Chance shrugged. “So?”
“But who she may have been, or of what race, is the important issue, honey.”
Chance ignored Nightshade, and rose from his chair to stalk to the sink. He turned to face the table with his hands fisted low on his hips. “So, was she Faerie?”
Bree turned her concentration on her brother, attempting to read deeper than his surface emotions. He’d been skittish all day, one moment his normal, cheeky self, at others brooding and distant. Now he was argumentative and angry. She had to get him settled down before they left tonight. There wasn’t time to baby him along, nor could they afford any mistakes.
Tori slowly shook her head. “It’s always possible, since I’ve the feeling she held a great deal of magic. But Faerie...” Lips pressed into a tight line, she continued shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. The atmosphere where I was led felt—different. And I’ve been to Faerie often enough to sense such differences. I think, maybe—no, probably—my mother was also Alfar.”
At the edge of Bree’s vision Nightshade gave a barely noticeable jerk and straightened from his loose, relaxed pose. Drawing her brows together she watched him, more interested in his reaction than in Catori’s revelation. Why did the possibility that her mother might be Alfar make him literally sit up and take notice?
Tori continued, “It doesn’t feel right that she was Sindhu, so she must have been Domovoii or Andras.”
Coralie hugged her sister. “’Tis wondrous news. When we return with Morghan, ye an’ I shall discover the truth of yer mother. Then perhaps we shall find a clue to my own.”
Tori kissed her sister’s cheek. “That sounds like a plan, Cor. A good plan, after you have some time with the returnee, of course.”
A bright pink blush covered Coralie’s face and she dipped her head to hide a smile. Bree mentally slapped her forehead. Only recently she’d come to realize the depths of feeling Coralie had for Morghan, learned that they’d become lovers only days before Morghan disappeared. Even though Coralie had hidden her love well, once she became an adult herself, Bree should have at least suspected. A lump of heavy doubt settled in her chest. She’d been trained to be observant. Her own family, and she’d missed something really important.
She cast a glance at Gowthaman. He was why. Either she was so blinded by her feelings for him she didn’t notice other relationships or though happy for others like Jayse and Lucidea, she avoided thinking about those relationships because it hurt. Because she didn’t have that connection with Gowtham, that love.
They did have soulfire. He had to at least acknowledge the sparkling gold and crimson swirls of their soulfire.
Silently she slipped from the kitchen. Doubting anyone but Nightshade realized she’d gone, and knowing he wouldn’t say anything, she continued to the manor’s front door and out across the driveway to the woods beyond. A quick run would clear her mind so she could face the important task ahead. To face the world between worlds.
Fifteen
Gowthaman lagged behind as Breanna led her small party toward the outcropping a short distance from the manor. Concern for the rescue party lay like a stone weight in his heart and dragged his footsteps at a slow, contemplative pace. Some vital piece of information had been missed. A key to success. If the team was able to find Morghan and return the prince to this world, his worries would be unfounded.
He tried, but couldn’t believe that possibility to be true.
And now the time was upon them. In minutes the waxing gibbous moon would rise, followed in two nights by the full moon. There would be no triple conjunction of blue moons including the human moon for another three hundred years. Not long in a Faerie’s lifetime, for he was older than that by two times over. Nor for one of the Alfar-Sindhu race. But the young ones, Jayse, Lucidea, and younger still, Breanna and Chance, had yet to live even the length of one human life span. Without the patience and calming experience of long years, they were eager for action. Perhaps too eager.
His fingers jerked against the journal’s leather cover. Here he recorded everything he had discovered about the world between worlds, including the incantations needed to open the veil now, and again in two nights to return them to this world. He could do no more.
None of those participating in the rescue had asked him about his experience within the world between worlds. Gowthaman supposed they’d not wanted to cause him increased distress. Or perhaps Breanna had forbidden them to ask. Either way, he was glad. It was difficult enough to face the demons of his past when there were no outside demands, when it was only his own mind he had to fight. He could only hope he had put enough information in the journal. Given more time, he might have been able to organize his notes into a cohesive set of instructions and theories for their journey of rescue.
