“Anduron?” Gladys asked.
Jenna shrugged. “I suppose I should name him after the hero who saved my grandmother and inspired his rescue.” She blinked at the woman’s suspicious expression. “We have to call him something. The name’s just temporary.”
“Uh-huh,” Gladys said with open suspicion. “Well, he’s a little cutie.” She crouched in front of the cage to offer a finger. The dog waddled over to sniff and lick it, wagging its tail so hard it almost knocked him off balance. “A puppy like him will find its way to a good family in no time.” She glanced up. “If Anduron still needs one, that is.”
Jenna raised her chin. “I’m not keeping him.”
Gladys chuffed. “Right.”
“Nothing else needs to be decided now,” the vet said. “But since he doesn’t have an appointment, our new friend will have to wait.” He headed for the door and paused. “I could use those hands, Jenna. The Doberman in Room Five has a date with a tumor biopsy.”
Gladys picked up the cage. “I’ll put him in the kennel room. At least he’ll have some company.”
“Leave him in his own cage,” Jenna said, trailing the woman. “He’ll feel more secure. I’ll be in there to check on him soon.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Jenna accompanied the vet into the room where a Doberman and his anxious owner were waiting. She dove into her work, her thoughts turning time and again to Anduron—both the canine and not-quite-human versions, if she were being honest. But most of her attention went to the dog, who cried enough between patients that she kept returning to his cage to pet and reassure him. Her mind drifted to the other animals she hadn’t rescued, though she tried not to. Maybe Dr. Saunders was right about not being able to save them all, but her stomach twisted as she tried not to consider what would become of them.
She called Quinn at the rescue shelter and told him about Anduron. She trusted the shelter owner with discretion, so she admitted the truth about how she obtained the puppy. After taking down the information, Quinn swore fealty and agreed to look for a home. Gran was also on her mind, though she forced herself to wait a while before calling to check on her. The woman needed rest, not a phone jangling her already frail nerves. She’d been in good spirits when they spoke, and the woman couldn’t stop gushing over Anduron. He had certainly made an impression on her—and admittedly, Jenna as well. He was gorgeous and brave—and apparently not human. How had he vanished? One minute he’d been there, every muscular inch of him, his lips sampling hers. Then he’d just dissolved. She never would have believed it had Gran not seen it too. Maybe she’d been right about him. Maybe Anduron was a wingless, funny-eared guardian angel.
After the clinic was closed and the puppy had been fed and declared healthy, she grabbed the cage and a few temporary supplies. All the way home, she talked to the dog about plans for getting him situated, and about the permanent family he would have someday soon. She tightened her grip on the wheel and pressed the gas harder when they passed by the factory, trying not to imagine the animals who hadn’t fared as well as Anduron.
Once inside the cozy guest house behind her grandmother’s place, she let the dog out of its cage to explore his temporary lodging. With a smile, Jenna wondered to herself where Anduron had gone, and what he would think if he found out she’d named a wriggling, pink-tongued ball of uncoordinated energy after him.
***
“No one cares to understand why I did it,” Anduron said, pacing back and forth in the antechamber. “All they want to do is debate the many ways in which my actions have become a grave inconvenience.”
“On the contrary,” Feillor said. “I understand all too well.” His twin brother stood leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He pushed away and stepped into Anduron’s current flight path. “I remember the years you were gone like it just happened. Those memories have never faded.”
Anduron stopped and eyed him. “You never speak of that time. Not to me.”
“Nor to anyone, really.” Feillor sucked in a deep breath. “We were the closest of kin. We shared our mother’s womb. When you were taken and held captive to punish our father, I felt the loss of you as strongly as if I had torn off a limb. Indeed, they were the longest years of my existence.”
Anduron swallowed. “And mine as well.”
