Earth's Blood (Earth Reclaimed)

by Ann Gimpel

  The rest of the house hadn’t yielded anything. Fionn didn’t bother going up to the attic. Marta’s parents were there, trapped in a state of suspended animation by a strong spell. Best leave them to their rest since they held the gates between the worlds open.

  Because there wasn’t anything else to do, he settled at the kitchen table with a bottle of mead and nearly emptied it. The anesthetic effect he hoped for hadn’t happened, though. At least not yet.

  “Would ye like to talk about it?” Gwydion’s melodic voice interrupted Fionn’s bleak thoughts.

  He swiveled his head to look at the mage standing in the doorway, flanked by Rune and Bella. Dirt clung to his robes; Fionn wondered where he’d been. Gwydion had told him where he was going, but Fionn hadn’t paid much attention.

  Hmph. Even the animals deserted me.

  I’d have deserted me, too, a different inner voice inserted dryly. The way I banged around in here wanting to kill something—anything—if only it would bring Aislinn back to me. Fionn understood at a level beyond reckoning that if he ever laid eyes on Travis again, the Hunter would be dead before he saw what hit him.

  He tipped the bottle in Gwydion’s direction. “Not sure what there is to say,” Fionn mumbled.

  “Och, and there is much to be said between us.” Gwydion clomped to the table, hooked a chair out with one of his perpetually bare feet, and sat heavily. “For example, we havena ever truly talked about Tara—”

  “With good reason,” Fionn snapped.

  Gwydion shook his head. “Ye doona trust me. I sense your hesitation. We must clear the air.”

  Fionn opened his mouth, but Gwydion shook his head. “Hear me out. That empty place inside you? The one ye’re trying your damnedest to ignore—or drown with spirits? ’Tis akin to how I felt when Tara fled Ireland to escape having to choose you or me. She wanted me, but the ancient bond demanded she wed you.”

  “I know all that. I still doona see—”

  “For the love of the goddess, would ye stop interrupting?” Gwydion’s blue eyes flashed dangerously.

  Fionn subsided against the back of his seat.

  “’Twas no skin off your ass when the lass left Ireland, yet I mourned her loss every day. It’s been years, but I miss her still. ’Twas a gift to see her once again in the tunnels under Slototh’s lair—even if she was already dead.”

  Something in Gwydion’s words penetrated the desolation surrounding Fionn. He’d known Gwydion cared for Tara, but he’d never appreciated the extent of his loss. Truth hit home, and shame washed over him. When Gwydion waved it in front of his nose—no, make that shoved his nose right in it—Fionn recognized kindred pain. He drew his brows together. “Why were ye not angrier at me? We had words, but it seemed we made things up soon enough.”

  “Nay, I simply buried my resentment. What would have been the point in holding a grudge? I tracked Tara to America. By then, she’d wed another and made it painfully clear she wanted nothing to do with you or me—or the dragon—ever again.”

  “At least part of that was my fault. I could have—”

  A bitter laugh bubbled past the close-cropped red-blond beard on Gwydion’s face. “Aye, ye see it now. Ye dinna see it then. All ye could see then was that she was the MacLochlainn. Your MacLochlainn.”

  Fionn looked at his hands. What Gwydion said was true. He hadn’t loved Tara, and he’d known she didn’t even like him, yet he’d insisted on pressing forward with marriage. Of course, there was the niggling problem that he already had a wife, so he’d been finagling a divorce. That had been when Tara, finally eighteen, took matters into her own hands and left Ireland.

  “I really am sorry. I should have been more considerate—of both of you.”

  “Och, aye.” A thread of magic forced his gaze to meet the master enchanter’s. “I forgive you.”

  A corner of Fionn’s mouth turned downward. “The question is whether I can forgive myself.”

  Gwydion held out a hand for the mead. Fionn passed it to him. Eyeing what was left of the bottle’s contents, Gwydion said, “There never was a drink that offered enough oblivion to purge Tara from my thoughts.”

  “Wasna working for me, either.” Fionn snorted. “I should know this. Ye told me, but I wasna paying attention. Where did you and the animals go?”

  “We did the same outside as ye were supposed to be doing within. That would be hunting for clues Travis may have dropped while he was here.”

