by Kari Edgren
James approached with the subtleness of a charging bull. Leaning close, he spoke in an agitated whisper. “There was no need to expose yourself to those men like that. I had everything under control.”
Justine’s expression turned dry as dirt. “Oh, you know me, Mr. Roth, never one to turn down an opportunity to make a public spectacle of myself.”
“That’s not what I meant. Those men were dangerous, and you shouldn’t have gotten involved. They would have seen reason soon enough.”
I laughed under my breath. “And would that be before or after you reached West Africa as the newest member of their crew?”
He crossed his arms and snorted. “I’m more than capable of defending myself.”
This earned him a dubious look. “You and who else, Mr. Roth? Because the last I saw it was one against four. Unless you were counting Lord Stroud, though I’m fairly sure he would have been more hindrance than help in his current condition.”
“Of course I wasn’t counting him.”
“Then perhaps you should just thank Miss Rose for her efforts on your behalf.” I couldn’t believe I had just defended my aunt. The world had obviously gone mad since we arrived in Bristol.
Justine’s gaze moved into the room. “Where is Lord Stroud?”
James jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I left him at a table near the hearth while I spoke to the proprietor about rooms for the night.”
The meager fire outlined the shape of a man slumped forward with his head on the table.
“Did you get anything?” Justine asked. Worry lines creased her usually perfect face.
James held up an iron key. “There was only one available on the top floor.”
“That will do,” she said. “Help me get him upstairs before it’s too late.”
Too late for what? Her sudden change of manner sent me scurrying across the room.
Julian was barely lucid when we arrived on the third floor. With Justine and James on either side, he dragged with every step until they were pulling him along by their effort alone. I carried a candle to light the way while two lads ran ahead with the saddlebags. I found them in a heap outside the second door.
Once in the room, Justine set straight to work. “Do you have a sheath and herbs?” she asked me.
“Yes.” I dug through one of the bags, careful of Brigid’s knife while I pushed shifts and stockings aside in my search. “Here they are.”
“Mr. Roth,” Justine said, the urgency clear in her voice. “Please undress Lord Stroud to his breeches and shirt.”
James knelt next to Julian, who was slumped on the floor against a wall, and started tugging at one of his riding boots. I glanced around, looking for a place to change. There was no screen to be found, but the bed had a curtain, which I drew to the full length for privacy.
Wrestling out of my clothing, I pulled on the simple white sheath Brigid preferred her children wear when visiting her gardens. As there was no established altar at the inn, I had no idea where Justine planned for us to kneel and burn the obligatory mixture of cowslip, angelica and goat’s rue that would help carry our souls to the Otherworld.
Once dressed, I returned to the center of the room, my hair free of its pins and my travel cloak wrapped around me like a robe. Justine had built a small fire in the hearth during the time, giving enough light to close the drapes without plunging us into total darkness. She withdrew a small parcel from her own cloak and set it on a chest at the foot of the bed.
“Selah, please get the basin from under the water pitcher.”
I placed it next to the parcel and a freshly lit candle. Retrieving a pillow from the bed, I dropped it beside the chest before kneeling to unwrap the herbs.
Julian was now lying on the floor, dressed only in a white linen shirt and black knee breeches. Justine knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Almost there, Lord Stroud,” she said soothingly. His eyelids fluttered open for half a heartbeat before gravity reclaimed them.
James stood a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back. Shadows veiled his face and most likely a bemused expression from what was playing out before him.
“Mr. Roth,” Justine said, without taking her eyes from Julian, “will you please help me bring Lord Stroud to the chest? He needs to kneel across from Miss Kilbrid.”
Together they moved him. At the chest, Justine knelt again at his side, holding him up even as his head slumped near the bowl.
James stared down at us and shifted his stance, drawing attention to the awkwardness of the situation. Clearly the man needed a job other than spectator.
“Perhaps you would like to inquire about a ship for our crossing, Mr. Roth.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Right you are, Miss Kilbrid. I’ll return shortly.” The candle flickered in his haste to leave the room.
“Good thinking,” Justine said the moment the door closed. “That should keep him occupied for several hours at least.” She pulled the oilcloth from the parcel, revealing a small nondescript stone that I recognized at once.
“You got that from the mantel in Cate’s bedroom,” I said, picturing it alongside the other oddities.
Justine placed the stone inside the porcelain bowl. “It’s one of her most prized possessions. Brigid made it for her more than a thousand years ago, when she wearied of opening altars every new place Cate traveled.”
I studied the stone, seeing it anew. It had been carved into a rough column about five fingers high, with straight sides and flat circular ends. Char marks covered the top end. “Is it the pathway?”
“More like the door that opens the pathway.”
Julian groaned and started to sink toward the ground.
Justine caught him, readjusting her grip with both arms to keep him in place. She glanced at the herbs. “Break some off and place them on top of the stone.”
I did as she bid, then used a candle to light them. Red embers came to life, danced across the dried leaves and twigs. The fragrant smoke filled my nose, urging me toward the Otherworld.
My aunt maneuvered Julian’s arms to the top of the chest. “Take his hands. He’s so weak, he may need your help to cross over.”
