“Of course we shall bring him with us. But we must go now. Listen, do you not hear the others call to us from home?”
She clung to his support a moment longer then nodded and he released her. She didn’t know how she could ever explain Chance’s—this—to their parents. How would she explain her part?
“You’ll help carry him?”
“With honor, sundarii. Come.”
A disturbance in the dust marked where Chance had lain. Drag marks disappeared into a thick, unbroken gray mist. Bree dashed forward, slamming into a nearly solid wall of gray. “Chance,” she cried. Her fists bounced back from the mist as she pummeled the barrier and sobbed.
Gowthaman paused, torn between love and duty. She would never leave the world between worlds without her brother’s body. To be with her—he stared into the bleak gray mist—he would stay and search with her.
What options faced them? If the world between worlds had taken Chance, how would they find him? How would they return to the worlds where they belonged? They could be lost here for eternity.
Jerking his gaze to the veil, he stared at the rapidly shrinking clear oval leading home. There were others, her family, the Zeroun clan, who would help Breanna. Much as she had encouraged him. Each of his rapid breaths seemed to steal inches from their passage to safety. No time. No decision.
“We must go.”
Breanna clawed at the mist. “No. You can’t have him. Give him back. Damn you, give him back.”
Cautious, Gowthaman touched her shoulder. “We must—”
She rounded on him. “No. Not without Chance.”
Tears streaked her beautiful face. The agony of her expression nearly felled him to his knees in sorrow. Nearly settled his heart and mind into staying with her in the world between worlds.
But faint calls from beyond the veil urged him to decisive action.
“I am sorry, my Breanna. Forgive me.” Wrapping his arms about her waist he dragged her, screaming, away from the heavy mist boundary. Ignoring the wide-open, condemning, dead eyes of the once powerful elemental, Gowthaman hefted his struggling love over one shoulder and sprinted toward the narrow opening.
Hands reached for Breanna as he shoved her through to the human world. He glanced behind him. The gray remained surrounding the campsite. Chance was gone. He sighed and dove through the opening. The gods always demanded a sacrifice.
Thirty
Strong hands steadied Gowthaman as he flew through the last bit of opening in the veil. How different this passage was from his entrance to the world between worlds two nights ago. Words of the finest poet could not describe the relief and bittersweet joy washing through him at their safe return. After a deep breath of the fresh, Scottish night air, he searched the outcropping for Breanna.
There. With Coralie and Tori. Nearby Jayse and Lucidea formed a tight knot with Morghan. Nightshade stepped back. “What happened, honey?”
“Chance is... his spirit remains in the world between worlds.” Conscious of Nightshade’s gaze upon him, Gowthaman strode straight to Breanna and took her into a tight embrace.
She shoved him then punched the air from his diaphragm. “Damn you. You left him. You left Chance. My brother. You promised we’d bring him home. You promised me.” She slapped at his chest.
He welcomed her anger. He was no less furious with himself but drew a slow breath to speak calmly. “Breanna, you must listen to me. Chance would not have wished you to sacrifice yourself to the world between worlds.”
“You left him there. You should have left me, too. I had to find him.”
“There was no choice.”
“I hate you,” she whispered then rubbed her hands over her face. “Gowtham?” She collapsed against him.
Relieved, Gowthaman held her gently and spoke to Tori. “Will you bring her parents here?”
“Won’t you tell us—?”
“Breanna and I must face Bryce and Carrie with the news of Chance’s... death. Then Breanna must rest. Let it be enough for now that we have returned with Morghan.”
Without waiting for Tori to respond, he swept Breanna into his arms. She clung weakly to his neck and whispered, “I can walk.”
He paused at the top of the steep path descending the side of the brae and smiled at her. “I know you can. But there is no need. Allow me to coddle you for a short while.”
She sniffed and rested her head against his shoulder. “I don’t hate you.”
“I know, sundarii. I know.”
They were nearly to the manor house before she spoke again. “I don’t know how I can face Mom and Dad. Not without...” Her voice broke with a watery sob.
