“Ye will dae nay such thing, prey. Long have I waited for ye ta bring me word. Longer ha’ I sought ye. Now ye will answer with yer life.”
“No.”
All assembled turned their heads in the direction of Brenawyn’s voice. “No, you will not take him.” Five colors of iridescent runes glowed under her skin. Alex looked around, the horse and the hounds stared at her.
She skirted past the horse, touching it briefly on its neck. It horse shuddered in response. Cernunnos dismounted, taking a step toward her but she kept an eye only for Alex. She gained his side and only after looking at him to assess if there was any damage did she turn back to the god. “We seem to be at an impasse.”
“How dae ye suggest we compromise?” asked the god.
“Give him something to cover himself as we negotiate.” She left Alex’s side to walk the perimeter of the circle, touching each dog on the head and flank, and each in response lay down and closed its eyes, content.
In shock, Cernunnos said, “My hounds doona sleep. They are forever on the hunt.”
“Huh. Before this, perhaps. Let them sleep.”
“I will ha’ ye know that I canna stay the hunt.” Cernunnos walked to his horse, and pulled a length of fabric from one of the saddle bags. “Now that he has been found he will be hunted. T’is no’ only me that hunts. The others: a more insatiable lot ye’ll no’ find. No reasoning with them.” He unraveled it, and tossed it to Alex, who in turn swathed his naked hips. “T’is beyond my control, but perhaps I can provide a temporary reprieve, though he needs ta come back with me as a prisoner.”
“That doesn’t sound to me like a … ”
“Silence. He will remain untouched until ye come ta claim him. Ye must make yer own way thaur though, with no help from others. Ye ha’ until the night o’ Samhain.”
Brenawyn was by Alex’s side now, and he grabbed at her wrists bending her down to plead with her. “Ye canna come for me. This is Cernunnos; he’ll no’ let ye go once he kens who ye are and if ye get thaur he will for sure ken it. Stay away, lass. Stay away. I canna bear it if anything were ta happen ta ye.”
She touched his cheek and smiled. Brenawyn stepped out of his arms and turned to Cernunnos. “Tell me of this prison. How will he be treated?”
“He will be kept in a room lavish in its furnishings in my own home—under surveillance of course, fed delicacies...”
“Aye, ta make me fat and slow. Easy prey for yer hounds ta take down.”
“Silence.” Cernunnos turned to address Brenawyn again, “Fed delicacies until such time that he will be rejoined with the hunting grounds.”
“No harm shall come to him until then?”
“Ye have my word.”
“I’ll need a bit more than that, I think. Give me your hand.”
“Brenawyn!” Alex and Cormac spoke up in unison, shocked at the implications.
“Nay, Brenawyn, doona,” Alex repeated, but before either he or Cormac could move she slashed the penknife across her palm and did the same to Cernunnos, touching the open wounds together.
The surrounding woods grew fuzzy, I tried to blink away the blur, bringing my hand up to rub at my eyes. The movement was slow. My head felt heavy. My heart fluttered in my chest. There was another heartbeat, stronger, all around me, beating in my ears, on my body. Muffled noise distorted further. Rhythmic. Chanting. A woman’s voice. Calling on someone, calling on her gods pleading … for release. The beating grew louder, thundered in my head, my own raced to match it. Pressure building, I wanted to scream, but didn’t know how. A soft almost, imperceptible sound like a soap bubble bursting, then the pressure was gone, the first joyous inhalation after release, the exaltation of riding a deluge of no pain, no pressure. Floating.
Another woman’s voice at a far greater distance calling me. I didn’t want to go. There were new sounds, sounds of wonder. Answers to questions I didn’t know I had somewhere here in the pulse of existence, but her voice kept calling to me. Plaintively weeping. I could make her pain go away if only I went to her. The cosmos called to me too, offering the lure of knowing all, seeing all, joining with the omnipotent. But her call echoed through the infinite, and I turned my head toward it.