  Fionn waited. Instead of talking, Gwydion tipped the bottle and drank until it was empty. “Did ye find aught?” he asked after it appeared the other mage wasn’t going to say anything else.

  Gwydion’s forehead creased. He shoved blond hair over his shoulders, pulled a leather thong out of his robes, and bound it out of the way. “It was odd,” he murmured. “At first we all”—he gestured toward Rune and Bella—“thought we sensed Old Ones—ah, I meant to say Lemurians. When I looked more closely, though, whatever had been there was gone.” He shrugged.

  Something tugged at Fionn’s internal alarm system. Attuned to danger, it rarely failed him. “Do ye suppose they were after Marta’s parents?”

  For a moment, Gwydion looked confused. His features smoothed. “Och, ye mean the Lemurian-human hybrids ensorcelled in yon chamber.” He waved a hand over one shoulder. “Mayhap. There is little else here to draw the Old Ones.”

  Fionn thought about the genetic manipulation that must have gone into hybridizing the couple in the attic and shuddered. Did the Old Ones want Marta’s parents’ blood so they could do the same thing to Aislinn?

  “At least Aislinn is likely still on this side of the veil,” Gwydion muttered.

  Fionn looked sharply at him, realizing the other mage must have read his thoughts. He dragged a hand down his face. “Aye, we all hope that.”

  Something sharp closed over his calf. Rune had bitten him. “It is time. We should go into Taltos. I must see for myself whether my bond mate still lives.”

  “Can ye feel her?” Fionn asked.

  The wolf’s amber eyes gleamed in the dim kitchen. “No, but if she is in Taltos, I will know it once we open the gateway and I cross over.”

  “They might have her shielded in some way—” Fionn cautioned.

  “Enough words.” Rune nipped Fionn again. As if to support her fellow bond animal, Bella landed on Fionn’s shoulder and dug her talons deep.

  A wry smile split Gwydion’s face. “It would appear the animals have spoken.”

  “We did tell the others we’d do a reconnaissance.” Fionn stood.

  Gwydion followed suit. Both men went to the corner of the kitchen with the hidden trap door. Fionn kicked the rug aside and tugged the door upward. When he looked back, he saw Gwydion’s staff glowing with a blue-white light.

  Fionn worked his way down the ladder, helping the wolf. It was awkward. When Aislinn had gone into Taltos without him, she’d used magic to transport the wolf to the gateway. The thought of her seared his soul. His throat felt thick. A pulse pounded behind one eye, promising a mother of a headache if he didn’t focus magic to soothe the inflamed blood vessels.

  At the bottom of the ladder, he strode to the section of wall holding the gateway and began the incantation from Marta’s journals. Gwydion’s energy vibrated next to him. Stones scraped against one another as the gateway swung open. Fionn bent to give Rune instructions, but the wolf bounded through the opening and disappeared into the dark.

  “Damn it.” Fionn swore softly. “Ye stay with me,” he said to Bella.

  “I am not going past this doorway,” the bird informed him. She fluttered from his shoulder to a chair and perched on it. “Fewer of us, less chance of discovery. Safer for Aislinn.”

  Fionn couldn’t help but agree with her. His bird had warmed to Aislinn, much to his relief, since she’d taken a perverse delight in making all the other women in his life—including Tara—miserable.

  “Mind speech,” Gwydion said sharply. “And precious little of that.”
<
br />   “I suppose we follow the wolf. He gave us little choice.”

  “After you.”

  Fionn stepped through into a dark tunnel. Careful to mute his magic in case the Lemurians had posted guards nearby, he turned left and trailed after Rune. Guts tight, barely breathing, he moved beneath Taltos, the city built by Lemurians deep inside Mount Shasta. Desperation thrummed through him.

  I have to find her. Failure is not an option.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Aislinn sat on a dirt floor, grateful for the heavy material in Marta’s green work pants and jacket. As she thought about things, she was grateful to Marta, period. The woman had been Rune’s first bond mate and was a true visionary, seeing through the Lemurians’ chicanery long before it became obvious.

