Taran’s wide, unblinking, traumatized gaze conveyed the level of torment he had endured. His mind had been driven somewhere between hopelessly broken and completely mad. He feebly attempted to grip Ciaran’s arm for a few seconds before exhaustion overtook him and he collapsed. Even after losing conscious, he continued to convulse and cry out in horror.
“Taran? Taran!” Ciaran shouted as he shook his brother. “Skye? Is he okay? I know he deserved to be punished, but please tell me he will survive?”
Skye’s brows drew together worriedly. She sank down onto the ground, dazed and weakened by her unplanned use of power. “Ciaran… How are you speaking English?” she asked in uncertainty.
“What?” he asked and looked back over his shoulder at her in surprise before quickly returning his attention to Taran. “I am speaking the same as always. You are speaking differently.”
“Oh,” Skye breathed in a stupor.
“What about Taran? Will he recover?” Ciaran asked anxiously as he checked Taran’s shallow breathing.
“Hmm?” she asked distractedly. “Oh. Yes. He should be fine eventually – at least physically. He will not be in any hurry to touch me again, though.” She rubbed her aching head and closed her eyes. “I think I… When I was in his head… I wanted to make sure he understood what I said… I think I conjured up a mental Gaelic-to-English spell or something. And now I can understand you. And… ugghhhh my head hurts!” she whined as she rubbed her temples.
“I would imagine so, given the show you just put on,” Ciaran breathed apprehensively. “You split into three! THREE! How did you manage that? I mean, I know you are a complicated woman, but to have three sides squeezed into one person? It must be awfully crowded inside your head!”
She nodded in agreement, but her eyes were locked on Taran. The vengeful Wolf and Goddess in her felt that he had deserved every bit of what she had subjected him to. The Woman, however, was feeling increasingly guilty for it. True, Taran had been horribly out of line by her standards… but by his standards? By this time’s standards? They were a mated pair. Husband and wife. King and Queen. He felt it was his right to use her body as he saw fit. It was utter fucking bullshit, of course, but it was the unfortunate truth of the time she had stumbled into.
Recalling the memories that she had forced him to live through, she cringed. She had disproportionately punished one attempted rape with a sentence of a decade of brutal, violent sexual assaults and depraved tortures. As far as his mind was concerned, he had lived through every single horrid, helpless moment.
“Damn it, Taran,” she whispered tearfully as her remorse deepened. If he had not pushed her past her breaking point, past the point of reason, past her ability to maintain her ever-tenuous grip on control, she never in a million years would have done something so cruel and unforgivable. But it had been completely beyond her ability to stop. In response to her terror, it had just… happened. An involuntary reaction. Her magic’s way of adhering to her fervent resolution that she would never again allow a man to take her by force.
She had felt Taran’s sheer terror. She had felt every ounce of his regret and shame for what he had done. She still had refused to relent in the punishment until she had seen it through to its end.
It dawned on her slowly that her clansmen were all standing at a distance, eyeing her in concern. None of them knew what to do or how to react to what they had just witnessed. “He needs to rest,” she informed the waiting faoil in a strained voice.
The men exchanged surprised looks as her words were translated to Gaelic in their minds in real-time. To the ears of her clansmen, she was now speaking their dialect.
“Place him somewhere he will not feel exposed to attack,” she urged. “I do not know what his mental state will be when he wakes, but I would suggest that everyone keeps their distance so that he will not feel threatened. I will need to speak to him as soon as he regains consciousness.”
Ailean and Eògan stepped forward to retrieve their brother’s limp body. They each kept their heads bowed and eyes trained on the ground at Skye’s feet.
“I pray you can find it in your heart to forgive him, Goddess,” Ailean said quietly.
Eògan swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “I, too, pray that you can forgive him, my Queen. Taran did not realize the full weight of his actions. And… the blame is partly ours. We all goaded him. We did not consider the potentially disastrous consequences of our words. It was our taunting that drove Taran to make this grievous mistake. We are so deeply sorry for the offense.”