The surroundings snapped back into focus, leaving Brenawyn alert and aware. She reached up to touch Cernunnos’ cheek. “Once I find Alexander we will discuss the terms of my servitude … Daddy.”
The god covered her hand with his own, visibly shaken, “Daughter, time is in short supply. The thundering hooves o’ the Hunt come. I must return lest they be loosed upon yer world. I will send what help I can.”
“You would leave me defenseless here with them?” Brenawyn indicated the Oracle and Cormac with a tilt of her head.
Cernunnos clapped his hands, and time stopped. Brenawyn looked around, everyone in the clearing stood motionless. Beyond, birds, insects, leaves falling from the trees had stopped too, like a painting on a canvas, so realistic, that she wandered to a nearby bush to look closer at a sparrow that had alighted. She touched its chest with the back of her knuckle, and the softness of its feathers gave to her slight touch. She gasped and went to a nearby honey bee, its wings frozen as it had prepared to lift from the head of the wildflower. She studied it intensely, never before having the desire to look at one so closely. She had spent her most of her life avoiding them, afraid she’d be stung, sent into anaphylaxis. Now she could look without fear, see how beautiful it was with veined gossamer wings that looked insufficient to lift its fuzzy striped abdomen.
“That’s a useful tool,” she said when she straightened.
“It is the essence of sifting time. Ye’ll learn.”
“So what now?”
“Needed moments ta call for aid. I will call for Finvarra, our High King, who I will charge with keeping ye safe, along with Aerten and Caer Ibormeith.”
“The goddesses of fate and prophecy?”
Cernunnos nodded his head. “I see that yer education has begun.”
“Alex mentioned them not too long ago.”
“Their advice is often sought, though more now than in the past. Thaur is a tension, a strain, a sense o’ settling in for the task at hand, ‘afore the battle.”
“Let me guess, the balance?”
“Ah, so ye ken it.”
Brenawyn sighed, “I’ve heard too much about it, and then not nearly enough.”
“Lots chosen, sides taken, the war is about ta begin.”
“Call who you will. I have a need to get this done.”
It didn’t take long before three more arrived. A man and two women, similarly dressed in white flowing robes as if it was their intention, so alluring and fair, it made Brenawyn’s heart ache. The women she knew to be Aerten and Caer Ibormeith but she didn’t know which was which. One had no eyes, the other had no mouth, but the absence didn’t detract from their beauty.
Cernunnos said, “Let them touch ye, daughter. T’is their way o’ greeting.”
They gravitated toward her, each touching her on the heart, lips, eyes, and forehead, and then bowing in turn. Brenawyn returned the gesture, to which the blind one giggled.
Finvarra was the one who spoke, “Priestess, they would ask permission ta touch ye further. Will ye grant it?”
“I … I guess so,” responded Brenawyn.
It was the mute one that approached again, to take hold of her hand, giving it a squeeze of reassurance, and then placed the other on Brenawyn’s abdomen. Her eyes grew wide, clouded over, and she began to convulse. Brenawyn reached out pulling the goddess to her to offer support. She eased her down and rolled her to her side as the seizure continued.
“What are ye doing, priestess?”
“I had a student once who had epilepsy. She had a seizure once in my class. It was much the same. All I could do was make sure she didn’t hit her head, and didn’t swallow her tongue—not much help in this case, but I remember the nurse turning her to her side when she got there. There wasn’t much to
do after that other than wait for the EMTs. The rest of the students moved all the desks out of the way, and we just sat on the floor with her. The seizure subsided. I felt the tension leave her body. She wept then, I don’t know if it was out of embarrassment that she had an episode in school, or relief that she wasn’t alone when it happened. God, it scared the hell out of me.”
Her blind twin knelt down next to Brenawyn, reaching out to hold the hand of her sister. “Caer had a prophecy revealed ta her concerning ye, priestess. And yer gracious selflessness has proven a great indicator in this. For ye ken, prophecy is enigmatic, open ta interpretation based on the motives o’ mortals and gods alike. Ye are plain.”
