Hearts and Swords: Four Original Stories of Celta

by Robin D. Owens

  Her breath and Cardus’s whispered out at the same time. She turned back toward the altar and tripped over Whin.

  Cardus steadied her and they both looked down at the FamDog.

  Genista cleared her throat as she spoke to their companion. “It’s unusual for Fams to be part of such a small circle.”

  Whin looked aside, whined a bit. Never been with people in circle. Like the feeling. Stay?

  “Of course you can stay,” Genista said, just as Cardus said, “Sure.”

  Standing and wagging his tail, Whin lolled his tongue in a doggie smile. Thanks. He did a long stretch, popping joints. Feels very good.

  Dog following, they walked to the altar. Cardus looked down at her and said softly, “I accept the godhood of the Lord within myself.” She grew hotter at the sound of his low voice, with more. He lit his candle, took her hands again, and she experienced the jolt of attraction that melded into a bond between them.

  His gaze caught hers and heat radiated from their hands throughout her body. “I cherish the Lady within you.”

  She breathed unsteadily, felt a sifting of feminine power shiver through her, from the earth, the moons, the stars, settling into her blood. “I accept the goddesshood of the Lady within myself.” Her voice sounded rich and sultry to her own ears, and a flush tinted Cardus’s cheeks. She squeezed his hands. “I cherish the Lord within you.” Then she lit her candle and they sang the Blessing Chant, welcoming the power of the deities into their circle.

  They took turns with the rest of the general ritual, singing songs that had been passed down through their culture for centuries. Genista felt both herself, and Other, and that Other was so much more than she, wise and knowing that this was a reverence for the dead . . . but underneath it all, joyous. That Other knew the mysteries of life and death.

  And for a brief while, Genista sensed such knowledge and was comforted, her heavy grief was gone. She moved slowly, deliberately, and when she glanced at Cardus, there was Another below his skin, occasionally looking out of his eyes, a man of wisdom and wildness. Warrior.

  Lover.

  He grasped her hands once more, and they seemed even harder with calluses. His voice was richer, deeper.

  “We honor the dead,” he said. “Those who have passed to the Wheel of Stars.”

  “We honor the dead,” she repeated. “Those who have passed to the Wheel of Stars.” She was so mesmerized by the flicker of candlelight in Cardus’s gaze, the feel of the soft and warm breeze swirling around her, that she didn’t look to her token. True surcease.

  Cardus said,

  And we celebrate Samhain, the new year,

  As the twinmoons cycle,

  As the seasons change and

  Life itself cycles,

  We honor the dead and the past

  And embrace life and the future.

  He reached out to his piece of papyrus and flicked it into the cauldron, where it flamed and vanished in smoke. She did the same.

  Then they reached for each other’s hands. She knew the next words, the old words, but felt them shiny with newness:

  By the arcs and cycles of the twinmoons

  By the dance of the sun through the sky and the seasons

  By the circle of life and the circle of stars

  I will live, love, die, and live again.

  Always loving.

  I will live, meet, remember, embrace love and life again.

  It felt like a promise to this man.

  Whin howled and that enriched the ceremony, enriched the night. Then she looked at the FamDog and said the words again with Cardus.

  They held his large goblet between them. He drank first, then she. She fed him an oak cake and he did the same. They allowed Whin to dip his tongue into the wine, eat another cake.

  In a daze, Genista thanked the deities, felt the Other rise away, and opened the circle with Cardus.

  Cold air rushed in and the stars themselves seemed to frost.

  “Nothing like a private ritual of two,” Cardus said, and his voice sounded rusty, as if his vocal cords had strained.

  Genista found that she was leaning against him, his arm around her waist, and she didn’t want to move, but jealousy flickered through her. She had never shared such an experience—had either been part of a large circle or solitary. “You’ve done this before.”

  His eyes were dark and soft, his arm tightened. “No. Never just two. Only heard about it.” Then he closed his lashes and shook his head. “Never felt like that.”

  Whin barked. They were beautiful. You are beautiful.

