Goddess Rising

by Alisha Ashton

  “Are you harmed? Look at me. What has her power done to you?” Taran fretted as he fought to hold Ciaran’s gaze.

  “I am well, Taran. Stop. Stop! I am fine – truly,” Ciaran assured.

  Taran shook his head in disbelief. “You were dumbstruck, Ciaran. Standing there as if the world was not being torn apart at the seams. I thought for sure –”

  “Well, you can stop worrying,” Ciaran stated firmly as he cut his brother off. “I am unharmed. Can we please go to Skye now?”

  Taran flinched at Ciaran’s uncharacteristic, firm tone and studied his brother in concern. Something about him was different. His manner and words, for starters. Since when was he so outspoken and stubborn? And his features, his gaze… His entire demeanor was off. Stronger and lighter. Grudgingly, Taran nodded and turned to head back toward the cave. He found that he had to quicken his pace to keep up with Ciaran.

  The cave’s mouth had been severely damaged. The brothers had to climb over large sections of fallen rock to reach its interior. Dust was still settling, and visibility was low. The cave had been reshaped by the blast and was nearly unrecognizable. Some spaces were blocked entirely, the rest were all-but impassable. They had to crawl on their bellies to press forward. Somehow, amid the rubble, Ciaran still found Skye effortlessly. Once he reached the cramped cavity where she resided, he knelt beside her and bowed his head.

  As Taran worked his way through a narrow passage to reach them, he could hear his brother offering quiet words of comfort. Due to Taran’s larger frame and concern that any careless shifts in the rock might result in more collapses, it took him a bit more effort to maneuver the fallen debris. And once Taran – the battle-hardened warrior – was finally able to reach his brother and get a look at the girl for himself, he covered his mouth and retched. He had to turn away for a moment and gather his nerve before looking back at her.

  Skye’s body had been burnt beyond recognition. Little more than a seared skeleton remained. Every inch of her skin was blackened and charred. Her hair was gone. Her facial features were indiscernible. Had she not been a faol and a Goddess in her own right, Taran would have buried her right where she laid. Lending to the horror Taran felt for her in that moment was the realization that she could not receive the mercy of death. She would heal from this – but first, she would endure unimaginable suffering.

  “Great Mother, I beg of you, shine mercy upon your fallen child,” Taran breathed as his fingers stroked the crescent moon tattooed on his brow. He closed his eyes and said a fervent prayer. Once he was finished, he whispered to Ciaran, “We should not attempt to move her in this condition, brother.” He swallowed back emotion as his eyes became affixed to Skye’s singed and motionless form. “Her wounds are far too great to withstand the movement. We would only cause her more suffering. I will have the others work to clear a path and gather anything we have that may provide her any measure of relief.”

  If Ciaran heard his brother’s words, he gave no indication.

  Even with supernatural strength and vast numbers on their side, it took the entire day to remove the rubble and fallen rocks from the cave’s interior. Taran led the cleanup efforts. Shouting orders and doing relentless physical labor provided an outlet for all of his frustration over failing to protect Skye – in this time and the future. It also provided a distraction from Ciaran’s continued vigil over her charred corpse.

  The faoil worked together, forming a line and passing each massive stone from one man to the next. They piled them high on either side of the cave mouth. When the work was finished, there was nothing to do but wait.

  Taran had just leaned against a significantly large boulder to rest and take a drink of water when he spotted Latharn packing up enough food and clothing for a short journey. Exchanging troubled looks, he and several others made their way over to their leader.

  “Where are you going?” Taran asked.

  “Sorcha has awakened,” Latharn said without looking up as he gathered his supplies. “Just received Her summons. Faolan is on his way to us. I am to meet him and lead him back here. Cathal and a few of the others will be my escort. The rest of you are to remain and guard over Skye.”

  “Wait, you mean…?” Eògan began in shock.

  “Faolan is leaving the safety of the Great Mother’s forest?” Drostan asked.

  Ailean frowned worriedly. “Is that wise?”

