Journey To The Rift (Coimirceoirí: Guardians of the Marked Ones)

by Cathi Shaw

  After some time, Brijit opened her eyes. The feeling of sickness had disappeared.

  She looked at Weylon and smiled. “That was amazing,” she said as she handed him the crystal.

  “Keep it,” he told her, as he reached out and captured her hand in his own, effectively closing her fingers around the small rock. They stood like that for a minute, his hand swallowing her smaller one with the crystal inside, staring into one another’s eyes. Brijit felt caught, frozen in a web she didn’t understand. Then Weylon let go of her hand and stepped away.

  “I don’t feel right taking it,” she said once she found her voice.

  Weylon turned back to her and shook his head. “I don’t need it any more. It will help you until you’ve mastered your practice, especially while we are here and your energy is being sucked away by the evil.” He stared hard at her for a long moment. “To be honest, I suspect you are going to need to practice far more than I do.”

  Brijit looked at him questioningly, wondering what he knew, but he turned his back on her. What did that mean? Did Weylon have suspicions as to what her role was in helping the Elders? If so, why hadn’t he told her. They were so open with one another now, Brijit was surprised he would keep his suspicions to himself. Unless he suspected something she wouldn’t like. Regardless he should tell her his suspicions. But before she could ask him, he changed the subject. She let it go.

  “Now are you hungry?”

  She considered how her stomach felt and was surprised when it actually growled in hunger.

  “I am.” She moved to stand, but Weylon waved her back to her bedroll.

  “Take it easy there. You might be feeling better but you still look inordinately pale. I can handle getting us some food.”

  Brijit watched as Weylon moved over to their packs and began to retrieve various food stuffs. She wondered what he was going to make for their evening meal. While she had done most of the cooking thus far, when Weylon put together a meal it usually focused on dried meat and cheese. Despite her hunger, she didn’t think she’d be able to handle meat at present.

  “What are you going to make?” she asked, unable to resist.

  “It’s a surprise,” he said in a teasing voice, as he turned to the ingredients he had spread on the blanket in front of him. Brijit craned her neck to see what he had there, but he scolded her, “No peeking. Don’t you trust me to make something that is edible?”

  “I’m not sure!” she jibbed back.

  He looked over to her with an expression of mock pain on his face. “I’m hurt,” he said melodramatically.

  Brijit couldn’t help grinning at his teasing manner. It had been this way lately, when he relaxed, Weylon was actually fun to be around. Brijit settled back on her blankets.

  As Weylon bent his head back to the task at hand, a black shape suddenly burst from the trees behind him. The creature was on him in less than a second, its tarry black fur matted and its red eyes wild and ferocious. Brijit reached into her boot for her dagger but before she could react, the creature had sunk its razor-sharp ebony teeth into Weylon’s side.

  “No!” Brijit’s scream echoed through the empty forest. She had never seen a creature like the one that had Weylon in its grasp. It was jet black, with those eerie red eyes rolling in its head. Its snarls were guttural.

  Weylon had his own dagger out and had buried it to the hilt in the creature’s shoulder to little effect. The monster continued to gnaw on Weylon’s side, almost as if it were feeding. Blood soaked Weylon’s shirt and leather pants, pooling in a dark puddle beneath him. But he was still fighting the creature, plunging his dagger into it again and again. The creature growled and continued to feast.

  It was obvious that Weylon would be dead if she didn’t do something. Her dagger would obviously be of little use. Brijit looked around the clearing for a weapon and saw Weylon’s sword in a pile beside their packs.

  She moved to retrieve it, not knowing if she was even strong enough to lift the huge broad sword when the trees parted. Beriadan and the two Elder knights broke into the clearing. One cocked an arrow and let it fly before Brijit could say a word.

  She watched in horror, terrified that the arrow would hit Weylon who was in the creature’s grip. But the arrow buried itself in the creature’s side, to little effect. The Elder didn’t hesitate but release three more arrows in the creature before it dropped Weylon.

