by kimberly
Anlese tugged harder. We must go, she warned. Stay too long and we'll be trapped in this realm for all eternity.
The future began to regress toward the present. Julienne fought against returning to physical existence. Her heartbeat sounded dully in her ears and she felt herself oddly alone, lost in the muffled throbbing that slowed to a long-drawn-out rhythm that seemed to draw its strange tempo from the silence around her. Abruptly, she felt a shuddering overtake her body, experiencing the awful shock of unwilling re-entry from phantom to physical.
She was back.
In charge of her body's functions again, Julienne sat up. She was not alone. Her grandmother's image hovered at the foot of her bed. Her compassionate eyes seemed to smile.
"Don't be left behind when Morgan returns to Sclyd." Anlese's luminous image began to fade. "It's your destiny, and the only act that will save his life," she urged as a parting good-bye, and faded into infinity.
Left to herself and the uneasy silence of the night, unsure now of the reality of her experience, Julienne shook her head and reached up to pinch her cheek hard until tears came to her eyes.
What happened to me? She glanced at the luminous face of her bedside clock. Its red numbers told her she had slept for less than two hours.
Though she knew she had not been anywhere physically, she understood instinctively the images coloring her mind were more than the fading remnants of a dream. She felt she'd traveled into the future to witness an event yet to happen. She rubbed her eyes. A new warmth seemed to flow through her. She lay in a sober, listening stillness, trying to make sense of what Anlese had shown her--events yet to occur.
Was it murder…assassination? she wondered. Or was it suicide? The images, strange, soft and unfocused, were meaningless unless she could find a way to use this knowledge to help Morgan.
"He won't survive without me," she whispered into the darkness. "I must go to Sclyd with him." She shivered.
Even if it costs me my life.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I have to see Grandmother.
Unable to sleep, Julienne rose from her bed, grabbed her robe, and hurried down the hall toward Anlese's suite. The door to the old woman's room was ajar an inch or two.
Stealing quietly, she peered through the opening, careful not to disturb her tenuous view. Firelight came from within, the only source of illumination. She could see Morgan was present. He sat in a rocking chair beside Anlese's bed, smoking a cigarette. Noticing her hovering at the door, he made a brief "come in" motion with his hand.
Slipping through the door, she stopped beside him. "How is she?"
"Her time has come," Morgan answered bluntly through the cigarette smoke he exhaled. "I doubt she will live through the night."
Julienne moved to kneel beside her grandmother's bed. "Grandmother?"
Anlese opened her eyes. Pain dulled her gaze, giving them a hazy, unhealthy film. Her thin hands curled on her stomach like a child's. "Cassandra?" she asked, her mind clouded by pain.
Julienne smiled gently, taking one of Anlese's small, cold hands into her own. Scarcely a moment passed before her touch detected the trembling deep within the old woman's body. She shook her head sadly. Morgan's words were true.
"No, Grandmother. It's your granddaughter." Her voice cracked with emotion, tears welling to the surface of her eyes.
"Julienne," Anlese said in a husky whisper. "You've been away so long." Her tired eyes closed.
"I know," she soothed, "but I'm here now, Grandmother, and I won't leave you again."
There was a brief silence, broken only by the old woman's labored breathing and the crackling fire in the hearth. Then, Anlese stirred, opening her eyes again.
"Morgan," she gasped. "You…must hear my dying…wish while you are at my…deathbed."
He nodded. "I am listening, Anlese."
"It's my wish…that Julienne carry on…the Blackthorne…legacy," the old woman said, her words stilted, lengthy pauses caused by the intense pain she had to be experiencing. "Let what…is in me…be transferred to my…granddaughter."
Putting out his cigarette, Morgan slowly shook his head. "It should die with you. Do not try to bring her into the occult. You would only damn her."
"You…you…can't refuse…my dying…wish," Anlese insisted stubbornly, drawing on her last reserves of strength. Her trembling lessened and she drew her hand away from Julienne's, struggling to sit up.
