Everything stopped as the weight of her words beat on his heart. “I ken yer husband a while sin.” The words were out of his mouth before the decision to tell her registered in his mind. How he would explain his connection to James he had no clue. The truth? Hadn’t she had enough of that?
Brenawyn looked at him, mouth agape. “How … how did you know Liam?”
“He never deserved yer loyalty. He wasna a kind man.”
“What? You knew him?” Her arms uncrossed so that the robe gaped open. “When?”
“Brenawyn, I shouldnae ha’ mentioned it. T'was a long time ago. Perhaps he changed.”
“No. Tell me what he was like when you knew him. Please.”
“T’was a long time ago. Please. Ye ha’ good memories o’ him. Mine aren’t so. I’d rather no’ say.”
She moved to bar the door, “No, damn it. Tell me.”
“Liam and I were friends. I ken him as Jamie—James Liam Morgan McAllister. It doesna matter now. A woman came between us. We weren’t friends any longer. End o’ story.” Alex brushed by her on his way out of the room, knowing that she was right on his heels.
“Your story lacks detail.” Brenawyn caught his arm, “Please, tell me. It’s been three years; I can’t get over his death. My memories are fading but instead of making it better and allowing me to move on, I feel anxious and panicked, as if there is something important that I’ve forgotten, but I can’t recall it.”
“Brenawyn, if ye’ll agree ta let it wait, I’ll tell ye everything in time.”
The back door opened with a squeak and Spencer bolted through the room, stepping on Brenawyn’s bare foot. She hobbled, hopping on one foot; Alex grabbed her forearm to keep her from falling.
“Brenawyn, yer question, ask yerself this: why would he ha’ the Eiliminteach?”
She stared at him for a moment before silently leaving the room.
Alex softly closed the door behind him, “Why, Jamie? Damn ye.” He could have lived with the betrayal; eventually he would have stopped hating them so much if it had been true. Perhaps it was on her part. He’d never know after what Jamie had done to her. Now here he was centuries later with another woman whose memories were violated and altered by the same depraved animal.
Damn him.
All for power.
Not this time.
Alex would give Brenawyn the truth even if she hated him as a result.
Jamie—Liam was dead.
It was time the façade died too.
Chapter 2
LEO AVOIDED THE HOUSE—too many memories—but she loved the land. It called to her. The grove was a distance away from the house and the road beyond it, further out into the woods where she could shut out the human noises: a loud engine of some old jalopy wheezing by or what passed for music at an ear-bleeding decibel. When Tom had cleared the land—manually at her insistence—many of the oak and cedar trees had been young, but they flourished with more room to grow, their branches threading together over time. She added others over the years: a willow by the stream, then birch, elm, silver fir, rowan—more than she could remember. It was a peaceful, sacred place.
She placed the canvas bag in the center of the grove, taking out the ceramic bowl, a jar, and her mortar and pestle. She was unhurried in her preparations. Taking a knife, she went to the birch tree, peeling some of the exfoliating bark away. This was the first ingredient, appropriate for new beginnings and a cleansing of the past, something she should have done from the start. So much time had been wasted. If only she could go back … but that was a fool’s dream. She knew why she had done it. She had made ignoring the obvious an art form. She had lived with the lie for so long that she had convinced herself that there was nothing otherworldly about Brenawyn.
She put the bark deep in her pocket and continued to the elm. She cut a low hanging branch, divested it of its leaves and placed it to join the birch bark. She looked at the tree. Funny how she took from it today as she had in the past: strength of will to save her unborn granddaughter so many years ago, and now that same strength of will to teach her granddaughter the fundamentals of Druidism today.
She walked to the oak and placed her palms against the wide strength of its trunk. She gazed above to its strong branches reaching out to the heavens above. The leaves rustled in the breeze, a few falling at the unseen mark of the coming of winter. She gathered her skirt and cut a piece of the bark, a piece of its armor to give strength and courage to what needed to be done.
