The Mythean Arcana Box Set

by Linsey Hall

  “You reached her?” Ana asked.

  “Yeah. Took a while to convince her to share any info she finds, but she really wants that bow. I promised to try to retrieve it. She’s going to call in a favor with the witches, which I’ll have to pay, but they should be able to locate him. We’ll wait here until then.”

  “Okay.” Ana grabbed her clothes from where she’d set them on the chair, upsetting her quiver of arrows in the process. It tumbled to the floor and several arrows slid out. A flash of blue caught his eye, and he swooped down to pick up the quiver.

  He reached in to withdraw an old arrow that he hadn’t seen in millennia. He stared at it for a second, an odd feeling welling in his chest. Ana was watching him when he looked up. “You kept it?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  She looked away, tightening the robe around her throat, then shrugged.

  “Why’d you save this for two thousand years?” He found that the answer had suddenly become very important to him.

  Her eyes met his, exasperated. “What was I going to do? Shoot a god’s arrow? The god of war?”

  He gently grabbed the front of her robe and drew her to him. Her wide eyes met his as he said, “You’re that god now.”

  She shook her head, suddenly looking smaller than she ever had. “I wasn’t, Cam. I wanted to prove myself as a warrior, but not like that. You were the war god—I am a placeholder.”

  Placeholder. Because he’d run.

  “You did a good job,” he said, trying to imbue his words with enough truth that she’d believe him.

  She smiled. “I know. I’m good at whatever I put my mind to. I just wasn’t meant to be a goddess. I’m not cut out for that life.”

  He heaved a sigh, shook his head. “Neither was I.”

  “Sure you were.” She dragged him toward the bed and sat next to him, turning herself so that her knees pressed into his thigh. She reached out and stroked his cheek, and somehow that touch meant more than what they’d done in the darkened pub last night.

  “Maybe at first,” he said. “When I still acted like a god. But then I saw you. And everything changed. I became… different. I felt things.”

  “Maybe that’s not so bad.”

  He laughed, low and bitter. “It puts me halfway between god and mortal. I’m neither one, not fully.”

  Not as emotionless and stalwart as a god, capable of seeing things through without being swayed by emotion. It was a shitty way to live, but it was their way. Nor could he feel as strongly as mortals seemed to. Except where Ana was concerned.

  He had the suspicion that what he felt for her now, if he were mortal, would be something like what they called love. Yet it was just out of his reach.

  “What’d it feel like when you were a god? Just… nothing?” she asked.

  He frowned, his brow scrunched. “Before I met you, it’s like the world was in gray. Crisp and clear, so that I knew exactly what was going on and what I should do about it. Yet victory was hollow, so I never fully understood why I was the god of war. Then I saw you. Everything was in color suddenly, but blurred.” He could still remember how strange his chest had felt. As if his heart had actually registered something, though it was physiologically impossible.

  “Why do you think I was the one who made you feel emotion?”

  He dragged a hand through his hair, frowned. He’d barely known her then, but had seen something in her, something that drew him to her still.

  “I don’t know, but it’s what I’ve learned about you now, in the present, that has me feeling like I’m walking backward on a tightrope, desperately trying to reach the other side. Where you are.” And that the tightrope might snap at any moment, dropping him into the mess that they’d created of their lives.

  “I fucked up, Cam.” Her voice was raw. “Back then. I didn’t know what was going on. My confusion and fear all lead me to Otherworld. I’m sorry about that, for the position it put you in.”

  He picked up her wrist, and when she tried to jerk it free, he didn’t let go. He didn’t touch her scar or look at it, but he didn’t let go.

  “The other gods led you to Otherworld,” Cam said.

  Ana shivered. “They’d have killed my family. Going to Otherworld, as awful it was, saved them. They lived long lives, even if I didn’t get to see them. Now they’re in Otherworld, and they’re different. A shadow of their former selves. Like the gods. Emotionless.”

