Brenawyn turned her back to it, unconcerned.
In moments, tongues of fire lapped at the hem of her robes but she remained unmoved. She felt the heat, hot but not uncomfortable, but had no fear of being burned. She cupped a flame and held it in her hand, the skin of her palm untouched as the flame burned. The flames raced around her, burning their way to the edge of the stone, the entire circle engulfed now. She still sat within, waiting patiently for the flames to recede, her skin untouched, unblistered by the blaze.
A warm wind began to blow, and by the time she got to her feet, the flames died. The ground all around was scorched. A groan from the earth, and tiny blades of grass and weeds sprang forth, a phoenix rising from the ashes to replace all that was once green and fresh. When the dandelions bloomed, then set seed, the red flame of the candle for the East and Fire burned steady.
Brenawyn bent down to retrieve the near-empty basket and let herself be pulled towards the reflecting basin. Once there, she was compelled to place the last stone, the tiger’s eye, in the center of the basin and began to circle the basin once, twice, and on the third time raised her arms once more and looked heavenward.
“I acknowledge the gods and goddesses of Old: Cernunnos, Epona, Belanus, Taranis, Blodevweld, Danu, and the Triple Mother Goddess. I offer my spirit to you. Let me be an extension of your will and of your Ways.” The candles spouted high purple flames. “Let the flames stand as sentinel and this crystal be etched with my plea.”
With what started out as a tickle of a feather drawn across the skin, soon turned into a tormented itching and by the time she pushed up her sleeves, her skin burned from within. Her hands and wrists were beet red. She blinked and saw something move under her skin. She gave a sharp shriek as purple marks appeared at her fingertips. The marks converged at the base of her fingers to coalesce into glowing swirls racing up her hands, wrists, and arms. Pulling the neck of the robe away from herself to look to see how far the damage went, she didn’t actually see the flame turn colors, but knew they had by the renewed pain and the appearance of blue scrolls etched on her skin.
In turn, the flame turned red, green, white—and each time the color changed, new markings were added to her growing iridescence. Finally, the flames sputtered out and the pain subsided.
At the guttering of the candles’ flame, she lost sight of the perimeter stones. She gave a brief thought to Alex, Maggie, her grandmother somewhere beyond. But now she was alone, standing in the warm radiance of the blessings of the Spirits and nothing else mattered.
“So mote it be.” The flames of the candles marking the perimeter were extinguished simultaneously and she felt the energy leach from her limbs. Brenawyn’s mind swam, registering physical exhaustion. She couldn’t fight gravity’s pull on her. She crumbled to the ground.
Chapter 10
Alexander felt the barrier of the veil drop, and he reached Brenawyn first, checked her vitals, and bundled her almost weightless body securely in his arms. Thoughts of calling for help never entered his mind. He didn’t say a word or spare a look, but the crowd melted from his path.
Approaching the house, she stirred in his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling deeper into his chest. He tightened his grip, holding her closer to him as he mounted the stairs two at a time. A shop clerk, whose name escaped him, was waiting, apparently apprised of the situation via cell phone, and rushed out to hold the door to the apartment for him. He didn’t take the time to even nod his thanks, just headed upstairs. Her dog was waiting at the top of the stairs, nervous at his sudden appearance. Investigating the bedrooms, he discovered hers and closed her door abruptly on the inquisitive dog.
He bent to deposit her on the bed, but in her semi-conscious state, she nuzzled his chest and ran feather light kisses along his collarbone. He froze over her with a firm resolve not to take advantage of her in this state. He closed his eyes trying to get a grip on the situation, but the fact was she aroused him, and feeling her mouth on him felt too good.
She mumbled, “You smell like sunshine and grass.” She grasped him closer as he reached mechanically behind his neck to unclasp her fingers. She cried, “Don’t leave me.”
He knelt at the side of the bed, placing her arms at her sides and reached to brush her hair away from her face, “Shh, I’m no’ going anywhaur.” He kissed her forehead and realized she was burning with fever—a fact that had escaped his notice with the exertion of carrying her back from the park. Rising, he smoothed her robe over her thighs for decency, and went to wet a towel in the bathroom.
