by Kat Bastion
Concerned, he brushed scanning magick outward, but detected no other force in the vicinity.
Then with a bead on their inner bond, Skorpius dematerialized. He pursued her, letting their tether guide his way.
In seconds, he caught up to her. But he gave her plenty of space, materializing in the shadows a safe distance behind her.
Brigid had stopped at a clear demarcation line. And what she witnessed visibly upset her, for her golden gown shimmered with greater energy, sparking brighter at its ends, as if a storm brewed inside her.
The ground she stood upon remained a rich brown, covered in the mottled colors of the forest floor. Green pines and leafy shrubs stretched out on either side of her, and backward.
Opposite her? A destroyed world.
A hundred-foot-wide swath of dark ash covered the earth.
Turmoil and anguish still vibrated through the space, time’s haunting echo.
Moisture from Highland mists had settled over the scorched remains of where a lively village had once been, congealing the particles of ash into a fine layer of mud. But everything had been flattened. The only way he and Brigid had known what had come before? Her vision.
Skorpius stepped forward to stand beside her. A show of support.
She heaved out a mournful sigh then glanced up at him, tears glittering in her eyes. Pinching them shut, she shook her head. “’Tis my doin’. Were it not for me, he would not have struck…this place.”
“No.” He cupped a gentle hand to her cheek, waited for her to reopen her eyes. She needed to focus on her task, not be distracted by misplaced guilt. “You feel the tethers in me?”
“Aye.” She hovered a splayed hand over his heart.
He clasped her hand, pressed it to his chest. “The tethers—for both of my missions—hum low, right and true. This action was meant to happen to align the timeline, to correct its course.”
“But…”
Skorpius dipped his head down and silenced her protest with a soft kiss. Emotions running hot from both of them, he flared a dose of magick to channel their feelings into one that would best serve them: fortitude. Because most warriors hated the senseless destruction that happened around them, but they fought on for a noble cause, for a greater good.
“Focus on what we have the power to control,” he reminded her. All they could do.
Gaze hardening, she gave a solemn nod. “Let worry afflict the weak-minded,” she finished.
Then she straightened her spine, narrowed her eyes, and scanned over the scorched scene once again. She searched for a clue. A next step.
A brush of her golden magick radiated outward.
“Och!” She spun toward the north, then darted back through the forest. “Make haste!” she called over her shoulder.
Skorpius dematerialized, then chased after her. You sense something. A given.
Aye. Two somethin’s.
Skorpius ghosted behind Brigid while she hiked on in her corporeal form. And she stayed within the living forest, pointedly avoiding the scorched dead zone. Even if she had to veer wide, skirting thick bramble.
Instinct appeared to influence her to avoid dematerializing.
Skorpius felt no compunction, the purer energy state as natural as breathing for his kind.
Fifteen minutes into the hike, the ash-covered section ended abruptly.
A crumbled low stone wall curved beyond the end of the destruction. The side facing southward was coated in black soot. A wooden gate had been blown or bent back, ripped off one hinge, and hung cockeyed with its bottom corner buried in mud. Fern fronds that curved over the wall from the north bobbed in the breeze.
Brigid climbed the stone wall, right beyond where the destruction ended. And as before, she kept her footfalls well within the untouched section of land.
Skorpius didn’t question her choice. His gut told him more than death lay under all that ash. An eerie dread. Something not natural.
Yet if her senses told her to avoid the ashen terrain and press on, they didn’t need to investigate the reason.
Skorpius dematerialized to pass through the wall, then followed her, a few paces back.
A wooden hut soon appeared at the edge of a copse of trees. Its small size seemed indicative of a storage structure or a very small abode. Yet it had been neglected and had succumbed to the ravages of time. The thatched roof, covered in moss, had partially caved in. A wooden shutter that had once covered the window had grayed and weathered, the ends falling victim to rot. The doorway stood open, no door in view.
Brigid paused at that dark doorway.
And as she did so, Skorpius detected faint emotion rippling through the space around them. Heavy. Of distress. And terror.
