Forbidden

by Christina Phillips

  Druantia shook her head, as if Carys spoke nonsense. “You know that isn’t the same. You needed a man. And if Aeron wasn’t that man, you should have chosen another. But you didn’t.” She frowned, and her wrinkled face cascaded. “Something is fearfully wrong, Carys.”

  Carys tried to ignore the way her heart thundered against her ribs. At first she’d been sure the Morrigan would remain in blissful ignorance of her liaison with Maximus. Then, after she had been touched by the raven’s eye, she convinced herself that the goddess was bestowing her approval.

  But there had been only anger and frustration, not approval, vibrating in the air when she had entered the goddess’s sacred domain. A chill clutched her heart. Was that the reason for Druantia’s distress?

  Because Carys had entered the goddess’s sacred domain without permission?

  “What has the Morrigan said?” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper, dread coiling deep in her stomach.

  Druantia slid her arthritic fingers along Carys’s braid. “Her great malevolence rolled across the land, seeking yet not finding.”

  “Her malevolence?” She recalled the chilling sensation she and Morwyn had felt yesterday, as they left the settlement. That had been the Morrigan? Why, then, hadn’t Morwyn recognized her goddess?

  “Why couldn’t she find you, Carys?”

  Ice trickled along her nape. “She was searching for me?” But she had swept right by her. Carys had felt the dark cloud of fury, the fingers of dread—how could the greatest goddess of them all have been unable to locate her whereabouts?

  “I beseeched her for mercy. Begged her to give you more time. But she was deaf to my pleas in her frenzy.”

  Horror crawled through her heart as realization dawned. “She’s angry because I’ll never return to Aeron?”

  Druantia’s glazed eyes watered. “No. I thought, in my ignorance, she had finally lost patience with you for denying her gifts. This is why I intervened, my Carys, why I begged for her lenience.” She sighed, a whispery sound not of this world. “It seems you didn’t need me to intercede on your behalf.”

  She didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know. And yet she knew she must. “Does—does the Morrigan not approve of my lover?”

  Of course she didn’t. How could she have been so naïve as to imagine, for even a fleeting moment, that the Great Goddess would accept the homage and not care that Carys worshipped while fraternizing with the enemy?

  Druantia cupped her cheek, a tender gesture. “My child, the Morrigan cannot see you at all. You have vanished, like the mist in the morning. She searches, but in vain. All this I saw in the blink of an eye as I begged for her favor. And yet I believe she scarcely acknowledged my existence in her fury.”

  “I don’t understand.” Carys fought the panic threatening to choke the breath from her lungs. “How can she not see me? Am I no longer her daughter?”

  “You are a Druid, as all the women of our line have been and ever will be.” Druantia smiled, but still the shadows clouded her eyes. “And yet at the moment of your birth, when the Morrigan stood poised to make you her own, Cerridwen appeared and claimed you for all time. And the Great Goddess turned from you at that moment.”

  She knew this. All her kin did. But none of them knew why. “But she could always see me before.” The goddess had simply chosen to ignore her. But this was a new hurt, to know that now the Morrigan no longer even saw her. And yet what of her vision? Even there, in the goddess’s most sacred place, she had been invisible, a nonentity.

  “Something has changed.” Druantia sighed and tugged gently on Carys’s braid. “The balance is shifting. I can feel it, but I can’t comprehend it. It’s Cerridwen the Morrigan rages against. And you are, always have been, Cerridwen’s.”

  Carys clutched Druantia’s fragile fingers as a terrible certainty gripped her. “It’s my fault.”

  “No. Cerridwen protects you, my child. And although I can’t envisage why, it is she who shields you from the Morrigan.”

  What had she done? If she could rewind time, she would never have taken the illicit root. Never have tumbled into the goddess’s sacred realm, nor seen the bloodied visions.

  The Morrigan would not have become enraged by her audacity, and there would be no need for Cerridwen to intervene. And the two goddesses would not now be locked in bitter conflict.

  And Maximus would not have taken her from the Cauldron back to his quarters.

