Deep Magic

by Joy Nash

  “Of course, if that’s what ye want.”

  “It’s not. What I want is for Breena’s visions to disappear and never come back.” He’d halted. His expression was sober—his love for his sister was plain.

  Her chest squeezed a little. “I wish I could grant ye that wish, Marcus. But I cannot. Visions are sent by the Great Mother, and stop only when the Seer fulfills the Mother’s purpose. But I’ll do my best to ease Breena’s pain.”

  He sighed. “I hope with all my heart that you succeed.”

  Trevor looked as bad as Rhys felt. Which was very bad indeed.

  Rhys met the Caledonian at the rendezvous point they’d agreed upon earlier, a sheltered bit of cove in the river gorge below the Roman camp. Hefin perched on a large outcropping of rock, preening his feathers; Rhys hunkered just below, a large boulder at his back. One glance at the grim set of Trevor’s jaw told Rhys all he needed to know: Trevor had not found any sign of Gwen’s trail, either.

  The northerner ran a hand over his blond beard as he dropped to a crouch next to Rhys. “Nothing.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the Roman camp. “Did ye—”

  “She has not been taken.”

  “And ye know this for a fact?”

  “Aye. Do not ask me how.” He let out a long breath. “But I am afraid of what she is about. Gwen is not the most cautious of women, and this sorcerer’s magic is great.”

  Trevor’s eyes were troubled. “I feel his Deep Magic, and his Darkness, probing the mist.”

  “Aye.” Rhys felt it, too, in his bones, and it troubled him greatly. Gwen’s words played in his mind. What if the Light is not enough? Whatever she was about, he was sure it involved Deep Magic. Worry put a bitter taste in the back of his mouth.

  There was a brief silence.

  “I canna believe she left without a word,” Trevor said. “Strabo’s magic much affects Cyric. If his hold on the mist slips, Avalon will need Gwen to act as Guardian.”

  Rhys stood abruptly. “If Cyric cannot hold the mist, I will.” He was, after all, the only other Druid who could do so. As Gwen knew. If he hadn’t been home, she would never have left.

  Trevor gave a nod. Rhys felt like a fraud. No one on Avalon knew it—Rhys did not wish to risk panic in the village—but a good portion of Rhys’s power was already given to bolstering Cyric’s spell. Soon after Gwen’s disappearance, Cyric’s hold on the mist had failed.

  “Gwen?” He reached for her again with his mind. He came up against the spellforms she’d erected to keep him out.

  When he spoke, he did not know if the anger in his voice was directed at Gwen, or at himself. “When I find my sister, she will have much to answer for.”

  “ ’Tis partly my fault, perhaps. I pressed her too hard. She doesna want the handfasting Cyric has requested for us.”

  “That’s not true. She’s just …” Afraid, Rhys wanted to say, but that would not be right. When had Gwen ever been afraid of anything? “She needs more time to accustom herself to the idea of marriage.” When Trevor did not reply, he added, “She respects ye greatly.”

  “Respect isna love. Or even desire.”

  A movement from Hefin caught Rhys’s eye. With a squawk, the merlin rose into the air. At the same time, Rhys caught sight of a raft gliding over the still waters of the swamp.

  “Someone is coming. And rapidly, too.”

  Trevor stood. “Who?”

  Rhys cast his senses toward Hefin and received a mental image in return. “Why, ’tis Penn.”

  The gangly, dark-haired adolescent was much changed from the dirty urchin Rhys had discovered scrounging for edible garbage in the roughest quarter of Londinium seven winters before. His gaze narrowed as Penn poled his raft frantically, jumping off before the craft had even reached the shore.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Cyric,” Penn gasped.

  Trevor caught the raft’s pole before it sank into the swamp. “What of him, lad?”

  “He’s raving. In the midst of a vision. No one can calm him, not even Mared. Even Owein can barely restrain him.”

  “Impossible,” Rhys exclaimed. “Why, Owein outweighs Cyric four times over!”

  “ ’Tis true. Mared says … she says ’tis not Cyric’s spirit inside his body.” The lad gulped a lungful of air. “She says Cyric is possessed.”

  If Gwen had been sleeping, she would not have heard the muffled thud.