She heard Alex approach. She was pretty sure this was intentional: he could move as silently as a wolf stalking its prey if he wanted to. He was coming to speak with her. Her mind was a jumble. She wanted him near so he could put himself in harm’s way again to protect Brenawyn, repeatedly if necessary. But she wanted to drive him from her place, too. Willing the need for his protection away was not enough, though. She knew none of them could go back, so she had to come to terms with him and their situation, for which she had no one but herself to blame. Alex would take Brenawyn, and she would likely never see her granddaughter again.
Leo busily redoubled her efforts and she didn’t look up, wanted to look absorbed, when he stopped in front of her. He stood there for what seemed to be an interminable time, but then sighed and lowered himself to sit opposite her on the grass. He held his side as he did; that caught her attention, and her eyes rocketed to his face.
“I’d have thought you wouldn’t have pain?”
“I dinnae suppose ye ha’ had much experience with bringing someone back from the deid?”
“I … I don’t.”
“Just so then.” Alex pressed his palm into his side and took a deep breath. “Thaur is always pain after. Doona be worrit for me, it will pass in time.”
“How much time?”
“Ah, that depends on the extent o’ the wounds. Normally, the pain would cripple a man new ta the resurrection process, but for yer intervention t’will cut down on recovery. I thank ye for that though t’was unnecessary, because my tolerance for pain is higher than that o’ mortal men. I assure ye that I will be able ta defend against any that come for her.”
“Like you did back in Salem?” Leo asked, disapproval clear in her voice.
“Aye. I ken that I let my guard doon. T’was a judgment call. I dinnae kin that Cormac would be so direct. That he would use the Oracle in such a direct way. They are desperate. They willna catch me off guard again.”
Leo nodded, accepting his statement. “What’s next?”
Alex looked at her grimly, saying nothing.
“How long do you think we have? How do we prepare?”
“A couple o’ days a’ the most ta be safe. We ought ta be gone long before he tracks us haur. If the Oracle got what’ she needs that won’t even buy us that much time.”
“I could run with Brenawyn and hide. There are places in the world we could do this. Places of extreme power to hide in plain sight as we did in Salem. We could go to New Orleans or Paris or Rome.”
“Leoncha, even if t’were possible, how far do ye think ye would get? What was the toll on ye, Leo, for yer intercession with my resurrection?”
“How did you know?”
Alex touched the hair at her temples and untucked the lock behind her ear, rubbing the graying strands together to show her. “I ha’ ne’er kent ye ta ha’ gray in yer hair.”
Leo took the hair from his opened hand and considered it.
“It happened almost immediately I would think,” he added.
“Yes, and I, um, I have lost … I lost control.”
“Control?”
She looked away and lowered her voice to a whisper, a tear running down her cheek, “My bladder….”
“Ah,” he reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, “thaur is a cruel price ta pay, always. I ken o’ what I speak.”
“Yes, I’d assume you are well-versed in this area.”
“Ye are no longer a young woman, and while ye are a strong healer, that’s
all ye are. Ye canna go up against the likes o’ Cormac or the Vate. Ye doona ha’ that kind o’ power.”
“The other option is unthinkable. To let her go, let you take her. The uncertainty will surely kill me.”
Alex took a pen knife from his back pocket and opened his right hand to the sky, slicing across his palm. When enough blood welled in his cupped palm, he turned his wrist to let it drip on the ground. “I haurby gi’ my blood oath ta protect….”
“Are you insane? Don’t you realize what you are doing?”
“Aye, Leo. What else can I dae?”
“But, to take the blood oath alone? You’ll be committing your soul.”
“My soul?” Alex shook his head. “Leoncha, listen ta me: it doesna matter much what happens ta me; if she were ta die, or be seduced ta the Coven, all hope is lost. T’would destroy the balance, bring the Formor back ta this realm, and I dinnae kin what after that.
“But to bind yourself to her, you’ll pine for her all the rest of your days.”
“Dae ye love yer granddaughter so little then? Perhaps I ha’ misunderstood. Can ye bare ta part with her knowing that ye canna protect her?