She turned to Brenawyn, and even though she could not see her, she knew the goddess was seeing deeper. “Thank you?” not knowing how to respond to her last statement.
“Ye are without deception, so unlike yer kind. Ye’d act the same regardless o’ situation.”
“I’m predictable, I know.”
“Ye say that if t’is a curse.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
“Ah, I kin what ye mean, but this is nay game of love, though love is involved. Ye are fair, as all great arbitrators. That will serve ye in the times ta come, priestess. Rely on that trait, as others will surely dae.”
“So how does my penchant for being fair play into interpreting prophecy?”
Thaur is nothing which she cannot be
The guardians of the five will be called
And give over gladly that which has been protected.
For All hope lies with her.
“Jesus, I hate verse.”
Aerten ignored her comment. “T’is nay great help, mind ye, but it does offer more o’ a slant ta one side over the other. Enough ta proceed with caution in a direction, but at least thaur is a direction ta be gleaned.”
“What is the prophecy then?”
Th’ destiny o’ hope from the day,
Sleeping, waiting, innocent until wha’ may.
So Chance and Choice intertwined th’ fates o’ those famed
To be rejoined and set right when legacy is reclaimed.
I ha’ erstwhile seen this woman taken and made with child,
By th’ Reliquary o’ the Druid sect, a man made wild
‘Afore she kent wha’ her Choice would mean
Her strength rooted in compassion, victory be glean’d
Th’ Woman blessed until th’ day two shall be made one
Her powers unfulfilled until the birth is done
Only then when hope seems lost
Will all recognize at wha’ cost.
Will the Woman prevail if all is as it seems
And defeat all machinations and schemes?
Choices must be made again for the good of all
She must go back to the start of the fall
I ha’ erstwhile seen her turn and defeat the faceless foes
Those that hide in the shadows waiting for the terror that flows
For the chaos and carnage to begin
All rests with her, whate’er her decision will fin
“Oh Jesus Christ! Why did I ask?” Brenawyn exclaimed. Movement caught her eye. She looked over, and saw a leaf drift to the ground.
“Time grows short. I canna hold it much longer. I need ta take the Shaman back and close the rift ‘afore the Hunt arrive,” spoke Cernunnos.
Aerten stood, “A second needs ta be named then. The Shaman is my retribution on she who defiles prophecy.”
“Let it be me, then.” Finvarra’s visage glimmered and gleaming armor chest plate and greaves and chainmail subramalis replaced the silken robes of moments before. A sword was sheathed on his back, and a long bow slung over a shoulder.
“As ye will, but see ta it that she does nay walk off this field.”
“As ye command, so it shall be done.”
Aerten approached Brenawyn again touching her on the heart, lips, eyes, and forehead in farewell. She gave Caer her hand, and the goddess regained her feet and bowed to Brenawyn, which she returned.
Cernunnos hesitated, but at last went to dig in his horse’s saddle bag. The sunlight glinted off the jewelry he held in his outstretched hands when he returned. “This is yers by right. One of the five foci belonging ta the priestess. I gi’ it ta ye as priestess and as my daughter ta wear. T’will help ye focus. Ne’er let it out o’ yer possession.” He secured it on her head.
Brenawyn’s hand went to it immediately. A diadem fit for the pages of a Tolkien novel, she felt utterly ridiculous wearing it, but left it in place nonetheless. With that, Cernunnos clapped his hands again and time resumed. The hounds were the last to go, following Alex who looked one last time over his shoulder at her. Brenawyn stood there for a long time contemplating where she should go. What would happen if she followed them through? But logic stayed her; she didn’t know what she’d be walking into, no plan, and no real ability to use her skills. She didn’t even know what she was capable of. She turned to survey the camp, feeling bereft that she was without him. Cormac, the Oracle, and the retinue of remaining acolytes blocked clear passage to Leo and Maggie.
