“The trees, the grass, everything is a collection o’ smaller beings. The trees and grass, and everything ye see are forest dryads. Divine in nature, but with verra specialized powers. Haur, they are small ta make the whole. Thaur, they are... bigger ta start with, but they ha’ corporeal bodies and a mischievous mind. The world has nay way ta define them as one o’ many, so they are forever vying for time thaur. Mischievous, because ta their minds, they havena long, time passes differently haur. I suppose e’ery being wants individuality e’en when they see the importance o’ being part o’ something bigger.”
Brenawyn touched the tree’s bark again, running her hand along it, watching intently the reaction. She looked to him, smiling, and moved to the next tree, then rock, then flower. She paused at this, growing very still. She scanned the surrounding forest, unsure of herself. She saw movement and her body tensed and shifted to a crouch. She motioned for him to do the same, but Alex didn’t move. She must have sensed his inaction because she threw a look over her shoulder to find him standing patiently, hands clasped behind his back. “Nothing haur will hurt ye. Stand up.” She reeled back protesting as he helped her to her feet. “Leuk.”
Brenawyn gulped and squeezed her eyes shut, but turned around to face the forest. Her body thrummed with tension, but she gave an audible breath and relaxed a hair. The moment she opened her eyes, he could feel the recognition in his contact with her. She looked at the wolf in the distance. It sat with its head cocked to the side, one ear flopped over, looking as amiable as Spencer, but much bigger. Alex released her arms to allow her greater movement and she swung on him. “The wolf? It’s you?”
“Nay, definitely no’, but t’is difficult ta explain. Are ye familiar with Plato’s theory o’ Forms?”
“I’m not sure. Philosophy class was a long time ago.”
“He postulated that non-material things—concepts such as justice, love, equality—had an ideal, perfect form that existed elsewhaur. Those concepts in reality would be a copy o’ the original form, but no matter how advanced, because they were a copy, would ne’er come close ta being the actual Form. We create these copies, but we canna imagine the true Form, so the concept is destined ta always remain imperfect.”
“Ok. So what does that have to do with … ”
“Plato was wrong. His premise was based on the wrong sequence o’ creation. The actual order is that the universe created the Forms haur, in response ta the creation o’ each o’ the species. The wolf,” he indicated the animal in the distance, “was created from the life force o’ e’ery wolf in existence for all time. That wolf is the Wolf.”
“It is perfect? Everything here is perfect?”
“Aye. Everything besides us.”
“When you changed in the kitchen … ”
“I am connected ta the wolf. When I changed, ye saw that wolf. I can … how do I explain? I can call the Form ta me. The laws o’ physics still hold, two objects canna occupy the same space, so when I call a Form, part o’ me, the physical part, comes haur, just as the physical part o’ the Wolf goes thaur. The transition is painful. T’is no’ common for the body and the consciousness ta be separated.”
“So, when you changed your mind was there, in the body of the wolf?”
“Essentially, aye. Though, t’is a little tougher ta keep perspective, because instinctual behavior must no’ reside in the mind. So, t’is harder ta keep focused. I doona transform often for that reason.”
“Instinctual behavior?”
“Hunting, mating … ”
Brenawyn turned away to hide her blush remembering his state when he turned back.
“Brenawyn, t’is also how I kent ye crossed over. Yer grandmother didna ha’ ta tell me.”
“Oh.” Silence stretched out and at some point, the wolf padded over to stand in front of her. She didn’t cringe away but stood her ground mesmerized. She reached a tentative hand out, and the wolf cautiously closed the distance. Her fingers brushed the soft pelt and she stepped closer burying both her hands in his soft fur. The animal half closed his eyes in the luxury of the caress but his ears sprang alert and he raised his head, stepping in front of her as a shield.
The underbrush rustled. “Nothing will hurt ye haur, Brenawyn,” Alex said behind her as the bear emerged.
The wolf was big, but the bear was enormous.
It too held back and sniffed the air for their scent. Only then did it approach. “You have a connection with the bear too?”
