“Nay, doona dae that. The incantation will work that much better if she has piss and vinegar ta her, and I’ll ha’ a better chance o’ getting what was taken from me returned.”
Taking the hair and the bloody handkerchief to the pile of supplies, she put them aside and lit the sage bundle letting the smoke permeate the room. She lay that aside in an incense holder, and turned again to the specimens she had procured from the women.
“The bluid is necessary. It should be from someone who is related, but as long as I ha’ a token from a relative,” holding up the hair, “t’will serve. T’was a surprise that she was able ta bind my powers, even the gods didna see that. That’s why she is so important. Nothing can be gleaned from her or what she is capable o’ beyond the events that ha’ more ta dae with others than her. She’ll come inta her powers fully after she gives birth, though whose going ta sire it, Aerten and Caer Ibormeith doona ken either.”
Leo tried to launch herself off the bed, but was restrained by her jailor.
The Vate cackled. “Dae ye still kin ye can dae anything ta stop this?”
Leo grunted through the gag.
“Aye, ye are shortsighted then. She was ne’er yers. Ye need ta gi’ o’er. I’ll ha’ my powers restored shortly, and ascend ta Oracle once more, then we can proceed.”
The Vate put the hair in the opened handkerchief and hocked up phlegm from a deep wet cough and spit it into the midst of the fabric square, rubbing it in with her thumb. She laid it down on the carpet, squatting over it. “I will say it so ye can kin the truth and cower ‘afore me and what is ta be.
“Hear me, oh dark artisans o’ Falias, Gorias, Murias, and Finias. Long ha’ ye waited in the shadows. Grant me the sight once more. Grant me what has been taken again. I beseech ye, let me be the herald o’ the old ways, the days o’ yer rule. I ask this in the name o’ Addanc, Badb, Neit, Ratis, Taliesin, and … Mandred.”
Leo screamed through the gag, shaking her head while tears ran down her cheeks.
Chapter 11
Alex and Brenawyn left the main lodge from the back exit and processed up the steps to the mining building. She had mentioned that she wanted to see the machine that cut geodes, and while he’d readily granted her request, the growing anxiety in his heart would not let him be. She talked pleasantly, and he must have answered in kind, but his mind whirled. He was taking her back. She was not ready; her life here hadn’t prepared her. How would she fare without modern conveniences?
After watching the wet saw cut its way through a geode through the safety of the glass window, she was the one who had suggested they walk the nature trails. Soon he found himself leaving the manicured hills and entering sparse forest, but the evidence of man was still present. Someone had come recently to try to cut back the encroaching wilderness. Beyond this, the trees were larger, older, and the undergrowth was tangled. They were in the reserve. The birds whistled in the trees and animals scurried about underneath the canopy far away and sometimes close by, startling Brenawyn from time to time. He heard her gasp and pick up her pace momentarily only to fall back into her plodding steps moments later. He could hear her behind him huffing with effort, but not one word of complaint. Good. He wasn’t prone to rest now that she was set on the task at hand.
While he waited for her to catch up, none too concerned that the noise she was making would scare away any game within ten miles. After all this wasn’t a hunting trip.
“Dae ye need a rest?”
“No thank you. You have a longer stride than I do though. Slow your pace so I can keep up.”
“Noted. T’is no’ much further. Ha’ ye e’er been haur?”
“Not here, no. But near here yes.”
“Ta the falls?”
“Depends. I’ve been to several, but not all of them.”
Some treacherous footing brought them to a moss covered outcropping, a center seat to watch water cascade from a precipice fifty feet above. He turned to see Brenawyn stopped a few feet back, mouth slightly ajar, staring. She dropped the bag, rushed over and gave him a kiss full of promise, or so he imagined, and let her tow him over to the center of the small clearing. There, a tug on his arm had him kneeling to settle next to Brenawyn, who had dropped to sit on the ground, her legs folded to the side. She leaned into him placing her hand on the thigh of his outstretched leg. His heart gave a leap in response to his own physical reaction to her nearness—he was a boy again, holding his first girl.