  Genista shivered, wanted to hold Cardus tight, celebrate intimately. And was that a thought from the old, needy Genista? She didn’t know, but she stepped away and inserted a prosaic note into the conversation. “We’d best clean up. It’s a good thing that the public ritual is a couple of septhours away.” Unsteadily she walked to the altars. She was cold; her emotions were raw.

  Moving slowly, she snuffed the flames of her candle and cauldron, bespelled the cauldron so it was safe for her basket. Reached out to the altar of the dead and slipped the stone signifying her miscarried child gently into the basket. Grief was still there, but muted, and she thought it had finally lost its sharp and gnawing teeth.

  Cardus moved faster than she. By the time she’d walked to her stoop, opened the door, and set her basket inside, both altars were gone and the section of fence was back in place, surrounded by spellshields better than ever.

  He and Whin were on her side of the fence, along with the gifts. She’d placed hers in the circle, too, but had hidden them with a spell and was thankful that they hadn’t noticed.

  Whin slurped his tongue around his muzzle. Good food and gifts now! He sat, head cocked in the direction of her house, tail wagging. Cardus kept himself still, as if unsure whether she would invite them into her home, but she shoved the door wide. “Go on in.”

  Cardus frowned.

  “I’ll set the spellshields behind us,” she added. “I have a separate no-time food storage for ritual foods, and stocked it for Samhain meal— including furrabeast steak.”

  Whin had already passed her to shoot inside the house.

  Come, FamMan, open the no-time for me! he called.

  Cardus stopped near her. “You’re sure of this?”

  She wanted to kiss him, but didn’t, swept a gesture to the open door. “Welcome to my home and my feast.”

  “Our feast.” He lifted a jug she hadn’t noticed. “I have wine.”

  He entered. She raised her property spellshields, then ran and picked up her gifts, now imbued with more Flair from being inside the circle, and trotted back. The staff she’d bought Cardus was difficult to disguise, but she hurried past the two in the tiny kitchen to her mainspace and rolled the staff close to the hearth stone, which shadowed the length of wood. With a wave of her hand, she lit the fireplace, and flames crackled noisily.

  A few minutes later the feast was already demolished. Rituals always burnt energy. Genista took the empty plates away and Cardus helped put them in the cleanser.

  Gifts now! Whin sat mouth open, droplets of drool falling toward one of Genista’s thick rugs. She was glad she’d taken some time to dog-proof her house. The drool gave a little hiss as it vanished before it hit the fibers.

  Instead of sitting in one of the large chairs, Cardus lowered himself to the floor with his back against a twoseat. During and after the ritual, he’d moved well, but that seemed to be wearing off. He was favoring his bad leg again.

  Genista settled on the floor, too, next to the fireplace and opposite Cardus. Not that she was that far from him, only a couple of meters. Her house wasn’t big.

  Whin sat in the middle of the space and nosed his gift toward her. She wasn’t sure how he’d gotten someone to wrap the thing, but whoever did it didn’t do a very good job. She unrolled the cloth to see a filthy, battered pocket watch with a broken chain. Frowning, she picked it up, held it.

  Panting loudly, the dog lea
ned on her. You like?

  She stared into his eyes, shook her head. Cardus scowled at her, made a cutting gesture. She ignored him. “This is wonderful. It’s very, very old. I think it might have been brought on one of the starships by a Colonist. Where did you find it?”

  Whin’s whole body wriggled. On a trail to Gael City. South.

  “Lately the path of the Colonists who left the lost starship Lugh’s Spear to go to Druida has been found,” Cardus said. He nodded at the watch.

  “It’s reasonable Whin unearthed the timer.”

  “Yes,” Genista said. Slowly turning it over in her hands, she paid little attention to the dirt that fell from it and the grime that got under her fingernails. She stroked it with a soft touch, tried a Word to get it open, failed. Setting it carefully on a table, she lunged onto her knees and toward Whin and wrapped her arms around him. “Wonderful, fabulous gift,” she said into his fur. “Thank you.”

  A long lick dampened her face. You are welcome.

  “Good job,” Cardus said.

