SONS of DON

by Brenda L. Harper

  Branwen stumbled back—it seemed like Morgan pushed her back by grabbing that sword—and her sword flew from her fingers.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Leave this place.”

  Branwen opened her mouth to object, but if she said anything, Gwen didn’t hear her. She shimmered, like the sparks coming from Morgan’s fingers, and then she was gone.

  Just like that.

  Branwen, her sword, and her two companions just vanished.

  “You okay?” Morgan asked, dropping to his knees beside Gwen.

  “How did you…?”

  “I don’t know. It just happened.”

  Gwen grabbed his hand, ran her fingers over it looking for signs of trauma. But there was nothing.

  “You’re okay.”

  “What about you?”

  He took her arm to help her up, but the second she put weight on her bad ankle, the pain was too much. She grunted, too proud to do much more than that. He set her back on the ground and ran his warm fingers carefully over the swelling that had already begun to appear around her ankle joint.

  “I think it might be broken.”

  “Damn shoes,” she said under her breath.

  Morgan looked at her, and the expression on his face was just too much. She burst into laughter at the same moment that he did.

  He fell onto the ground beside her, laughing so hard that he had to hold his side. When he could finally catch his breath, he said, “Should probably wear tennis shoes next time you decide to join a sword fight.”

  That only made Gwen laugh harder.

  That was how Cei found them, the two of them sitting on the cold, dirty concrete, leaning back against the wrought iron rail as they dissolved in giggles.

  “Did I miss something?”

  Chapter 12

  It wasn’t broken, but she was going to have to wear a support boot on it for a couple of weeks. That’s what the doctor at the ER told them, anyway. Tony and Theresa had fussed quite effusively over her both at the hospital when they arrived in a dramatic rush—almost like those scenes on Lifetime movies that Gwen had always thought were over-acted—and back at the house as they helped her get settled in her bed.

  There was pain medication. It was very nice medication.

  She was drifting in the lovely fog of Vicodin when she heard her door open. She didn’t turn to look; she was pretty sure she knew who it was. And when he crawled into bed beside her, just the scent of his closeness confirmed it for her.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

  Gwen sighed. “It’s okay. Morgan helped.”

  “I should have been there.”

  She moved into him, lay her head on his chest. “You really aren’t a very good guardian. This is the third time she attacked me and you weren’t there.”

  “I know.” Cei ran his hand over her back slowly. “I feel like a fool.”

  “You shouldn’t. She waits for you to be distracted.”

  “Maybe.”

  “She’s smart,” Gwen said, aware that her words were slurring a little. “And determined.”

  “So am I. I shouldn’t let myself get distracted.”

  Gwen slipped her hand over his bare stomach. “Depends on what’s distracting you.”

  Cei chuckled quietly. “You are quite a distraction.”

  “I’m sorry we missed our dinner.”

  He turned toward her, pulled her face up so that he could see her eyes. “I’m sorry for the whole thing.”

  She kissed his chin lightly before he could kiss her. Her head was already spinning; she didn’t want it to spin any more. She lay back down against his chest and let her fingers draw a little design around his belly button.

  “What’s it like?” she asked after he settled back down against the pillows. “Living forever.”

  “Not forever. Just a very long time.”

  “Two thousand years seems like forever to me.”

  “You’re seventeen. Forty years is forever to you.”

  He shifted slightly as he reached for the low edge of her hip. He slid his hand under the bottom edge of her night shirt, his fingertips burning a trail up along her hip to the lower edge of her ribs.

  “What’s it like?” she asked again.

  “Sometimes it’s pretty cool. I’ve gotten to see a lot of advances in technology. When I was born, fire was everything. And tool making. No one I grew up with could have imagined having electricity, plumbing, let alone indoor plumbing, and the combustible engine and cars and airplanes and telephones, let alone smartphones with apps that do everything from calculating your weight to playing videos.”

  “It must be pretty amazing.”

  “It is.”

  “And all the people you’ve met.”

  Cei sighed. “That’s a double-edged sword, Gwen.” His fingers moved further up her side, scraping against her ribs to the fleshy edge of her breast. “I’ve known and loved a lot of people who eventually grew old when I didn’t.”

  “Did they know about you?”

  “Some. Not all.”

  “Were you ever married? Did you ever have children?”

  Cei’s fingers stopped moving under her night shirt. “Those are very complicated questions.”

  “Not so complicated if the answer were no.”

  Gwen sat up a little, wanted to see the expression on Cei’s face. It would tell her what she thought she already knew. But it didn’t tell her anything. His face was blank, as though a mask had fallen over it that looked just like his face, but harder, less kind.

