Blue Keltic Moon (Children of the Keltic Triad)

by *lizzie starr

  “Ye really did no’ need a fire,” Morghan stated. “An’ now that ye are here, ye will no’ need the food ye carried with ye.”

  Coralie made a tsking sound and set a battered metal pot near the flame. “So it may be, but we decided to maintain a normal routine. An’ I must heat water to cleanse the wound on yer arm.”

  Morghan covered the dirty strip of cloth with one hand. “’Twill heal without yer fussin’. Like everythin’ else here, there be no need.”

  Coralie held out a gauze bandage, keeping the roll steady until he took it from her. With a soft smile, she untied the cloth and washed the nearly healed bite. When she finished her ministrations she said, “Even bein’ here only two days, we did no’ wish to chance the doldrums affectin’ us. Too much is at stake. With all of us together, we shall keep our sense of reality and purpose intact.” She smiled at Morghan, then reached out to cup the side of his face with her palm.

  “Then normal we shall be. Ye did no’ happen to bring—”

  Chance held up a crinkly, cellophane bag. “Coffee?”

  Gowthaman found a grin for the Sindhu’s obvious delight.

  “Although, it is instant,” Chance continued.

  “’Tis no matter. I... Oh, for a few moments...”

  Breanna reached into her pack and handed around energy bars. “I’d like to talk about what’s going to happen when it’s time to leave.”

  Gowthaman drew a deep breath. This was why he was here.

  Morghan nodded. “Ye shall do what ye need to do an’ return to where ye belong. I must remain to prevent the elemental from followin’.”

  “Brandr Ur,” Breanna stated flatly.

  “Aye. Even here territory is important. While I chose this patch of inhospitable ground as m’ own, he had chosen a much grander place a short distance from here.”

  “Then we should post a guard.”

  Morghan shook his head. “Nay, I dinna believe ’tis necessary. He said—”

  “And you trust him?” Chance exploded.

  Gowthaman focused on the young man, curious at the force of his outburst. A note of fear tainted Chance’s bravado though he glared boldly at Morghan.

  “Water’s ready,” Coralie stated calmly. “I can offer ye coffee, or tea.”

  Chance’s shoulders dropped and he spread the finger of one hand, offering a half-hearted, “Sorry.”

  Breanna released a slow breath. She dug in her pack then held out a plastic mug. “Thanks, Coralie. Coffee for me.” After she sent silent thanks for diffusing her brother’s odd behavior, Coralie glanced up and winked. Bree could swear there were times the soft-spoken woman read her mind. Shouldn’t surprise her, each of them around the fire held secrets and magics the others knew nothing about. Her brother’s secrets... She held back a sigh. She needed to make time for him.

  Later. Everything was always later. She needed a good dose of now.

  Morghan made a contented, satisfied sound in his throat and lowered his mug. “Ah, nectar of the gods. I had forgotten.”

  Bree let everyone enjoy the warm beverages in silence. When the contents of her own mug were half gone, she straightened and began laying out the plans for their return to the human world.

  Eighteen

  “Uh, Sis,” Chance interrupted an hour later.

  Frustration huffed the breath from her lungs and she turned to Chance with a scowl. Although Morghan had long showed signs of wanting to end their discussion, undoubtedly to allow him to slip away with Coralie—not that she blamed either of them—but there was so much more she needed to know. “What?”

  Chance blinked then squared his shoulders and set his chin defiantly. “You’d better take a look at Gowthaman.” Then his eyebrows rose and he jerked his head toward the spot where Gowthaman had moved away from the fire. She’d felt him drawing away mentally, long before he physically left her side.

  Setting his mug on the ground, Morghan leaned forward. “He has been here afore.” Not a question, an astute observation.

  Bree paused a moment before answering. “Yes. Actually, twice. But only in a place where there was no landscape, no anything but gray mist. He’s never said much about the experience.”

  With a single nod Morghan eyed the space behind her with frank speculation filling his expression. “An’ he followed ye. Despite his fear.”