Skye did not know what to say to them. She was in the grips of her own need for forgiveness in that moment. “Mistakes were made on all parts,” she finally whispered. “All we can do now is focus on moving forward.”
She watched remorsefully as they carried Taran away.
“Skye, what…?” Ciaran tried but trailed off. He was too overwhelmed by the emotion of the past several moments to form words. He was now torn between his desires to remain by her side and to tend to his clearly traumatized brother.
“What exactly… did you do to him?” Drostan asked cautiously, putting words to the question on everyone’s minds.
Skye chewed the inside of her lips for a moment, hating the answer. Grudgingly, she looked to her Maker and tearfully replied, “I showed him my life.”
25: Mind the Shadows…
The clan withdrew to the cave a short time later, seeking shelter from an approaching storm. The men tried to stay busy preparing for Faolan’s arrival, all the while pretending not to notice as Taran writhed and cried out in fitful sleep. They discretely cast one another anxious looks and stole appraising glances in Skye’s direction.
She ignored them all. She was too preoccupied with her regret and fears. What if she had broken Taran? What if her actions had destroyed the man he was meant to become? The only thing she could think about was making sure Taran woke up from this and started to recover. Everything else could wait for now.
“Has she spoken to you at all?” Drostan asked quietly as he stepped up beside Ciaran and offered him a bowl of food.
“No. She keeps her distance even from me,” Ciaran sighed as he took the bowl. He had no idea how he was supposed to eat at a time like this, but Drostan had never missed a meal in his long life and always tried to ensure his brothers did not, either. Strictly for his brother’s benefit, Ciaran attempted to bring the bowl to his lips. After a moment, he abandoned the effort and set it down. He did not know what to do. He could not sit with Skye because she wanted to be alone. He could not get close to Taran to try and aid him without making the fits worse – being in close proximity to any of his brothers sent him into a panic.
“Did we hear her right?” Ailean asked in barely more than a whisper as he and Eògan approached. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall beside them as he glanced over at Skye worriedly. “Did she really say that all she did was show Taran her life?”
“And it did that to him?” Eògan added with wide eyes, tipping his head in Taran’s direction.
Drostan and Ciaran exchanged a sorrowful look. They had already discussed the weight of that revelation.
“You heard her right,” Drostan answered.
Ailean exhaled sharply in astonishment.
“Taran is over a century old with more battles and brutality left in his wake than even I can imagine,” Eògan declared before asking in bewilderment, “What in the name of the Great Mother has that girl survived that could leave him in such a terrified, pitiful state?”
“I am in no hurry to ask, lest she decide to share it with me in a similar manner,” Drostan answered honestly.
“She is still not speaking?” Ailean asked. He quirked a brow as he looked to Ciaran. “Not even to you?”
Ciaran shook his head. “She just sits there, waiting, watching, worrying. It is as if she cannot even breathe properly until she sees that he wakes and recovers from this.”
Eògan frowned and studied Skye. “Stra
nge that she would deliver such fearsome, divine retribution, yet feel such profound remorse for it.”
“She loves him,” Drostan offered plainly. “True, he acted inexcusably, but from what I have seen of our future in her mind, Taran will grow to be a steady and wise King. The passing of many centuries does him well – it strengthens the best qualities in him and leaves the worst behind as long-forgotten memories. In Skye’s time, she and Taran share a deep, abiding love, and by that point in his life, he is undeniably worthy of her devotion. She respects him. Looks to him for guidance and support. Here in our time, he is not yet the great man Skye knows and trusts, but even in this younger…” Drostan rolled his eyes as he pointedly added, “…admittedly arrogant and imbecilic-at-times state, she still loves him. She does not trust or respect him – and she is right not to, given his youthful, unpredictable nature – but her heart knows the man he will become. It must grieve her greatly that she had to reprimand him in such an extreme manner to defend herself.”
The men nodded and muttered their agreement.
Eògan and Ailean left shortly after that to join a hunt in the neighboring forest. They would need plenty of fresh meat for the celebratory feast they would hold after Faolan arrived.