  She tried to close her mind to the memories, but the love seeped into every pore, every breath, every erratic beat of her heart. He was intertwined with her soul, a part of her, and a chill rippled through her core at the knowledge that, even were she given such power to change her actions, she wouldn’t.

  She dropped her forehead onto Druantia’s knees. “I entered the Morrigan’s domain without permission.”

  Druantia’s hand stilled on her braid. “You know that cannot be, my child. The Morrigan must have allowed you entry.”

  Carys choked on a breath and risked looking up. “I thought Cerridwen invited me, but Cerridwen wasn’t there. I was alone, and the Morrigan—she didn’t see me, Druantia.”

  For one terrifying moment, Carys thought she saw fear flick in the old Druid’s eyes. But that couldn’t be. Druantia feared nothing. She was the most powerful Druid in Cymru.

  “Where were you?” Druantia breathed the words as if she almost didn’t wish to know.

  Carys sucked in a shaky breath. “The crossroads of life. And I saw—I think I saw—the future.” A shudder attacked her, chills chased along her arms and she clasped her fingers together in supplication.

  Druantia’s fingers covered hers. “What did you see?”

  She closed her eyes, and instantly the vision returned in all its bloodstained, fiery fury.

  “The sacred Isle of Mon, drenched with Druid blood, the holy groves razed to the ground, the sisterhood vanquished.”

  At the deathly silence following her words, she wrenched open her eyes and stared helplessly at Druantia. “Mon burned, Britain burned. Our goddesses and gods writhed in agony. Everything we cherish was crushed by—by Rome.”

  The ancient Druid’s hands trembled, and Carys threaded her fingers through the old lady’s, infusing strength, but wishing desperately Druantia could offer her solid comfort in return.

  She didn’t want her vision to be true. She wanted her queen to refute her words, to scorn her interpretation, to reassure her that somehow all would be well.

  “You stood by the fork in the road?” Druantia’s voice was hushed.

  “Yes.”

  “What of the alternate path, my child? What is our choice?”

  Terror uncoiled in the pit of her belly and slithered through her gut. Sweet Goddess, Druantia believed in her vision. Believed that Mon would burn, that their ways were doomed.

  Unless they took the alternate path. And no Druid would take the alternate path.

  She swallowed, her mouth as dry as sunbaked rock; her chest constricted with mounting despair. She couldn’t say the words, but Druantia waited.

  She hitched in a ragged breath. “To embrace Rome.”

  Druantia recoiled, as if Carys had just spit in her face. “That can never be, Carys.” She grasped her fingers in a surprisingly strong grip. “There must be more to this vision, my child. Think. What else did you see?”

  “It was Rome, Druantia, the way Gaius used to describe it to me. But even without that knowledge, there could be no mistake. The wide Roman road leading into the heathen future could be nothing else.”

  Druantia was silent, and Carys resisted the urge to sag. Since waking in Maximus’s quarters yesterday, she had kept the gut-churning terror at bay by telling herself she misunderstood the vision. That there was something she hadn’t seen, something she’d misinterpreted because of her inexperience.

  “Druids and Romans live together in harmony?” There was skepticism in Druantia’s tone, but also something else, a hint of hope, of possibility.

 
She didn’t want to crush that hope. Goddess, she wanted that future more than anyone could ever know.

  But her vision hadn’t promised anything of the kind.

  “There was no sisterhood.” Her voice was dull. “No fellow brethren. Only darkness encroaching upon the horizon of Rome, crawling ever closer to where I stood.” She shivered at the remembered sensation of isolation. “I couldn’t see far, Druantia; it was so dark. Only one flame lit the way and it was so faint, as if the slightest breeze would extinguish it forever.”

  Druantia’s fingers tensed. “One flame.” Her tone was hushed, as if the significance was clear to her. “The light in the darkness, as the Morrigan foretold. That is what you saw. No matter how this ends with Rome, we will prevail into the future.”