“Aye.” Again, she held out her hand, and the bear responded. “Though, I hope ye are no’ around when I change.”
“Why, is that?”
Alex approached. “Look at the bear’s fur. The fur is thick, much thicker than the wolf’s. Thaur is an outer coat and a much thicker undercoat, harder ta penetrate. The thick coat, combined with the thicker hide, sharp claws and teeth, can kill prey in seconds. If I turn, run. I’ll buy ye time.”
“Stop. You’re scaring me.”
“Honestly, that is no’ my intention, and I havena touched on the scary parts yet.”
“You haven’t?”
“Just wait. Ye’ll find out soon enough. Thaur is still the leopard and the hawk ye need ta meet.”
“Why are you showing them to me?”
“The wolf I use for tracking. The wolf’s sharp sense o’ smell canna be compared ta anything else. The bear for attack power, the leopard for stalking, and the hawk, for its keen eyesight. Ye need ta know this because I am yer protector for noo, out o’ necessity,” and for eternity if ye’ll ha’ me.
“I still think you have the wrong girl. I’m nobody.”
“Ye willna kin so for long. Come, Oghma awaits.”
“Who’s Oghma?”
“Ye will find out soon enough, and ye’ll meet my mother.”
“You mean your mother is a goddess?”
“Aye, Goddess of the Moon.”
Brenawyn stopped him with a hand on his arm, “Holy shit! A goddess?” She shook her head.
Alex nodded and continued walking.
As the dense forest gave way to the clearing, Alex’s anxiety grew. There would be no turning back afterward. The fallacy of choice would be completely stripped from Brenawyn as she took her place as the rightful heir of the high priestess’ office. He should have prepared her for this somehow. To blame Leo Callaghan was senseless; little did her actions years before affect the present. The prophecy had proclaimed this future in its vague, noncommittal way. What will be, will be with prophecy, leaving everything to damned fate. No one had a choice. Everything, everyone, played a part as pawns in a twisted design. No happiness, no fulfillment other than that of the planned destiny played out—but to whose happiness and fulfillment? He was jealous of those who thought they had achieved it. He would not sit by and allow Brenawyn to be used, even if she didn’t know why he behaved the way he did. Let that be a mystery. He would not let one more person be a pawn.
Oghma was sitting by the Well of Seagis trailing fingers in the water when they cleared the forest edge. Alex knew that their presence was announced well before they had stepped through the tree line. He took Brenawyn’s hand, giving a slight squeeze for reassurance, and led her to the Well. Only then did Oghma look up. His long gray hair was swept back and clubbed, his face devoid of wrinkles, but wisdom and age were reflected in his eyes. His rich dark robes were of heavy brocade with silver embroidery edging the lapels, wide sleeves, and hem; under them he wore pants of plain brown velvet. Though he was sitting, it was easy to determine that his robes were designed to trail after him. Despite the volume and femininity of garb, it did nothing to detract from his small yet masculine stature. The only jewel he wore was one large opal tie tack.
He rose from his seat and bowed slightly. “Ah, you have brought her.” His speech was unique. It lacked any accent and dialectical colloquialisms, syllables enunciated with precision, volume, intonation, and timing perfect. It was musical and alluring. Brenawyn mused that he would make the
most tedious legal affidavit or recitation of the dictionary sound stimulating. He turned to Brenawyn, and smirking, cocked his head to the side. “Come, you who are lost and blind, come lay yer troubles down. It will all be well momentarily.”
Oghma turned to Alex dismissing him out of turn. “You are no longer needed.” But before he could flick his wrist in dismissal, Alex spoke up defensively, “I am her protector.”
“Do you dare to suggest that she is in danger from me, child?”
“I meant nay disrespect, but I will remain. She has no’ the upbringing o’ an initiate. She kens nothing o’ the Auld Ways.”
The golden eyes flared red, a matching red rosacea from broken blood vessels spread in spider webs under the skin over his cheeks. He took a breath and opened his mouth.
“Please, let him stay. I’m so … he has agreed to be my protector. Please.”