"For centuries… Blackthorne…women have…served you. Bring her over. Not only for her sake, but for yours."
A look of surprise crossed his face. "My sake?" he half-laughed, disbelievingly.
"I know…know…you think…you were the wrongly…chosen," Anlese said, her eyes brightening, almost glowing with the flow of new vitality, "but heed…my…words. The peace…between our…worlds…rests with…you. I…I've…seen a…vision, and I…know it to…be a true one. Megwyn… She has…turned toward…the darkness…toward the Dragon. The council will…turn with her. This…you must stop…at any…cost."
Morgan's face brewed a thundercloud, his voice growing cold as ice. "You say you have seen a vision--do you know it to be a true one?"
Julienne could remain silent no longer.
"Morgan," she began. "Her words are true. Tonight, when I was asleep, she came to me--took me to a place, I don't know where--but I saw Xavier and--and," she stammered, "your sister." Her temerity made him frown.
She drew in a deep gulping breath and hurried on before he could stop her. "Xavier," she said. "He's tall, bald. His face is scarred." Her hand slashed across her eye in emphasis. "He has only one eye."
Morgan, surprise shadowing his eyes, regarded her with a vagueness that bordered on disbelief. "And Megwyn," he asked, giving her a hard strange stare. "You also saw her?"
Julienne bobbed her head. "Yes. She's like you, except her hair is very pale, platinum white. And her eyes… The coldest blue I've ever seen."
His face changed, his sternness beginning to grow tender before he recovered himself and settled on an angry scowl. "And your vision showed them together?"
She said instantly, "Yes. She wishes to turn to the Dragon--and use you as a sacrifice that would allow her to claim the full legacy." She reached out in an almost pleading manner. "Please listen. They are determined to destroy you."
I dare not say I've seen his death, she counseled herself. Death is too interesting to him.
Rising from his chair, Morgan stood up, stuffing his hands deep into his trouser pockets. His eyes brewed thunder as he turned away from the women.
"So, Megwyn plans to join the Dragon's legion." He spoke the words deliberately, as if to impress them in his own mind. "I knew her to be power-hungry, but I never would have believed she would turn to Oroborous."
Sensitive to his inner dilemma, Julienne rose and went to his side. "She said as she goes, so goes the council." Laying a hand on his arm, she hastened to say. "Aren't those the ones who fought for our world, for the freedom of the mortal people? If she turns their thinking when the portals open again…"
A sense of deep trouble darkened his eyes. "If she turns the council," he muttered, "then your world has no chance."
Julienne sighed as she followed his turmoil. She felt he wanted to stand against his sister and Xavier, but that something held him back.
He fears for his mind, she thought. The headaches that take so much from him. Why should he fight again when he has so much to lose?
Because there is no one else.
"She and Xavier have a pact," she insisted, "and they are plotting to take your life. She wants you dead, Morgan. You are the only one they fear and they'll kill you at any cost."
He shook off her hand. "I do not care anymore," he said softly. "Do not try to take me back into that war. Even if it is true, the battle is no longer mine."
"But…it is," said Anlese. "It…is…the destiny…you were…born to."
"I was wrongly chosen!" he said in a low voice, suddenly too calm, too preci
se.
Anlese shook her head. It was clear her attempts to speak were an immense effort, the words haltingly, her breath labored, but she had to keep talking, make herself understood.
"You were…rightly chosen," she insisted. "If you…would let…yourself…realize."
"I have told you before," he said coldly. "That battle is over for me. Forever."
"Then…if you don't care…for yourself, Morgan, at…least let the Blackthorne legacy…survive. Let Julienne lead…where you…will not. Give what is…in me to…her, so that…she may use…my knowledge as…a priestess to help…our kind."
"Is this truly what you desire, Anlese?"
"I do." Anlese settled back on her pillows. "The mortal…people have…a right to know…the truth a…about…the dark side."
Morgan began to laugh, low at first, then with a stronger intensity. "The truth? There is no truth in the occult."