The golden energy of her dress shimmered from the emotional effect, the flowing ends of the gown sparking.
But rather than enter the structure, Brigid scanned overgrown foliage around the hut.
Skorpius, will you materialize, but remain some distance back?
Yes.
The moment he took solid form, he detected a further tense vibration. Then he reflected on what Brigid had said she’d sensed earlier, “two somethin’s.”
But his senses clarified that into two someones. Young. Frightened.
After quiet seconds of staring off at the denser foliage, Brigid backed up a few steps, to stand in front of the decaying structure again. Then her appearance changed, shifting from the golden diaphanous gown into the emerald one he’d fashioned for her and that she’d worn that night into the foreign castle.
She glanced down at her dress, then over her shoulder where her satchel and weapons had been obscured and continued to remain so. And with a satisfied nod, she ventured back out into the open, around the corner from the hut.
Facing the foliage, she called out, voice soft. “Doona be afraid. ’Tis safe. We’ve come…to protect you.”
Silence followed.
When seconds spanned into a minute, then another, she glanced over her shoulder at him. Mayhap, they might respond to you.
That could go either way.
My past wee brothers were in awe of you.
Fair point. Skorpius stepped forward to stand beside her. And as he did so, he angled his wings down to indicate the best image of friendliness he could.
“This is a guardian angel I’ve brought. He’s sworn to protect.”
Brigid left out a vast amount of details and exclusions to that. But if it served her purpose, Skorpius was not about to contradict her white lie.
Another long span of seconds stretched by.
Then a dense section of bushes began to quiver.
Two young children wrestled free of the foliage. Dirt and soot smudged their faces and hands. Dried leaves and other plant matter speckled their tangled blond hair and torn clothes.
Both stared at Skorpius and Brigid with wide eyes. The smaller of the two clung to the elder’s side, then furrowed a tiny brow and pressed that smudged face into the other’s tunic.
The elder, a protector, put an arm around the younger’s shoulder.
“I’m Connell.” The boy squared his shoulder. Lifted his chin.
Brave. Especially in light of all that had happened, the destruction of their village.
Brigid tipped her head toward him. “’Tis verra nice to meet you, Connell.”
“My sister, Gunna.” He squeezed the little one’s shoulder.
“We’re honored to meet you, Gunna.” Och! Connell canna be older than five summers. She’s mayhap three.
Shy eyes peeked up at Brigid from the folds of her brother’s tunic. Gunna then stared wide-eyed at Skorpius, before eyeing Brigid once again.
“I’m Brigid. This is Skorpius.”
“The goddess, Brighid?” Connell whispered in awe.
Brigid began to shake her head. “Na—”
“Yes.” Skorpius interjected before she had a chance to deny it. “She’s Goddess Brighid.” Goddess of their homeland. A deity they pray to, honor, and love.
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They know. Honesty will hold sway with them. And we need them to cooperate.
Aye.
Don’t hide who you are. Be yourself in all things.
Connell’s eyes narrowed. “Prove your claim.”
When Brigid glanced at Skorpius, he gave an imperceptible nod.
With a whirl of her magick, Brigid’s emerald dress shifted back to its natural state, her golden diaphanous gown that shimmered and sparked with her energy. And the copper coils of her hair fluffed into a halo about her face, the ends fluttering softly in an unseen breeze.
The children’s eyes widened further. Connell’s mouth dropped open.
Brigid knelt before little Gunna, and with slow deliberate movement, plucked a dried leaf from the girl’s hair.
At the same time, a shining golden leaf manifested in a lower spiral of Brigid’s hair.
Gunna almost smiled when she caught sight of the magick-spun gift.
Brigid cradled the ends of her copper coils in the cup of her hand and lifted the nested treasure toward the little girl in offering.
At first, the girl remained immobile. But then she blinked, took a deep breath, and reached a tiny trembling hand for the golden leaf. With impressive speed, she plucked it from Brigid’s hair.
“For you, wee Gunna.”
The girl fisted her hand tight around her gift. But said nothing.
