by Hazel Hunter
“One more time.”
She went over to the water bucket and dipped her fingertips into it. As soon as she thought of a thin layer of ice, crystals spread out from her hand. They continued thickening when she pulled her fingers out until a quarter-inch of clear ice sealed over the water.
Her breath came out in an opaque cloud as she stared down at the bucket. “What do you know? I can control this thing.”
The rope ladder end creaked as she froze the fibers stiff, and leaned it against the side of the pit. Looking up, she measured the distance from the top of the frozen rope ladder to the end of the one hanging from the opening. She’d have to stretch a bit, but she could reach it. Hanging the blanket around her neck, she started climbing up her iced ladder.
The frozen hemp cracked under Althea’s body weight, and for a moment she thought it might collapse. She grabbed the sides and froze it a little more, imagining it with a thick coating of ice. The cold backlash became more intense, making the air in the pit go frigid. She also lost the feeling in her fingers, nose and ears, but she clambered to the top. Balancing on her toes, she stretched her numb hand toward the rope hanging above her. Just as she caught hold of it the iced ladder slipped out from under her, and she lunged, seizing the rope with her other hand.
“Damn it.” The hemp dug into Althea’s palms and fingers as she dangled. If she fell she’d probably break a limb, so letting go wasn’t an option. “Okay, don’t panic. Don’t think. Just move.”
The chilly numbness helped as she hauled herself up and the rough rope abraded her skin. By the time she climbed high enough to get a foothold her hands had been rubbed raw and bloody.
“I really hate the fourteenth century.” She took a minute to wind two corners of the blanket around them before she reached for the next rung.
At the top she peeked over the edge of the oubliette’s opening. On either side stretched another stone passage lit by a few torches, but she saw no sign of anyone else.
Slinging the blanket out first, Althea grabbed the two hooks holding the ladder’s end and hoisted herself out of the oubliette. Landing with a painful flop on her belly, she crawled another foot and rolled over to stare at the dark red rocks above her.
“When we get back, I can moonlight as an escape artist.”
She pulled her hands from the blanket to survey the damage. Hemp fibers protruded from some nasty rope burns, and red shiny blisters had popped up on her knuckles and joints. For a minute she didn’t understand, and then the pins and needles set in.
She’d given herself frostbite.
Screaming would just get her caught and tossed back into the pit, so she clenched her teeth and forced herself to think. The other women were depending on her. She couldn’t try to walk out again, not in the condition she was in. That left finding Brennus, or one of his clan, and forcing them to take her to someone who would help her.
To do that, she needed a weapon.
Chapter Eleven
WORKING MOST OF the day alongside his men gave Brennus the opportunity to calm their agitation. As they cut each other’s hair with Kanyth’s shears, he answered their questions about Althea honestly, but also carefully. Volunteering such details as the old Roman word she’d called herself—doctor—would only alarm the clan. He also didn’t reveal her powerful ability or that she had been taken from a distant future.
Leaving her alone in the eagalsloc had taken all of his resolve, but it was the only place in the stronghold from which she couldn’t escape. Ruadri had helped lower them both into the pit and then hauled Brennus back out once the chieftain had settled her. He’d grown angry only when he saw he’d cut the rope ladder.
“Are you crazed?” the shaman had demanded. “None can climb out of a fear pit. She’s wounded and helpless.”
“Hurt, aye, but not helpless,” Brennus said and shook his head. “Time in the eagalsloc ’twill do her no harm. I’ll fashion another ladder and bring food to her after sunset.”
Ruadri’s mouth tightened as he stared down at Althea. “She belongs with her tribe, no’ here.”
“She claims no tribe and denies she’s druid kind. She swore to me she wouldnae stop trying to escape.” When Ruadri would have argued Brennus lifted his hand. “Her power destroyed the bodies of two famhairean with a touch. She can do the same to our brothers.”
“So into the fear pit, where she cannae touch anyone,” Ruadri gave him a narrow look. “What of you? She put hands on you, and naught happened.”