"Please," Julienne said in a whispered hiss only he could hear. "Give her some hope. Let her believe you'll help our kind, even if it won't be true."
Perhaps he sensed her desperation, or perhaps he only sought to pacify a dying woman. Nevertheless, Morgan said, "I will grant what you ask."
* * *
In the room only Julienne held the key to, Morgan lowered Anlese's frail body to the altar. The old woman shook with fatigue and pain but made no utterance, only lacing her fingers across her stomach, waiting patiently for him to proceed.
"Dammit," he cursed under his breath. "I swore I had quit the practice."
"You've…parted with your…legacy, but you…can…still summon forth…the power," Anlese reminded gently.
"As if I would want it inside me again," he groused.
Julienne was growing anxious. Stroking her grandmother's cold forehead, she said, "C--c-can we get this done?" Fright captured her tongue, making her stammer.
Huffing, Morgan picked up a bag of pure white salt. He slowly circled the perimeter of the altar, leaving a white trail in his wake, sealing them within a sacred circle. This completed, he placed four candles, one at each corner: yellow for east, white for south, gray for west, and black for north. Next, he picked up the stubby athame and drew an invisible symbol above Anlese's body, and then a second toward Julienne.
"What are you doing?" she asked, curious about the solemnity of the ritual.
"A circle of protection," he said distractedly. "So that no outside force can get in and break the casting."
"I see."
Morgan reached into his pocket and withdrew his lighter, tossing it to her. "Light each candle as I say the litany."
Julienne looked at him with curious eyes. "Can't you light them just by thinking about it?" she asked.
"Since I relinquished the practice, I no longer summon forth the flame using internally generated psi-energies if I do not have to." He shot her a stern frown, putting an end to further inquiries. "You are wasting valuable time. Begin with the yellow, white, then gray, and lastly, the black."
The black, she thought, feeling her stomach flutter with anxiety and churning acid. Black is strong. Black is…evil. But she was wrong. In Celtic Wicca, black also absorbed and intensified the magic invoked.
"All right." Her hand shook, but she was determined to go through with the ritual.
He began, "Great Cerredwen, may you manifest and bless this priestess I lay here now before you." He nodded, the signal for her to begin. Bringing up a flame, Julienne lit the yellow candle.
Please, do bless her, she prayed silently, not sure of the origins of the deity she was addressing but determined to believe, nevertheless. Please let this be all right for her.
"I call upon the powers of fire: witness this rite and guard these women," he chanted. His accented voice was a thing of pure beauty to the ears, modulated and pitch-perfect. His steadiness came from years of training and practice.
Julienne lit the white candle. White. The power of light, of good.
"I call upon the powers of water: witness this rite and guard these women."
She lit the gray candle.
"I call upon the powers of air: witness this rite and guard these women."
He gave his gaze to the black candle, and she touched the lighter to the wick.
"I call upon the powers of Earth: witness this rite and protect these women."
The last candle was lit. Julienne repositioned herself back at the center of the altar facing him across Anlese. Shivering because she had no voice to add to his, she could only watch in mute silence, trusting him to help her grandmother pass peacefully from this world.
"With the power of the ancient spirits, I bind all within this circle into this spell. So shall it be." Dipping into a small clay pot, anointing Anlese's pallid forehead with fragrant oil, he asked, "Are you sure? You will not survive this."
"I'm…sure," Anlese said, smiling wanly.
Morgan nodded and began to intone the chant of invocation: "I call upon the Mother Goddess to witness this rite and guard this circle." The short, etched-silver blade of the athame glittered in his grip, sharp and deadly. Runes were incised in the steel, and for a moment an instinctive fear surged up through Julienne. She wanted to run, leave this room, forget this mysterious rite her grandmother had called for her to undergo. I'm not ready was her frightened silent cry.
"Give me your hand," he said to her.
Feeling shamed and foolish over her fright, trying to maintain her composure, Julienne held out her hand. Taking it in his, he placed the blade across her palm.