“Aren’t you coming with us?” I looked at her closely, just now realizing that she hadn’t changed from her gown. This alone would not have barred her from the Otherworld. But shoes and stockings were forbidden in Brigid’s garden.
Justine shook her head. “Would that I could, but there are too many rough folks downstairs for my comfort. With James gone, someone needs to keep an eye on your bodies while your spirits are in the Otherworld.”
“Then you should go,” I protested, uncomfortable with the idea of being alone in the garden with Julian. “I can keep an eye on things.”
She looked at me for a moment. “When was the last time you crossed over?”
“Just over a week ago, the same night you were at All Hallows.”
“And how many people did you heal at the theater after the riot?”
The actual number slipped my mind. “A lot.”
Her mouth pursed in worry. “You’re going now because there’s no telling when we’ll have another opportunity. I’m no longer tied to the spring to renew my power, and only cross when I need time away from the human world.”
“But—”
“We need you at full strength, Selah, as much for yourself as for everyone else involved. Consider the consequences if one of us fell sick or were mortally wounded, and you lacked the adequate power to fuel your gift?”
Any further arguments died on my tongue. Under such a scenario, there would be no choice but to rob my soul to feed another. I had done that once before, and nearly died in the process.
Biting my lower lip, I took Julian’s hands. His skin felt cold and clammy, and he offered no respo
nse at the pressure of my fingers around his. I looked at Justine, panicked. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You’ll be fine, Selah. Just keep hold of his hands no matter what.”
I bobbed my head in a frantic nod and tightened my grip.
“We should be far enough away from London by now, but just in case, stay out of sight until you’re sure no one else is there. Cate knows I have the stone and that your power is low, so if you do get pulled through All Hallows, there’s a good possibility she’ll be waiting to pounce the moment you show yourself.”
Smoke stung my eyes. “What can she do to me?” I was a grown woman after all, and had every right to run away on a dangerous quest if I wanted to.
“I’m not sure exactly, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew a way to trap your spirit in the Otherworld long enough to reach Bristol to claim your body.”
Well, that would be a cheap trick indeed.
Julian groaned again, and Justine struggled to keep him aright.
“It’s time to go,” she said. “Recite the words, and then pray to God that the stone pulls you to Wales or Ireland.”
Anxiety thumped in my chest as habit moved my lips. Brigid Buadach, Buaid na fine, Siur Rig nime, Nar in duine, Eslind luige, Lethan breo. Riar na n-oiged, Oibel ecnai, Ingen Dubthaig, Duine uallach, Brigid buadach, Brigid buadach.
Twice more, I raced over the Gaelic words. The room began to waver in and out of view, and for the first time in my life, I dreaded what may be waiting on the other side.
Chapter Five
The Weight of a Soul
Darkness came first, so complete I didn’t know whether my eyes were opened or closed. Nothing moved. Silence flooded my ears. Distance lost its meaning, and for all I knew, we could have been standing in something the size of a cupboard. Or in the limitless regions that existed between the worlds. Even time seemed to stop. I flexed my fingers, realizing the feel of Julian’s hands was my last hold on reality, the one reason I knew I still existed beyond my own mind.
Where are we?
It had to be the pathway. And from what Justine said earlier, it must now be reaching out to either the nearest or the strongest sidhe.
Please not London... Please not London...
The darkness quivered. Even blind, I knew the space had just taken form, similar to a tunnel. Then a breath of air grabbed us, pulled us forward into what felt like a giant yawn. Light flashed, illuminating a stone altar. It looked familiar though somewhat hazy, and the usual rectangular lines stretched to strange proportions. I blinked again, and it was gone, vanishing just as quickly as it had first appeared.
The darkness returned, and Brigid’s fire ignited like a torch in my center. No longer bound by my physical body, my soul moved toward the Otherworld, drawn home to the place of its birth. I submitted, expecting at any moment to be enveloped in the garden’s protective mist, when my arms snapped taut as though tethered to an anchor. My grip faltered, and I scrabbled to keep a hold of Julian.
“Don’t let go!” Justine’s frantic voice echoed, thin and far away.
I squinted at the dim light that flickered deep inside Julian, just enough to give a shadowy outline to his form. His head hung forward. His bare feet dangled in midair. In truth, he looked no more than a specter, and a greatly diminished one at that.
Understanding came quickly. Having traversed the pathway, he now lacked the power to cross over. The Otherworld continued to beckon, pulling against Julian’s dead weight, and I was soon caught in a contest between the two.
Ballocks! Justine had told me not to let go, but that presupposed I had a choice. What would happen if my grip failed? Would Julian return to his body at the inn, or be stuck here between the worlds? This last thought terrified me most, of Julian drifting aimlessly in the darkness like a rudderless ship.
The Otherworld grew more persistent, and my hands started to slip.
“Help him!” Justine cried.
In a fit of panic, I sent a burst of fire straight into Julian. He jerked, and I clenched my hands tighter around his. The light momentarily grew stronger inside him, followed by the slightest movement. Sending another burst, I pulled for all I was worth. This time the Otherworld grabbed hold, propelling us forward. The darkness shifted to a familiar mist. Relief flashed through me, intense and short-lived as my feet touched the ground a split second before I found myself yanked off balance.