Drostan remained at Ciaran’s side. He did not need his gifts to sense the growing sadness in his brother. The sorrow was partly because Ciaran longed to help Taran and Skye, but Drostan could see that there was more to it than that. Everything about Ciaran seemed to be waning steadily. The icy blue of his irises had been so vivid and bright for a time. Now, the light was fading from his eyes. His hair had been lustrous and intensely black. Now, it appeared dull and lifeless. His voice was growing softer. His posture and movements were reverting back to what they always had been – slightly stooped and weary, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
It was deeply distressing to watch this transformation in reverse. Ciaran had sprung to life so abruptly and grown progressively stronger and more joyful with each moment spent in Skye’s presence. Conversely, his state deteriorated at an alarming rate when separated from her. Not for the first time, Drostan cautiously pondered the possible causes for Ciaran’s connection to Skye…
“Perhaps I could have prevented this if I had just told him,” Ciaran muttered quietly to himself, drawing Drostan from his thoughts.
“Who? Taran? Told him what?” Drostan asked with a curious frown.
Ciaran winced guiltily and glanced over at his brother. With a sigh, he admitted in a hushed, private tone, “After she arrived and proclaimed herself to be in a Trinity with us both… and absolutely immediately after Taran laid claim to her… she jumped into the river trying to find a way back to her time.”
Drostan’s eyes widened in surprise.
Ciaran shook his head as he went on. “It was dangerous. She knew it might prove fatal, but something about her encounter with Taran sent her over the edge and made her willing to risk her life. I… I was afraid of how Taran would react if he knew. Afraid of the potential repercussions for her, were his ego to take such a blow.”
“Recent events prove your concerns were entirely valid,” Drostan reminded. “You were right in your decision to hold your tongue. Besides, this could not have been prevented. It was fated. Skye needed to ascend – needed to be spurred into it. Nothing we could have done would have changed that. Had you told Taran of her aversion to his touch, it would have triggered the same scenario to play out sooner.”
Ciaran’s features softened slightly at that.
Drostan thought for a moment before reasoning, “Perhaps Taran was too rough with her then, too. So, unwanted, unfamiliar, uncaring sex brought back memories that were so terribly painful for her, she risked death in order to escape them the first time… Then, she ascended to a higher level of divinity to defend herself from being subjected to it again.” Drostan glanced over to the way Taran was curled in on himself, terrified of anyone coming near him. He swallowed hard. “That would explain Taran’s response to being subjected to her memories.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Ciaran whispered as he cast a sorrowful look in Skye’s direction.
The sun set and still Taran remained in a state of shock, reliving the horrors he had been subjected to over and over in his mind.
When Skye could no longer stand keeping her distance while listening to his suffering, she went to him. She used a cool cloth to wipe his body. She hummed as she did so, hoping to make him aware that it was a woman in his presence. She had considered her own tendency to more readily trust women. While it was true that she had been tortured by female fògaraich several times in captivity, the very worst of her traumas had all been at the hands of men.
Unfortunately, Taran recognized that it was not just any woman touching him – it was Skye. His instinctual, subconscious fear of further punishment sent him into near hysterics. Thankfully, he did not transform to defend himself from the threat she posed. Instead, he clawed at the cave wall with such desperation, his fingers bled. Skye tried everything she could think of to calm him. She had intended to heal his arm while she was with him and did not want to abandon the effort. The damage inflicted by Ciaran’s bite was not healing on its own. The torment in Taran’s mind was drawing all of his strength.
It was no use. Her presence did more harm than good. After several failed attempts to soothe him, she reluctantly retreated. She had to leave the cave to escape the sounds of his screams. She stood outside in the night air, crying softly and staring up at the moon. Seeing him like that… driven completely mad by her past as she once had been, as she always teetered so very close to being again… It hit too close to home. She had no idea how to fix this. She had no idea if it even could be fixed.
“I am sorry, Skye,” Ciaran said softly behind her.
Skye wiped away her tears in frustration when she heard him. She wanted some time alone to think. To cry without anyone’s pity or understanding. She was not ready to talk.