"The pain will be brief," he said, and made a gesture incomprehensible to her before he cut. She winced but held her tongue, watching as he lifted Anlese's hand and repeated the cut. The old woman moaned in pain, but did not try to pull away. Bringing the two women's hands palm to palm, Morgan bound them with a crimson cord. He began to speak in a low, serious voice.
"Great Mother, bless this creature into your service. May she always remember the sacred fire that dances in the form of every creation. Tabhair dom do neartsa. Give her your strength, and may she always listen to the spirits that bring her the wisdom of the ancient ones."
He put his two hands around the women's. "By all the powers at my command, I bind all within this circle into this spell. Around and through her shall flow the energies of her ancestor, all powers visible and invisible, fo deor na ndeor, forever and ever."
Julienne felt a tingling begin to invade her, beginning at her hand, working its way up her arm to her shoulders, until it covered the entirety of her body, infusing her with an energy she'd never before experienced. Her mind reeling with the impact of sight and sound, she felt strong. She began to comprehend that something was entering her, settling not only in the ancient primeval recesses of her mind but into her very soul itself, suffusing her with wisdom and joy such as she had never known before in her life.
"Behold all the power of fire. You shall become a follower of the gods. Let your mind be open to the truth, and your mouth silent among nonbelievers. So will it be."
"Let her…heart seek…you…always, Morgan" Anlese whispered. The old woman closed her eyes and, with a final exhalation, died.
"Grandmother?" Julienne stammered, her skin still warm with Anlese's blood. Tears blurred her vision, a single one escaping her eye to slide down her scarred cheek.
"She is gone," Morgan told her. "She has passed into the realm beyond."
I didn't even get to say goodbye, she thought. It happened too fast. Even as there was happiness, there was also sadness, an overshadowing gloom that cast itself over her heart.
"Let her go," he said quietly, cutting the cord and lifting Julienne's hand, palm up. The cut he'd made had healed, leaving a thin white scar. Their hands lingered together a moment too long. Their eyes locked, gazes searching, challenging, revealing…
A flash came into Julienne's mind then, a joining with Morgan's so crystal-clear that, for a moment, she could read his thoughts, more than actual words--blazing raw colors that made him appear to her a
s a sinister and frightening thing. His intention was clear: He would let her gift die inside her, untapped, unused. Morgan, she realized, would not train her to cultivate it.
Why? she cried out in her mind. She had this thing inside her, but she'd never be able to completely use it unless trained.
Stay away from the occult, Julienne, was his silent reply. The blade in his hand glinted, a dangerous weapon he could use on her in an instant. It will only destroy you. He pulled his hand away, breaking their tenuous psychic connection.
She sank to her knees, an engulfing dread began to creep over her, holding her throat in the grip of icy fingers. She could not utter a single word or gesture that would reveal her knowledge, nor could she shatter the ritual he was bringing to its end.
How could she summon the strength to cry out that he would stupidly defy Anlese's wishes, let himself--and this world--die?
No, no! Not that cruelty, not that betrayal!
She could not raise a hand nor move her head to any side to break the paralyzing spell binding her to painful silence. She could not, dared not understand what her brain struggled to process. Her mind veered into sheer incoherence, seeking to escape the ugliness of his deception, becoming blank as a wiped slate.
Suddenly, the candles blazed up, extinguishing themselves at the exact moment the circle of salt burst into sparking blue flames that leapt and flashed in her eyes. She saw only an exploding whoosh of fire as she fell back, inert.
May all the gods damn you, Morgan! she cursed in the silent tomb in her head. Why are you fighting this? Why are you so determined to destroy what you know is your--our--destiny?
Her mind drowning in the shock and chill awareness, she felt a deep wave of confusion claim her. Succumbing to a force she did not understand how to fight, she fell headlong into all-consuming darkness.
At that exact moment, the hall clock chimed, joining its voice to its twin below in the foyer. Broken was the oppressive silence descending upon the old manor in the wake of death.
Chapter Twenty-Three