All the knowledge of their combined worlds provided nothing to offer for comfort. The joy of Morghan’s homecoming, the satisfaction of Brandr Ur’s demise, all were tempered with their ultimate loss.
“I shall be at your side. Together we will inform your parents. I will not leave you even when the report of our time there must be given to Jayse and Lucidea.”
“Report? Oh, yes.” She straightened a bit making him shift his hold. “I am Alastriona. I must report the nuances of this mission. Please. I’d like to walk now.”
Behind the sheen of tears, her eyes dulled. Lifting her higher, Gowthaman nuzzled her damp cheek then touched his lips to hers. She allowed his kiss, but her lips were lifeless under his. Setting her on her feet felt like he was letting her go. Forever. The urge to protect her raged powerfully through him. He would, if it were possible, save her from the torment of the coming hours. The days in the world between worlds had given him new insights. If Breanna wished to hide from her pain, he would remain at her side, as she had his, encouraging her to face the sorrow.
Muffled, excited chattering announced the others had followed them from the outcropping. He glanced into the sky. The moon’s bright, full circle hovered over the trees, far advanced on her nightly journey. Anger stomped through his mind. How easily he could come to hate the cool, silver beauty.
Shaking his head, he pressed his hand to the small of Breanna’s back and guided her into the manor. It was not reasonable to hate the moon. Gods and humans, Fey and Alfar, those gave power to the dominant light in the night skies.
Breanna’s slow steps led them to a small sitting room. She perched stiff-backed in an overstuffed armchair, her expression blank and lost. For a moment only, he would wrap her heart in a frozen blanket of forgetting. For a moment only, he would share with her numbness he had lived with for so long. But he would not allow her to languish in that moment, for grief cried out for healing. Even for a healer.
As Gowthaman sat on the large ottoman at Breanna’s side, Jayse appeared in the open doorway, paused and nodded. Gowthaman drew in a deep breath and took Breanna’s cold hand. Jayse would direct her parents to them.
“Too many parents have lost children to war,” Breanna’s mother had said, bravely blinking back tears. “And you were at war with that elemental. No, that doesn’t make losing Chance any easier. But, it’s a strange comfort knowing he defeated an evil being.”
Her father had pulled them into a three-way hug, but not even the warmth of her parent’s love touched the cold, gray ice around her heart. Gowtham had remained at her side throughout this—ordeal—yet she hadn’t thought to include him in the family circle until her mother motioned to him and hugged him in a tight embrace.
Everything inside her was dead. Dead as her beloved brother. Her heart. Her mind.
No, not everything.
Her memory flashed the moments to her. Over and over. Making her relive the most horrible time of her life. Making her face what she’d done.
How could she sit here, waiting to give Jayse an official report when everything—when the horrific outcome of the mission—was her fault? She couldn’t face any of them. But neither could she leave. This was her responsibility. Her duty. And she always did her duty.
Finally Jayse and the others entered the family room. Gowthaman trailed behind the rest, his arms
overfilled with papers and books. This Gowtham she knew, she understood... not the man who forced her from her brother’s side. Part of her demanded she accept her earlier words and hate him. She wanted to, but couldn’t. Why should she hate him when... if he knew... how could he not despise her?
“Okay then,” Jayse started, drawing her reluctant attention. “I’ve gotten reports from everyone except Bree. Right now, I don’t think she’ll have significant information different from the observations of the rest of you.”
She held back a derisive snort. Little he knew.
“I have a couple of questions,” Nightshade said.
“Go ahead.”
“Those of us here on this side of the veil did a lot of speculation about what was happening, both there and here. Bree, honey, you and Gowthaman really need to listen to this. Give us your opinions.”
He was talking to her because they didn’t know. She blinked.
“Honey?”
“Okay, I’m listening.” But when Nightshade spoke again she tuned out his words. No one really expected her to respond. Just as well, she had nothing to contribute. Nothing but her pain.