“Of course not!”
“Then let me, Leoncha. I am willing. I ken what a sacrifice yer making. Allow me ta promise all that I am ta dae that in yer place.”
“But.”
“No, Leo. I ha’ already made up my mind. Ye canna stop me.”
“You will become Gancanagh if she doesn’t return your affection and take the oath herself. Your altruism will turn against you and transform you into a monster.”
“I am already a monster.”
“No, damn your eyes! Listen to me, Alexander Sinclair: you must not do this. You will fall into depravity. You’ll lure innocents to crave your attentions.”
Alex laughed at this, “In another context, ta tell a man that he’d have women begging, clamoring for his attentions, aye that would ha’ been the devil’s own temptation ta a much younger version o’ myself.” He grew sober, shaking his head slowly, “T’is all but done. Dae no’ worry, Leoncha, I will fight the urge ta dae so when I become Gancanagh.” Alex looked up to the heavens, “Hear me. Hear me! All that I am, and all that I will be I pledge to Brenawyn McAllister, daughter of Margaret Farraday, granddaughter of Leoncha Callaghan. Furthermore, I haurby gi’ my blood oath ta protect her as if she were my own. Her life is more sacred and more dear than my own, and if I am ta fail ta love and protect her, may I wander ceaselessly until the end o’ time without the eternal reward.”
Alex looked to Leo, “Say it.”
“No. I won’t.”
“It canna be done until it is witnessed. Say it. Thaur is any other way.”
Leo sighed, “Alexander Sinclair’s vow was heard and acknowledged both in this world and beyond. With his word and mine, his fate is eternally sealed. So mote it be.”
Chapter 3
OCTOBER 1982
He’s out of the house for a bit. Went to the store. Only have a few minutes to write this down. It upsets him so when he sees me do this. Upset … no, angry—he’ll make me pay. So better to write when I’m alone.
My dreaming self remembers what my waking self does not.
I dream of patterns.
The triquetra—for the maiden, the matron, and the crone.
The triskele—for the sun, the afterlife, and the reincarnation.
The shield knot—for protection.
The tree of life—center for all.
The fivefold—for her who is to be.
I did not know what they were before.
My dreaming self has seen these symbols.
I did not know what they were before. Now, I wish I knew not.
My dreaming self has seen them emblazoned
On my Brenawyn.
Brenawyn found her grandmother sitting at the kitchen table with Maggie. The nineteen-year-old had somehow found the time to change her hair color yet again. It now a bright blue. It was obvious that she and Leo were not just drinking coffee, but sharing secrets because when she walked in they shut their mouths and looked away suspiciously.
“Well,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning on the door frame. “What are you two plotting?”
“Nothing, B. I was just asking about Alex. He’s got the hots for you.”
“Oh my God, Maggie! Shut up,” she said, peeking down the hall. “He might hear you for God’s sake. Keep your voice down.”
“Not to worry,” she said with a smirk. “He went out shortly after sunrise. I heard the screen door slam. He didn’t say where he was going, but then again, I wasn’t out here.”
“All right, but, really, I feel awkward enough without your comments that could be overheard.”
“I’m sorry, B. I won’t mention it again, though you deserve to be happy.”
“I know, sweetie, and I appreciate the sentiment, but I am old enough to enter a relationship that doesn’t involve my friend asking the man if he likes me. That’s so high school.”
Maggie chuckled chiding her, “Aren’t you the one who says high school never ends?”
She came over and wrapped Brenawyn in a bear hug unbidden. As laborious as some of her childish antics were, Brenawyn had to remind herself that even though Maggie had to have the psychological fortitude of one much older to calmly accept all that happened within the last days, she still was only nineteen. She adapted to new information introduced by personal revelations and evidence of the existence of magic without a misstep. She was able to react without hesitation—the girl had one hell of a swing in the face of danger. Was it the fact that she was young still that allowed her to acclimate so easily? Or was it something else? Brenawyn realized beyond knowing the tragic details of her life: deadbeat father, abusive boyfriend, she really didn’t know the mettle of this girl she considered her little sister.