He’d willingly sit here forever, wholly distracted by the scent of lavender clinging to the tendrils of her hair, the swell of her breast visible above the shirt’s neckline, or the curve of her hip pressed against his own. It took all his thoughts to corral the urge to press her down and bury himself within her.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered. He agreed, placing a kiss on the crown of her head, gladdened that she didn’t see that he wasn’t referring to the falls.
“Whaur we are going the forest is much denser. T’is no’ safe in any time ta travel through the forest in the dark, too many dangerous spots, take a few steps off the path and ye could find yerself at the bottom o’ a ravine with a broken leg or worse. “Haur gi’ the pack ta me.”
She handed it over and watched him take out food stuffs. He wrapped it up in a small bag, tied a rope to it and swung the rope lasso style up over a high tree limb. After hoisting it up and securing the rope, he came back. “In case of a roaming bear.”
“A bear?” Brenawyn looked around as if she expected a bear to pop out from behind a bush.
“Relax. T’is just what one does when sleeping out o’ doors, a precaution; larger animals tend ta stay away. Strange smells. The precaution is more for raccoons that would scavenge the site in the matter o’ minutes. We’ll be returning ta the inn soon, but I’d gi’ ye a crash course in survival.”
“Survival Skills 101,” she laughed. “Okay. Now what?
Digging in the pack, Alex found the roll of twine. “Dae ye kin how ta set a snare trap?”
Thoroughly amused, Brenawyn answered, “No, I never had cause to learn.”
“I’ll teach ye then. First, ye ha’ ta leuk for branches low ta the ground that ha’ enough spring in them. This one is good.” Alex bent it. “Then ye take a length and secure it ta that branch, like this.”
Brenawyn nodded, interested.
“Then ye need ta find another sturdier branch about so big,” holding his fingers about a foot apart. “And cut yerself a notch in it, or sometimes yer lucky enough ta find one that has grown like that naturally.” He broke it off a fallen log and returned. With the knife he dug a hole and secured an end of the stick a few feet away. “Now, ye’ll need ta attach the two with the twine, and tie a small noose ta lay on the ground in front of it.” Alex finished the trap, and sat back on his haunches. “This trap is the easier one ta set, and it will get ye game with much more frequency, but the quarry will be small, rabbits, squirrels, birds, and the like.” Alex stood leaving the snare.
“You’re not going to leave that, are you?”
“Not feeling like turkey tonight? Or is it the prospect o’ cleaning it that has ye worrit?
“Um, if that were to happen, I wouldn’t be cleaning it.”
“Don’t worry, lass. I would be doing it, but ye ne’er ken when a skill will be needed.”
“Actually, it wasn’t that I wasn’t afforded the opportunity to learn in my early years, I was raised on a farm with no pets except for those I found in the barnyard. I had two chickens as pets; they would follow me around, wait for me to come home from school. I was there when they hatched, raised them from chicks. But times got tough, I think, after my mom died, though I was young so I couldn’t be sure, and the chickens were the last to go, as meals that is.”
“Ah, lass, he should ha’ no’ let ye keep them from the start.”
“Well regardless, one day I came home from school and called to my chickens but only the one answered. I looked and looked abandoning my school books by
the back door, never in my mind entered the thought to check inside. I had finally given up, my insides empty, tear streaks dried on my face when I finally entered and the first thing I saw was my Natasha, lying on the butcher block counter waiting to be plucked. My father waiting for me arms crossed at the kitchen table. I screamed at him, the first and really the last time I did, ran past him, up the stairs to my bedroom. I stayed in there a long time. He tried to come in once, but I barred the door, jamming a chair underneath the doorknob. After that a soft knock a bit later. When I eventually came down it was two days later, a plate of chicken and potatoes sat on the floor just outside my room. I remember looking at it for a long time. Eventually, I picked it up and went downstairs. My father was in the kitchen, his head in his hands. I don’t think he heard me at first, because it was only when I slammed the refrigerator door balancing what was left of the chicken in my arms did he look up. I didn’t say a word, but proceeded outside and after getting a shovel from the shed, dug a grave for my Natasha.