  Heat filled her face, and Chance chuckled. “They’d follow each other anywhere. But neither of them will admit it.”

  Morghan lifted Coralie’s hand and kissed her fingertips. “I ken. Ah, how well I ken. I ken as well how he fights his feelin’s an’ fear of this place.” He stretched forward until his face hovered close to the fire and lowered his voice. “I also ken he needs ye.”

  Startled at the intensity of Morghan’s statement and prepared to deny his words, Bree sat back. But Coralie caught her attention, rose gracefully and motioned to that same spot behind Bree.

  “’Tis been a long day, an’ night. I need... rest.” The look she gave Morghan spoke blatantly of other needs. Morghan returned her look with equal passion and stood, gathering her close to his side.

  “Aye, a rest, my sweet love. Even I must rest.” He tucked a strand of Coralie’s curls behind her ear, fingers lingering at her hairline.

  Coralie’s eyes opened wide with mock innocence. “I have somethin’ else for ye, milord.”

  He winced at the honorific then cocked his head to one side. “Do ye now, eudail?”

  Holding his gaze, she crouched and pulled a large plastic bottle from her pack. Morghan peered at her curiously while she slowly twisted the cap. She held the open bottle under his nose.

  He inhaled and his eyelids drifted closed. “Seaflowers.”

  “Aye.”

  “Ye brought water from the loch.”

  “Aye.”

  Breanna couldn’t help but grin at the sparkle in Coralie’s eyes, as if stars twinkled there. The intimate moment twisted in her heart and she ducked her head. She would never begrudge Coralie any happiness she and Morghan could find in this dismal place, for they’d been waiting a long time. Bree understood waiting.

  “Come,” Morghan said softly. “Shall we find then a place for our rest?” After Coralie’s suddenly shy nod, he turned to Breanna. Heat and the twinkle of stars lingered in his eyes as well and she wondered at the possibilities.

  “’Tis safe enough, an’ we shall no’ be far.” Morghan’s gaze drifted toward Gowthaman then back to her. “Another secluded grotto lies in that direction, should ye need... privacy.”

  Although his comment should have embarrassed her, there was something in his tone that redirected her thoughts toward serious matters.

  Morghan and Coralie slipped between a pair of towering stone pillars. Bree took a deep breath then Chance touched her arm. “Really, Bree. Gowthaman needs you.”

  She shook her head. “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “Stop right there. Don’t say anything.” Chance poked her shoulder. “You haven’t even looked at him in the past half hour. He. Needs. You. Now. I’m going to keep watch. Despite what Morghan says, I’m not trusting that the elemental won’t try something.”

  The increasingly familiar distracted look crossed his expression when he paused to take a breath, but cleared rapidly. “No, I’m going to keep watch anyway.”

  “Okay, I think that’s a good idea. If you want to take the first—”

  He poked her shoulder. One jab punctuated each word. “Gowthaman. Needs. You.”

  She grabbed his finger and twisted.

  “Ow. Geez, Bree. Turn around and see for yourself. I’ll be...” He pointed back over his shoulder. “Up on that ridge.”

  After an indecipherable grimace, he turned, scooped up his pack and both swords and stalked away. Bree watched him as he climbed the ridge and settled into the shadows of the rocky ledge. Then, bracing her scattered emotions, she turned.

  Knees drawn tight to his chest, Gowthaman sat unnaturally still just beyond the reach of t
he firelight. No, she amended, not still. He rocked nearly imperceptibly in the gray night. Arms locked around his legs, spine arched until his forehead pressed to his knees, the man she loved suffered in the bonds of mental torment.

  How much had she contributed to his pain? After he had spoken of love, she had turned to other matters and purposely ignored him.

  “Oh, Gowthaman.”

  Even lost in memories, Gowthaman knew the moment Breanna turned her attention to him, but it was too late. No longer could he restrain the powerful images or fight the rush of the past. Emotions and events he’d forced himself to forget—as much as he was able—demanded his attention. All now. All powerful. All agonizing.