  She shook her head, feeling like a fool. The Old Ones had gotten aggressive after striking the bargain that allowed the dark gods entry to Earth. I wonder if they knew the cracks between the worlds would draw bright magic, too. Sorcery tuned to a frequency humans could use. She wrapped her arms around herself to quell a shudder. Most of modern civilization lay in ruins. In the midst of destroying things, the Old Ones had managed to convince a few select humans they were Earth’s salvation. “I can’t believe I was so stupid,” she muttered. “Christ! They killed millions of us while pretending to be my friend because I had Mage and Seeker abilities.” Aislinn inhaled raggedly. She could almost hear Metae’s voice dripping with compulsion as the Lemurian patiently explained why humans without magic had become superfluous—a drain on valuable resources.

  And now I’m their prisoner. No more pretending good will on either side…

  Aislinn shivered and zipped her black wool turtleneck up to her chin; she tugged her jacket closer about her. Pale light filtered through cutouts high on the walls. Assuming she was in Taltos, deep under Mount Shasta, the light had to be generated by magic. Not that there was anything to see. Her cell didn’t contain so much as a bucket. The thrum of alien magic pounded against her—not sounds exactly, but a subliminal grating that set her nerves on edge.

  She’d expected Regnol, Travis’s Lemurian mage lord, to kill her on the spot, or right after dragging her to Taltos so the others could observe her death, but it hadn’t happened. She hadn’t even seen any other Old Ones before being whisked to this small stone cell. She’d tried to break and run, understanding Regnol’s intent to imprison her, but the contest was laughable. She’d made it about six inches before her limbs froze in place. After that, he’d simply picked her up like a stiffened version of a rag doll and dropped her in this stark room. It had taken a while before she could move again.

  Time passed. Her terror ebbed and flowed in waves. She removed her backpack, got a drink from her water bottle, and dug her black wool watch cap out. Aislinn had no idea how long she’d been in her cell. The light level never fluctuated. She tested all five of her magical skills: Mage, Seeker, Seer, Hunter, and Healer. While she could maintain her warding, sending magic outward was another story. No matter what she tried, her spells bounced back hard. It was as if the Lemurian magic holding her captive thrived on an infusion from her. After the last time, where she’d deployed Hunter magic in a desperate effort to link with Rune, she’d given up. The backwash had been so violent, she’d nearly passed out from the pain.

  Wonder if they’ll just starve me. Or let me die from dehydration. My water bottle’s nearly empty. Maybe I’ll sink into madness from their infernal chanting. Now that she’d had a chance to absorb the sound beating against her, that was exactly what it sounded like: the clicks and clacks of the Lemurian tongue loaded onto an endless tape loop.

  Something brushed against her mind. At first, she threw up wards, but there was something familiar about the feel of whoever wanted in. Aislinn clamped her lower lip in her teeth. She chinked the tiniest space in her mental armor and readied herself to slam it shut immediately.

  “Mistress.” The mind voice was barely a whisper.

  Tears welled. One dripped down her cheek; she ignored it. Fear for her bond wolf dug deep. “Don’t try, Rune. They’ll get you, too.”

  A muffled howl rose. She could picture the timber wolf, muzzle thrown back.

  “Is Fionn with you?”

  “Aye.” Fionn’s voice resonated in her head. Bottomless relief reverberated in that one word, and her heart took flight. “No more talk, both of you.” Even though he tried to sound stern, he couldn’t mask his joy that she was alive.

  Rune merged with her and looked through her eyes. It was only for a moment, though, and then the wolf was gone. Hope flared, so intense it was almost painful. If her bond animal could figure out where she was—

  Aislinn dropped a chiaroscuro curtain over her feelings, just in case. The Lemurians were intelligent, but their intelligence was different enough from human that she’d never had much trouble tricking them—at least for a short time—so long as she kept her thoughts cloaked. Human enemies would never have let her keep her backpack. The Old Ones hadn’t even bothered to look through it, let alone take it away from her. Also, they weren’t quick thinkers. Most decisions seemed to depend on some sort of hive mentality and required at least three of them clicking and clacking away at one another.

  “Tears will not help you.”