Gazing into Brenawyn’s eyes, Oghma’s ire slowly evaporated, taking the red stain from his cheeks and the pigment from his eyes. As he did, he looked so beautiful, one could weep. He bowed again, “As ye will, but remain there. Keep your distance, protector. I will not have interference.” Then turning to Brenawyn, he considered her for a long moment, circling her. “Child, long were the days we have waited for your coming. Tell me. Why have you come now?”
Brenawyn looked back to Alex pleadingly, but her chin was grabbed and forced back to look at Oghma. “Child, the answer you seek lies not with him. Tell me, why now?”
“I don’t … I don’t … know. I … have these memories. They’re jumbled together, but they’re contradictory and disjointed. Alexander said that you can help. Can you? Can you clear my head and tell me what to believe?”
“Wait, Brenawyn … ”
Oghma turned to him eyes blazing, “Silence, Protector.” Turning back to Brenawyn, “Your eyes are clouded, I see. I will clear them, but my intervention will not bring answers. Those answers are rooted in the motives of men. I cannot give you what you seek. I can only set you on the path of discovery.”
“My memory is blurry; I can’t tell if anything is real. I have these old memories of a loving relationship but childless, fused to the new memories of the miscarriage and … ” shaking her head, “abuse, I think. I need to know which to believe. What do you need me to do?”
“The water that bubbles up from the earth here is special, giving the fruit that falls in a power that is not there when it grows on the tree. Go and retrieve one from the bottom. You must be the one to choose.”
Brenawyn waded into the water, pleasantly surprised by its warmth. The pool was deeper than it appeared, she would have to sink to retrieve anything from the bottom. With a sharp intake of breath, she submerged, then quickly came back to the surface holding a single nut from the bottom of the pool. Holding it in her closed fist, she swam the short distance to where Oghma sat on the bank. “Stay in the water. It will help ease the pain.”
“The pain?”
“Yes, child, did not your protector tell you? The human mind is a complex thing and the magic that affects it intricate, so as to not drive the individual mad.” He paused, and looked into her eyes. “Are you mad? You do not seem to be, though it makes little difference.” He broke contact, but did not step back. “The spell to remove such an intricate working is not delicate. There is no way for me, as powerful as I am, to know the depth and avenues your mind has taken to this incantation. It will be painful because I will have to rip them from your mind, whereas they were strategically placed before. Are you still willing?”
“Yes.”
“Good. This is the Well of Seagis, the well of knowledge. The nut you hold is the key. Eat the nut and your true memories will take hold, expelling the false, forcing them to surface.” Oghma turned to Alex. “Boy, make yourself useful.”
Alex waded in to kneel behind Brenawyn, “Lean back.” Brenawyn looked confused, wary. “By touching, ye’ll be able ta use my strength ta help ye better deal with the pain.”
“No, I don’t want you in pain.”
“Sh. I willna be in pain. I’ll just be lending some o’ my strength ta ye. I’ll be fine. Doona worry. Eat the nut.”
Brenawyn settled against him, crackled the softened shell in her hand and picked out the pieces. She chewed and swallowed, not surprised when nothing happened. She sat looking at the image of the purple sky reflected in the surface of the water, at the dragonfly buzzing close to the surface, and at the frog on the bank off to the side of her vision. She turned her head to Alexander who sat cradling her body, her hands on his thighs as she sat crossed legged on the silty bottom of the well.
“The fruit that you just willingly ingested is the knowledge of all things. To eat it,” said Oghma as he cracked open another water-softened shell, “is to open yourself to that infinite truth. From the beginning of time to its end, knowledge will always be power. In the Old Ones’ great intuition, they granted favor in this well, but it does not come easily. For a prize such as this, the effort of will is necessary to seek the truth. You have given your consent when you asked to have the haze lifted from your mind. Once asked, gladly given. Once done, it cannot be undone. You will pass a threshold from which you can never return. Do you understand this, initiate?”