  If he could have moved away, found that secluded place Morghan had spoken of, away from the others, he would have slunk there, crawled on his belly, and hidden until the past receded once again.

  But he could not. The past held him as surely as the manacles had bound him in that dank, Faerie dungeon. And no less gently.

  The air of the world between worlds, thick and cool as the touch of silk upon his skin, swirled over him when Breanna knelt. Unable to meet her gaze, he kept his head lowered. Such was a proper position of shame.

  She leaned close and her words whispered across his cheek chasing the chill. “I’m going to help you. Now. Please don’t try and stop me this time.”

  His automatic denial died before reaching his lips. As repugnant as the thought of her discovering the complete truth of his past was, intellectually he knew he was of no benefit to the mission in this condition. Perhaps he could accept a small comfort, enough to allow him his usefulness for two days.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Gowtham. That won’t work. It’s all or nothing this time. I will not accept nothing. It’s not just for you. I need to do this for everyone. We need to get home, and you hold the key to the knowledge we need.”

  Her words were spoken softly like a lover’s whisper, yet even through the dark haze of his mind, he heard the determination. She would not allow him to prevaricate, to hide his torments from her. This time, she would have her way.

  With aching slowness he nodded, but did not lift his head. “It shall be as you say.”

  She curled her hand over the back of his head, softly stroking his hair. “I love you, Gowthaman. That’s the main reason I have to do this. I’ve never... never been able to stand watching you fight and suffer for the happenings in your past. Knowing I could help. Knowing you refused me.”

  “I will not refuse you. I... trust you.” Once the horrific internal struggle to force the words past his lips was conquered, a measure of weight lifted from his heart.

  “I need to touch you. Here.” Caution filled Breanna’s voice when she moved her fingertips to his temple.

  “I know.”

  “There’s no one...” Breanna paused then continued, “No one to see. Morghan and Coralie have gone somewhere private.”

  “I know.”

  “Chance is keeping watch, but he’s—”

  “I know.” Gowthaman lifted his head. “It does not matter if any witness. Could the healing be any more revealing than what I have become here? By the desert sun, Breanna, my sundarii, I must be able to think, to function.” He lifted his hands, wincing at the uncontrollable tremors. “I will not add to your concerns.”

  She cast him a weak smile and settled cross-legged before him. “You’ve always been my concern. You always will be. This... this I can do something about.”

  Clasping his hands at his shins, he whispered. “I know.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t let this pain, or your memories hurt you like this again.”

  As she lifted her hands to his face and lightly rested her fingers against his temples, he closed his eyes. He lingered in denial for a moment, then surrendered to her touch and the opening of his memories.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Under her gentle touch his brow wrinkled with his frown. She had said those words before, as a child. When he’d returned from the world between worlds the first time. In this now, smooth comfort eased from her fingers and into his mind. This time, he let her follow the path of his humiliation to discover the past he’d hidden.

  Another woman’s cool fingers had pressed lightly, just above his eyebrows. “If you fight me, this will be painful,” the seeker, Petulia, had whispered in his ear.

  Tendrils, light as the newest growth of a Faerie vine had curled inward from each of Petulia’s fingertips. He had seen them, felt them as she inched deeper and deeper into his consciousness. One by one, the tendrils wrapped around the stones of his mental barriers, easing between the tightly mortared construction, and tore them down. With the tearing away, a scream had ripped from his throat.

  He swallowed heavily against the strain and dryness, reminding himself Breanna’s fingers touched him now. With his permission. With his full belief she could help him. She crooned to him of that healing, but the memory remained, demanding acquiescence.

  Each deconstructed stone had become a scream, followed by his captors’ wild laughter. Unable to stand, he’d hung by his wrists, gouging deep tears in his abused skin. He hadn’t felt the pain or the hot blood that ran down his arms. His shoulders popped with remembered strain. His throat burned. Unable to escape the seeker’s touch, he thrashed his head.

  “Shh. It’s me, Gowtham. Let me take the hurt.”

  Breanna’s touch.