Brigid stood, glancing at Skorpius. I recognize them.
You do?
Two of the three children from the glade a sennight past. The ones who’d been fleein’ English soldiers.
A ripple of panic shot through the ether from Brigid. “Where’s your brother?”
Connell frowned, then anger hardened over his expression. “He…took…Robert. Yester morn.”
At her brother’s words and rage, tears welled in Gunna’s eyes and her lower lip wobbled. She buried her face into Connell’s tunic again.
“Who?” Skorpius asked. “Who took Robert?”
“I doona know.” Tears welled in the boy’s eyes as well. His shoulders slumped, the bravery draining from him as he searched his memory, reliving whatever horrific experience they’d had to endure. “Some great flamin’ beast we couldna see.”
“Flaming?” The more he can share, the better equipped we’ll be.
“Aye.” Connell tightened an arm around Gunna again, doing his best to comfort her. “Fire shot out from…from the sky.”
“How do you know ’twas a beast?”
“The heavy beat of unseen wings.” Connell paused, staring up at the sky above Bridid’s shoulder. “The roar right before the fire.”
Brigid stood and turned, then surveyed the enormous swath of ash beyond the low stone wall. Her brow furrowed. She glanced at Skorpius, then at Gunna, finally at Connell once again.
How did they survive when the others dinna?
By chance, Skorpius guessed. Or by design. More likely, with the threat from her vision.
“Where were you when the flamin’ beast came?”
Good. Focus on them. Not the trauma. As much as they could.
“We were playin’ hide-and-hunt.” Connell glanced back into the forest. “Gunna and me hid up in a tree.”
I doona wish to frighten them. But we need to know more.
May I? Skorpius had an idea.
Aye.
With measured steps, Skorpius moved closer to the children, then knelt down on one knee before them. He spread his wings, propped a forearm on his bent knee, then bowed, lowering his head below their height. A position of humble submission, of utmost respect. And the rare sight of his glossy black wings didn’t hurt.
After a full breath, he glanced up and stared young Connell straight in the eye. Male to male. “It takes a brave warrior to face down a ferocious beast”—Skorpius leaned in closer, lowering his voice—“Braver still to relive the tale, to aid in the hunt.”
Connell swallowed hard, then squared his shoulders, puffing out his chest. “I’m a brave warrior.”
“Yes. Both of you are.” Skorpius glanced at Gunna who shook her head, then buried her face into her brother’s tunic again.
“Gunna?” Skorpius softened his voice. “Is there something you wish to say?”
Connell shook his head. “Nay. She’ll not speak a word. Hasn’t since…” He tightened his arm around his sister. “We’ll be huntin’?”
“No.” Skorpius stared at the brave Connell again. “Goddess Brighid and I are on the hunt.”
Brigid stepped forward, “Aye. ’Tis true. And we’re here to rescue your brother.”
“He’s alive?”
“Aye. He is.” Brigid didn’t offer the details. A hostage for a ransom. The child for her. “Mayhap you can tell us what happened? How did the beast ‘take’ him?”
Connell huffed out a frustrated exhale. “Gunna and me were up in the tree. Robert leaned upon the woodcutter’s cottage, countin’ off.” He stared out over the village. “We watched the flame come down from the sky. It…they…” His breathing shallowed and his eyes pinched shut.
Skorpius laid a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Connell. Focus on your brother. Help us save him.”
After several deep breaths, Connell blinked his eyes open. He swiped the back of his hand across his wet lashes, smearing tears through soot across his forehead. “The fire happened so fast. It blazed straight for us. I held my breath, thinkin’ we were dead. But Robert had cried, ‘Hidden or not, here I—’ and the flame stopped, right at the stone wall. Robert flew up from the ground an’ started screamin’.” Connell rattled off the whole explanation with speed. But now he trembled, breaths shallow, complexion ghostly white.
“And then?” Brigid coaxed with a gentle voice. “What happened to our brave Robert?”
“He vanished,” Connell whispered. “Right up in the sky. I thought he got”—he gulped—“eaten.”
