by P. C. Cast
“They’re dead,” Aine said in an emotionless voice.
“The women?”
“I killed them. They were all completely mad. I gave them an easy death before they could bring more demons into this world.”
Tegan’s head shook back and forth over and over. “You shouldn’t have killed. The darkness taints you like that.”
“And what should I have done?” Aine was weeping openly. “Run away? Hide?” She rounded on him, shoving hard against his chest. Tegan made no move to defend himself against her. “You’re not like them! You’re not a demon, but you did less than nothing. You didn’t stay and fight. You let evil win.”
His voice was hollow. “If I’d stayed I would have become what they are. The darkness infected them. I left because I wanted to live without darkness.”
“You left and let darkness rule. What did you think would happen to Partholon if you stayed silent? What did you think would happen to us?”
“I wasn’t thinking about Partholon when I exiled myself. I just wanted to be free of evil and death. I didn’t expect to meet you. I didn’t expect to love you.”
Mocking applause sounded from the darkness. Nuada stepped out of the shadows. “What a moving speech, brother.”
Tegan stepped between Nuada and Aine. “We’re not brothers anymore,” he said.
“We still share the same blood.” Nuada’s smile was feral as he looked beyond Tegan to Aine. “I see more blood that I’d like to share with you.”
“You’ll have to kill me first.”
“As you wish.”
The shadows behind Nuada stirred. Aine saw at least a dozen Fomorians awaiting their master’s command.
Then Tegan changed before her eyes. His wings unfurled. His fingers became talons. His eyes blazed with anger. “Run and live! I will find you.” He told her in a voice magnified by power before he leaped forward to meet Nuada’s attack.
Aine ran, but only until she understood no one was following her. She doubled back, creeping quietly along the mountain paths until she heard an odd sound. It was out of place in the night, and it reminded her of something. She almost didn’t identify it, but just before the screaming started she realized that it sounded much like Tegan’s sword slicing through the canvas tent.
With the first scream the pain hit her, driving her to her knees.
Aine didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious. She woke up in the gloaming of predawn with a single thought: find Tegan.
Her body felt heavy and off balance as she stumbled, drawn forward by a relentless invisible thread.
When she found him it was too terrible for her mind to fully comprehend. She could only stand there, immobilized by despair and loss.
They’d cut his wings from his body. That sound she’d heard had been metal slicing through the flesh of his soul.
Then Tegan moaned and the Healer in her took over. She ignored everything: the raging pain that seared through her body in tandem with his and his pleading to let him die. Aine worked methodically. She pulled him into the shadows. Calling on strength she didn’t know she had, the Healer half-dragged, half-carried Tegan to his cave. Then she went to work with his sword, trimming the ragged edges of his eviscerated wings. She used the same sword to sear the flesh that wouldn’t stop bleeding. Finally, she filled Epona’s funeral urn and bathed his body, mixing cool mountain water with her tears.
His eyes opened when it was all over. “You should have let me die.”
“I couldn’t,” she said.
“He took my soul.”
“No, love, he couldn’t. Your soul is safe with me.”
Tegan closed his eyes against the tears that streamed down his pale cheeks.
Aine did the only thing left to her. She prayed.
19
Aine used Epona’s urn to pour a libation circle around her. Then she knelt in the middle of the cave under the round opening that showed a night sky filled with the brilliance of a full moon. The Healer spread her arms wide and lifted her face to the heavens.
“Gracious Goddess Epona, please hear me. I have nowhere left to go. No one else to turn to. Forgive me. I killed those women. I love a Fomorian and I’m too weak to leave him, even after I’ve seen what he could become. Goddess, I’ve felt you throughout my life, even before I heard your voice. I used to believe I only knew your presence when I healed someone, but I’ve come to understand that you were always closest to me when I failed. I don’t deserve your love or your help, but I’m asking for both. And I’m asking for Tegan, too.”
The sky above Aine shifted. The stars that littered the night began to whirl wildly, funneling into a shimmering cone that rained light through the roof of the cave. Aine heard Tegan’s gasp of shock as the figure of a woman materialized in the air above them.
Aine’s eyes stung with the effort it took to gaze upon the Goddess. With a gentle smile, Epona passed a hand before her visage, and her divinity dimmed and became bearable. Aine felt the raging pain as Tegan struggled to lift himself so that he could bow before Epona. She started to move to help him, but the Goddess was there before her.
Epona knelt. She took Tegan’s face between her hands and kissed him gently on the forehead. The phantom pain in Aine’s back instantly cooled.
“My Goddess!” Tegan cried. His body was trembling, but his eyes were no longer haunted with pain and grief. “Forgive me for not being stronger.”
“Tegan, my son, your strength is a deep, quiet well that rests within you. It nourishes without drowning your judgment. And when it’s needed, you pour and pour from it. I am well pleased by you.”
Then Epona turned to Aine. The healer began to kneel, but the Goddess’s hand on her arm stayed her.
“Not long ago I gave you a choice, my daughter,” the Goddess said. “As with the mate of your soul, I am well pleased by you.”