If only the shaman knew, Brennus thought. “’Tis done. Until I decide what to do with her, she stays in the eagalsloc.”
Ruadri had stalked off after that, and for the rest of the day avoided Brennus. Being at odds with the shaman didn’t sit well with him, nor did the tangle of his thoughts. By her own admission Althea Jarden didn’t belong in this time. She should be returned to her own by the druids. But could they be trusted to do so? As powerful as she was, Brennus knew Althea couldn’t destroy all the famhairean at once. Any attempt by her to return to the mountain and confront her captors would end with her dead.
The chieftain refused to sacrifice his clan again, but he could not stomach the thought of Althea dying either. By day’s end he knew he would have to seek direction from the one source he trusted without question. He headed to the clan’s caibeal. The small chapel lay in Dun Mor’s lowest level at the far end of the passage leading to the eagalsloc. The chapel’s door, hand-carved by the clan’s quarriers from a single slab of granite, swung inward without resistance. It had sealed the inner chamber so well that the only sign that twelve centuries had passed was the tiny piles of dust that had once been watchlights.
Brennus placed his torch in a stone bracket by the entry and walked through the outer cross slabs to the center, where the largest stood. Hewn from a giant morion, the blackest of crystals, it depicted a raven at rest, its head turned to watch its back.
Seeing once more the image of his battle spirit made Brennus cover his right shoulder with his hand. Beneath his tunic his skinwork began to move, stabbing into his flesh like the gouging of a sharp beak. He knelt before the stone and spread his hands.
“I dinnae ken why I live, only how I must,” he said, pulling his tunic over his head to bare his chest. “’Tis been many lifetimes since last I came to you, but I ask now for your guidance. I owe a life-debt to Althea Jarden. I owe my loyalty to my clan. I dinnae ken which path to take.”
The pain in his shoulder went deeper, but Brennus ignored it and kept his gaze on the stone raven. He knew he did not possess Ruadri’s unwavering faith in the gods, but his battle spirit had been a part of his flesh and heart since boyhood. It had never once abandoned him, although now it seemed to be boring a hole through his body, while the raven stone remained cold and dark.
“I didnae ask for death, nor this awakening.” He rose as the ink writhed on his shoulder like a living thing. “But your warrior shall I ever be.”
The torch suddenly extinguished, and the skinwork on his chest lit up with a dark blue glow. All around him the air moved, thick with unseen spirits. Yet when the torch flared back to life Brennus found himself alone, and unanswered.
“Naught, then.” All of the anger he’d held back since returning from the grave broke free. “Fack you for it.”
His curse rang out in the caibeal, but before he could stalk out shadows rose from the raven stone. Taking on the shape of his battle spirit, they flew in a tight circle just above his head. They swooped to attack him, their sharp beaks hammering into his scalp, shoulders and arms. Brennus batted them away from his eyes, but he refused to cower. If the raven spirit wished to devour him alive, it had better be very hungry.
A sharp cry scattered the spirits, and Brennus echoed it as Althea came running toward him.
“Stop it.” She rushed toward Brennus, waving her arms in the air to ward off the ravens. The moment she touched one it hurtled up to join what rapidly grew into a seething cloud of darkness. “What are these things?
” She lifted her gaze and went still. “Oh, no.”
Brennus eyed the huge raven shape, which began descending toward them. “My thanks, lass, but you must go. Quickly now.”
Instead of obeying, Althea put herself between him and the battle spirit.
“Leave him alone,” she told the enormous raven as it hovered before her. “That goes for me too. I don’t know what you are, but that’s like everything here, so fine. Go beat the crap out of someone else. I suggest you start with those crack-faced mutant things that dragged me back to this godforsaken time.”
The huge raven surged forward and, though she flinched, it perched on her shoulder. She didn’t move. “Or you could just not beat anyone. How’s that sound?”