The time of his captivity never left him, not fully. It cloaked him like a shadow, and there were phases where the memory hung over every day of his life, sometimes over every breath he took. The bone-wrenching cold had taken years to shake off, and from time to time, he experienced those shivers once more. Then there had been the hunger, sucking the strength from him, draining his very marrow. He wasted away to a shriveled, skinny boy who could barely fathom standing on his knock-kneed legs, much less manage an escape. He was starving and devoid of hope, but as an immortal, unable to die. And he had been alone. A twin from his time in the womb, he had been torn from everyone.
“I tried to reach out to you so many times,” Anduron said, rubbing a hand over his arm to ward off a sudden sense of chill.
“And I you. Sometimes I could feel you, and I knew you still lived. Beyond that, our contact with one another had been severed.”
“Because of the magics used in keeping me hidden. Even the bond of twins was not sufficient to overcome it.”
“Until the end.” Feillor’s eyes blazed with immortal fire. “Because we never stopped trying, the day came when our ties were able to break through the barrier and reveal your whereabouts.”
“Because you never stopped trying, you mean,” Anduron said. “I had all but given up until the human prisoner risked himself to bring down the barrier. Although it worked but for a short time, it was enough for us to reconnect. I vowed I would someday find a way to help humans who had been imprisoned, just as that man did for me.”
“Hence why Father decreed that when you came of age, you would become the keeper of Mabon. Although I wondered for a time whether he did so only to quiet you on the matter. I was pleased that he kept his word, though the appointment did not come without some outcry over your plan to meddle with humans.”
Anduron nodded. “And here we are again, awaiting my chastisement for performing my duties in a manner not pleasing to the Counsel.”
“Nor to many of the nobles in the immortal realm, I fear,” Feillor said. “I, too, have recently found myself at odds with the will of the Counsel. Yet I remain standing.”
“And how is your woman? Does Salina fare well?”
“She does. Many mornings I find her with mild distress, and she will not eat until it quells. But I am told that is normal during the early stages of her condition.”
“I am to be an uncle,” Anduron said. “It did not occur to me that such a thing would ever happen.”
“Nor I. But I admit, it is something I had privately wished for.”
“Then I am happy for you.”
“Truly? For you seemed a bit rattled when I returned from my time in the earth realm with word that Salina and I had become more than sabbat partners.”
“I was, at first. After all our talk of not letting love sneak in and disrupt our sabbats, your news was...unsettling. You especially were adamant that you would not fall for a human woman.”
Feillor shot him a guilty grin. “Things change.”
“Indeed they do. For you,” he added quickly.
One of the acolytes, Jorush, entered the chamber, halting further discussion. “My lord,” he said, his head bowed overmuch. “The Counsel will see you now.”
“Are you speaking to me or to your feet?” Anduron asked, a wry grin sliding up his face. “We have talked about this, Jorush. You will earn a hump in your spine if you do not learn to manage your posture.”
The lad straightened somewhat. “Forgive me, my lord. The Counsel...”
“Yes, they wish to see me.”
Feillor gripped his arm. “Shall I accompany you, little brother?”
Anduron smiled. Technically, he
was older by a matter of ten minutes. But once he returned from his capture, withered and smaller than his thriving twin, he was referred to as the “little” brother. Although this had more to do with Feillor’s protective tendencies, adopting the role of “big” brother after Anduron’s return. Many nights had he huddled under a blanket, hiding from past demons. Feillor would push his way underneath the covers and stay with him, offering reassurance.
“I do not think the situation is quite so dire,” Anduron said. “Go, Feillor. See to the comfort of your pregnant mate. I am certain that is a far better use of your time.”
“Call upon me if you require assistance,” he said, pulling a veil pendant out from within the neck of his tunic. “Or merely to let off steam afterwards. You will likely have need of it.”