  “But at least they had their lives,” Cam said.

  ~~~

  Ana pushed the thought of her brothers away. It hurt too much to contemplate for very long. Instead, she asked, “What kind of Mythean did you become?”

  “When I realized that I couldn’t kill you, I knew I wasn’t fit for Otherworld. So I went to Druantia for the potion that turned me into a demigod.”

  “So you’re a demigod.”

  “Yeah. Not quite as strong as I was, but not dead either. The catch being that I could no longer use my bow. Which I hate like hell.”

  She nodded. That would have sucked. “But you must have loved earth when you arrived.”

  He frowned. “I didn’t know what to expect, and it was more than I ever could have imagined. I knew that something was wrong in Otherworld, and I ran. I did it to try to save you, but at the end of the day, I was running.”

  “I don’t—”

  “No, Ana. I was born with all the power of a god, and I ran. I could have stayed, tried to figure another way around our problem and done what I was born to do. But I didn’t. I haven’t lived the life I was supposed to.”

  “You came to earth, where you’ve done an enormous amount of good with your company.”

  “We’re trying to do an enormous amount of good. We haven’t actually done it yet. There’s a difference.”

  “Maybe not yet with this company, but you’ve been on earth two thousand years. This can’t be your first attempt.”

  He sighed. “It’s not. But they’re substitutes for what I should have been doing. I realize that now.”

  “No, you’ve done good here. We all have our paths to tread.”

  “And I didn’t tread mine. I should have stayed in Otherworld, served my time.” His eyes met hers, intensity shining within. “If we don’t find Logan Laufeyson, I’ll take your place.”

  “No, Cam—”

  “I care for you, damn it. I’ll not leave you to the fate I should have saved you from. After the half-life I’ve lead, after the fate I consigned you to in Otherworld, I don’t deserve you. The least I can do is save you from the fate I doomed you to.”

  “This fate did save me. Otherwise, I’d be like my family right now.” The thought of them sent a pang of pain through her chest. So old now, but still there. Their shadows haunted both Otherworld and her heart.

  “And you’ll have earth back, no matter how it has to happen,” he said.

  “No, Cam. I’ve grown pretty fond of you, too.” Understatement of the century. “Ditch me now and I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  He yanked her to him and kissed her hard, the press of his lips against hers making her head spin. The thought made her shudder. He’d be trapped in Otherworld, allowed to escape only a few times a year for an hour here or there. But it could be her fate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Highlands of Celtic Scotland, 634 BC

  Long before Camulos met Andrasta

  Anticipation sang through Druantia’s veins as she watched her disciples, the lesser Druids, prepare for the feast ahead. They laid out fruits and wine, turned great haunches of meat on spits, and hung the sacred mistletoe from oaks surrounding the clearing. Spirits were high, for such a party had never before been thrown in the mortal world.

  The sun would set within the hour, and then the gods would arrive. She shivered with excitement. But not with nerves. No, there was no reason to be afraid, for they would never anticipate what she had planned. Not a mere servant such as herself, she thought bitterly.

  “H
igh Priestess, the nymphs are here,” Alban said from behind her.

  Finally, they’d arrived. Druantia turned to see a bevy of beautiful young women and men. Tree nymphs, specifically of oak trees, called Dryads. And as such, they were under her direction. They came because their presence was requested. They’d do as she commanded because she willed it.

  “The gods will be joining us for our great feast this eve,” she said to them. She gestured to the food and wine behind her and glanced at the bodies of the beautiful Dryads. “We will welcome them to the earth, to taste of our bounty. Tonight there will be revelry such as they have never known.”

  And they would come. All of them. For the gods never could resist a pleasure. Ruled by their emotions, they were. Joy, greed, pride, jealousy.

  Tonight they would see all that she was capable of.

  “Go now.” She gestured to the clearing. “For they will be here soon, and we must be ready to welcome them.”

  The Dryads nodded, though not all their faces showed pleasure at the idea of what was to come. No matter. They would do as she commanded, because as the gods had control over her, she had control over the Dryads.