The manifestation of his battle spirit spread its wings wide, and then curled them around Althea, who gasped. A moment later the raven dissolved into smoke, and Brennus caught her before she hit the floor.
“I’m okay.” She extracted herself from his arms. “Don’t tell me what that was, please. Just don’t.” She frowned and lifted her hands to inspect them. “Wait a minute. This is weird.”
Brennus saw the dried blood on her hands but no wounds. “You’re hurt.”
“I was hurt. Climbing out of your oubliette gave me a bad case of rope burn.” Althea rubbed her palms together. “They’re gone.” She reached down to pull away the bandage on her thigh. “My legs are healed, and I think my back is too.” She moved her shoulders as if uncomfortable. “This shirt is a bit heavy, is all.”
Brennus reached out to touch the black crystal. Battle spirits held sway over the flesh of those Pritani they chose, but he’d never heard of one healing druid kind. He’d asked for guidance, and it had been clearly given. The raven had chosen to help Althea. So, too, would he.
“My thanks,” Brennus said to the stone before turning to her. “Forgive me, my lady. I shouldnae have denied you. I’ll take you to the great hall, where you may speak to my clan about the others, where you were kept, and anything you ken about your captors and their camp. Then we shall plan how to free those still held.”
“Finally,” she exhaled. “Thank you.” She turned to go, but stopped and glanced back at him. “You cut your hair.”
Chapter Twelve
AFTER SURVIVING TIME travel, killer roots, and the bird attack in the room of big carved rocks, Althea felt meeting the rest of the Skaraven would be a breeze. That assurance evaporated the moment she and Brennus walked into a cavernous area occupied by immense, tattooed men.
She forgot to blink as she took in the small army of warriors. Built on a mammoth scale, their bodies had been so well-developed she could see every bulging muscle under their poorly-fitted garments. Every Skaraven stood well over six feet, with oversized hands, long-yoked shoulders, and clearly powerful limbs. Most wore their newly shorn hair close-cropped, like Brennus. He had told her it was to keep their vision clear in battle and not give an enemy something to grab.
The men, who had been busy working on various tasks and projects, all stopped and stared at her. The intensity in their eyes reminded her both of starving wolves and dazzled teenagers.
“This is Lady Althea Jarden,” Brennus said, his voice booming in the utter silence. “The famhairean took her and four other females from the future. She escaped them and later stopped two from ending me. In return for the life-debt, she asks that the clan help free those still held.” He eyed someone at the back of the assembled men. “I asked for guidance, and my raven spirit healed her wounds.”
The men didn’t make a sound, but Althea thought from the way they all looked at each other that the raven healing was a big deal.
“’Tis my intent to rescue the four lasses still held by the famhairean, and to find the means to defeat them forever.” Brennus looked around the hall. “What says the clan? Do you join me?”
“Bràithrean an fhithich,” the men roared, thrusting their right fists into the air.
The chieftain met her gaze. “The brethren of the Skaraven agree, my lady.”
Although their shouts startled Althea, their lack of hesitation made her smile. They might look like an army of medieval mercenaries, but their willingness to fight to free the others made it clear that they had good hearts. She also found it interesting that the clan had been given a choice by Brennus, not what she would have expected in this era.
“My thanks,” she said to the clan, remembering her manners and the way Brennus had expressed his gratitude to her. “If there’s anything I can do, please tell me.”
Some of the men shared odd looks, while others chuckled.
“She speaks of the quest,” Brennus said, making a cutting gesture, which silenced the clan as all eyes returned to him. “Name yourselves to the lady.”
What followed had to be the strangest mass introduction Althea had ever experienced. Nearly all of the clansmen assembled into ten lines, and each one marched up to take a knee in unison before her and the chieftain. Each one then stood and said two words before retreating to reform their line.
“Bridei, Woodsman.”
“Ailpin, Hunter.”
“Manath, Flamekeep.”
At first Althea thought they were giving her their full names. After several repetitions, the noticeable pauses, and some very odd surnames, it finally dawned on her. Bridei’s last name wasn’t Woodsman, he was a woodsman.