But with less than a handful of days, he’d only been able to record what he thought would be most beneficial. In any case, his memories of the world between worlds were as misty and gray as the place itself. At the time of his brief incarceration there, he’d only been aware of the pain and emptiness caused by the witch’s rape of his mind. He had not wanted to live, let alone escape from a place that didn’t require him to feel. He would have languished there still had not members of Breanna’s clan physically returned him to Faerie. Had Breanna not innocently taken his pain that first time...
He stumbled to a halt to watch the backs of those who chose to rip through the veil this night. Breanna walked the narrow, rocky path with calm purpose, her back straight, head held high. She hid her tension well, developing into an excellent leader. Although he did enjoy those rare occasions when her frustration had become too great and she would come to him, tense and irritable, and make him watch old science fiction movies. Fantasy for one who was fantasy. A smile tempted his mouth. She was his fantasy. No, she was his life.
His life. And she was entering a dangerous, unknown place accompanied only by two unseasoned warriors.
Searlait should be with her. The tall Alastriona’s duty was to stand at Breanna’s side, to guard her back. Searlait knew each varied landscape of the world between worlds and the creatures inhabiting those forlorn places. She had protected and encouraged him during his brief time there.
But neither he nor Searlait had ever desired to relive time in the world between worlds. Their experiences had never been truly been spoken of between them, only hinted at in vague conversation. Although surprised by the warrior’s fear, he understood her inability to face entering the place where she had been imprisoned for so long. Still, he could think of few others he would choose as competent enough to do battle beside Breanna.
He was also surprised by Coralie’s firm insistence she be included in the rescue party. The petite Alfar-Sindhu hardly gave the appearance of a warrior. However, Morghan had been her lord, her peoples’ ruler before he disappeared. Her manner, an easy gentleness belying great strength, would be a calm, comforting force within the group. She had helped Morghan create the original spells for the first battle with the fire elemental. An altered form of one of those spells would open the veil for them this night.
Coralie paused at the base of the outcropping and glanced toward the horizon. Gowthaman followed her gaze. Only a bare lightening over the distant hills indicated where the moon would rise. Then she hefted her pack loosely over one shoulder and began her assent to the brae’s flat crown. Gowthaman frowned, wondering briefly if he should suggest she wear shoes.
Chance followed Coralie, his soft pack bulging. The young man wore a sword at his hip but had also strapped a long, plain scabbard to the pack. Gowthaman studied the leather wrapped grip then the scabbard, calculating the sword’s length to be even longer than the weapon Chance attempted training with that morning. Why Breanna’s brother carried an extra, awkward weapon hinted at the faulty judgment of an untried warrior.
Although Breanna had exhibited wise decision making in past Alastriona affairs, she had agreed to allow her brother to accompany her on this dangerous mission. Gowthaman watched the y
oung man’s broad back. Chance swaggered with the indestructible pride of youth. His skill at weaponry exceeded that of many seasoned Alastriona, but lack of determination and experience showed in his mock battles. This rescue should not be undertaken as a learning experience or a right of passage for the young man. Gowthaman added another failing to his list. He should have reasoned with Breanna about her decision to include Chance.
The others had climbed to the top of the brae but still he held back. Until he accepted the strength of his emotions and the evidence of a soulfire he tried to convince himself he didn’t understand, he’d never be able to let Breanna go. If only he had more time. If only he’d told her that afternoon. Warmth still tingled his skin where she had rested against him and slept. Even though hours had passed, the drug-like after effects of the sweet passion in her kiss scalded through his body. He clutched the journal tighter, his knuckles tight with the strain.
From that day when she was but five years old, when she had stated she was going to marry him, she had resided deep in his soul. Now, as a woman, the young girl’s innocent love had blossomed, changed, grown. Now, he loved her as that woman.
A shadowy presence spoke from the dense thicket of trees lining the path. “You should have told her long before now.”