  When the last rays of the sun sank behind the horizon, the first god arrived from Otherworld. Cernowain, along with his boar. Before long, dozens of gods littered the clearing. Then three hundred of them, perhaps more. All the Celtic gods, even the ones worshiped by people from lands far away across the sea.

  They drank and ate and sang and caroused. Wine flowed as freely as rain, the scent of roasted meat filled the air, and the sound of revelry rang through the night.

  “You make amends.” The deep voice from behind sent a chill down her spine. Her hands and face stiffened to iron, but she forced herself to breathe deeply. To soften her features into repentance and docility.

  She turned to face Camulos. “But of course, god of war. For you are great and wise, and I wish for you to partake of all that the earth has to offer you.”

  He nodded, drank from the mug of wine, and surveyed the revelry. The energy in the air had grown frantic, joyous and sultry. It affected even her.

  “There are many pleasures to be had in our woods,” Druantia said. She pointed to a tree, under which sat a Dryad who wasn’t carousing as she should be. “There, she waits for you.”

  Camulos grinned, arrogant as ever, and walked off toward the Dryad, a pale thing with shining blond hair. Quite pretty, as they all were.

  With something dark boiling in her chest, Druantia watched him go. When he walked off into the forest with the Dryad, she turned to survey the rest of the festivities.

  Clothes had scattered, wine and food spilled all over the tables set in the clearing, and gods and Dryads danced to music played by a band of mortals from her village. A select few of the lesser Druids were here to see to the occasion. No doubt they thought she was actually making amends with the feast.

  She smiled. And waited. And watched. And as the dark grew deeper and the night grew later, the revelry became frantic and frenzied and wild. The energy that swirled in the air from the gods’ joy was palpable, throbbing to the beat of the drums that played faster and faster.

  They took such joy in this night. Such joy in their godhood, in their power. They loved and laughed and raged and fought. Were ruled by emotion, lived by it. So she would take from them that which they loved most.

  Their joy. And every other emotion that went with it. For humiliating her, for treating her like she was nothing, she would take from them. For lording their power over her, she would trap them in Otherworld. She’d instill in them the belief that if they were to leave, their home wouldn’t survive. They thought so highly of themselves, it wouldn’t take much of a spell to convince them that Otherworld’s very essence depended upon their presence. And with the gods stuck in Otherworld, she would truly be the only intermediary between gods and mortals. A true gutuatri, one who spoke to gods.

  She would be the only one to speak to the gods. And then only if she chose. The most powerful Druid to ever live.

  All with a single spell. And yet she was not stupid. One didn’t rise to the heights that she had by being stupid. No. She could not cast a spell upon the gods. For the only ones who could cast a spell upon the gods were the gods themselves. So she would make them cast a spell upon themselves.

  Druantia watched as the festivities reached a fevered pitch, as the wine and food and music went to the gods’ heads. She watched as the Dryads began to disrobe, to dance and touch and kiss the gods. Until the clearing floor and the forest beyond were covered in bodies rolling and sweating and rutting—until every earthly pleasure that could be had created such a wealth of emotion and joy and lust in the gods that it became a physical thing that swirled upon the air.

  A thing that she could manipulate into something darker and to her purposes. When it reached such heights that it became magic worthy of the spell, she reached into her bag and withdrew a hare, that most sacred animal to their people. Never should one harm a hare.

  Without a glance, she dragged a knife across its throat until blood sprayed onto the ground and onto the nearest god, rutting atop a Dryad.

  The energy changed. From lust and joy to dark and dire. The god rose up and tore the Dryad limb from limb, his passion and rage contagious. The other gods followed suit, until the clearing ran red with Dryad blood.

  Druantia watched as their joy and rage turned to nothing. To motion, not emotion. The blood of the Dryads soaking the ground, a sacrifice that sealed the spell. When they all lay dead, Dryad, Druid, and mortal—all except her and the gods—the night went silent.