  She sat bolt upright in her unfamiliar Roman bed, all her senses abruptly focused on the noise. It had come from the bedchamber next to hers. Breena’s. But now all was silent.

  Another moment passed. Nothing. She started to ease back down onto the cushions when frantic scuffling launched her into action. Leaping from her bed, she ran into the passageway and yanked open Breena’s closed door.

  “Breena? What … Oh, Great Mother!”

  She flew into the small room. Breena lay on the tiled floor, gasping, alarmingly close to the glowing coals in the brazier. A length of linen was wound about her neck. Gwen’s hands shook as she fought to loosen the sheet. The lass’s face was deathly pale, her lips tinged blue. If Gwen had been sleeping …

  Finally—finally—she managed to yank the linen free. Breena gasped, her spine arching as her lungs filled. Gwen breathed an answering sigh of relief.

  It was only then that Gwen became aware of something exceedingly odd. The wolf’s drain on her powers had ended some hours earlier. Her senses were tingling now. She focused on Breena’s aura. It was not, as she might have expected, the pure white of a Seer, but an odd shade of silver. Gwen had never seen magic that color before. A shiver chased down her spine.

  Deep Magic or Light?

  Sprawled on the floor beside Breena, Gwen gathered the lass in her arms. Her young body was rigid, her face etched with pain. Incredibly, Breena was still asleep.

  “Wake, love. Ye are safe now.”

  Breena’s eyes fluttered open. She stared straight ahead, but Gwen could tell she saw nothing of her bedchamber.

  “No … no!” Breena’s arm flailed, landing a solid blow to Gwen’s left ear. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to See …”

  I don’t want to See … Gwen understood all too well—given a choice, no Seer would choose his talent. Looking into the future was often more curse than gift.

  “Come back to me, Breena.” Gwen smoothed a damp lock of red hair from the lass’s forehead.

  A measure of lucidity returned to Breena’s eyes, though her pupils remained dilated and locked in pain. She clutched at her head, gripping her hair so tightly Gwen feared she would uproot a clump of it.

  “Oh gods, it hurts.” Tears squeezed from beneath Breena’s eyelids; she rocked back and forth like a child. “This is the worst it’s ever been. It feels like someone has used one of Marcus’s hammers to crack open my skull.”

  Gwen could believe it. She’d witnessed the pain of Cyric’s visions all her life. In the past year, the pain Owein endured with his Seer’s power had spurred Gwen to craft a unique combination of Words and Light to ease his pain.

  She laid her hand on Breena’s head. The lass’s pain and terror spiked through her, along with a sense of deep and despairing helplessness. The odd silver aura shimmered. There was no Darkness in it, Gwen was relieved to note. But its essence remained a mystery to her.

  She spoke the Words and sent Light streaming into Breena’s body. “Breathe,” she commanded gently. “Slowly.”

  Breena gave a small nod. Her chest expanded and contracted with a shudder.

  “That’s it, love. Now—”

  There was movement in the doorway. Gwen gave an inward groan as terror snapped back into Breena’s eyes and a spasm wracked her body. Rhiannon cried out, rushing into the room. Gwen held up a hand. “Stay back. Just for a moment. Please.”

  Rhiannon hovered uncertainly, her mother’s instinct at odds with Gwen’s sharp command. The reprieve would not last long. Working swiftly, Gwen poured Light into Breena’s mind.
r />   The lass’s magic responded. Her power was vast and untapped, as Rhys had said. Its intensity was almost frightening, even for Gwen, whose own power was considerable. ’Twas a heavy burden. Breena would have no choice but to come to terms with it, despite Marcus’s wish it would just go away.

  Little by little, Breena relaxed in Gwen’s arms. Gwen gazed down at her pale, freckled face, aware of a startling rush of protectiveness. She was so young. Too young for this.

  By the time Breena had gone completely slack in her arms, two more figures crowded the doorway—Marcus and Lucius. Both men held their bodies taut, ready to defend. Their combined energy—so potent and so male—sliced at Gwen’s frayed senses.

  The wolf, scenting the challenge, raised its head.

  Great Mother, nay! Not here, not now. Desperately, Gwen fought to drive the beast back, enduring a brief, tense moment when she did not know if her spell would succeed. Then, to her immense relief, the wolf settled its snout on its paws and closed its eyes.