  Latharn paused in his work to look over at them incredulously. “Do any of you want to try and prevent our Maker from reaching his child in her time of need?”

  The other faoil exchanged apprehensive looks before shaking their heads adamantly.

  “I did not think so,” Latharn said. He shouldered his pack before turning to face them. His eyes moved to Taran and he sighed contemplatively. “There is… something you should know about the woman you and Ciaran are bound to. Something all of our clansmen must be made aware of before Faolan’s arrival.”

  Taran frowned in concern at the grave expression on Latharn’s face. “What is it?”

  “When Skye connected to the Great Mother, she revealed her full title and identity,” Latharn recalled. “Children… Skye is not merely a gifted descendant in Sorcha’s line. She is not one of many. She is the One. She is the only. In her time, none have come before her or since. She is the end of the line. When our paths eventually lead us to her, she will be the first to ever wield Sorcha’s power. Skye… is our Queen.”

  Those words hung heavily in the air.

  The faoil were stunned speechless.

  “See to it that she is treated in a manner befitting her station,” Latharn ordered before setting out. He called back over his shoulder, “We would not want to risk offending her or our Maker.”

  It took nearly ten minutes for the men to speak after Latharn had left their line of sight.

  “Skye… is Queen of the clan,” Taran breathed in wonder. A slow, victorious smile spread over his lips as he concluded, “Then, by our union, I am to be King.”

  “Perhaps…” Eògan said as he exchanged an ill-behaved smile with Ailean. “Or perhaps it is to be Ciaran.”

  Taran’s brow furrowed at that. The possibility quickly derailed his moment of inner triumph.

  “The two do seem to be inseparable,” Ailean pointed out with a grin, intentionally goading Taran for a reaction. “And his manner is quite a bit different in her presence, had you noticed?”

  “I had noticed,” Eògan agreed. “Might be her affections bring out his… regal nature?”

  Drostan eyed his clansmen warily. They were playing a very dangerous game – pitting Taran against their brother and digging at his notoriously substantial and fragile ego.

  “I think it far more likely that Taran is King and Ciaran is Skye’s confidant, lover, and friend,” Drostan announced.

  Taran glanced over at him and considered his words in silence. He gave a forced smile and nod but held his tongue.

  With a sense of growing dread, Drostan could see that the wheels had already been set in motion. Hoping to defuse any potential issues, Drostan went on, “If Taran will be the one busied with leading our clan, it would make sense for Ciaran and Skye to form a comfortable relationship – much like what we have seen between them thus far.”

  “Oh, I would say they are comfortable,” Ailean teased.

  Eògan chuckled, “And I will agree that the way she responded when he removed his shirt was tremendously… friendly.”

  The men shared a snicker at that.

  Taran frowned in deepening displeasure. They had a point. Skye’s interest in his brother’s body had been easy to perceive – both visually and in her scent. His frown grew far more severe when he realized that Skye had given off no such scent of arousal when he had claimed her body.

  In response to the drastic change in Taran’s demeanor, Drostan changed the subject, hoping to distract him with the preparations that needed to be made before Faolan’s arrival.

  The effort was in vain. Taran’s eyes repeated
ly wandered back to the cave mouth, to the place where Ciaran was still standing watch over Skye. Since they had found her broken body, Ciaran had not left her side or spoken more than a few words to any of the others. Ciaran’s instant loyalty to the girl lent credence to the possibility that he would be named King in Taran’s stead.

  Taran’s jaw flexed in irritation at that. He had been protecting and guiding Ciaran for nearly a hundred winters. True, he adored and cared for Ciaran above any of his other clansmen, but the idea that Ciaran would be chosen over him for such a crucial role of leadership was hard to swallow.

  No. Taran simply could not believe it to be true. He was the clear choice for King. He was noble born. He had been second in line for the throne in his mortal clan and groomed for leadership and war since the day he took his first steps. He was a proven warrior with innumerable victories in battle. He was already second in command over the Tàcharain Fhaol Clan. His ascension to King was simply the only thing that made sense.