  “If you don’t want to talk about it…”

  “It was a very long time ago, the first time.”

  “The first time.”

  “I was married when they…when I elected to become Gwydion’s servant. When I became immortal.”

  “Really?” She propped herself up on his chest again, forcing his hand to slide down over the hollow in which her spine hid. “What was she like?”

  “She was beautiful.” He reached up with his other hand and guided her head back down to his chest. “Her name was Aneira. It means snow.”

  Immediately, Gwen imagined a dark-haired girl with pale skin, the kind of girl who looked like a porcelain doll.

  “We grew up together,” he said. “Her family lived in the same village as mine. We often played together as small children. And when it came time for me to choose a wife…there was no one else I wanted.”

  “Romantic,” Gwen said.

  “Maybe.” He slid his hand under her shirt again. “We were married for just over two years. She gave me a son, a strong boy who grew to be a fighter.”

  “I bet he looked just like you.”

  “He did.”

  “Was it hard? To watch them grow old?”

  “I never had the chance.”

  Gwen rose up again, tried to see his face, but he moved just enough that she could only see shadow. “Why not? What happened to them?”

  “I don’t know, for sure. I had to leave them when I became Gwydion’s servant. By the time I managed to get back to my village, they were long gone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Cei was quiet for a long time. Gwen closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it must have been like for him, forced to abandon his young family. Her drug-addled mind was filled with images: a young woman sitting in the corner of a dark room, dressed as an old woman; the same young woman in a lovely, cotton dress, taken from her carriage by two men and dragged away only to be chased by another man…a man who looked an awful lot like Cei, rescued and returned to her rightful place; the same young woman running through the woods with a group of other women, laughing as they heard the pounding footsteps and taunting calls of the men chasing after them; the young woman standing before a priest dressed in an unfamiliar gown, her naturally pale face filled with color as she listened to words Gwen couldn’t understand.

  “The wedding,” she mumbled.

  Cei’s hand was once again war
m on her back. Gwen shifted slightly, the images disappearing as quickly as they had come.

  “I was married again in 1850. A beautiful heiress who needed a husband to keep her uncle from stealing her family’s money. And again in 1910 when I met a young artist I simply couldn’t resist.”

  “Couldn’t resist?”

  “Things were different back then. A woman couldn’t just take a lover for the thrill of it. And I couldn’t just walk away from someone as unique as Francesca.”

  “You loved her?”

  “Love is a difficult word. I cared about her.”

  “How long were you married?”

  Cei shifted slightly, his hand moving further up the length of her spine. “Fifteen years.”

  “That sounds a little like love.”

  “A little, I suppose.”

  “What about after her. Were you ever married again?”

  “No,” Cei said. He rolled toward her, slid his other hand over her hip and down her thigh so that he could pull her leg up over his. “I learned my lesson with Francesca.”

  “She treated you badly?”

  “She was wonderful. Gave me everything I could have ever wanted. It was just…the longer I was with her, the longer I wanted to stay. And that, my love, is dangerous for a man like me.”

  “She didn’t know.”

  “No, she didn’t. And if I had told her, she probably would have made sure I was very comfortable in the insane asylum.”

  “Not really the open-minded type?”

  “No. Quite unfortunate for such a talented artist.”

  “You’ve lived quite a life,” Gwen said, the drug making it nearly impossible for her to keep her eyes open much longer. “Quite a story to tell.”

  “And I’ll tell you more about it some other time. Right now, you should try to get some sleep.”

  Gwen didn’t need to be told twice. She was probably asleep before he finished that sentence.

  But that didn’t mean that her mind was fully untethered. Or, maybe a better word for it was grounded.

  It was as if the moment she fell asleep, her mind went on a journey of its own. She’d had wild dreams before, but the dreams she’d begun to have since reading that ancient book—the one she found waiting for her on her window ledge—it seemed like her dreams had taken on a life of their own. Tonight was no exception.

  This dream took her to a familiar place; at least, it felt familiar. It was a stone building set high on a mountain, the kind of place that is perfectly situated to defend against attack. A man was sitting alone at the head of a long, wooden table, a thick piece of parchment paper in front of him. He sat back after reading whatever was written there and sighed, lifting a heavy wooden mug to his lips.

  “They come tomorrow,” he said, although the room appeared empty.

  A man moved out from the shadows that were growing longer along the stone walls. The man nodded.

  “We need to be prepared.”

  The man again nodded.

  “Tell the men to fortify the wall. And move the women to River Conwy, they’ll be safer there.”

  Another nod.

  “And make sure Gruffydd sends word to Einian.”

  One last nod.