My father was waiting on the stoop when I approached and he reached out to touch my arm and I shrugged him off but rounded on him again, I think he thought I was going to strike him, but I scooped up Nastralia, my other bird, and just said, ‘Never again.’
Shortly after that, he allowed Nana to come visit, and two years after that, I found him dead at the kitchen table, his head in his arms.”
“Och Brenawyn, a chuisle, I didna mean …I just thought … ye had such a sad childhood. I’m so sairy.”
“I know. It wasn’t all bad. Relax. It’s okay. I only meant that to leave the trap would be cruel when the intent wasn’t for food.”
Alex nodded his understanding. “What o’ building a fire?”
“Ah, well, I haven’t much practice since I was in the Girl Scouts when I was ten, but I don’t think the skills leave. The patience perhaps, but not the skill.”
“T’is a lesson in patience ta be sure, especially with damp tinder.”
A rustle drew their attention as an explosion of brush showered the edge of the clearing in leaves and small branches. The beating of hundreds of wings against leaves led the cacophony of fauna fleeing the area. Spencer burst through the trees making a beeline for her.
“Spencer! What are you … ”
Alex put a hand over her mouth, “Hold yer wheest.” “Thaur,” pointing to a tree across the ravine with low hanging branches, “Can ye climb a tree?”
“I … yes, I haven’t done it since I was a kid. But yeah, if the branches are low enough.”
“Just high enough ta get some cover.” Assessing her gear, “Leave the backpack and the dog. We’ll come for ye.”
He stood ready for battle and the dog edged back.
Alex pushed Brenawyn in the direction from which they came, “Go! Run! I’ll give ye time. Hurry.”
Brenawyn looked at him for a moment, then turned and fled.
He watched as she hit the tree line and disappeared. He backed up to the edge of the clearing protecting her retreat. He could see in his mind’s eye the trees butted up against the stream so the only spot she’d be out in the open was when she crossed it. No help for that, she’d know enough to create the smallest target, and then be in the trees again.
If the dog were here it could mean one of two things, though he couldn’t imagine that Leo or Maggie would try to find them this way. There was still cell phone reception here, so really there was only one explanation. The Coven was here.
As if the thought conjured him, out of the tree line sauntered Cormac, inappropriately dressed in a three-piece suit and wingtips, followed by the hunched form of the Vate.
Neither the Vate nor Cormac made a move to go for Brenawyn, which was odd. It gave him pause, but the more pressing issue interrupted, why hadn’t he sensed the danger? They were upwind of him, damn it, and with the noise of the waterfall he wouldn’t have heard anything. Why didn’t he think of that before choosing their location? He was slipping—he was going to get Brenawyn killed.
He took up a defensive position, bones lengthening, muscles thickening, he dropped down on his hands and knees. Before the fur of his bear had fully sprouted, he stretched his neck and roared. The Vate was at the tree line, Cormac behind him, several acolytes scattered. They were circling him, each with a dragging gait.
Alex launched himself at the nearest acolyte. The man tried to stand his ground, opened his mouth to scream, but his throat was ripped out. The second and the third man met the same end in a bloody heap, but the rotation around the clearing was complete and by the time Alex had reached its edge, all Cormac had to do was step outside the bounds of the circle he made in the dirt with his dragging step. Alex hit an impenetrable wall. Seething at his own error, Alex reared up on his hind legs towering over Cormac, the wicked claws sparking along the wall of the barrier. Beyond an ear-piercing screech and a spectacular visual it was all inside the bubble. He was caged … an impotent predator. How had he missed what Cormac was doing?
“Like that? Dae ye ken what the best part is? Hmm?” He turned and called out in Alex’s voice, “Brenawyn, t’is a’richt lass. Come out.”
Alex slashed at the barrier once, twice, a third time. Sparks rained down on his shoulders to vent his frustration because he knew that she’d come out of hiding, knowing nothing else. He’d have to sit here, seething as Cormac was allowed to do whatever he wished to her, unable to do anything.
“Could that be her splashing across yon stream?”
Alex whipped back to look. “
“Och, t’is. Ye are so predictable. Sending her off inta hiding by herself. This is part o’ the reason ye werenae meant for Shaman. So predictable, a smart enemy always has the edge.”