He phased out of the realm, no doubt headed to earth to be at his lover’s side. Anduron followed Jorush, who was bowed so far down it appeared he might fall over, into the room he dreaded most. The inner counsel chamber was larger than any others in the Counsel of Sabbats. A large pentagram of the finest mother-of-pearl was inlaid in the middle of the marble floor, and he stood dutifully on the belly of star as was expected of one who had been summoned. He had dressed for the occasion in harvest-themed attire to remind the counsel that they would be addressing a sabbat keeper, god of the pagan thanksgiving. His robes were of fine linen, woven in shades of rust and orange. On his head he wore a circlet fashioned from fresh pumpkin vines that were trimmed in gold leaf.
The round chamber was lined by two long half circles of seating, the upper row stationed higher to afford all an equal view. One side was meant for the occasional dignitaries or other visitors deemed worthy to sit in on official business, which did not happen often. The other side was for the counsel. For most matters, the full complement of eight members did not meet. Two or three could make routine decisions, provided one was the representative of the sabbat being addressed. Yet here, now, all eight were staring at him as he entered. Rathmar, the officiating counselor of Mabon, looked particularly dour, his narrow, green-gray eyes following Anduron as he made his entrance. Even more surprising was the ninth member. Herne sat in a large seat of honor resembling a gold-inlaid throne. He rose when Anduron walked in.
“Father,” Anduron said, clasping his hands in front of him. “I did not expect to see you here.”
“You should have expected it the moment you acted on a foolish whim,” he replied. “Surely you realize what a serious matter you have created.”
“It need not,” Anduron said, glancing around at the assortment of robed men, most wearing beards and sour expressions. “The time of Mabon is upon us. I already had the key.”
“But you selected the offering on your own,” said Counselor Rathmar. “Regardless of the timing, this cannot be overlooked.”
“And for that I already have a solution,” Anduron said. “I can merely appeal to the witness, explain why my actions were necessary.”
“Were they?” Veramus, Counselor of Samhain, asked.
“The woman was crying for help,” Anduron replied, meeting dispassionate gazes every which way he turned. “What was I to do, turn my back and leave her to harm when I had the key in my possession?”
“Humans are harmed every day,” his father said, turning to address the group. “Their entire existence has become little more than a cry for help.”
“Herne is right,” Veramus said. “When the people of earth turned their backs on the old ways and attempted to seal the veil, the decision was made to limit our interference in their affairs.”
“Out of spite,” Anduron said. “Out of a time of anger long ago.”
“Out of acknowledgment of their wishes,” Herne countered. “Now, the need to guard our involvement reaches well beyond adhering to laws set in the distant past. Most humans no longer even believe in the gods of old. Nor are they ready to discover the truth.”
“There would be panic and destruction,” Counselor Munsola said. He was the officiate of Lammas, Feillor’s sabbat. “And we do not need a repeat of the events that nearly destroyed the veil—along with our worlds.”
“Humans have a belief that those who play god get burned,” Herne added. “That applies just as equally to immortals.” He pointed his staff at Anduron. “I know why you, of all my sons, would be spurred to act on behalf of someone who is being treated ill. But you cannot go around altering the fates of mortals on a whim. That is why you were named sabbat keeper and limited to the freeing of one soul per year.”
“Many in the realm do not feel humans should be involved in that gesture of freedom at all,” Sandovar said.
“Both realms must be represented in the rituals,” Anduron said. “Mortal and immortal, male and female. And it would be harder to earn an earth female’s consent to a carnal ritual celebrating the freedom of someone from an entirely different realm.” And in truth, humans required such help far more often—and as someone who had been saved by the act of a mortal, he felt he owed humans similar effort in return.
“Other females need no such enticement to bed a sabbat god,” Evenor, Counselor of Beltane, said. A dark glimmer sparked in his eyes. “It is enough that they are granted the sacred honor of joining with an immortal. Or do you suffer some physical lack that makes you feel inadequate?”
“Do not provoke the boy,” Herne said. “The issue at hand has nothing to do with the length and stamina of the sabbat keeper’s cock.” He shot Evenor a look. “Although I will tell you this,” he added, rudely grabbing at his genitals. “No son of mine has ever been accused of leaving a female unsatisfied.”