“I killed those women.” Aine’s voice was choked.
“You did. Again, you had a difficult decision to make and you followed your heart. Would it help you to know that the people of Guardian Castle made their own decisions, and because they invited darkness into their midst they have been corrupted by evil? For many years to come they will pay the consequences of their choices. The ones whose spirits you set free are lucky. Their death was painless. Others will not be.”
“So you forgive me for it?”
“You had my forgiveness before you asked it.” The Goddess smiled. “Your life has been short, but you have a strong spirit and you are ready for the journey ahead of you. So Aine, Healer and daughter, I give you one last choice.”
Epona took Aine’s hand and led her over to where Tegan sat looking strong and whole again, though he no longer had his beautiful expanse of wings. The Goddess joined their hands before she continued.
“I give you the choice of your destiny. You may warn Partholon of the coming Fomorians or you may escape from this world into one where technology rules and the beings here are merely stories of myth and magic. If you stay in Partholon you will not be safe and your love will not be accepted. If you escape to the world of technology, you will begin new lives and grow old together. Know before you choose that I will bless your decision either way. I give all of my people free will—even my champions.”
Aine met Tegan’s eyes. She didn’t need to ask him. Their bond told her that his choice was the same as hers. She didn’t blame him for it. It was who he was in the deepest well of his soul. She should know—she held that soul safe for him.
Aine looked into her Goddess’s eyes. “We choose Partholon.”
20
Epona’s smile was blinding in its brilliance. “Well done daughter! You have passed my final test. You’ve chosen the difficult task, to save my people. And because of your courage, you will actually have both worlds—and by living in the one, you can know that in time you will save the other. And you will need this. It is your destiny to keep it safe until the day Partholon has need of it.” The Goddess made a graceful gesture with h
er hand and the funeral urn floated to Aine. Startled, the Healer reached for it, but it slipped through her hands to clang against the floor of the cave.
Chagrined, Aine hastily picked it up, horrified to see that a hairline crack had appeared in its base.
“Forgive me Goddess!” Aine cried.
Epona laughed joyously. “Little Healer, you couldn’t be more perfect. I want you to remember this urn. The next time you see it you will know that the time of your destiny is near.”
“I don’t understand,” Aine said miserably.
“You will. Just remember that this urn must return here with its likeness, and you and Tegan will be the ones to ensure that happens.”
Before Aine could ask any of the many questions swarming through her mind, the Goddess placed one hand on her forehead and one on Tegan’s. “Go with my eternal blessing.”
Aine, Tegan, and Epona’s urn disappeared.
Fifty years later. Northwest Oklahoma not far outside the town of Locus Grove.
The enormous mansion was a sprawling Victorian, as out of place in the Oklahoma countryside as it would have been on top of a slate colored mountain range. It was once beautiful, but age had cracked and crinkled it until it reminded some people of an old smoker’s skin.
The ancient couple who had lived there loved it.
“Do we really have to leave this place?” The old man asked his wife. “I hate to see all of our things auctioned off like this.”
“It’s better this way—easier,” she said. “Besides, our job here is almost over. Look, it’s already happening.” She motioned for her husband to join her at the window. Together, the two watched the scene in the backyard unfold.
“My God! What the bloody hell is this?” A man with an accent cried, placing the item haphazardly back on the table.
Another man picked it up and blanched in horror as he, too, saw the hairline crack in the urn’s base.
“Sir, you are correct. Please accept my apologies for this damaged merchandise. Your bill will be corrected immediately.”
The old woman smiled as she watched a beautiful girl with wild red hair approach the man and speak with pretended nonchalance. “Excuse me, but what will happen to the pot now?”
“It will be re-auctioned, as is, of course,” the man said.
The couple continued to eavesdrop on the events of the auction, but only until the redhead bought the urn and drove off their grounds with it tucked into the seat beside her.
“She did look amazingly like the Incarnate on the urn,” the old man said.
“That’s because she is the Incarnate on the urn, or at least she will be very soon.”
“Hard to believe someone so—” he paused, trying to decide on the right word, “—modern is going to stop the Fomorian invasion.”
The old woman laughed. “At first she’s going to believe that she’s divine by mistake. As if Epona makes mistakes!”
“The Goddess’s ways are not always clear,” he said.
“No, but they are always interesting,” she said. “Shall we finish this, love?”
Instead of answering her, he approached his wife. Facing her, he took both her hands in his own. “It has been a long, full life, hasn’t it, Aine?”
“It has been, just as our Goddess promised.”
“Because through her will we were able to escape and save Partholon,” Tegan said.
Not only through my will, but also through your strength and willingness to sacrifice yourselves to defeat evil. Epona’s voice filled the room with ripples of magic and love. Now, my children, it is time you came home.
Still grasping hands, the old couple’s bodies began to shimmer, and then their crooked, wrinkled forms fell away, leaving a beautiful dark haired woman with eyes the color of a spring sky, and a tall, lean man whose wings unfurled majestically as he threw back his head and laughed with absolute joy. Tegan took Aine into his arms and kissed her passionately as they faded from the modern world to reappear in their Goddess’s verdant meadows, where she welcomed them with song and laughter and love.