Brenawyn emerged from the trees and crouched. The green iridescence of her eyes the only indication that she was prepared.
“Ye may no’ want ta dae that, priestess.” Cormac looked to the Vate, and the bound and gagged forms of Maggie and Leo, each guarded by a hooded acolyte. “Ye’ll ken that the Oracle was denied ye last time we met. Ye’ll no’ want ta anger her further.”
Brenawyn scanned the scene and made a decision. She stood, dropped her bag, and approached the Vate, the least threatening of the two. She had bested her before, perhaps she would be able to do so again. But just in case, she stopped just out of reach of the old woman.
The Vate gave a gap-toothed smile. “Aye, that’s it, my bonny lass. Ye ha’ some sense in yer heid. Come ta me.”
“No, thank you. I am fine right here.”
Brenawyn side-stepped, moving closer to Leo and Maggie.
The Vate turned, “Cormac, bring her ta me.”
Brenawyn saw the chance and jumped at Maggie’s jailor, the heel of her palm jabbed at his nose. There was a satisfying crunch, and blood spurted.
Maggie turned exposing her bound wrists, and Brenawyn opened the penknife that she’d held hidden in her hand and sawed at the thick, seasoned rope. Cormac was there before she had the chance to make any headway. He grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched her backward. Maggie glanced back over her shoulder and they made eye contact for a moment.
“Ah, priestess. Dae no’ struggle. I will make yer passing quick. Yer acquainted with the Oracle.”
The Oracle drew close studying her. “Ye’ll remember I kin that last time we met ye took something from me. I was sore lost without it for a time, but the gods ha’ decided ta reinstate my gifts that ye stripped from me. So all o’ yer work was for naught.”
She grabbed Brenawyn’s arm, and inhaled sharply, eyes springing open. She transferred her hands to Brenawyn’s abdomen kneading it. “Who did ye play the whoor for, dearie? Whose bairn dae ye carry?”
Cormac pulled on her hair making her arch her back, her face and neck exposed to him. “I ought ta kill ye now for causing so much trouble.”
“Cormac Domhnall MacBrehon, we need ta wait. We canna dae this now. She is with child. She canna be touched yet.”
“But …
”
“Nay. I ken ye are eager, as am I, ta be done with it, but remember the prophecy. She will come inta her power after … ”
“Aye, that I dae remember, but are ye sure? She doesna ha’ the roundness.”
The Oracle lifted Brenawyn’s breasts, weighing them considering, disregarding the visceral objection that Brenawyn made at being handled that way. “Aye, t’is as I ha’ said it ta be. Her breasts are heavy in anticipation.”
“But if we were ta wait, then Samhain … ”
“Aye, she willna be delivered by the fire feast. We must watch her carefully, allow her ta undergo the final rite and then after she delivers, take what we need.”
“And Sinclair? He willna be a hindrance?’
“Leave him ta me, Master Bard.” A knife appeared in the Oracles hand, and she ripped at the air. “The Hunt will occupy him for a time.”
A horn sounded, the same low otherworldly call that Brenawyn had heard before, but this time the dark steed with glowing red eyes hurtled through the rift. The rider on its back ducked and twisted for his helm, but pulled up rein in front of Brenawyn. Tattoos covered the expanse of his chest and arms and the same antlered helm of gold covered his head. Even at this close distance, his face was shadowed. Cernunnos had arrived.
He considered her for a moment, bowed his head and turned the horse toward the circle that held Alex prisoner. He but touched it and the containment spell was broken.
Alex felt his bones shift. He fell to his knees and bowed low even before the shift had fully taken place, but he could see the sluaghs come through the rift, padding around him to make a new perimeter, boxing their prey in. The horse’s razored hooves stepped close to Alex’s kneeling form and pawed the ground. He could feel it breathing on his neck, and it took all his strength not to cower. He knew what those hooves felt like, trampling him the one time. He was not up to reliving the memory. “Please, Cernunnos, I humbly … ”
Reliquary's Choice: Book Two of The Celtic Prophecy Page 11