Ciaran went on mournfully, “I know you wish the whole thing had never happened. I know it wounds you to see him like this. I wish I could help you. I wish I could help him.”
Skye hated to hear the sadness in his voice. She turned to face him and was immediately startled by the changes she saw in him. He looked like… well, like he had when she first arrived.
With a worried frown, she stepped forward and took his hands. She searched his eyes intensely. What was different? Was it simply that he was tired and upset? Or could he really have changed so drastically as a result of being starved of her attention these past several hours? She loathed the thought of that. Firstly, that he could possibly be so dependent upon her power. It was not fair to him that he had been born with such a terrible need. Secondly, because it would mean that by simply getting caught up in her own regrets and fears over Taran all day, she had unwittingly caused Ciaran to suffer, as well. She was 2 for 2 on hurting her men.
But at least she could help this one…
Skye leaned forward and kissed Ciaran deeply, focusing on her love for him, breathing her power into him and willing it to sustain him while her attention was drawn elsewhere. Ciaran moaned in abject relief into her kiss and eagerly fed on it. He could feel his mind clearing and strength returning. The darkness receded in the presence of her healing light. When Skye eventually pulled away from him and opened her eyes, she could already see the improvement in him. Her heart broke at the confirmation of the depths of his inherent need.
And not far away, Drostan watched the scene with a mixture of curiosity and dread. The niggling suspicion in the back of his mind was growing stronger by the minute.
“I need to clear my head,” Skye told Ciaran. “I am going to walk around the area. I will not stray far and – aside from a few minutes for privacy – I will leave our link open. Wait…” She paused as it suddenly occurred to her that she was taking this for granted. “Can you feel me when we are apart?” she asked curiously, unsure whether he was familiar enough with their
link to accomplish it.
Ciaran nodded and closed his eyes to examine the link between them. “Yes, I can almost always sense you. Where you are and how you are feeling… Sometimes I catch glimpses of what you can see… Or hear words echoing from your thoughts.” He opened his eyes and smiled as he added, “Of course, I could not understand anything you were saying before now. I was not sure how to describe the connection. Is this normal for us in your time?”
Skye smiled warmly. If not for her current overwhelming worry for Taran, she would have loved nothing more than to sit and talk to this younger version of Ciaran. Now that they could understand one another so clearly, she was excited for the opportunity to connect with him further. She promised herself to make time to do exactly that as soon as Taran managed to get through this.
If… Taran managed… to get through this…
Skye cleared her throat to ensure her voice could be trusted before answering Ciaran’s question. “It is. And I am grateful to have this link with you here, as well. It is like a piece of home. Makes me feel less alone.”
“You never have to feel alone, Skye,” Ciaran assured honestly, taking her hands in his. “I am here whenever you have need or want of me. There is nowhere, in any time, that I would rather be than by your side.”
Skye averted her eyes as she nodded. She appreciated the sincerity of his words, and how utterly accurate they were. They inadvertently stung her, however. ‘In any time’… What about her time’s Ciaran? What about her time’s Taran? Was time going on there as it did here? Had days passed for them? If she figured out a way home, for how long would she have been gone? How long would they suffer through not knowing whether she was alive or dead or still being tortured? Would they make a rash decision to try and reach her? Would they – despite her warnings – endanger themselves and risk death to break the barrier?
She gave Ciaran’s hands a reassuring squeeze before setting out. Many of her clansmen were in the surrounding hills and forest, hunting for food and guarding the perimeter. She avoided them as she wandered. She used the brief time alone to relieve herself. When finished, she grumbled in annoyance. Thankfully, she had scarcely been eating and drinking. Pair that with the fact that she had basically obliterated herself (including her internal organs and all of their contents) twice in the past two days, and it had made the lack of bathrooms a non-issue until now. She absolutely loathed camping and yet, here she was, trapped in a time when ‘roughing it’ was the only option. She seriously missed the wonders of double-ply toilet paper and indoor plumbing… and hell, just being indoors. She hated the feeling of vulnerability that came along with having no structures into which she could retreat. The cave was only just so defendable.
Goddess Rising Page 35
