint’s khaki green hat through the hedge not far from the two trees. I smiled, trying to telegraph silently to Clint that I appreciated his good positioning. Then I quickly recomposed my face. With my luck Rhiannon would choose that moment to notice me. She’d know instantly what that foolish grin meant. I wasn’t entirely sure why I didn’t want her to know Clint was with me, but I knew it was wise to trust my instincts; often a Goddess guided them.
My attention refocused on Rhiannon. Her hands weren’t clasped before her, as were Bres’s. Instead, she held them out from the sides of her body, fingers pointed down and palms open but slanted, like an upside-down victory V.
Upside-down victory. In Rhiannon’s opinion that would be me triumphing over her.
“Hope that’s prophetic,” I muttered.
The sound of my voice carried clearly across the silent glade. Rhiannon spun around. When our eyes met we froze. We were only separated by a few yards of space. Snow fell in sparkling crystal beads all around us, like a goddess was shaking white glitter from the clouds. Even though it was not yet noon the sky had darkened, intensifying the otherworldly feel of the ancient place.
Rhiannon and I blinked at the same moment. I was just thinking that she had on too much makeup when her bronze-glossed lips parted. The voice that emerged was mine, but it had Partholon’s lilting accent.
“You are not as attractive as I.”
That sure as hell broke the spell. “Really?” I quipped. “I was just thinking you have on too damn much makeup and it makes you look older than I look.”
One of her eyebrows shot up and she crossed her arms in a gesture I automatically mirrored.
“Why are you here, Shannon?” She got right to the point.
“I think you and I need to talk.” Shit, this was weird.
She smiled, and laughed softly. “And why would I wish to speak with you, schoolteacher?” She drew out the title like it was an insult.
Don’t get mad, I told myself. Take a breath. Cool down.
“Lots of reasons. We seem to have many things in common. I thought it’d be interesting to get to know you.” I hadn’t expected to say that, but my intuition was telling me to get her talking.
She narrowed her eyes, making fine lines appear over her otherwise flawless face. (Note to self: don’t squint.)
“I have no interest in getting to know you.” But something about the tone of her voice said she wasn’t being entirely honest with me.
Or herself. The words fluttered through my mind.
“Oh, please!” This time I laughed. “You have to be as curious as I am. Look at us! We’re the same. Frizz out my hair, peel off some of your makeup, give me a big fur coat and we’d be mirror images.” I uncrossed my arms. “You have to have a few questions you’d like to ask me. I know I have a zillion I want to ask you.”
“What is a zillion?”
“There! That’s a question. A zillion is an American slang term for lots and lots.” Before she could say anything I jumped in. “Now I have a question.” I motioned in the direction of Bres, who was still kneeling in the middle of the circle. He seemed totally oblivious to my presence. “What the hell is boyfriend doing over there?”
Rhiannon’s expression, which had relaxed momentarily, shifted into sly guardedness. “Bres is not my boyfriend. He is my servant, bound to me by blood. He is doing my bidding.”
“That sounds very Dark Shadows-like, but you’re not making much sense. How about putting it in current-day American English so I can understand you?”
I thought for a second she was going to explode into one of the Rhiannon fits I’d heard so much about from Alanna, but apparently she mentally regrouped because instead she simply said, “Very well.” With a bronze-tipped manicured nail she pointed to Bres then made
a graceful, sweeping arch with her arm, like she was encompassing the area that surrounded us.
“Bres is readying himself for The Call.”
That didn’t sound good.
“I still don’t understand.”
“I forget that you are ignorant of the ancient ways, and that it is only in appearance you mirror me,” she said condescendingly. I felt my teeth set. “I am calling forth a protector, and Bres will be the vessel it inhabits.”
“Good God!” I sputtered as the meaning of her words came clear. “Do you think Nuada is a fucking bodyguard?” I felt chills shudder the length of my body.
“Nuada!” she snapped. “That is the name the spirit has used. How do you know this?”
“Because I helped kill him back in Partholon! He’s not some kind of benevolent protector, he’s pure evil. You’ve called alive the spirit of the leader of the demonic creatures that almost destroyed your old world.”
“Then this Nuada is very powerful?” Instead of being shocked she looked thoughtful.
“Rhiannon, he’s evil. He won’t be anyone’s protector. He destroys lives not saves them.” I knew by the satisfied expression on her face that I wasn’t getting through to her. I took a deep breath and added, “He killed your father.”
“You lie!” her voice snapped.
“I’m sorry. I hate telling you this way, but your father’s been dead almost six months. I watched it happen. The Fomorians overran MacCallan Castle. The men weren’t ready. They didn’t stand a chance.” I paused to stop the shaking in my voice. Having almost lost my own father recently I empathized deeply with Rhiannon’s loss. “Epona took me on a Magic Sleep and let me witness it. He fought nobly, taking down dozens of those creatures with him. He died a hero’s death.”
Rhiannon’s face had drained of all color.