“Nay.” Brigid stepped forward and gave the huddled children a gentle hug, mostly on Connell’s side. “I assure you, Robert is still verra much alive.”
“Where is he?” Connell asked.
“We doona know yet. The beast is playin’ his own game of hide-and-hunt.”
Connell frowned. “With Robert?”
“Aye. And with Skorpius and me.”
“Will you find him?” Connell looked at Brigid, then stared Skorpius straight in the eye.
Skorpius knew the madman they were dealing with. But the method? The fire? The invisible beast? The vanishing child and a ransom to exchange control of a goddess’s powers? All a first in the vast reaches of time. Who knew what odds they faced of finding the boy alive.
Honesty will hold sway with them, Brigid reminded him as she stepped back from them.
Understood.
Reveal only what was necessary.
“Yes, Connell,” Skorpius replied. “We will find your brother.”
Chapter 35
An ache burned in Brigid’s chest, heart breakin’ for the poor wee ones.
Garb soiled and tattered, hair matted, skin dirt-caked, their eyes were red-rimmed. They’d likely not gotten a wink of sleep.
Takin’ care to respect young Gunna’s shyness and fear, Brigid touched the hem of Connell’s tunic with her finger, then plucked her golden gown wide and glanced down.
“May I use my magick to help you bathe, and mend your clothes?”
Gunna clung harder at her brother’s tunic, fists clutched so tight they turned white.
“Will it hurt?” Connell rubbed a hand over his sister’s bare arm.
“Nay.” Then Brigid thought about the sensation. “A wee bit of a tingle. Warm, mayhap.”
Connell gave a short nod. “Me first.” He untangled himself from Gunna’s clutches, then stepped forward.
Brigid brushed magick over the lad with a shimmer of golden light. Her intention through the energy was to make the lad and his clothes whole again. And while she did so, she also flared out magick into the sky above them to dissipate the mist
and let the warmin’ sun through.
Connell glanced down as his garb transformed back into a fresh wool tunic and trews, with woolen hose and new leather boots on his feet. Clean blond locks gleamed in the sunlight. Pristine creamy skin radiated health and vitality.
He turned toward his sister. “’Tis fine, Gunna. Doona be afraid.”
Puffin’ her wee chest out, Gunna furrowed her brow, expression fierce. Hands fisted by her sides, one still clutchin’ the golden leaf tight, she took a step forward.
“You’re a brave lass,” Brigid murmured. “Would you like your tunic?” Her garb appeared to match her brother’s. “Or would you like a dress instead?”
After a quick glance at Connell, Gunna stared wide-eyed at Brigid’s flowing golden gown. She pointed at the gown.
“Mayhap a simple chemise and day dress.” From an impoverished village, the dress would likely be her first.
With a flourish of magick, the wee lass’s transformation swirled from head to toe.
Long blond locks took on a bright healthy sheen, twistin’ into perfect ringlets. A bonnie yellow day dress settled onto a crisp linen chemise. Woolen hose covered her legs and new leather boots snugged around her feet. Fresh skin glowed, pinkin’ at her cheeks when Gunna glanced down and ventured her first wee smile. Brigid even added a front pocket to the day dress, to hold a certain golden leaf, if Gunna chose.
To protect them from the wind and cold, Brigid draped hooded woolen cloaks about each of their shoulders.
Satisfied with their physical state, Brigid’s thoughts shifted to the next priority.
“You must be hungry.” She gestured an arm toward a grassy spot in the sun, beside the woodcutter’s cottage.
With another wave of magick, she snapped a plaid into the air there. By the time the fabric settled to the ground, every favorite food she’d loved as a child—still loved—manifested upon it. Stuffed goose. Gravied parsnips. Roasted root vegetables. Stewed cherries. Apple tarts with warmed honey. Wineskins filled with artesian water. And she even added a cinnamon-spiced snickerdoodle for each of them.
The wee ones dashed to the feast and dove in with both hands, stuffin’ their mouths.
Brigid stepped into Skorpius’s arms. “Guess I’ll need to clean them once again.”