Alex emerged to find Brenawyn gloriously naked, kneeling on the bed, crumpled robe and dress discarded on the floor. The glowing swirls of her markings accentuated her curves, sweeping out and around her body. His eyes followed the lines as they delicately decorated her breasts to their peaks, and interestingly merged again mid-abdomen to run down to the apex of her thighs, only to sweep out again with the flare of her hips. His mouth went dry and he dropped the wet towel on the floor, forgotten.
Brenawyn, eyes glowed with inner luminescence, her lips spread in a sensual self-satisfied smile as she noted his close perusal. In response she slowly stretched and raised her arms above her head and arched her back slightly to give him an unobstructed view. “You like to look at me.”
He nodded in agreement, taking a step towards her. He burned to touch her, to cover her breasts with his hands, his mouth…to bury himself within her. It would be easy and a relief to give in, here, now…to surrender to the will of the goddess. Did it matter that she was imbued with the spirit of the goddess of fertility and not of a clear mind? Would she be as eager to mate with him if she was not? It mattered to him because somehow, he knew it would matter to her. It was this realization that stayed him.
He paced away, not very far in the small room, but turned his back toward her in hopes of getting a handle on his burgeoning desire. Bracing himself with hands on either side of the bathroom doorway, he tried to think of any number of random, sobering thoughts. He was so focused on this fruitless task that he barely registered the slight squeak on the mattress springs before he felt Brenawyn’s supple body against his agonized one.
Alex pressed his forehead against the bathroom door jamb, trying to remember why it was a bad idea to enjoy her touch while fervently hoping she’d explore further. As if in answer to his silent plea, she reached down to gather the hem of his kilt in one hand as the other reached further and encircled his engorged cock.
She let out a throaty purr and began rhythmic pressure as she slid her hand up and down his shaft. He let out a groan and caught the reflection in the bathroom mirror through the open door. The reflection of what she was doing stilled him, and she peered around his shoulder to see what caused the change. She eased the pressure on his member, smiled luxuriously, and slid her leg up and around his thigh.
“Do you like this?” She tugged at his belt, and when it gave, the kilt fluttered away everywhere it wasn’t caught between the press of their bodies. She lightly ran her index finger down the length of him; the act itself wasn’t as shocking as the illumination of his sigils in response to her touch. The realization hit him like an electric charge.
“Interesting, isn’t it?” She ran her hand elsewhere on his legs, abdomen, and chest; everywhere that she could easily reach, and the same reaction occurred—his runes glowed at her touch. “It’s our individual wells of magic responding to each other.” She stood on tiptoe and caught his earlobe with her teeth and whispered, “It’s a sign that we are meant to be lovers.”
Alex pulled away from her and turned, letting the kilt fall to the ground. Brenawyn smiled in response and towed him out to stand by the bed. “Alexander, I want you.”
He took a step back, “No’ this way, Aine.”
Brenawyn cocked her head to the side, letting her hair fall over a shoulder, partially covering her right breast, and ran her left hand over her body, skimming the contours. She dipped her fingers, rubbing briefly between her leg
s, and quietly added, “I need you inside me.”
Mouth agape, Alex backed up quickly, arguing with his baser instincts he reached down, scooped up his kilt, and belted it on. Only then did he face her again. “No, Aine, dae ye ken me a fool? This is wrong and I will no’ be party to it.”
Brenawyn-Aine straightened, “Ye will dae wha’ has been foreseen. Ye and her,” motioning to indicate the body she possessed. “Wha’ we will, will be. Ye will dae as we command.”
“I willnae dae this noo—this way. Ye may leuk like Brenawyn and sound like Brenawyn, but ye are no’ her. She is no’ giving her consent. If ‘tis meant ta happen, that is, if we, Brenawyn and I, are destined ta become lovers, then I would ha’ it that she came ta me on her own, not possessed by ye or any other divine being.”
He bent to get the dress and tossed it on the bed. “Get dressed. I will be in the kitchen awaiting her kin. Doonae come out o’ this room.”
“Insolent cur. I will make ye suffer—”
“Impossible to make me suffer more,” Alex murmured, but as he turned his back to walk out, Brenawyn-Aine scratched him. His reaction was too slow, and she swiped at his welling blood and touched his torc, activating his shape-shifting ability. “Damn ye, Aine.”
“Ye will dae as we bid, beast.”