A sudden impact jarred my teeth together. The mist settled over me like a thick blanket, playing havoc with my senses. Disoriented, I stayed absolutely still except for the unsteady breaths that passed through my nose. Dirt scratched at my bare legs and feet, while something just as solid yet infinitely softer pressed against my cheek. With a tentative hand, I started to pat the area around me, freezing the moment my fingers curled around well-formed biceps.
A gasp hit the back of my throat. I had landed atop Julian, who was sprawled on his back, apparently unaware of his part in breaking my fall. The whole of my torso rested on his, and under different circumstances I would have given more thought to the close contact, and how we were separated by nothing more than two thin pieces of linen.
I lifted my face from his chest and strained my ears for any hint of sound. A full minute must have passed before I glanced back at Julian. The mist clouded his face, but from such a close distance I could see that his eyes were closed.
“Julian,” I whispered.
He didn’t respond.
“Julian!” The whisper turned to a frantic hiss.
Nothing.
I shook his shoulder to no avail. The man was dead to the world.
Bugger. Scooting off him, I stood and moved the few steps to where the grass began. Life seeped into my feet, vibrant yet significantly older than the garden linked to my home in the Colonies. The very air throbbed with ancient power, just like the garden at All Hallows.
My thoughts spun to Cate, and it took every bit of control not to run. Julian will never make it back, I reminded myself. And Justine would be well put out if I just left him here in the mist.
With a slow breath, I forced myself to consider the facts. The garden may have felt like the one I had recently visited, but that alone did not make it the same. To be sure, most of the sidhes in England and Ireland would have a similar feel, as they were opened centuries, if not millennia ago. At more than one hundred miles from London, chances were we had linked through Wales, or been pulled across the Irish Sea.
The notion calmed me somewhat. Steeling my nerves, I dug my toes into the ground and leaned forward to see past the mist. Trees and flowering plants came into view along the garden’s edge. Thick grass carpeted the interior, and a cloudless sky stretched overhead. Brigid’s fire pulsed through it all, rendering the colors more vivid and the scents richer than anything I had ever experienced in the mortal world.
A small spring gurgled near the center, with a silver cup nestled on its grassy bank. Sunlight dappled the surface, reflecting from the one source that could restore Julian, so long as I could get him to drink.
Narrowing my eyes, I did a slow survey of the perimeter for any signs of life or flash of white amongst the vegetation. I even closed my eyes to better listen for the smallest noise. Everything appeared as it should, at the peak of life and entirely void of other goddess born. Satisfied, I turned to retrace the few steps, dreading the prospect of dragging Julian all the way to the spring.
The mist immediately thickened, and I moved with extra caution so as not to trip over him. One delicate step followed another, and then another when the toes of one foot snagged on what felt like Julian’s shoulder. Raising my sheath to mid-thigh, I squatted behind him and patted blindly around in search of his armpits to secure a hold. Using my legs for leverage, I hoisted his upper body off the ground and stepped backward, heaving him with me.
W
e made it all of ten steps before my arms gave out. With a grunt, I sank to the grass, catching Julian’s head in my lap at the last second. Dark curls fell across my face in a disheveled mess. I tossed them back and wiped an arm across my forehead, rather amazed by the thin layer of sweat when my physical body was untold miles away in Bristol.
Glancing behind me, I cursed at the distance that remained to the spring. Stripped of his body, Julian should have been light as air. So why did it feel like I’d been hauling a sack of bricks around? My current form could have had some bearing, being spirit as well. Or had my physical expectations somehow joined me in the Otherworld?
I looked back at Julian to find his olive coloring leached away. “We’re almost there,” I murmured, brushing the hair from his eyes.
My hand froze as I stared unblinking at the raven black strands that fanned out against my skin. Grappling for a reason—any reason—to explain the darker color, my eyes popped when the lines of his face began to waver, the forehead broadening and his jaw becoming misshapen.
A startled cry broke from me. The face belonged to Julian, and yet not. He appeared a distortion of himself, sapped of strength and unable to hold even his spirit together.
Shoving my cape beneath his head, I jumped to my feet and raced to the spring before he wavered to the point of disappearing. Water sloshed over the edge of the silver cup in my haste back, soaking my hands by the time I knelt next to Julian and lifted his head up. His lips were already parted, and I tilted the cup to bring a small trickle of water to his mouth.
It dribbled out, spilling from the corners and over his bottom lip.
Oh, no, no, no...
Panic welled up inside me. I tipped the cup once more, and a scream gathered in my throat when the water dribbled out. In a matter of seconds, the remaining color left his skin, reminding me all too much of a corpse.
“Come on, Julian. Don’t be so stubborn.”
I stared at him so hard my eyes hurt. Nothing happened, despite my hope that a few drops had found a way to his core. Desperation took hold, and my fingers twitched to be of use, though my gift was intended to heal physical bodies, not fill depleted souls. But it had worked in the passageway between, surely it would be enough to help him swallow.