* * * * *
GENA SHOWALTER
1
Nola stood in the center of the battle tent, watching as her sisters-by-race lined up. Each shifted eagerly from one foot to the other, clutching their weapon of choice. She spotted several axes, a few spears, but mostly swords.
Mating season had officially begun.
Soon the females would break into groups, fighting each other for the right to whichever stolen slave they desired. Those slaves, eight in number, were currently chained to the far wall at the end of the spacious enclosure. Three dragon shifters, two centaurs, two male sirens and a vampire. All eight were muscled, beautiful…and all but one was grinning. The vampire.
Her vampire. Zane.
The men would be bedded this night and for several weeks to come. Then they would be freed, never to return. That was the way of the Amazons. Capture, breed and abandon. Of course the males were happy about this. All but Zane.
Zane had dark hair, equally dark eyes and the fiercest temper she’d ever encountered. He didn’t like to be touched and had actually injured many Amazons—not an easy feat—in his quest for freedom. Finally, in an effort to tame him, they had stopped feeding him the blood he needed for strength. Now he was physically weakened, only able to lean against the wall and wait for his mistress to be declared.
However, nothing could weaken his hatred—or the promised retribution that radiated from him.
Nola had met him what seemed an eternity but had actually only been four months ago. He’d desired her, had tried to win her affections—and she’d tried to kill him. With the memory, guilt filled her. But in her defense, she hadn’t known him then. Had only been concerned with her own survival. The gods had swept them to a remote island, along with several other creatures, and pitted them against each other, forcing them to fight, to watch helplessly as their friends were executed.
More than that, she’d spent her entire life hating men and the pain they brought with them. As a young child, she’d been sold by her own mother to male after male; she’d been used, hurt, taunted…ruined. Zane’s desire had frightened her, and she had lashed out.
And now, she was paying for that.
No one could see her. No one could hear her. Though she was encircled by the bright, golden light seeping through the tent’s apex, no one knew she was there, that she’d been among them, month after month. The gods had cursed her with invisibility when she’d been eliminated from their impossible contest—and then chained her to this camp as surely as Zane was now chained.
The gods had seen to Zane’s captivity, as well, gifting the vampire to the Amazons to use as they saw fit. And use him they would—and had. Because mating season had not begun until today, they had forced him to work their land, hauling boulder after boulder for the building of more tents. He’d had to find sticks and sharpen them into weapons. They’d even forced him to feed many of the women by hand. Of course, he’d tried to escape, so they’d resorted to starving him. That starvation caused him to weaken unbearably, rendering him useless. Lately all he’d been able to do was lie in place and curse.
“Stand before the slave you wish to claim,” Kreja, the Amazon queen, commanded. She stood at the edge of her royal dais, her gaze scanning, expectant. She was a lovely woman, with pale hair and light eyes, both of which gave her the appearance of fragility. But she possessed an iron core, a vicious nature.
The warrioresses broke apart, as Nola had known they would, and crowded around the males that tempted them.
Nineteen of the thirty-two females chose Zane.
She had hoped their aversion to biting and blood would deter them. She should have known better. Strength was prized among the Amazons, and Zane had nearly won his freedom. Twice. They wanted that strength for their offspring, which was the entire point of mating season.
“Excellent,” Kreja said with a grin.
Zane snarled.
That delighted the women around him, edging them to a new level of eagerness.
Nola fought a wave of anger, of helplessness. She should not have feared Zane. She should have enjoyed him while she’d had the chance. His was the first touch in the entire span of her life that had not filled her with disgust. There had been something almost…reverent in his every gentle caress. If she’d welcomed him, he might have helped purge the demons of her past. He might have saved her from herself.
Now, she would never know.
“Fight for me if you wish,” he said through sharp, gritted teeth, “but know that I will slay the winner with my bare hands.”
He was not a man given to boasting, Nola knew.
“So vengeful,” someone twittered happily.
“So mine,” another snapped.
“It is I who will win his seed,” still another growled. “I who will give birth to his offspring.”
“No one will bear my child,” he roared.
He is not meant to be a slave, Nola longed to shout. He was too proud, too defiant. Traits she also possessed. Which was why she had finally risen up and slain her own mother. Which in turn was why she sometimes cried herself to sleep, wishing she could claw the images from her mind.
Scowling, Nola strode forward and reached out, hoping that, for once, her fingers would do more than ghost through as she tried to shove the Amazons aside. As always, her hand slipped through their bodies as if she were nothing more substantial than mist.
A cry of frustration escaped her.
Still, no one paid her any heed.
“Those of you who desire the vampire will now enter the arena.” Kreja’s hard voice silenced their arguments. Together they did as commanded, bypassing Nola, even stepping through her.
“Damn you!” she shouted. “Hear me!”
Of course, they did not.
Shoulders slumping, she closed the distance between herself and Zane and sank beside him. Like the others, he did not act as if he noticed. But she could almost—almost—feel his warmth, and goose bumps broke out over her skin.