Gowthaman watched Breanna intently, sighing at the moment she mentally left the gathering. He understood her grief, perhaps more fully than any she imagined. There was more to her grieving than her brother’s death. In time, he would discover the source of that pain and assist in her healing.
As deeply as he wished to concentrate on Breanna, the conversation around him and his need to record the suppositions and results drew him back to the discussion.
“And that’s when Nightshade joined the chant,” Lucidea explained. “All this time he’s been hiding who he is.”
“Seems there are many secrets found in this now vastly extended family.” Morghan chuckled and scrubbed a thick terrycloth square over his wet hair. He dropped the towel by the door and crossed the room to squeeze next to Coralie in a large easy chair. “I do no’ mean to interrupt. Ah, but I could no’ resist the loch another moment. The colors, aye, they near blinded me after so long without them. The water. Na-h-Ulie welcomed me well.”
Gowthaman grinned at Morghan’s exuberance. Once he had bothered to notice, even after only two days in the gray, the colors here were more vibrant than he remembered. Scents and sounds begged for new explorations. Briefly Gowthaman wondered what effect this would might have on the soulfire he shared with Breanna in the world between worlds.
“Hush, ye foolish man,” Coralie admonished. Morghan rewarded her with a kiss then shook his head, spattering her with tiny droplets. “Ye’ll pay for that, milord.”
“I certainly hope so, eudail. But now, I would be serious and know more of this man, Nightshade.”
“Ah, haven’t told everything yet, honey.” Nightshade basked under the quizzical gazes while Gowthaman flipped to a clean page in the journal he’d begun for this venture. Finally, Nightshade took a deep breath and began. “Yes, I am Alfar-Domovoii. Had I remained in my world, my position would have been much like Morghan’s while his brother remained the crown prince.”
“You’re royal?” Lucidea squealed.
“Afraid so, honey.”
“Why did you leave?”
Somber, Nightshade rose and moved to the window. He stared into the rising dawn for a long moment. “It’s been a long time. Maybe Claec, my brother, has changed. Perhaps he hasn’t.” He turned to face the room, resting his hip against the deep sill. “You see, my dears, while to... my people, it is of no matter who a Domovoii chooses to love, such was not the case for the brother of the crown prince. He was...” Nightshade closed his eyes. “...embarrassed by my love for another man.”
He opened his eyes and returned to his chair. “I was young, perhaps foolish. But I could not bear his intolerance. I left. Burned the proverbial bridges. Found my way in this remarkable human world. Oh, and before you ask, honey,” he said to Lucidea. “I have always been Nightshade.”
“How long ago?” Tori asked.
He shifted his focus to her and grinned. “A new millennium had just begun.”
The pen slipped from Gowthaman’s fingers and he studied the newly found Domovoii. Nightshade winked at him. “I’ll tell you just about anything you want to know, my dears. But some other time.”
“Right.” Jayse leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “We’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that ages ago the three races, probably the Alfar progenitors themselves, banded together to contain Brandr Ur in the world between worlds. Then by using a children’s rhyme to remember their spell casting and a power word known only to the ruling families, insured he’d stay there.”
Morghan slapped his thigh. “If we had only understood this sooner, discovered the word they used to bind the elemental, so much might be different.”
Head after head moved as each person glanced at Breanna. She didn’t notice, didn’t respond, and the eyes turned to Gowthaman. He offered only a slight shake of his head. Though Chance’s death was horrific enough for her, some deeper pain held her in thrall.
“Gowthaman, would you tell us about what happened with... Oberon’s sword?”
He took three breaths then fell into a recitation pattern long practiced by storytellers—and librarians. His telling melded the theories from both sides of the void and added Chance’s battle with Brandr Ur. Heads nodded thoughtfully as he finished and took another three breaths. These words he would record precisely in his journal at a later time.
However, there was a piece of the puzzle Gowthaman still didn’t understand. “Can you tell me anything of Oberon’s sword?”