  Beriadan sprinted to where the creature was and drew his sword. As the creature hissed and snarled at him, he severed its head from its body.

  Brijit was frozen, staring at the head that rolled toward her. The snarl was still on its face, eyes wide open and filled with evil. Brijit stepped back, horror making her dumb.

  “Healer, get over here,” Beriadan commanded.

  Brijit ripped her gaze away from those red eyes. She looked over to where Weylon had collapsed on the ground, blood making a red pool beneath him. Fear gripped her and she ran over to him.

  “Weylon,” she gasped as she fell to her knees.

  “I’m all right,” he said softly to her, but his face was gray. Blood was everywhere. Brijit choked back a sob and forced herself to smile at him.

  “Of course, you’re all right. Just a little scratch,” she joked, her voice coming out broken and raspy. “But maybe I should see if I can stop the bleeding.”

  Weylon smiled faintly and nodded.

  Brijit pulled up his shirt and saw the bite wound. Her heart sank when she saw how deep the creature’s teeth had penetrated his skin. But she kept her face clear of all emotion.

  “I need to reach into your mind,” she said softly. “May I?”

  Brijit always asked before she probed a patient’s mind.

  Weylon nodded.

  Brijit reached out and at first found herself overwhelmed with emotions. She tried to wade through them, focusing on pain. She ignored the fact that she’d thought Weylon was void of feeling for so long and now she’d found that he seemed to be overwhelmed by it. Focusing her mind, she found the pain center in his mind and sent soothing thoughts to it.

  She had no medicine that would ease this pain; the mind link was better than nothing.

  One of the Elders brought her the medicine kit she had packed. Brijit nodded her thanks and reached into the bag, removing linen bandages.

  “I need to clean the wound, Weylon,” she said softly as she took a small piece of linen and soaked it in the antiseptic mixture Raspella had packed in her kit. “This will sting.”

  Weylon groaned and bucked as she wiped the blood away from the wound. Brijit gasped when she saw what was under the blood.

  “What is it?” asked Beriadan.

  Brijit stared. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this,” she murmured.

  The puncture wounds were surrounded with rings of black and the darkness was radiating outward. Brijit let go of the pain control she was holding in her mind, and Weylon screamed. She quickly re-established it.

  She looked up at Beriadan. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what medicines to use.”

  One of the other Elders approached to take a look. He immediately unsheathed his sword. “Aptrgangr,” he hissed, staring at the wound in horror. Beriadan looked at him, shock registering on his face as he realized his fellow Elder was right. The Elder moved toward Weylon, his intention clear.

  Brijit threw herself across Weylon’s body. “No! You will not hurt him,” she screamed at the Elder.

  “You don’t know what you are saying, Coimirceoirí,” Beriadan told her. “If he has been attacked by an Aptrgangr – and I don’t doubt my comrade, who has seen this kind of wound before – he will die, and it won’t be a kind death. Let us do it swiftly.”

  Brijit met Weylon’s eyes and saw that they were full of fear. “I won’t let them take you,” she whispered. “I will save you.”

  Weylon shook his head slightly, but he was too weak to speak.

  “I will,” Brijit repeated.

  “How can you
heal one that has been bitten by an Aptrgangr?” Beriadan asked.

  Brijit raised her chin, looking at him defiantly. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  Beriadan looked at her coldly. “Well, you better figure it out, Healer. If not, he will be dead within a day, and it won’t be an easy death.”

  #

  Brijit treated Weylon with the herbs and treatments she had in her bag, but nothing was making a difference. His entire right side was now black, and he’d lost consciousness, which meant that she could let go of the mental pain control she was holding.

  It had been exhausting holding the pain at arm’s length, so Brijit was relieved when Weylon finally succumbed to sleep, but she was also growing increasingly worried that he would not wake again.

  “Please, Weylon,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do. Please don’t leave me alone.”

  But he didn’t respond. His had grown grayer than before, and the black had started streaking up his neck and down his leg. The poison, or whatever it was, was moving fast.