Her body bowed in that moment, racked and rigid with pain, Alex moved to cradle her close to him, and pour his strength into her, but it wasn’t enough. He repositioned her and pried her mouth open, and before he thought, his head swooped down to take her open mouth. He was batted away by an unseen force, but it was too late, Brenawyn’s pain was now his and his alone. He clawed at his head, fighting vainly to relieve the pressure, vomiting bile and sludge in the clear waters of the Well before sinking in the blessed arms of the warm water and oblivion.
Chapter 6
Oghma settled down and purposely eased the tension in his body, waiting for the one or another god to arrive. They were impatient; and to rely on such a weak-willed species with the delicacies of staving off another war was near unconscionable. But it was not his to say.
He was surprised that it was Nimue who appeared first.
“Greetings, brother. How dae ye pass the day?”
“Interestingly enough,” Oghma indicated the floating forms of priestess and her protector. “I thought that you might find it worthy of remark that your son has chosen to be her protector.”
Nimue raised an elegant eyebrow, “Did he now?” She stepped closer to the edge, turning her back to Oghma considering the two. “So chance intertwined the fates o’ those famed, ta be rejoined and set right when legacy is reclaimed.” She sighed, and then turned to face him. “It doesna surprise me at all. He is his father’s son after all; thaur is a sense o’ honor in all the Sinclair line.” She smiled, gaining a far-off look in her eye, “His father once offered ta champion for me, though he kent thaur was no need.”
Oghma bowed, “Just so then.”
“What did ye glean from the removal o’ the last o’ yer bindings?”
“Lines are being drawn and sides taken. As always, some wait to see the outcome. I do not worry over these. Those who claim to be with us are silent, though they are witnesses. Be wary. All who claim allegiance should not be trusted.”
“Noted.”
“As for the priestess … ”
“The would-be priestess, she has no’ given her consent fully yet.”
“As you say. She is unique. She can defend herself—actually fend off an attack. I smelt the burned flesh before I saw the ruin of what had been his right forearm. She healed her dog. Made a successful attempt at shape-shifting, stripped an Oracle of her ability, and helped in a resurrection spell.”
Nimue gasped. “How? She looks so … ”
“Feeble? Weak? Mortal?”
“Aye.”
“This I do not know, but she did it without preparation, training, or even the rudimentary knowledge of how it worked.”
Nimue rounded on him, pressing him to the ground. A ston
e shard dug painfully into his back. “Are ye telling me that she is anomalous, operating outside the bounds o’ fate and prophecy?”
Oghma pushed back against Nimue’s weight and sat up. “That is not all.”
“Tell me quickly.”
“She has an affinity for animals and can make the elements rise to her call.”
A sharp intake of breath and all noise of the forest and its life suddenly fell silent. “If it is how ye say, then the prophecy has come full circle, and we are looking at long last inta a possible end o’ times. Thaur will be several groups that willna stop until they wrest the power from her hands. Though this time I kin they will try ta kill her before she gives birth ta her progeny. She willna come inta her full power until then.”
~ ~ ~
Falling. The edge of the stair rushed up to make painful contact with her temple. She twisted to take the brunt on her side, protecting the baby, but end over end, heart pounding in her ears, she couldn’t control the momentum. Arms cradled her bulging stomach. Bruising contact, twice, an echoing crack and pain lanced up her arm, thrice, wrenching as a foot caught in the spindles. To land in a crumpled broken heap facedown, her weight pressing down and an answering stabbing pain before oblivion.
Brenawyn sat up in time to be violently sick in the long grass rushes on the bank. The heaving stopped, but she hung her head there not willing to move else another memory force its way in. Her hair hung in wet clumps, clinging to her face. She didn’t care. When she was sure that she wasn’t going to vomit again, she sat back on her haunches, wiped the residual spittle from her mouth with the back of her arm, and slicked her wet hair back from her forehead. Oh God, what the hell happened?
Her limbs felt heavy and it took all her concentration to breathe. In, out, in, out.
The pounding headache was gone, the pressure in her chest easing. She knew that she was changed, but how—she didn’t want to explore. Yet. Let her get her normal faculties back. Have her arms and legs respond when she wanted to move.
Reliquary's Choice: Book Two of The Celtic Prophecy Page 5