Brenawyn steeled her face as Maggie pulled away. There wasn’t time to delve into what motivated her. Though Brenawyn couldn’t define it further, she felt the building anxiety of a deadline with each passing hour. She stepped away and surreptitiously watched as Maggie hooked the leash onto Spencer’s collar before walking out the back door. She strangely felt the need to spend as much time with her as possible, almost as if she was never going to see her again—which of course, was impossible. She couldn’t think of anything that would take her away, though try as she might, Brenawyn couldn’t shake the feeling.
Putting the coffee cup down, her grandmother folded her hands in front on the table and looked her in the eye. “Yes? What is it, Pussy Cat?”
Brenawyn stared out the back door for moments after the storm door clicked shut and she couldn’t see their combined shadow any longer before turning the kitchen chair to face her grandmother. “All right, I have some questions.” She ignored the implicit unasked question her grandmother posed unready for the conversation that would ensue.
“I was reading some of Mom’s journal, and one entry made mention of the patterns,” Brenawyn rubbed her arm absentmindedly where the interlace had appeared, not just when Alex had put the medallion around her neck but at other times, too; when she had saved her dog Spencer from a vicious attack by the Order, when she had called upon the spirits at the Lughnasadh ceremony in Salem a few weeks before. “But she didn’t mention the colors, at least not in what I’ve read so far. Do you know anything about it?”
Leo took off her cardigan, and gently folded it, placing it on the table next to her. She sat back in the chair and inhaled deeply. The interlace flared to life, originating under her sleeveless cotton shell it raced outward to cover her clavicle and neck in one direction and her bare arms and hands in the other.
The hairs on Brenawyn’s arms stood on end.
“The symbols are a blessing from the gods, and each color represents an ability. Mine are blue, which represents the healing of water, washing away imperfection, disease, infection. My abilities lie in the healing arts. Alexander’s blue means the same, bu
t his sigils are mostly red. Red is for defense. His caste is that of the warrior. Not an original caste, but one derived from necessity. Many over the centuries craved our power; others feared it, wanting to wipe us out of existence, particularly the Romans. That’s about the time when the warrior caste emerged.”
“So what do green, gold, and silver mean?” she asked, rubbing her arm lightly.
Her grandmother took her hand, “Activate your sigils, Pussy Cat, like I taught you.”
Brenawyn closed her eyes and concentrated. She wasn’t all that confident she’d be able to conjure them if she was alone, but while touching, holding her grandmother’s hand, feeling the resonation with her, then yes, she could call her interlace. She could feel its warmth as it radiated outward from her chest, though the pat on the back of the hand by her grandmother was added confirmation that the patterns could now be clearly seen.
Leo traced the pattern up Brenawyn’s arm, slightly tickling her as she moved from Brenawyn’s wrist to her shoulder.
“Green is life. A strong connection to the Earth. The Earth will respond to you. The animals will listen. But you know that. You’ve always had a way with animals.”
She lifted her fingers to resume on a different part of the exposed skin. “Silver and gold are for clergy, high priestesses only. Gold is associated with the sun, and silver the moon, both are integral parts of each other. The sun represents the gods in the spirit realm, the moon, the ability to speak to them.”
“My skin, it glows.”
“The five colors.”
“Does it mean … ”
“Yes?”
Brenawyn shook her head, “I don’t know. But I didn’t have this all my life.”
“No. You didn’t—you wouldn’t. Years of training would develop the abilities, but if none were received, it would wither away. Although sometimes, even without training, the interlace will manifest itself after periods of sustained grief or trauma.”
“Grief or trauma, like Liam’s death?”
“That could have done it, but it didn’t trigger it.”
“So why now? What was so special about the events we just lived through, being accosted in the bathroom, the ceremony, attacked in your backyard, and Spencer … ”
Reliquary's Choice: Book Two of The Celtic Prophecy Page 2