  Carys wanted to believe her. But her heart ached. She didn’t want a future of bloodshed or darkness. She wanted Maximus, her kin, a family of her own. She wanted it all, and she couldn’t see how it could ever be.

  “How did you leave the sacred crossroad, Carys?”

  Carys frowned, unsure what Druantia meant. “How?”

  “Did Cerridwen return you to this realm? Or did another Druid assist you?”

  She didn’t answer straight away. And then knew she had no choice but the truth. “No. My lover rescued me from certain death.”

  Druantia nodded slowly, as if Carys’s death within the vision or the fact her unknown lover had saved her did not surprise her.

  “You didn’t choose Aeron, the man I thought the goddess wanted for you, but if this lover could lead you from the immortal realm, then you have chosen your mate wisely.”

  Blood heated her cheeks, burning her skin. Druantia had given her blessing to her joining with Maximus, but if she knew who Maximus was, she would not hesitate to destroy them both.

  Feverishly she sought to distract the Druid before she asked for more details of this elusive lover.

  “But this is why it’s my fault.” She pressed Druantia’s palm against her cheek, seeking comfort, seeking forgiveness for sins about to be confessed and sins she could never confess. “I trespassed in the Morrigan’s realm, and that’s why she no longer sees me.”

  An odd expression crossed Druantia’s ancient face. “When did you have this vision?”

  “Yesterday, midafternoon.”

  And as the words passed her lips, a chill stole over her body. She didn’t need Druantia’s reply to realize the truth herself.

  “The Morrigan searched for you yesterday noon, child. Cerridwen had already protected you from her wrath before you ever entered the immortal realm.”

  After leaving Druantia, Carys searched for Morwyn and finally found her by the river, watching over the children as they played in the shallow depths.

  “Good morn.” She sat beside her friend, but Morwyn didn’t answer, didn’t even glance her way. “What’s wrong?”

  Morwyn shot her a look that sent chills along her arms. “What could be wrong? You’re here now, safe and well, aren’t you?”

  Guilt speared through her heart and she rested her hand over Morwyn’s. “I didn’t intend to remain outside the spiral last night. I’m sorry if I caused you anxiety.”

  Morwyn deliberately moved her hand from Carys’s. “You could have told me you intended to stay with your lover last night. There was no need to fabricate a tale that you wished to commune with Cerridwen on your own.”

  “I did commune with Cerridwen.” Carys wrapped her arms around her knees for comfort. If only she could tell Morwyn the whole truth. “It was only afterward I—I returned to the settlement to be with my lover.”

  “I hope you enjoyed yourself.” Morwyn’s tone implied she hoped anything but.

  She smothered a sigh. Would she forever have to lie to her friends and kin? The more she tried to protect herself, to protect her love for Maximus, the deeper into a clinging web of deceit she tumbled.

  “You were right.” She slid Morwyn a sideways glance. “I shouldn’t have gone to the Cauldron by myself. I experienced a vision so acute, I was unaware of our mortal world.”

  Morwyn turned to her, no longer rigid with suppressed affront, her features softening into fascinated concern. “Alone? But, Carys, you may never have returned to us.”

  “I nearly didn’t.” She sucked in a harsh breath. “The Roman barbarian followed me. He attacked me while I was insensible. If my lover hadn’t arrived, I would have died. Both in the mortal and immortal realms.”

  Morwyn grasped her hand. “Carys, is your lover one of our own? You can trust me. I would never tell.”

  “No. He’s not a Druid.”

  “But to save you from such a fate? Surely he must possess Druid blood? Perhaps—perhaps he is unaware of it?”

  “Truly, Morwyn. He possesses not a drop of our blood.”

  Clear disappointment clouded Morwyn’s brow. “It feels wrong that your chosen one is not one of the gods’ favored sons. Now, more than ever, our bloodline should be strengthened, not diluted.”

  Maximus, who didn’t understand her ways and had little knowledge of her sacred beliefs, had brought her back from the immortal realm. And, by so doing, had proved to her queen and her best friend that he was worthy of her love, of siring her future children.