  The breath left her lungs in a trembling rush.

  She took a moment to collect herself, then raised her head and looked up at Breena’s anxious family. Marcus caught her gaze at once, his dark eyes intense with an expression that caused her a rush of sharp, irrational fear. Had he sensed the wolf? Nay, she was thinking nonsense. He had no magic. It was not possible he could know her inner struggle.

  “She’s all right now,” she said in a shaky whisper. “The vision has passed.”

  Rhiannon started to sink to her knees, but Lucius stepped forward and caught her arm. “Let me,” he murmured. Bending, he lifted Breena to the bed.

  Rhiannon sank down on the mattress. Lucius moved to stand behind her while Marcus lit a lamp. “It is a long while since she’s been visited by a vision,” Rhiannon whispered, pressing the back of her hand to her daughter’s forehead. “I hoped … I prayed her Sight would not return.”

  Gwen, rising, exchanged a glance with Marcus. He went to Rhiannon’s side and placed his hand on her shoulder. His expression was pained. “Breena’s visions returned a month ago. She didn’t want to tell you and Father.”

  Rhiannon’s head came up. “Ye knew all that time, Marcus? And ye kept it from us?”

  Marcus remained silent. Rhiannon clasped Breena’s limp hand and then turned fearful eyes to Gwen. “Are ye sure the magic did not harm her?”

  “Aye,” Gwen hastened to assure her. “She’s but resting from the ordeal.”

  “I’ll sit with her.” Rhiannon’s eyes said clearly she wanted to be alone with her daughter.

  Gwen let out an unsteady breath as she preceded the men from the room. Once in the passageway, she examined Marcus more closely. He was still dressed in the shirt and braccas he’d worn at dinner, but now they were tinged with soot. Grime streaked his tanned face. His black hair was disheveled, his jaw shadowed by a day’s worth of stubble. He’d not been sleeping, any more than she.

  She could not stop herself from staring. His shirt, dark with sweat beneath his powerful arms, clung to his torso, outlining every cord of muscle. The laces at the garment’s neckline were untied, revealing a triangle of black, curling hair. Gwen’s belly clenched. No man on Avalon was so dark, so exotically foreign. So beautiful in his masculinity. A curious emptiness gnawed at her stomach.

  Lucius closed the door to Breena’s chamber. “What happened?” he asked tightly.

  Gwen made a helpless gesture. “I hardly know. I heard a noise. I found her in the grip of a vision. She was on the floor, thrashing.”

  “It might have been just a nightmare.” Marcus’s tone carried no conviction.

  “I think we all know it was not,” Lucius said. Worry shadowed his face, making him look older than his years. He turned to Gwen. “How were you able to calm her? Rhiannon has never been able to, not in the midst of a vision.”

  “I … ’tis hard to describe.” Gwen was aware Marcus was watching her closely. “Most simply put—I spoke Words of magic and sent Light into her mind. When she calmed, the vision dissolved.”

  “Was this the spell you described to me yesterday?” Marcus asked.

  “Similar, aye.”

  “The two of you have spoken of Breena’s visions?” Lucius interjected.

  “Yes. I asked Gwen to teach Breena to control her visions with magic. If the lessons are successful, she will not have to travel to Avalon.”

  “You can stop these visions?” Lucius demanded of Gwen.

  “Nay, that I cannot do. ’Tis not a vision sprung from Darkness, I am sure. Visions of Light and Deep Magic come from the Great Mother. No mortal can stop them. Breena’s vision will only cease when she understands the Great Mother’s message and acts to fulfill it.”

  “When will that be?” Lucius asked.

  Gwen rubbed her arms, suddenly aware of the chill in the unheated passageway. “I cannot say. Breena’s youth, her inexperience with magic, the intense pain she endures … all these things interfere with her ability to interpret her vision. I … can help her with the pain. I can teach her certain spellforms that will lessen the intensity of what she feels when the vision overtakes her. After that, she will need to find her own way to the Goddess’s will.”

  She could tell Marcus did not like her answer. It was not the neat solution he’d hoped for. It was, however, the only help she could offer. Better he understand that now.