  When she let go of the dog, she found herself close to Cardus. He opened his arm closest to the fire in invitation. Without thought, she scooted to him, let his arm drape around her shoulders. Glancing up, she saw his face had eased into tenderness, his green eyes held . . . affection? At least affection. And as her heart thumped hard in her chest, she knew she was falling in love with him. All this time, his quiet and steady presence next door had comforted her at a level she hadn’t recognized. He was solid. He didn’t have a HeartMate and she didn’t, either. No woman had ever come to visit him . . . and she thought she’d have felt female energy if one had been there when Genista was at work.

  He had never offered her compliments, never shown overt interest in having sex with her—unlike most of the men in her past. Hadn’t swept her off her feet, tried to get her into bed without any thought or consideration on her part. He made her feel special, like a woman worth knowing instead of just bedding.

  His complete acceptance of her as she was had soothed her. Yes, she was ready to move to the next step in a relationship with him. She hoped he was as interested in her. Sucking in a breath, but refusing to be cowardly, Genista pulled the staff out from near the hearth stone and pushed it to Cardus. Her cheeks felt hot. “Here.”

  Cardus stared at Genista, glanced at her gift. Something in the energy flowing between them had changed. He wanted to close his eyes and feel the bond that had expanded between them during the ritual, but he didn’t want to alert her to how much he wanted such a bond, a thick golden bond of love.

  So he plucked the bright green bow from the top of the gray felt sheath, pushed the cloth carefully down. His breath stopped with a harsh sound as he saw the polished wood with spiral painting of the seasons circling upward, the bare branches of winter, the buds of green and hints of the pastel blooms of spring, full-bodied leaves of shades of summer green, the blaze of orange and red and gold of autumn at the top of the staff. He withdrew his arm from Genista, used both hands on the staff to rise. The wood was smooth under his grip, yet he felt spells—defensive and offensive—that made it more than a walking staff, made it a weapon. Several places on the staff were bound with different metals: copper, bronze, iron, glisten. And near the top and bottom were a line of spell runes.

  He had a few quarterstaffs as weapons in his back porch, but nothing like this. He didn’t even know there were such things. Had no idea where one might purchase them.

  She was ducking her head, her cheeks pink. “The Autumn Lord’s staff.”

  He couldn’t prevent the same question she’d asked of Whin. “Where did you get this?”

  A shoulder shrug from her. He was making her uncomfortable and he regretted that. “Never mind.”

  “An artist and weapons master,” she said.

  She would know weapons masters. She’d been part of the Holly fighting Family. Now he felt more than her wealth standing between them; her past rose like a shadow.

  “Here in Gael City?” Lord and Lady, he prayed she hadn’t obtained it from the FirstFamily GreatLord T’Ash. Then Cardus would have to give it back as too valuable, and he didn’t think he could let the thing go. He wanted it secondary only to Genista herself.

  “Yes, of course.” She was staring into the fire.

  He’d been a stup. Leaning down, he kissed the top of her head. “It’s wonderful. Another fabulous gift.” Letting his palms slide along the length of it, he sat again, set the staff aside, and leaned over to kiss Genista’s averted cheek. “It’s wonderful,” he repeated. “I couldn’t give it up if I tried.

  Thank you.”

  She turned back to him, but that wasn’t enough. He opened his legs, lifted her, and settled her in the space between his thighs, so she could relax against him. So they were body to body.

  Sweet.

  Whin coughed, looked expectantly at them.

  Seven

  Cardus reached to where he’d put a package wrapped in thin softleaves, plunked it down in front of the dog.

  Whee! the FamDog said and shredded the wrapping to reveal his present.

  A COLLAR GIFT from my FamMan and FamWoman! Whin grabbed it in his teeth, hopped to his feet, and raced around the house, then came back and sat before them. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  Genista moved against Cardus, looking up at him with such approval that his chest instinctively swelled at pleasing his lady. “The fastening will break free if you get in trouble,” Cardus said.

  There are JEWELS!

  He’d spent more than he should have but was well rewarded by the pulse of love coming from Whin, and Genista’s smile.