  The first man leaned forward again and picked up the piece of parchment. This must have been a signal that the other man was dismissed, as he seemed to take it that way. The other man walked quickly out of the room, glancing back once as he reached a far door before he finally disappeared.

  The first man picked up his cup and took a long, slow swallow. He seemed worried, if the way in which he studied the shadows said anything. He lifted the cup again, but then he stopped with it halfway to his lips. He coughed, a sound that seemed almost unintentional, distracted. Then another cough, this one harder, chestier. And then…blood came with the spittle that flew from his lips.

  It was horrifying, watching this painful death. He was wracked with seizures that made his entire body shudder even as blood-tinged bubbles continuously flowed from his lips. It was almost a relief when he finally fell forward onto the parchment. But even then he was not still. His body continued to twitch for several minutes.

  “It’s about time,” a deep voice hissed into the dark room.

  “I told you it would take some time.”

  “You didn’t tell me it would take that much time.”

  “Do you really want me to define time for you, Cei?”

  Two people walked into the room, offering faces to go with the disembodied voices. One was a woman with auburn hair and green eyes that seemed to glow from her face even in the growing shadows of the room. The other was…Cei.

  Gwen’s Cei.

  He was dressed in a long, blue tunic with a thick belt around his waist. It was weird for Gwen, seeing him this way. It was a snapshot of what his life must have been like when he was first made to be immortal, but it was so far from where his life was now that it was…odd.

  More odd than the fact that he had apparently just killed a man.

  He touched the back of the man’s neck, looking for some sign of life. The woman came around him, buried her fingers in the man’s hair, and lifted his face off the table.

  “He’s dead,” she said quite matter-of-factly.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.” She dropped the man’s head, and it popped unpleasantly against the top of the table. “Should make Gwydion happy.”

  “Nothing makes Gwydion happy.” Cei grasped the corner of the parchment and began to slide it out from under the man’s head. It was not an easy task, but he managed it, holding the parchment between two fingers when it was free to keep the blood and spittle from his fingers. “Bendigeidfran.”

  The woman’s eyebrows rose. “Not the name I was expecting.”

  “But not a huge surprise. We’ve known he’s been helping them for a long time.”

  “But to help them invade another prince’s territories? That’s pushing it.”

  Cei rolled up the parchment and slipped it inside his tunic. “We should get out of here.”

  The woman surveyed the room for a long second before she nodded in agreement. Then she waved her hands in front of her, whispering words Gwen couldn’t quite make out, and disappeared. Cei lingered just a moment before he, too, disappeared.

  Gwen woke with a start, sitting up in the darkness of her bedroom.

  “Gwen?” Cei mumbled.

  She looked around for a second, convinced that a dead man would be sitting with his head on her desk, or somehow propped on her dresser. But the room was quiet except for the quick puffs of her own breath. She slowly settled back down with her head on Cei’s chest.

  “Just a nightmare,” she whispered, trying to make herself believe that that was exactly what had happened.

  “Try to rest,” Cei said just seconds before his breathing returned to the deep, slow breathing of the sleeping.

  She closed her eyes, trying to slow her breaths to match his. It took a long time before they did.

  Chapter 13

  “You told me the other day that I might see strange things…”

  Rhein was leaning forward, resting his chin on his hands and his elbows on his knees. He twisted his head so he could look at Gwen, who was sitting beside him on the low bench that adorned the far corner of the Langleys’ backyard.

  “I did.”

  “Does that include dreams?”

  He sat up and scratched the side of his jaw. “It can. Why?”

  Gwen looked toward the rose bushes that grew along one side of the backyard. She’d spent her first full day living at this house trimming them, and they seemed to thrive in appreciation. They were still blooming despite the fact that it was beginning to turn cold and they should have stopped giving blooms weeks ago.

  “Is it possible to dream about things that have actually happened?”

  Rhein nodded. “Very possible. Especially if the actual event involves someone you know or someone important to y
our future.”

  “Why?”

  Rhein gestured toward the lawn. “You are connected to nature. The more you learn about your powers—and how to control them—the more connected you are. Dreams and visions are nature’s way of sharing with you things it believes you need to know.”

  “Like showing me danger before it happens?”

  “Yes.”

  The fire. That was why she saw the fire reach out to her before it actually happened. The wind—or nature—was showing her the danger that was about to come for her.

  But what about the dream with Cei and the dying man? What was it about that that Gwen needed to understand? She’d had the same dream four nights in a row now, and it was getting to the point that she was afraid to go to sleep most nights.

  “What kind of danger could there be in the past?”

  Rhein looked over at her, concern softening the dark blue of his eyes. “Is there someone you know in this dream?”