Terran Realm Vol 1-6

by Dee, Bonnie

  Brigid’s mind was in turmoil. Was she Dagda’s daughter? He spoke in a language similar to the three men who had abducted her. How could she understand him? What did he mean by Terran? The one thing he said that made sense was that she must bide her time and try to stay alive until she could find out more information.

  She would keep this vision to herself and her newfound comprehension of the language her captors spoke a secret.

  The torchlight flickered, and as though doused by a single breath, plunged the cave into darkness and Brigid back into a dreamless sleep.

  * * * *

  Gentle drops of rain fell upon Brigid’s skin. She rolled over and buried her face in the crook of her elbow. A roughened hand nudged her shoulder and turned her over onto her back.

  “Wake up, Brigid, daughter of Sean, you’ve rested long enough. Ma’an wishes to speak with you.”

  She recognized Cull’s voice and opened her eyes. She lay on the ground in the glade. Pure, crystal water dripped on her chest from the small wooden cup he offered her. She sat up and drank from it greedily, holding it in her tethered hands. So, it wasn’t a dream. But what of her vision of the cave and Dagda?

  “I shall translate what Ma’an says. I urge you to respond truthfully.”

  Brigid nodded briefly and listened intently as Ma’an spoke. Now was the time to test her comprehension. She bent her head to hide her reaction in case something he said might cause her to respond too strongly.

  “Ask the woman again if she is Dagda’s daughter. Find out whether those we saw at Dagda’s cave are gods or druids or mortals. Where are Mil and his men? Where is Nimhnach?” Ma’an paused. “Get as much information from her as you can. Then, if she truly is not Dagda’s get, kill her.”

  Brigid bit her lip. She understood the language all right. All too well.

  Cull spoke softly. “Must we kill her, Ma’an? Surely she cannot harm us.”

  “If she is no goddess, she is a burden to us.”

  “Mayhap she may be ransomed.”

  “Look at her attire. She is barely clothed. She has but one slim band of gold about her finger. She certainly does not appear to be of any worth.”

  “Please, Ma’an, let us keep her alive. She may have valuable information for us.”

  Ma’an threw up his hands. “Then pray she is not Dagda’s daughter for if she is, her wrath may consume us.”

  Brigid listened intently, her mind whirring. Unless she could convince these men that she was Dagda’s child she’d either be killed or raped or both. So that’s who she’d become.

  “I ask you one last time, be you Brigid, daughter of Dagda? Lift up your eyes and answer me.” Cull spoke slowly in heavily accented English.

  Brigid’s eyes blazed blue fire as she raised her head. “There is no further need for me to deny my name. I am Brigid and you have grievously insulted me. If I had had a weapon handy, you would have all been dead by now.”

  Torc lifted his hammer at her threatening tone, but Cull swiftly stayed his hand. “She now says she is Brigid. Put down your weapon.”

  Torc reluctantly lowered the hammer.

  Ma’an spoke again. “’Tis all well and good that she says she is Brigid, but she has yet to prove that she is whom she claims to be. Can she offer us a demonstration of her power?”

  Cull translated Ma’an’s words. “Ma’an wishes to see some proof that you are indeed the goddess Brigid.”

  Brigid’s thoughts raced. She had no magical powers. She had no weapons; she had nothing, not even a cell phone to call for help. Then she remembered the palm-sized digital camera nestled in her pocket. Awkwardly, with her hands still loosely tied together, she drew out the camera, praying it hadn’t been broken. She heard the men gasp as she displayed the undamaged, shiny, silver-toned object. Quickly, she snapped their picture and turned the camera around so they could see their image caught in the view screen.

  “There, I have captured your spirits. If you dare harm me, I’ll destroy them. Is this sufficient proof or would you like to see more?” She raised the camera, fingered the flash control and a brief, bright light blinded them.

  The men blinked, trembling in fear, white spots dancing before their eyes, silenced by this display of power.

  “Beg her pardon for Torc’s rough treatment and remove her bonds. Tell her we knew not her identity or we would not have shown her such disrespect. How can we make amends?” Ma’an paused. “And ask her how comes it that she speaks in this unknown tongue.”