The beat of his heart increased, thumping loudly in his ears, his chest, “Please, nay.” Blood pumped to his extremities. “Tis no’ enough ta ha’ me? Must I…”
Dust motes hung in the air, the temperature of the room dropped infinitesimally: the onset of night, scents of lavender and rose hips from the potpourri on the corner nightstand, and of her, Brenawyn. Her scent. Her readiness. A ragged cry slipped from his throat. “I will no’ defile her.”
“Yer resistance is…interesting. How many times ha’ ye been through th’ resurrection, I wonder?”
“It matters no’. I am nothing more than a slave.”
“Too much o’ th’ individual still remains. If t’were up ta me, I would strip ye o’ it noo for yer insolence.”
“Ye are bound by th’ same laws tha’ I am. More so, I’d imagine.”
“Ye think me powerless?” Brenawyn-Aine pinned him against the bedroom door and ripped at her wrist, letting the blood fall on the wolf, bear, and leopard carvings of his torc. “For noo, let us see if ye can withstand th’ three.”
“NO!” but it was too late. Primordial instinct surged through him.
He grasped her about the waist and lifted. He saw her pulse quicken, her lips plump, her nipples pearl, he could feel the heat from her slickened core. It didn’t take long. By the fifth thrust, he growled and spilled his seed into her.
Thought and reason seeped back as instinct dissipated. Brenawyn-Aine’s self-satisfied smile filled him with self-loathing. Trembling, he gathered his kilt and left the room without a backward glance. He fumbled to the kitchen and vomited into the sink.
A few minutes later, Alex heard the front door open and Leo laboriously start to climb the stairs, her cast thumping on each step. She found him in the kitchen, arms still braced on the counter as he looked out the window. She approached, but he held up a hand. A chair slid across the linoleum and she sat with a huff. He sighed, turning to her to find her playing at the edging of one of the placemats, worrying it into a crumpled wrinkle. Wiping her eyes with a paper towel, she looked up expectantly at him, and then frowned when she didn’t read what she had hoped in his face. She was silent for a long moment, searching his eyes.
“I will not lose her.”
“Let’s no’ get ahead o’ ourselves. Ye don’t ken if t’will come ta that.” Alex tried to soothe. “I ken ye ha’ questions, but they ha’ ta wait. The first thing we ha’ ta dae is ta close th’ ritual. All other issues must wait. The marks are still glowing. She is still possessed by th’ Mother Goddess.”
Eyes wide, she quickly looked down the hall to the bedroom and then turned to Alex, her eyes narrowed, assessing him. She rose from the chair to cross the room and absentmindedly touching the knife block, asked, “Did you have sex with my grand-daughter?”
Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t his silence. She turned to him, mouth agape, as she drew the butcher’s knife. “How could you?”
He met her in three strides, and gripped her hand holding the knife, pressing it against his throat. “Cut me. Maim me. Kill me if ye think it will make ye feel better. It won’t dae a bit o’ good. I cannae die. I am th’ Shaman.”
“I know who you are, all the abilities you have as the man burdened with the mantle, but you are not immortal, Shaman.”
“Aye, that is no’ true, Leoncha. I am th’ favored prey o’ th’ Wild Hunt. I exist for th’ eternal entertainment o’ th’ gods. I ask ye ta put aside yer feelings for right noo because we ha’ a more pressing matter. Tha’ woman in thaur,” gesticulating to the stairway, “is no’ yer granddaughter. She may leuk like her, but her mind is no’ her own.”
Nodding her head as she processed this new information, Leo paced the floor. “But it’s impossible for anyone but the caster to end the ritual. We’ll have to wait until she wakes up and then walk her through it. Wait, do you know for sure that it’s the goddess she’s connected with?”
Alex nodded, “When I picked her up th’ triskele[3] was traced in th’ sand in th’ reflecting basin and haur I’ve had some time ta study her markings. The interlace is broken by th’ triskele and triquetra[4], both symbols for Aine, the Mother Goddess. As for ending it, ‘tis possible. I can dae it. She isna prepared for this; her body is unaccustomed ta th’ strain o’ it. Why wasna she trained?” Alex stopped his question with a shake of his head and held up a hand, “Wait, doonae answer that, it can wait.”
Leo stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking down the hall toward the bedroom, and then towards her stillroom, “I would need to reference my texts. I don’t know how to end a casting not of my own making.”