Knowing Nightshade only voiced the crux of his inner debate, Gowthaman still straightened his back and denied. “Told her what?”
Nightshade stepped from under the cover of the tall trees and shook his head. “You are more a fool than I thought.”
Gowthaman took a deep breath and released it slowly. He discovered no anger in response to the man’s statement, only acceptance of his own failures. “Perhaps.”
“No perhaps about it, honey.” Nightshade studied the sky. “Time’s short. Coralie is making ready to begin the chant. You’ve ignored your opportunity. Again.” He glanced back and tapped a hard knuckle against the journal. “You’d best be getting that into Breanna’s hands.”
“Yes. Of course.”
Nightshade stalked up the steep path. Gowthaman heard him mumbling but ignored the words he knew were true. He was a fool. Now, he would pay a price for that foolishness. He started forward deliberately. No, not foolish. Fear-filled. He stumbled, righted himself and continued. He was afraid. Of feeling. Anything. For any person. His thoughts, memories, and emotions had been stolen once and used to endanger an entire family. The clan who had accepted him despite his unwilling part in Feidhlim’s planned destruction.
Despite the evidence of soulfire burning his skin, he would not again endanger Breanna by loving her.
A faint glow, reminiscent of reflected flames, shadowed the dips and valleys of the low-lying clouds. The eerie nighttime sky brightened. Clouds parted, revealing a rounded, glowing circumzenithal arc, the lower edge of the nearly full moon.
Bree pressed one hand against the churning in her belly. Her earlier run had calmed her enough she’d been able to gather the team and get them here on time. Still, her mind never ceased working rapidly through her list of mental lists. Any action to bolster her refusal to listen to the insidious little voice claiming there would be no success, that she’d fail, and worse yet, doom the others to remain in the gray.
She reached the outcropping, climbed the steep hill and turned to survey her small team. Jayse had refused to allow Lucidea anywhere near the possible danger of opening the veil. In order to keep her safely in the manor, both he and Tori remained behind as well. Nightshade and Gowthaman would report their successful entry into the world between worlds.
Here on the outcropping, Coralie stood calm and silent, staring into the sky, looking as though she was simply out for a stroll on a calm, midsummer evening. Breanna sighed, wishing she could share that calm.
As she expected, her brother bounced on the balls of his feet, filled with nervous energy. His gaze darted toward the moon, around the flat hilltop and over the loch’s dark waters. He cocked his head to one side as if listening. Then he closed his eyes, wrinkled his forehead and a flash of pain tightened his features. She was about to cross the rocky path to him when he opened his eyes, blew out a harsh breath and resumed his energetic bouncing.
Whatever demons pursued her brother would have to wait. He seemed in control and she fervently hoped he was. She didn’t have the energy to worry about him.
Bree turned toward Coralie. The Alfar-Sindhu nodded.
“’Tis time,” Coralie said.
Morghan brushed a shock of hair from his forehead and frowned. Since coming to himself, he’d done little but watch the elemental. He touched his face, feeling the deep furrow between his brows. How long has it been? Days? Months? Mere hours?
He pressed his fingers to his eyes, a firm touch to rub away the confusion. After he blinked, it took a moment for his eyes to focus. No matter how long he remained in this cursed land of gray, he would not return to the confusion. For he had an enemy to watch, an enemy’s actions to gage, analyze and ultimately end.
Taking a deep breath he angled one shoulder to rub against the thick gray bark of the tree at his back. A sharp pain stabbed needles into his upper arm and he adjusted the torn strip of cloth he’d wrapped around the bite. ’Twould heal. He gave a soft snort. At least he no longer felt the need to hide his actions from his nemesis. The elemental’s magic allowed him to know—Morghan scraped the itchy spot again—to know where Morghan was and what he did.
A foul magic that.
Yet, mayhap it was a good thing, for the magic had given Morghan a sense of knowing as well—when he made the effort to search his mind for the point of intrusion. However, there was little to do in this dry landscape and if maintaining a watch on Brandr Ur would help him focus his thoughts and find a way to defeat the elemental, then watch he would.