  “Yes, a large garnet cabochon bead that represents me and a sunstone for Nista.” Cardus fastened the collar around Whin’s neck, checked to make sure it was comfortable.

  “Looks lovely,” Genista said.

  Whin pranced out of the mainspace and back.

  “I have a gift for you, too, Whin,” Genista said. Holding out her palm, she translocated a tiny square in a tissue softleaf, then placed it on the floor before their Fam.

  With one claw, Whin ripped it open. He angled his head to see the golden tag with marks on it. I can’t read.

  Leaning forward, Genista clipped the tag on Whin’s collar. “It’s a chit for The Fam Place.” She put her hands on each side of Whin’s large muzzle and looked him in his eyes, fingers stroking. “The tag has your name and ours and is recorded in The Fam Place’s records. You are allowed two meals a day and a place to sleep indoors for the rest of your life. Whatever happens to us, if you ever want to leave us, you will be cared for.”

  Whin whined and she let him loose. He licked her face, then pushed her back against Cardus. He swallowed hard. Warmth that he had them both, woman to love and FamDog, unfurled within him.

  I love you both.

  “I love you, too, Whin,” Genista said.

  Cardus rubbed the dog’s head. “So do I.” He kissed Genista’s temple. “That was a very generous thing to do.”

  “I didn’t want Whin to ever be afraid of going hungry or needing a warm place to sleep again.”

  I’m not, Whin said. Turning, he pawed the smaller roll of cloth and shoved it toward Cardus. Yours, Whin said. From me.

  “Thank you.” Smiling, Cardus untied the dirty ribbon to see a leather thong with a battered bead in the form of the Lord as Cer-nunnos, the antler-horned god, on the front and Blessings of the Lord written on the back.

  It says I love you, a cat told me, Whin said proudly.

  Genista choked. Cardus thumped her on the back. As far as Cardus knew, no Fam Companion could read. He replied to Whin, “I can see that.

  It’s a great gift. Thanks again.” He slipped it over his head.

  You’re welcome. Then the dog settled himself across Cardus’s ankles. Whin thumped his tail. He craned his head up to look at Cardus. One more gift.

  “That’s right,” Cardus replied. He couldn’t begin to match the expense of the gifts that
Genista had given them, but he could match the thought that had gone into them, the feelings he had for both of them. He’d actually purchased Genista’s present a couple of months before, hoping that they’d be at a point to exchange New Year’s gifts.

  He drew it out from under the twoseat, where he’d put it before they’d eaten. The gaily wrapped box was orange and red, brown and black, Samhain’s colors. The ribbon was twine and decorated with real acorns.

  Her bottom wiggled against his groin as she moved in excitement to open her gift, and he almost regretted spooning with her. Carefully she untied the ribbon, slipped the acorns off, and held them in her hand, covered them with her fingers. Then she tilted her head and once again her smile seemed to light up the room for him. “These are viable seeds! I could plant them and have a Celtan oak!”

  “An added bonus,” he said, sending a blessing to the saleswoman who’d decorated his gift for him. His arms were still loosely around Genista, so he jutted his chin to point. “Open it up. I’m impatient.”

  She turned to look at him. “No, you aren’t. You’re extremely patient.”

  His blood pulsed quicker. He hoped she was recognizing how he valued her. He was yearning to love her but would not push.

  She pulled apart the pretty papyrus and sitting, gleaming against the autumn colors, was a brass box.

  “It’s a music box,” he said. He was impatient, he hadn’t waited for her to open the lid.

  “How lovely.” But she was looking at him instead of his gift, and the dearness of the moment had him smiling slowly. She blinked, stroked the box, but still didn’t open it.

  “It’s broken,” he said. “You’ll need to work on it to fix it.”

  She brought it to her chest. “Wonderful!” Then she stretched up and kissed him, her soft, lush lips pressing against his own, and he had to suppress a groan. She didn’t withdraw so he opened his mouth to slip his tongue along her lips. She hummed and smiled, then gazed up at him.

  “Thank you.”

  He had to clear his throat before he could answer. “You’re welcome.”