  Druid or not, he would be welcomed as her husband if that was her desire.

  But her desire was irrelevant, for a Roman would never be accepted within her circle.

  A thought stirred. “Morwyn, I tended a woman early this morn. She’s pregnant by her Roman lover, an officer. He had her installed in lodgings as his mistress.”

  Morwyn sighed. “It grieves me to admit, but some of our women are finding a better life serving Rome in that manner.”

  “But this woman loved her Roman. She wants his child.”

  “But does he love her?” Morwyn shook her head. “It’s easy for a woman to believe herself in love when the man elevates her from the midden. They take advantage, Carys. It’s not an equal relationship.”

  Carys recalled the haunted look in Efa’s eyes at the knowledge Faustus had left. It could have been through fear of being returned to abject poverty, of resorting to working in a brothel, but in her heart she knew it was more than that. Efa loved her Roman officer, even though he was unworthy of such honor.

  Her vision shivered over her. “And what if the Romans stay? What if they’re not defeated? Should we forever spurn them? Should our blood never mingle? Will our people and Rome forever hate each other?”

  Morwyn squeezed her fingers. “Carys, don’t give up hope. Our situation is close to changing.” She paused and glanced around, as if making sure the children were still safe and no other adult was near to overhear. “I’m sworn to secrecy. But you know how discontented Gawain is, how he and many of the other Druids wish to rise against Aeron’s edict?”

  Carys knew of the discontent. But to rise against Aeron? “Gawain wishes to overthrow Aeron?” She couldn’t hide the shock in her voice.

  Morwyn frowned, as if in warning to keep her voice down. “No, of course not. They want to overthrow the Romans. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

  “Then what are you talking about? What’s the great secret?”

  “Gawain spent the night with several of the Druids. They went into trance, communed with the gods. And discovered Aeron’s plans.”

  Her heart thudded in her chest, as a dark fog of impending devastation rolled through her. “What are his plans?”

  “When the longest day is upon us, he’s going to invoke the power of the spiral to wipe out our enemy. And as they run like rats from a sinking ship before the deadly wave, we will launch our attack.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Ice chilled her flesh, ate into her bones. Morwyn spoke of the morrow.

  She had to warn Maximus. But to do so would betray her people in the worst way.

  Yet if she didn’t, her beloved could die.

  “Carys.” Morwyn gripped her shoulders and forced her around. �
��There’s no need to be so alarmed. The gods are with us, and with the power of the spiral we can’t lose.”

  She knew they couldn’t lose. And that was why her heart pounded in her chest, why her brain throbbed against her temples and why she had the horrifying urge to keel over and vomit up the contents of her stomach.

  “Don’t worry.” Morwyn cupped her face with her hand and frowned in misplaced sympathy. “Our people will be safe from the wrath of the gods. And when the battle’s over, when the Romans have fled, we can regain our lives. You’ll be able to be with your lover without having to hide your face like a misbegotten hag.”

  She had to speak. Had to think. But all she could feel was overwhelming terror that tomorrow, if Maximus died, her life would end.

  “Gawain is sure of this?” Perhaps he’d misinterpreted the signs. He, and all the other Druids who had participated in the moonlit ceremony.

  Morwyn ran her palms down Carys’s arms and grasped her hands. She didn’t seem to notice how chilled they were.

  “The gods were very clear. Tomorrow, Aeron will strike.”

  “Then why hasn’t he told us? Why keep it a secret?” Carys snatched her hands from Morwyn and raked her fingers into her hair, gripping her skull. “How can he plan for victory if he hasn’t even told us what he intends?”

  “He must plan to tell us at the Renewal tomorrow.”

  Carys dragged her fingers down her face and curled them around her neck. Since first invoking the spiral at the Feast of the Dead seven moons ago, Aeron had Renewed its power on every holy day.

  “This is madness, Morwyn.” Her voice was hoarse with fear, with the stark knowledge that the end she no longer wished for was so close. “How can we plan a battle with only moments’ notice? If we rush the fortification without foresight, the Romans will decimate us.”