“Leo, I can end it myself—don’t leuk at me tha’ way. It wouldna end th’ connection anyway, and afore long, I will be compelled ta return ta her. Brenawyn will be pregnant from my embrace afore tonight is done.
“Over my dead body.”
“Ye cannae stop me—I cannae stop myself! Hate me, curse me—I deserve it. ‘Tis nothing more than wha’ I think o’ myself. The longer she is possessed by Aine, the longer she is vulnerable. Aine kens my weakness. They all dae—and they’ll use it, use me, ta meet their ends, ta satisfy the ancient prophecy. Leoncha, dae ye ken wha’ happens after th’ Hunt comes ta an end? Wha’ happens ta th’ prey?”
“Resurrection.”
“Yes, but each time I come back different, with an additional ability which makes th’ next Hunt more challenging. But each time, each time I am less a man. I am nothing but an animal who is more instinct than reason, a slave without a soul, without free will. A slave with captors who will see tha’ a child results from th’ union o’ priestess and shaman because it ha’ been decreed through prophecy. And Brenawyn will only remember th’ encounter as a dream.”
“She cannot have children.” Leo said, almost as an aside.
This confession caused Alex to pause, but he quickly recovered, “Leo, tha’ may ha’ been, but doonnae tell me tha’ ye think tha’ being possessed by th’ goddess o’ fertility tha’ she would remain incapable? No, she will get pregnant. Help me no’ defile yer granddaughter further. Help me end this.”
Leo looked at him, wiping away the beginnings of tears, and said, “Of course. Whatever you need, I’ll do it.” She put her hand on his forearm as he stood, and confided in a whisper, “She’s the only family I have left. I’m an old woman, please don’t take her from me.”
Alex’s face became hard, “Another time, but noo I need ye ta recreate th’ placement o’ th’ stones. Ye are th’ only one who can dae it because ye share a blud bond. Tha’ bond will be acknowledged and honored by Aine, thereby allowing me ta transfer th’ power that’s coursing through her body.”
“Maggie should be b
ack with the stones and candles. I’ll go and get them.”
Alex was pacing the short hallway before the bedroom when Leo retuned with the box. He opened the door and she peeked her head around the jamb. Brenawyn was lying prone on the bed, the runes, in undulating luminescence, glowed in blending colors across her arms and shoulders. Leo looked down at her own outstretched arm, and her sigils flared to life. Her own pattern was not as intricate or colorful, but the placement was the same.
“What do you need first?” Leo said quietly as she put the box down by the dresser.
Alex approached and sat on the side of the bed, cradling Brenawyn’s hand in his own. Electricity hummed up his arm at the touch, and she turned toward him and rotated her wrist so his fingers captured hers.
Her hand looked so delicate in his much larger one. His thumb traced the small callus on her index finger; her hand was otherwise smooth, with dainty fingers that ended in short, rounded nails. He could see the vulnerable blue vein as it passed from her palm to barely crest the surface of her wrist and then travel up her arm. She didn’t look strong enough to withstand what would soon bring her world crashing around her. It didn’t seem fair to tear her away from the life she had built, but he knew that she’d be lost if she stayed, if not dead, having no training and barely any knowledge of the Auld Ways.
Leo gasped at the marks glowing in tandem on their skin and looked up into his eyes for confirmation. “I should have known.”
Nodding in acquiescence, he forced his attention to the patterns that decorated her arm. Once in lambent illumination, they grew, at his touch, to a bright radiance along with his own brilliant blue. He was so transfixed by the sight he did not realize Brenawyn was staring with equal fascination.
She startled him when she asked breathlessly, “Who are you?”
Catching her eye, he smiled and held up her arm, still linked with his, and caressed the skin of her forearm responding, “Interlace, we call it. There is a symbol for e’ery god in th’ pantheon.” He touched the nearest, “This triquetra is th’ symbol o’ th’ Triple Mother Goddess.” He caressed her with the back of his hand following the swirling path and came to rest on the next. “This path represents th’ thread o’ life eternal, th’ crossings between th’ spiritual world o’ Tir-Na-Nog and our own. In yer recitation ye called upon Cernunnos, Epona, Belanus, Taranis, Blodevweld, and Danu. All are represented and linked in yer patterning.”
Fate's Hand: Book One of The Celtic Prophecy Page 9