  Anguish returned. Petulia’s tendrils had withdrawn, leaving a void that filled slowly as his mind returned to him. She had taken but somehow the contents of his mind remained intact. She knew—good and ill—knew all he knew, all he’d done, all he was. Petulia had stolen honor and dishonor both as she’d sought through his mind.

  He had failed to keep the Zeroun clan safe. There had been nothing left for him. At one point, he had begun to hope. To hope the evil ones would kill him.

  But members of Breanna’s family had rescued him, although that rescue had taken him to the world between worlds. Twice he had entered the gray and twice had he been forced to leave the place where he may have been able to forget the violation of his mind. New anger simmered, skittering from Breanna’s healing touch.

  Her touch called to him and the anger dissipated in the welcoming comfort.

  Her touch. So different from the seeker’s. He relaxed and felt Breanna’s gentle, mental smile. “That’s it, Gowtham. Now, we need to break down the walls you’ve constructed around those memories. Please. Allow me to help you.”

  With a reflexive ruthlessness he barely understood, he reinforced the barriers around his frozen heart. Ah, but the aching of his soul far exceeded any pain his physical being had ever suffered. As he had then, he longed to slink away, make his way back to his beloved desert and disappear. Or, perhaps wander off in this foreboding place to dwell in the emptiness... like the wounded animal he was.

  “Gowthaman?”

  Trying to deny the voice—a musical combination of Breanna then and now—he shook his head.

  “Gowthaman?” Breanna the child. A memory then.

  Releasing a long breath, he tried to smile. “Yes, little missy?”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Now that the golden-haired child had seated herself firmly in his mind, his memories coalesced around her and the comfort of her innocent smile. With a groan, he fully opened his mind to Breanna’s healing.

  “Somebody hurt you, didn’t they?” The cherub’s voice intruded again on his thoughts.

  “Yes, little missy, someone did.” Why should he have denied the fact when the marks upon his body vividly showed the physical abuse? He had hoped none would discover the rape and torture of his mind.

  “Here, too.” She touched his temple, a twin of her older self’s touch. A cool wave of comfort eased into his mind. He tensed at the invasion and the child jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to do that without asking you first if it’s okay. But you hurt so bad.�
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  He frowned. A child could not know of that pain. At her serious expression, he attempted a smile. “Do not worry about me, little missy.”

  She giggled and patted his cheek. “Why d’you call me that?”

  “Because you are so young, yet still I honor you.”

  “Oh, like you’re old.” She giggled again.

  “But I am, little missy. Older than you can imagine.” Had he smiled at her then? He could not remember.

  “But, you’re Faerie, so you’ll live a long time.”

  He had wished then that the fact were not true, for how could he live with his actions for the length of such a lifetime? He had no choice then, and no choice now. “Yes, that I shall.”

  “Don’t be sad. I’m gonna marry you when I grow up.”

  Despite the pain, and surprised at her confident statement, he chuckled. “Are you now? Why would you wish to marry an old librarian like me?”

  “You’re not old. And because that’s what people who love each other do. Just like Daddy and Mommy.”

  In the stillness of the world between worlds, he heard the echo of her words from Breanna’s lips “...who love each other.”

  Breanna’s grandfather, the then leader of the Defenders of Mankind had crouched beside them.

  Breanna frowned up at him. “Granda, Gowtham’s hurt bad. But I can fix him.”

  Gowthaman stared at the young girl. None had used a shortened form of his name, not since he was a young faerie lad, not much older than the child was now. Warmth filled his chest. She was... a peculiar child.

  The adult fingers at his temples shifted with Breanna’s soft snort but the gentle memory continued.

  “Did ye ask him, Bree? What did yer da tell ye?”

  Counting on her small fingers, she answered by rote. “Don’t heal without permission. Don’t heal when people who don’t understand are around. Faerie healing—”

  “Aye,” the Alastriona laughed. “Ye remember well. So, did ye ask him?”

  She turned a crystal-blue gaze on Gowthaman. Her earnest expression returned the smile to his face. What harm could there be to humor her? Perhaps any fledgling talent she held would ease the physical aches.