The last four men to introduce themselves came from behind the ranks and took positions in front of them like leaders. They bowed but didn’t kneel or speak.
“My advisors and clanmasters,” Brennus murmured to her before he nodded to them, and they gave their name and position.
She recognized Ruadri, the shaman and the largest man in the hall. Weapons Master Kanyth looked so much like Brennus she guessed they were related. Taran spoke so softly that she barely heard him, and Cadeyrn looked at her as if she were a bug. Her back started to tingle oddly, making it hard to stand still.
“I’m very glad to meet all of you,” she told the men.
Instead of dismissing them, Brennus told the men to gather, and they moved out of their ranks to crouch in a large, perfect circle around Althea. Kanyth brought a wooden stool for her to sit on before he dropped down at her right side along with Ruadri. Taran and Cadeyrn did the same at Brennus’s left.
“Tell the men how you came to be here, my lady,” the chieftain said.
Althea had never been adept at group speaking, and being surrounded by so many big men was intimidating. But lives depended on this, so she did her best to describe how she’d been taken and the events that had followed. She felt a little ridiculous as she detailed the strange freezing power she had acquired, but none of the Skaraven laughed at her. She did notice the hatred that flared in almost every face when she spoke of the strange men working with the druid couple.
“I’m convinced that the guards aren’t human,” Althea finally said. “They may look like men on the surface, but they’re something else.” She turned to the chieftain, shimmying her shoulders to try to stop the now seriously annoying tingling. “You called them the famhairean. What does that mean?”
“Giants,” Brennus said. “A druid tribe fashioned them from fallen sacred oaks into statues of immense warriors. They placed them around their village and their ritual meadow to frighten away invaders. ’Twas thought over time the tribe’s magics changed them from dead wood to living creatures. They came fully to life after Romans massacred the Wood Dream. They’ve been killing mortal and druid kind ever since.”
“So, they were trees first,” Althea said. She pushed aside her disbelief and thought for a moment. “That explains why they’re so heavy and awkward, and their faces are cracked, like oak bark. Are they made entirely of wood?”
The chieftain gestured to Ruadri, who said, “The bodies they inhabit, aye, my lady. The life within them, no. Like the sacred grove that brought you to this time, they are eternal. Immortal.”
Althea flashed back to her memory of falling through th
e tunnel of writhing branches. Then a new realization dawned on her and she shivered.
“Then the two giants that attacked your chieftain aren’t dead,” she said. She looked up at the rest of the clan, and suddenly realized the enormity of what she was asking of the Skaraven. “Can anything destroy them?”
“We dinnae ken, my lady,” Ruadri said. “The druids trapped their spirits in a wood henge to remain imprisoned for all time. Yet somehow they escaped.”
“Something in the future must have smashed the henge,” Kanyth put in.
“The geomagnetic disturbance unleashed by the solar storm could have been the culprit,” she said and saw the Weapons Master’s expression and grimaced. “Sorry. I’m a scientist in my time, but that won’t make sense to anyone for another five hundred years. What I mean is, a change in the sun’s brightness probably caused the henge to fail.” Surreptitiously she reached behind her to rub the prickling spot on her back, but to her frustration she couldn’t reach it.
“The famhairean draw power from the daylight,” Ruadri told her. “’Tis their food. Darkness makes them weak.”
“Lily said they were slower at night. She’s one of the other women.” She gave up scratching her back and sighed. “The famhair who took her almost strangled her.”
“The giants always kill mortals who cross their path,” Cadeyrn said suddenly. “Why did they take five of you? Why let you live after you crossed over into this time?”
Here was the clan’s skeptic, Althea thought. “They said they needed druid kind to open the time portal. I also think that they still needed us for something more, but what I can’t say. None of us are druids, ah, druidesses, but it’s possible that we’re their descendants.” She glanced at Brennus. “I’m really not sure why they needed five of us.”