Angling onto one buttock, Morghan brushed away a sharp rock then settled again with his back to the tree, his knees bent so his feet rested flat on the ground. He balanced his wrists on his knees and stared across the plain. Brandr Ur sat in a ruined temple on a throne of stone, centered on the rubble-strewn dais. Distending his nostrils, Morghan huffed out a breath.
The distance was not great, so the elemental’s face and expressions were clear to him. And puzzling.
If there had been another being before the elemental, Morghan would be convinced Brandr Ur spoke then reacted to a returned bit of conversation.
A shudder crept across Morghan’s shoulders. Brandr Ur was speaking to another. Momentarily thankful he wasn’t the focus of the elemental’s mind-talk, he filled with anger that anyone should have to experience the touch of another within their mind.
Morghan clenched his fists and fell into a memory. He remembered the page he’d found torn from his brother’s journal, a single page that spoke of feeling another being invading his mind, of the fear of insanity and hopelessness that drove his brother from their lands. Morghan straightened his fingers, then clenched them again, his ragged nails digging into his palms. He had felt that same invasion. From the same being.
He’d fought the foreign presence there in the false security of his two worlds, and then for a time after he’d been brought here. He frowned. Had the elemental simply ceased invading him, or had he lost enough of himself he had no longer cared? How long had he spent walking in madness, allowing the elemental to manipulate him?
Closing his eyes, he pressed one hand to his belly. Without even the need for food or drink, how did one track the days? He failed to understand how, after his initial hungers had passed, his body had been sustained. He was not dead. This one thing he knew for fact.
How had his people fared during his incarceration? He found a smile at the rediscovered memory of Lucidea’s determination that she would not need to rule. Ah, she’d be a fine ruler. He rubbed at the wound. More competent than he, and more willing to accept assistance. Dark thoughts skittered across his memory and a growl rumbled in his throat. If Pagas had done anything to harm Coralie or his new-found niece...
The air surrounding hi
m warmed. Uncomfortably. He blinked to clear the dry air blur from his vision then jerked to his feet.
Leaning forward casually, Brandr Ur sat on a low stone near him. Watching. A faint smile tilted his arrogant lips.
At the sound of a Morghan’s second, focused growl, Brandr Ur chuckled. “Relax, child of my descendants. I am not here to fight you. This time.” He stared into the distance and Morghan fought the impulse to turn and follow his gaze. Ignoring the elemental, Morghan set his shoulders and searched his memory for words he should know, words his Coralie had given him before for the battle. But the words were hidden from him so he planted his feet firmly in the dry earth, shrugged to release the tightness of his shoulders and fisted his hands in preparation for a physical battle.
“Settle yourself.” Brandr Ur curled his lip in a mocking sneer. “I do not deign to fight you at this time.” He glanced again into the distance. “Don’t you feel it? Are you so dulled the ripples in the veil elude you? Reach out, prince of waters, weak though you are, for you are still blood of my blood. Even your meager abilities should allow you to know that which surrounds you.”
Morghan eased his stance. Curious about the elemental’s strange behavior, he cocked his head to one side and listened. The elemental smiled and leaned back, crossing his arms and giving a sharp nod.
“Good. Follow the pathway of what you feel, foolish prince. Follow and know the time grows short. We shall join in battle once again before the veil. I shall triumph.”
“Ye shall no’.”
Brandr Ur’s smile widened. Heat pressed against Morghan, burning his cheeks, flushing the skin of his forearms, burying coals of pain deep in the jagged wound. He refused to move, to show any reaction to the elemental’s attack. Lifting his chin he bared his teeth. “Fight me, then, father of my blood. Now.”
After a moment of strained silence, Brandr Ur broke into laughter. Gasping, he pointed his finger at Morghan and spoke between harsh breaths. “You... amuse... me. Perhaps I... should... not destroy... you.”
Blue Keltic Moon (Children of the Keltic Triad) Page 13