  When Ailean and Eògan walked away to spread the news of Skye’s identity and prepare for her welcome, Taran caught Drostan by the arm. Drostan glanced down at the tight grip on his bicep before looking up at Taran worriedly.

  “Once she has recovered from this, you ask her,” Taran commanded in a dark tone with teeth bared. “Ask her who will be King of this clan. I want it known to all.”

  Shifting uncomfortably under the weight of Taran’s gaze and knowing better than to say a word, Drostan nodded in agreement.

  Taran brooded for a while before going to join his brother inside the cave. It was far more difficult to harbor jealousy when faced with Ciaran’s behavior. His brother was still posted at Skye’s side, still muttering gentle words of comfort and encouragement. He did not waver in the task. He did not accept offers of food or drink. He did not stand to stretch his legs. He barely took his eyes from her, despite her horrific state.

  Taran sat a short distance away, idly sharpening his spear and contemplating the drastic difference in his brother. Up until this day, Ciaran had shown next to no interest in women. The heavy burden of his grief for his daughter had remained with him constantly for the past century. It was ever present – in his haunted eyes and soft-spoken voice. In the weary way he carried himself. In the way he so often deferred to Taran’s judgement.

  But not today. Today there was a spark in his eyes. Today his posture was strong. Today he was a new man. Somehow, Skye’s magic had chased away the perpetual dark clouds in his mind.

  Taran sighed at that – half in relief, half in concern. Was it simply a matter of Ciaran being enamored with this young beauty, he wondered? Or was there something deeper at play – a spell, perhaps? Should Taran be defending his brother from Skye’s obvious influence, or rejoicing in the positive effects it had on him?

  Ciaran was oblivious to his brother’s presence, let alone his concerns. All he could see, and feel, was Skye. She was life and light. She was everything. When her power washed over him, something inside of him had been freed. It was ever so much stronger than what he experienced when he dove into the river after her. The ice encasing his heart had melted away, letting loose a deluge of love and adulation for his Goddess. The nameless void and aching need that had been present in his soul since birth had been filled. His heart swelled in her presence. He belonged to her completely. The prospect of being by her side and being truly loved by her brought tears of joy to his eyes.

  And now he would wait. No matter how long it took, he would remain by her side until the day she could speak to him again. Until the day she could open those lovely eyes and look upon him in blessed adoration again.

  “I am here, beloved Skye. You are safe. Rest now. I shall watch over you,” he continued to promise softly. Over the course of the entire day, he had barely paused in these reassurances. His voice was a tether, he somehow knew. Skye was using it to calm herself. Her consciousness was trapped within the pitiful husk of her unspeakably damaged body. All that remained of her was a whisper within the broken shell. She was too horrifically wounded to withstand even the lightest of touches.

  But in Ciaran’s mind, he saw her beyond the limitations of her physical form. He saw her healed and smiling back up at him radiantly. He stroked her soft, golden hair and held her hand. He was sustaining her somehow through a newly-discovered and infinitely strange link. It was their own private place – a world in which she could rest and escape the reality of her circumstances.

  Shortly after the sun had set and the scent of his clansmen’s numerous fires filled the air, he heard it.

  “Ciaran…”

  He gasped in surprise. His brows drew together in response to the whispered beckoning. He moved closer to Skye, paying no attention to the way Taran instantly sat up to watch him. Even though Ciaran had most definitely just heard her, she was still too gravely wounded to have spoken. Her faol healing had not helped her to recover in the least. Ciaran knew it must be linked to the amount of energy she had unleashed, but he had no idea how to help her. In response to his fretting, a vision suddenly filled his mind.

  He was carrying Skye out of the cave…

  The night sky was clear…

  The light of the moon was shining brightly…

  He rested her on the ground…

  He pressed his hand to her brow…

  “Ciaran…”

  Skye whispered a desperate plea in his mind, but he could not understand her words. He decided to trust the vision instead.

  “I hear you, my darling. Do not worry,” he whispered in reply. As carefully as possible, he drew her charred body into his arms.