  Aislinn jumped at the sound of an Old One’s voice and shored up her wards. She scrambled to her feet and peered at the door. Which one of them would come for her? It didn’t matter. Not really. She’d never be able to talk a Lemurian into letting her go. Is this when they sacrifice me to that god of theirs? Thoughts of Rune and Fionn and rescue flitted through her mind; she muffled them. Lemurians were excellent mind readers—if they chose to focus their hive magic. No point in giving them ammunition.

  “Get moving,” the disembodied voice instructed.

  Aislinn scanned her quarters, but didn’t see a way out.

  As if that thought registered loud and clear, the voice continued, “The door will open when you get close to it. Turn right and walk to the end of the corridor.”

  Aislinn sucked in a ragged breath. “What happens if I just sit here? Or if I turn left?”

  The braying sound that passed for Lemurian laughter raked across her. “Try it and see, child.”

  She winced. Child had been Metae’s pet name for her, but her Lemurian mage lord was dead. Yes, dead because I killed her. She told her inner voice to shut up, goddammit. No point in making her captors any angrier than they already were.

  “You needn’t remind us of Metae,” the metallic voice grated on. “She is missed. We have not forgotten.”

  I’ll just bet you haven’t.

  Aislinn got to her feet and shouldered her pack. She walked through the heavy wooden door—which had, indeed, opened—and stopped. The magical thrum receded as soon as she stood outside her cell. She didn’t realize how accustomed she’d grown to it until it wasn’t there anymore. Its absence was a tremendous relief. She blew out air, mind roiling as she tried not to miss anything that might buy her freedom. Wonder if my magic will work again? She considered testing it, but decided not to. Better if the Lemurians thought her thoroughly cowed.

  Her gaze wandered down a long stone passageway with inward curving walls. It stretched as far as she could see in both directions, broken by the occasional door. Unlike the dirt floor of her cell, the corridor was tiled with interlocking paving stones. The walls were gray brick. Light came from the same sort of cutouts that had been in her cell. Deciding it would be stupid for her to ignore the Old One’s directions, she dutifully turned right and started walking very slowly. Maybe if she dallied, it would give Rune and Fionn a chance to locate her.

  “Come now. We did not injure you. Surely you can manage a quicker pace.”

  “How do you know you didn’t hurt me?” Aislinn added a slight limp to her gait. “No one’s bothered to check on me since you dumped me in that cell.”

  Silence.

  Guess they’re not going to answer.

  “Another right, then
through the open door just ahead.” Rather than metallic, the voice was multi-tonal, which told her the Lemurians—or at least the one speaking to her—had to be close. They couldn’t project that particular voice quality over distance.

  Aislinn slowed even further. She had a feeling something horrible was going to happen once she entered wherever they were directing her. Her skin crawled. Throat tight, she faked a stumble and came down hard on her ankle. Annoyed with herself—after all, she hadn’t meant to make it that realistic—she crashed to the floor. “Oooph.” She gritted her teeth. It wasn’t hard to look as if she were in pain. Heat lanced up her leg. She wondered how badly she’d damaged herself and waited for someone to chastise her, but no one did.

  Aislinn pushed herself upright and reached outward with magic to steady herself. She didn’t think first; she just did it. Having lived with magic for years, using it was almost subconscious. Excitement blazed when she realized she could tap into the reservoir that held her power and project it without consequences. An open doorway loomed ahead. She was certain the room would extinguish her link to her power, just as her cell had.

  It’s now or never. Cursing herself for a fool for having injured her ankle, she bent and rubbed it to buy herself another moment. The spell she’d just cast needed time to build momentum. Please, please don’t let them notice. Let them be egotistical enough to assume I’d never go against them.

  One last quick breath. Aislinn threw her power wide open, diverting some to shield herself. She funneled the rest into a wild sprint away from the gaping maw of a door. Pain lanced up her leg, but she ignored it and urged her muscles to greater speed. She needed to free up at least a three-minute lead so she could jump herself out of there. Portals took time to form, so she was vulnerable at the start of traveling jumps.

  Her lungs burned; the ragged sound of her own breathing echoed off the walls. Where were Rune and Fionn? Throwing caution to the winds, she called for Rune. Maybe he could find her. If he can do that, he’ll lead Fionn to me.