  Brijit was becoming more and more frantic. She had no idea what to do. The Elders had not left her; they were standing guard in the camp, but they did not help her. Brijit didn’t know if it was because they didn’t know how to help or if this was some kind of elaborate test of her skills. Either way, she was becoming increasingly frustrated. Tears filled her eyes.

  She went over her training. There was nothing she could remember about such an injury. In fact, she’d never heard of such a thing. Festering poison from a large beast was unheard of. She’d treated poisonous bites from spiders, snakes and occasionally scorpions, but nothing on the scale of the beast that had attacked Weylon. She didn’t even know such creatures could be venomous. Anger infused her for a few minutes. Why had Raspella left such an important part of her training undeveloped? They had never even discussed a wound such as this one.

  Unless Raspella hadn’t ever heard of a wound like this one. Brijit closed her eyes, frustrated tears burning behind the lids. What was she going to do?

  And suddenly an idea came to her. An old idea.

  There was one healer who was more gifted than any other she had known. Her grandmother. But getting to her grandmother was unthinkable. She had no idea how many days’ journey it would be to her grandmother’s home, and it was obvious that Weylon wouldn’t survive even a short trip. He was beyond being moved already.

  Desperate Brijit reached up and grasped the pendant at her neck. Her grandmother had given it to her before she left to study at the Academy.

  Brijit remembered it clearly. That had not been a happy parting. Her grandmother had originally been furious with Brijit for choosing to become Coimirceoirí. But as she accepted the fact that her granddaughter was going to leave with or without her blessing, her anger had been displaced by resignation and sadness. She didn’t understand why Brijit was so entranced with the idea of becoming a Coimirceoirí to the Elders. Her grandmother had been a village wise woman her entire life. She assumed Brijit would want to follow in her footsteps.

  Now Brijit wondered if her grandmother had seen her granddaughter as turning her back on the Kurunii and choosing the Coimirceoirí over her heritage? But Grandmamma had never told Brijit the truth about their family. Even in the end.

  Her grandmother’s disappointment had weighed heavy on Brijit’s heart in the days leading up to her departure. But on her last evening at home, her grandmother had come to her chamber.

  “Brijit, you know I do not approve of what you are doing. I see only misery in your future. The path you are choosing leads clearly to tragedy.” Her grandmother reached out and touched her arm. “I would wish to protect you from such a path, but I also see that this is impossible. Your mind has been made and with that your fate has been sealed. I do love you, child, don’t ever forget that.”

  At that, Brijit had burst into tears and her grandmother had gathered her into her arms and held her tight. “Don’t cry, my child,” she had soothed. “It is as it shall be.”

  She had pulled away then and unhooked the chain that she always wore around her neck.

  “I will not see you again in the living world,” she said, and Brijit immediately protested.

  “Grandmamma, don’t say that.”

  But her grandmother cut her off, her dark eyes sharp. “Don’t interrupt, child,” she scolded. “We can’t deny what the fates have ruled to be the truth even if it is something we would not wish to hear. You understand this?”

  Brijit nodded reluctantly.

  “Good. Then I have taught you something valuable.” She put the pendant into Brijit’s hand. “We shall not meet again in the living world but I will always be with you. Wear this pendant always. Keep it close to your heart and out of sight at all times, Brijit.” Her grandmother embraced her again, her arms squeezing Brijit tightly. “Remember me, child. In your time of greatest need, you will know how to reach out to me.”

  Her grandmother pulled away and grasped both of Brijit’s hands and looked deep into her eyes. Brijit started to tremble and wanted to pull away, but her grandmother held her in a grip so tight it was impossible to break.

  Then she hugged her granddaughter close. “I have told you something very important, child. You will carry it in your deepest heart. And remember to keep that pendant close and out of sight.”

  The memory surfaced in Brijit’s mind so clearly and suddenly that before she could even think about what she was doing, she had removed the pendant her grandmother had given her and held it in front of her eyes.