  “What in the name of the good spirits are you doing?” Taran asked with a curled lip. Just the idea of touching Skye in her current state was sickening – but to actually carry her? It was beyond horrific.

  “I can hear her, brother. Can you not hear her?” Ciaran asked as he stood and turned toward the cave mouth.

  “No…” Taran replied incredulously as he climbed to his feet and followed. “But I gather that is probably because it is not possible for her to be speaking in such a state. She does not even have a tongue.” He grimaced at the thought. “Where are you taking her?”

  “She needs me… and the moonlight,” Ciaran answered simply.

  “Have you forgotten the spell that prevents her from being taken out of this cave?” Taran asked.

  “She tells me it can be done,” Ciaran assured confidently. Her word was all he needed. He did not hesitate when he reached the location of the barrier. He did not slow his stride. Skye had shown him that this could be done. He did not doubt her in the least.

  Taran’s eyes widened when Ciaran exited the cave without issue. “I do not believe it,” he gasped before hurriedly following along.

  Ciaran carried Skye out into the clearing with Taran in tow. The surprised murmurs of their clansmen rose up around them as they walked. Most of the men present had not yet seen Skye. They all got to their feet as her body was carried past.

  Upon reaching the place from his vision, Ciaran slowly knelt and rested Skye’s singed form on the ground. “We are here, my beautiful Skye. I will do as you have asked,” Ciaran whispered.

  No reply came. Taran bit his lip and prayed that his brother had not been imagining things. Carefully, Ciaran rested his hand on her brow. At first, nothing happened. Then, to the surprise of all gathered, Ciaran’s body began to glow with soft, white light. The clan watched in amazement as that light flowed from his hand and into their Queen. It grew in intensity, coursing through her and spreading to cover her entire body.

  When enough of the light had left him, Ciaran released her and took an instinctive step back. He smiled tearfully as her scorched flesh began to rapidly mend before his eyes. Even her lovely, golden hair regenerated easily with the aid of the healing light.

  Taran shook his head in amazement and gripped his brother’s shoulder. He marveled over it all – this strange girl, her proclaimed link to him and Ciaran in a Trinity, th
e incredible power she possessed, and the undeniable effect she was having on his usually-shy brother. And what was that light? Where had it come from? Ciaran did not possess magic, did he?

  Slowly, a beam of moonlight began to brighten upon and illuminate Skye’s body. After another few moments of healing and drinking in the light, Skye was fully restored. She drew a deep, relieved breath. Ciaran and Taran followed suit. When her eyes opened, she smiled up at them gratefully. They both felt it as they stared into her bright eyes – the powerful, awe-inspiring love she had for them.

  Something in Taran stirred under the power of her gaze. For the span of a few seconds, priorities shifted, and immaturity receded. The fog of ego-driven emotions faded temporarily from his mind. Perhaps the title of King was not so important. Perhaps the love of this woman was something far more precious…

  While her body had been healed, the exhaustion in her eyes made it clear that she still needed to rest to recover her physical strength. When Ciaran bent to the task of gathering her back up into his arms, when she gazed up into his eyes and gave a tired, sweet smile, Taran could not help but feel slighted. Jealousy returned to his heart as he remained rooted in place. He watched the pair head off toward the cave and the rest of their clansmen following along. A scramble was instantly underway to prepare a suitable bed for her.

  Once the rest of his brothers were gone, Taran was surprised to note Drostan’s presence. His brother was standing stone still, staring at him with a look of concern on his face. Taran cursed him in his thoughts. Drostan was obviously picking up on his darkening mood.

  “Mind your own affairs, brother, and stay well away from mine,” Taran warned coldly before setting off in the direction of the cave.

  Drostan shook his head as he watched Taran go.

  23: Deliver Me

  It was amazing how quickly the group of faoil were able to transform the cold stone cave back into a warm, welcoming space. The addition of enumerable furs and woven mats, as well as many torches and roaring fires chased away Skye’s apprehension at reentering the place of her former imprisonment. They fashioned a massive bed area for her against the back wall and covered it in a sea of furs. Ciaran helped her into fresh clothing before she settled down to sleep.