  Lucius rubbed his jaw. “Rhys has long insisted that Breena can only be trained on Avalon.”

  Gwen spread her hands. “My brother and grandfather believe such strong magic should not be practiced away from Avalon.”

  “But you are willing to teach Breena here, in Isca?”

  “More than willing. No one so young should suffer so.”

  At that moment, Breena’s door opened. Rhiannon appeared in a sliver of lamplight. “She is awake. She wants ye, Lucius.”

  He nodded. “I will come in a moment.”

  Turning to Gwen, he pitched his voice low. Gwen sensed his reluctance to voice his need—he was not a man used to asking for help. “If you could ease my daughter’s suffering, I would be forever in your debt.”

  “I will do whatever I can.”

  Lucius searched her gaze, then nodded. “Thank you.”

  He disappeared into Breena’s room, leaving Gwen alone with Marcus.

  “It was worse than what you led my parents to believe, wasn’t it?”

  Marcus watched Gwen’s face closely as she weighed her response to his question. He recognized the exact moment when she decided to tell him the truth. Her shoulders slumped a little. Her eyes, troubled as they were, did not avoid his gaze.

  He was struck again by the sheer improbability of her presence in his house. She was standing so near, dressed in one of Breena’s sleeping tunics. The garment was too wide and too short for her. The hem fell well above her ankles, drawing his gaze to her bare feet. Her white-blond hair was unbound. It fell to her waist like untethered moonlight.

  “Aye, ’twas much worse. When I found her, the bedsheet was twisted about her neck and her lips were blue.”

  “Pollux.” Marcus experienced a wave of pure terror. “If you hadn’t been sleeping nearby …” He couldn’t finish the thought. His fingers clenched; he felt like striking something. “This is my fault. I should have listened to Rhys. I should have sent her to Avalon.”

  “Ye could not have known.” She reached out, as if to touch his arm, then at the last moment seemed to think better of it. “Ye did what ye thought best, out of love. And Avalon is hardly the safest haven right now.”

  “I appreciate your saying that, even if it’s only to ease my conscience. Thank the gods you heard her in time. Did she cry out?”

  “Nay. It was most strange. She did not utter a sound until I called her from her trance. If she hadn’t fallen from her bed, and if I hadn’t been lying awake, I would have heard nothing. Perhaps the Great Mother was watching over her after all.”

  “I can only hope that’s true.” Marcus unclenc
hed his fist and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “She is fine, Marcus. Tomorrow I will begin her lessons. And I’ll stay in her room at night, until I am sure she has mastered them.”

  “You would do that?”

  “Of course.”

  He exhaled. “Thank you.” He looked at her more closely, taking note of the dark circles under her eyes.

  “You were awake? I’m surprised. During supper, you all but fell asleep atop a plate of cod.”

  “If I had done so, the sauce would have awakened me,” Gwen said wryly. “My tongue burned unmercifully after eating that. What was in it? I dared not ask, for fear of offending Rhiannon.”

  Marcus chuckled. “It’s liquamen. Fermented from anchovies, brine, and salt. We Romans pour it on everything. Rhiannon did not like it much at first either.”

  “And now she does?” Gwen asked dubiously.

  “She tolerates it.” He sobered. “Why couldn’t you sleep? Was the room too cool? The mattress uncomfortable?”

  “Nay, not at all! The fault was mine. I often have trouble sleeping. ’Tis a problem that’s plagued me ever since …” Her voice trailed off.

  “Since?”

  She drew breath. “Since the night ye and Rhys rescued me.”

  “Then it seems we share an affliction. I haven’t slept much since that night, either.”

  Her startled gaze met his. He watched her wonder whether or not to pursue the opening he’d given her. Apparently the answer was no, because she half turned to her chamber door. “I should try again to sleep.”

  The wise course would have been to let her go. But somehow, he couldn’t. “No. Please. Stay with me.”

  She turned back, brows raised. He summoned an easy smile. “Why should you go back to bed? After all that’s happened, you won’t sleep tonight, any more than I will. Surely the ceiling beams aren’t that fascinating.”

  She hesitated. “Just what do ye propose I do instead?”

  “Talk to me,” he said promptly. “But not here.”

  He extended a hand, but she did not take it. “Where?”