  The silver triquetra cradled within a circle. The symbol her friends had said could only be worn by descendants of Kurunii. Brijit closed her eyes. It was the one thing she had not told Weylon about. Something had told her to keep that knowledge close to her heart until the time was right.

  She opened her eyes and looked behind her in the clearing. Beriadan did not seem at all surprised to see the triquetra in her hands. Something shifted in Brijit as she realized he had known all along. He knew more than she did about what she was; perhaps that was why he had allowed her to attempt to heal Weylon rather than killing him outright.

  Pushing the thought aside, Brijit focused on the pendant. She began to breathe and meditate on her grandmother. She stared at the pendant, willing her grandmother to come to her. Her eyes drifted shut.

  #

  “Brijit. Open your eyes child.”

  Brijit opened her eyes and found herself sitting on a stool in her grandmother’s kitchen. A soup pot was simmering over the fire and the old yellow tabby cat, Rufus, was sleeping in the corner. The familiar hominess of the scene brought tears to her eyes.

  “Grandmamma?” she whispered, wondering if she’d slipped into a dream. Rufus lifted his head and lazily leapt down from his cushion. He prowled over to Brijit, looked up at her pensively, blinked his green eyes three times and then jumped into her lap. He turned in a circle, digging his claws into her thighs until she cried out, then he curled into a ball and began to purr. Slowly, his eyes closed and he went back to sleep.

  Her grandmother was bundling herbs for drying on her counter. She looked up at Brijit and smiled.

  “I knew you’d figure it out sooner or later.”

  Brijit shook her head in confusion.

  “The pendant is a talisman,” her grandmother explained.

  She started at the word. It was the second time today that she’d heard someone use it. She thought of Weylon’s crystal. Now she was here with her grandmother she had to question why he had a magikal item? Where had Weylon come by such a thing and how had he learned to wield it?

  Her grandmother laughed. Had it always sounded that much like a cackle?

  “A talisman is a powerful thing, Grandmamma.”

  She looked over at Brijit, her black eyes even darker than normal. “It is,” the old woman acknowledged.

  Brijit felt a shiver race down her spine.

  “All magik can be a dark thing, my child. Have they taught you nothi
ng that that precious Academy of yours.” The distaste in her grandmother’s tone was palatable. She pinned Brijit with her eyes. “But you have sought me out for a different reason.”

  Brijit was brought back to the present. Weylon was dying as she was in this vision or whatever it was.

  She nodded.

  “What help do you seek from me?”

  “My traveling companion is dying. I don’t know what to do,” Brijit burst out, not bothering with long explanation.

  “You mean the Coimirceoirí who is traveling with you.” Her grandmother paused in her work and looked at Brijit critically. “Are you certain saving him is such a wise choice?”

  Shock caused Brijit to lose her breath for a moment. Regardless of her grandmother’s feelings about the Coimirceoirí, it wasn’t like her to wish one dead.

  “Why would you say that, Grandmamma?”

  Her grandmother didn’t answer but went back to her herbs.

  “The poison will not be easy to stop,” she murmured, and Brijit felt frustration building within her.

  “I know that but there must be something –”

  “Oh, there is something,” her grandmother cut her off. “But once the poison has entered a person, it is impossible to completely eradicate. I suppose they didn’t teach you about the bite of the Aptrgangr at your Academy, either?” Her grandmother’s voice rose in anger. “Saving your friend is foremost in your mind right now but what happens when that poison continues to eat away at him, for years down the road.”

  Brijit shook her head. No, it couldn’t be true. Her grandmother had to be mistaken. What she was saying meant Weylon was already lost to her, but she refused to believe it was true. Brijit throat closed, threatening to choke her. “Are you certain that will happen?”

  Her grandmother looked at her closely.

  “Is there another reason you wish to save this boy, Brijit?” Her grandmother’s tone sharpened with suspicion as her dark eyes narrowed. “Have you gone so far from your training as to develop feelings for him?” The distain in her voice hit Brijit like a slap.