Brenawyn’s attention was drawn to the clatter behind her. Finvarra slid one of his arrows from his quiver. Sight and sound blended together. The twang and reverberation of the string, the sway of the shaft, and the blur of the red tail feathers aimed at the nearest acolyte. A gasp across the clearing, and a stiff arm barring intrusion, but the arrow struck true. Finvarra shot five more in rapid succession each found their home buried in the chest of the remaining acolytes.
Brenawyn sensed the space behind her.
“T’is yer turn, priestess, a test o’ yer mettle. Dispatch the Oracle.”
“But … ”
“She will kill ye and yer babe as soon as she can. Show no mercy.”
The Oracle was advancing, sigils glowing on her skin. The humidity in the air was gone in an instant, the hot, dry, air crackled with static electricity. She reached in to her voluminous robe and pulled out a handful of dirt, and spit a wad of phlegm into it, packing it like a snowball.
“Hell, no, lady. You tried that on me before, did you forget the outcome of that? There’s no way I’m letting you near me with your mudball.”
Brenawyn wracked her brain, but the image that kept coming to mind was the construct that Nimue had created, not sure of how it worked, praying that the mental image was enough, she slammed her hands onto the ground. Pressure built and pushed against the dry surface and her hands, then what she thought to be tiny roots slithered against her palms, caressing her fingertips. She fought back the urge to recoil and doubled her efforts thinking about the construct. Alex had said anyone with a modicum of power could raise constructs. She hoped that by creating it she’d pass Finvarra’s test and then he’d step in with the Oracle.
The ground rumbled at her feet and cracked in a wide semicircle, water from an underground source welled in the opening maw, mixing with the dirt and clay. She squatted slamming her hands on the packed earth; a reverberating thump answered her, sending ripples along the surface of the still water. A hand emerged, two, three, a dozen, spread evenly around her. Earth constructs scaled the rim, more clamored up behind the first line to stand as a wall protecting Brenawyn, but she couldn’t see her adversary. Repositioning her feet for balance, she adjusted her center of gravity as the ground underneath her feet moved upward. She rose, even knowing she would become a target. When her head cleared the line of constructs and she could see the Vate, she loosed her weapon, bringing her open hand up, an opalescent orb appeared, stopping the magic-laced projectile mid-air.
Finvarra froze behind Brenawyn, and then cocked another arrow on the bow, this one aimed for her. With a crooked smile playing on his lips, he whispered, “Let’s see about yer focus and observation.”
She heard the twang of the string as the arrow was let loose. Brenawyn turned slightly, her other hand snatching the arrow from the air mere inches from her breast and to
ssed it to the ground disinterested. “What the hell are you doing?”
The Oracle’s interlace grew brighter and she started chanting as the constructs advanced on her position.
I curse ye, priestess
In the name o’ Belanus, god o’ healing
May he turn his face from you.
I curse ye, priestess
In the name o’ Epona, goddess o’ fertility
May she not hear yer silent empty-armed suffering.
I curse ye, priestess
In the name o’ Danu, goddess o’ the land
May ye never find a home.
I curse ye priestess
In the name o’ Taranis, god o’ the dead.
May ye live forever.
I curse ye, priestess
In the name o’ Cernunnos, god o’ the hunt
May ye never find what ye seek.
I curse ye, priestess
In the name of Blodevweld …
The chant was broken as the first of the constructs gained her position. The Oracle managed to ward off their first frontal assault with their earthly dark blades obtained from the bowels from whence they came.
Brenawyn was tiring; she grunted with frustrated effort when she felt the constructs lose solidity and one after another revert to their former state at the Oracle’s feet.
“Yer focus is satisfactory. This is the end of yer first lesson.” Said Finvarra.
Brenawyn’s chest heaved and exhaustion crept in. The bright pink orb and tendrils of blue fingers floated in front of her hand reminiscent of electrostatic generators she remembered from her high school physics lab. She dropped her hand to get a better look at it but the orb disappeared sending the projectile whizzing past her ear, as if it had just been thrown.
Reliquary's Choice: Book Two of The Celtic Prophecy Page 12