Jayse shrugged and took Lucidea’s hand. “Not much. After Oberon passed into another world, the blade was held in stasis by Wodhan. Underwater.” He tugged on Lucidea’s hand until she looked at him. “That place, where Wodhan kept the sword, was that the same well where Brandr Ur was held?”
Drawing her brows together, she wrinkled her nose as she thought. “You know, I think I remember that. Oh.” Her eyes grew wide. “Also, Oberon forged the blade in the heat and power of that well.”
“So,” Jayse drawled. “In essence the sword was crafted using residual power from the elemental’s first captivity.”
“Ah.” Gowthaman scribbled a quick note. The intensity of waiting filled the room. He lowered the pen. “I begin to understand. The Alfar words first took the elemental’s power, then made him mortal. As a mortal being he could be wounded. Killed. However, Oberon’s sword held the same forces that both created and held Brandr Ur. Once the sword pierced his chest, the elemental captured the familiar power and was able to use it.”
“Use it how?” Lucidea asked.
Uncomfortable with even the thought of speaking of an evil such as a death chant, Gowthaman shook his head. “This is not easy to say and I will say no more than necessary at this juncture in time. Perhaps when I understand more... In regaining power Brandr Ur found the magic for a death chant. He was determined to drag Chance with him into death. I... do not know how the chant came to be for I have not studied such magic. It is dangerous and unpredictable.
“Connected to Brandr Ur through the sword, Chance was captured by the death chant. Breanna would not allow her brother to be taken. She... I... Again I am a poor resource.” How could he explain the intensity of Breanna’s pull on his magic? “I do not know what power she called upon to break the death chant. Nor pull the magic back into herself. She freed Chance then...”
Momentarily at a loss for words, Gowthaman paused. No one spoke, breathless anticipation hanging heavy in the room. In the silence, Breanna stood then remained statue-like, dry-eyed, staring into the unseen distance.
“Why didn’t you bring the sword back,” Jayse asked.
Gowthaman shook his head. “I could not. Breanna’s safety was my concern. In any event, Breanna took the sword and drove the blade through the elemental’s body, deep into the stone at his back. There it remains.”
The collective gasp drew Breanna�
�s attention. With her usual smooth, easy grace she crossed the room to stand before Jayse. Arms held loose at her side, she waited until he handed Lucidea a kumquat from a shallow bowl then looked up at her.
Denial reared in Gowthaman’s heart. He had no clear indication of what she was about to do, but he knew... he knew she would make a grand mistake. Hoping to stop whatever she intended, he rose but froze at the sound of her clear voice.
“My lord Jaysson. I resign as leader of the Alastriona, as well as any place I may hold within the Defenders of Mankind.”
Thirty-one
Six weeks had passed since... no, she wouldn’t think of that. Think happy thoughts. Think since Morghan came home.
The house was quiet, as it should be with the rest of her family gone and only her thoughts and memories to keep her company. Her parents tried, they really did. But they didn’t know, couldn’t ever know of her part in Chance’s death. She caught back a dry sob. She was so tired of crying.
The small room, the sanctuary of her childhood, surrounded her. No one bothered her here. Although fresh pain stabbed through her, she was glad no one cared.
Berating herself, she moved to lie on the narrow bed. That wasn’t true. Her family and friends did care. And she cared about them, and because of their love, she couldn’t face them with the agony of her soul. They were giving her time to grieve. Jayse had refused to accept her resignation, insisting upon a leave of absence. She sniffed. Macaire was a better leader and should have been appointed when Granda retired. Instead of her.
And Gowthaman. Curling on her side, she clutched her pillow to her stomach and choked on his name. “Oh, Gowtham.” He’d remained near, always there when he thought she might need him. And she did. Always. But... not if he knew.
She closed her eyes remembering the questions and concerns on his face the day before when she’d asked him to send away the Faerie who had come to her for healing of a simple wound. She hadn’t healed anyone since... how could she?
The back door slammed. Light footsteps sounded, climbing the stairs. Now what? She turned her back to the door. Go away.
Blue Keltic Moon (Children of the Keltic Triad) Page 27