Anduron growled. “The ritual is more than a joining of bodies.” He turned to the counsel. “It requires meaning, something tangible beyond the sexual encounter. Dominus brings forth the Yule light. Devinmar returns equal power to bring forth the dark months. My own brother reaps the first harvest and breaks sacred bread with his partner. I bring in a harvest of a different sort.”
“If it is a harvest you’re after, bake the sabbat partner a holy pumpkin tart and be done with it,” Counselor Veramus said with an impatient wave of his hand. “There is no reason the ritual must include releasing a prisoner.”
A swell of impatience rose in Anduron’s throat. Would he forever have to answer the debate about his calling? “The sabbat is named after the god Mabon, or have you forgotten that? Mabon, son of Modron.”
“Yes, yes, he who was taken from his mother’s breast as an infant and held captive,” Counselor Sandovar said, stroking the long beard that rested on a stout belly. “He who became a champion for the unjustly imprisoned. Every immortal youth knows the tale, and everyone on this counsel understands why you feel particularly bound to that cause.” Sandovar, who was the officiate of Imbolc, stood up and leaned his hands on the curved table in front of him. “But that does not mean your ritual must include elements which are at best controversial. Sabbat keepers should not use their positions to further their own personal agenda. You serve the sabbat. It does not serve you.”
Anduron shook his head. “Perhaps it is your own agenda you seek to serve, using this slight bump to further your bias against my calling.”
“Slight bump?” Munsola asked. “Perhaps you forget that our prior involvement in human affairs once led us into civil war.”
“Some feel the ritual offering could be done differently, or symbolically only,” Evenor added. “Mabon was not only known for releasing prisoners, but freeing animals from traps and cages. Such might be a less...controversial way of honoring the sabbat.”
“Debatable,” said Sandovar.
Anduron stifled a sigh. There would be no winning. The matter of gods influencing human events provoked endless argument. But he didn’t need to change their philosophy right now. He just needed to fix what had already been done.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly to wash away his rising anger. “With the sabbat in two days, now is not the time to discuss the larger implications of the ritual. What
must be resolved now is how to proceed from where I have taken us. And as I have said, I have an answer. Let me return to the realm with all haste to speak with the chosen witness. I am confident she will ratify the selection of the offering, however it came about.”
The chamber grew silent, with several furtive glances tossed about.
“What?” Anduron put his fists on his hips.
The pause in reply stretched too long.
“Why is that a problem?” he persisted.
“There is no witness,” Counselor Rathmar said.
“Of course there is a witness. She was selected by all of you. I was on my way to her location when this situation came about.”
“A location that steered you off course,” Rathmar said. “We believe the reason your pendant malfunctioned was because of what happened to the witness.”
“There was an unfortunate accident,” Counselor Veramus said. “The witness has perished.”
Anduron blinked. “Dead?”
Sandovar nodded. “When that happened, when her essence was no longer palpable on earth, your attempt to phase to her location went awry.”
Anduron blinked. “How was something like that not foreseen? Do you not consult with the Fates before confirming your chosen mortal?”
Rathmar nodded. “We did.”
“And?”
“And officially,” Herne replied, “we have no idea why the Fates either overlooked or omitted the witness’s imminent demise.” His eyes glittered through narrowed slits as he looked at his son. “Nor can we seem to summon them to explain the error. The Fates are conveniently away in the outer realms. Although I am fair certain that they are not out of touch with us, even if they choose for us to be out of touch with them.”
Anduron folded his arms and gaped at his father. “Why would they do this? To see the ruin of the sabbat?”
“I cannot say exactly,” Herne replied, “but we all know the Fates have had a rather singular purpose during this year of the Thousand Seasons. I have little doubt that they somehow intended this as a way to toy with your personal desires.”
Anduron: God of Mabon (Sons of Herne, #7) Page 3