  As if in a trance, the gods looked into the sky and around at each other. But they saw nothing. Nor did they remember. Not the party, not their past. Not ever feeling emotion. One by one, they disappeared to return to Otherworld.

  Druantia stood in the clearing, panting and exhilarated, as the blood of the Dryads soaked into the ground and the bones grew into great oak trees that created a canopy over the forest floor. They drank up the blood and sprouted leaves. A dark forest formed, imbued with the memory and the emotion and the life force of the gods.

  It flowed into Druantia, imbuing her with power such as she had never known. Into herself she took the immortality of gods. Their emotion, their passion, their joy all became hers. They would live in Otherworld, continue on with their duties and their titles. Yet for Camulos victory would become hollow, for Scathach prophecy would become rote, for Carlin the night of Samhain would become dull. As it would be for all the gods, because they had dared to cast her aside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Highlands of Scotland, Present Day

  “Pull over,” Ana said. “I think I see it.”

  Cam pulled the car to a stop on a gravel patch at the side of the road. Ana climbed out, shivering under the cloudy sky in the chill winter wind. They were in a valley with mountains sweeping up on either side of them. Snowflakes fluttered around them as dusk turned the white mountains gray.

  “Do you think that’s it?” Ana asked, pointing to a small cottage nestled in the deepest part of the valley. Fiona had called back a few hours ago with the supposed location of Logan Laufeyson and they’d set out immediately, driving into the Highlands.

  Cam walked to her side of the car and peered into the distance.

  “Could be,” Cam said, turning to meet her eyes. “Fits the description and location, so it’s—”

  Ana jerked when she felt the familiar rubber-band snap of another god appearing from Otherworld. She spun in tandem with Cam and drew her bow. Silence. Snow fell more thickly, obscuring her vision.

  Suddenly, a boar broke over the top of a nearby hill and charged them. Ana aimed and fired. The boar fell, but another had appeared in its place. Within seconds, there were a dozen. She fired off arrows as fast as she could.

  “Cernowain,” Cam said as he flung a dagger at a boar and felled it.

  “But where?” She downed another boar, but more had appeared
. She couldn’t see Cernowain anywhere. Were there other gods as well? She blinked snow out of her eyes and fired again.

  Cam sprinted to retrieve his dagger and flung it again. His invisibility to the other gods gave them an advantage, and for now, they were just barely holding off the—

  Ana screamed as arms grasped her from behind. Her bow clattered to the ground as the grip tightened. She struggled, fighting the pull from the aether that tore at her insides. He was trying to aetherwalk with her! She’d be dragged back to Otherworld.

  The arms dropped her and she stumbled to her knees. She jerked around to see Cam throw Cernowain onto his back. The god’s brown cloak fluttered in the wind.

  “What is this magic?” he bellowed.

  Of course. He couldn’t see Cam. When he surged to his feet, Cam punched him so hard in the face that he flew backwards.

  “How did you find me?” she yelled. Had the boar spies found them during the storm in Inverness? Would Cernowain really have sent the boars into the city?

  “I had help,” Cernowain ground out through broken teeth as he started toward her, eyes darting for the unseen threat. “You’re coming back.”

  Cam hit him again, compounding the damage to his broken face. Cernowain crashed to the ground.

  “Fuck.” Cernowain’s words gurgled through the blood he spat out.

  “I’m never coming back,” Ana said. She grabbed her bow from the ground and fired, sending an arrow through Cernowain’s leg. Then another through the heart of a boar that had gotten too close. She turned back to Cernowain and shot his other thigh.

  “Fuck!” Cernowain glared at her, his gaze as black as the night creeping over the mountains, then disappeared. The boars followed. The rubber band snapped against her skin and she was sure he was gone.

  Ana slumped. “Shit. He’ll bring the other gods back.”

  Cam ran to her and pulled her against him. She shook all over, feeling colder in her bones than her skin, despite the wind that picked up speed. No matter how hard she sucked the cold air into her lungs, it didn’t seem to fill them.