  “Ma’an wishes to know what language you speak.”

  “The common language that all people speak now.”

  “Now? What do you mean ‘now’?” Cull asked as he untied her.

  “How many years do you think have passed since you set foot in this country?” Brigid rubbed her wrists, wincing at the pain.

  “It must be at least twelve years since we landed with Mil of the thousand captives.”

  Brigid laughed raucously, her voice tinged with hysteria. She had read of Mil, ruler of the Milesians. So, these men claimed to be from a time before Christ? They must have escaped from some asylum, but they still held the upper hand. Could she keep them off-balance by making them believe that they actually had traveled through time? She would have to try.

  “Mil is long dead. It’s more than three thousand years since his reign ended. Someone must have cast a powerful spell upon you that you should still be alive in this day and age, since you are only mere mortals.”

  “Nay.” Cull shook his head in denial. “It cannot be. It cannot be.” In his agitation, he spoke in his native tongue.

  “What cannot be?” Ma’an demanded. “Speak, damn you. What did she say? What did that display of her power mean?”

  “She captured our spirits in that object of hers and threatens to destroy them should we attempt to harm her. She speaks the common tongue of all who dwell in this land now.” He took a deep breath. “And it is over three thousand years since Mil lived.”

  Horror gripped all three as Cull’s words slowly sank in. Torc cursed, stomping his feet and gnashing his teeth.

  But Ma’an silenced them all when he pronounced one name. “Nimhnach. That bastard, he put that spell upon us that we could not achieve the task he demanded of us. He stole our land.”

  “Our wealth.” Cull spat.

  “Our women.” Torc’s bellow split the air.

  Brigid smiled. She had more than accomplished her goal; they thought they had journeyed thousands of years. But who was Nimhnach? Could he be the one of whom the dream Dagda spoke? She didn’t know what to think; she would have to learn more.

  “Why did she let us capture her? What does she want of us?” Ma’an spoke urgently, his words tumbling after themselves. “And ask her again about those at the cave.”

  “I shall ask. We must keep our wits together.”

  Brigid listened carefully. She had a few questions of her own that needed answering. “I heard you mention Nimhnach’s name. What is his involvement with you?”

  Cull spoke quietly.

  “I will tell you the truth; I have no reason to lie to you, my lady. Nimhnach betrayed us. You remember ‘twas a time of war and we were but common soldiers trying to carry out the commands that were given to us. Nimhnach held our families hostage and threatened to kill them.” He halted, gathering his thoughts. “We were sent to destroy your father and his most loyal lieutenants. We found his men already dead and cut off their hands as we were instructed, but we could not find your sire. We returned to camp and we were told our mission would not be completed until Dagda was found and … executed. Our families would not be freed until we bore proof of our success.

  “We tried in vain to return to the cave, but each time we did so, a fog arose that stopped us. Nimhnach, that druid bastard, must have put a spell upon us, for in vain we sought, day after day, to find the cave. We knew something was not right, but never in our wildest dreams could we have imagined that thousands of years had flown by.”


  He tugged at his beard as the words poured from him.

  “Finally, this morning for the first time we were able to reach the cave and ‘twas then that we saw all the wondrous magic and the druids who gathered there. We know not who they are, nor if Nimhnach still lives. Who rules Eire today is of no importance to us now. Dagda is no longer our enemy. ‘Twas Nimhnach who betrayed us and broke his promise to reward us and free our families. We humbly beg your pardon for insulting you and offer you our allegiance in defeating our common enemy.”

  He knelt and bared his neck before her, motioning Torc and Ma’an to do the same.

  Brigid gazed at the men groveling in the dirt at her feet. The final vestige of doubt left her. These men were not acting. They spoke a language she had never heard before, but somehow understood. Inexplicably, they had come from the far distant past and collided with her safe, happy world, turning it upside down in an instant. But their actions appeared to be guided by another, Nimhnach, a druid of remarkable powers. She still didn’t believe that she was the goddess Brigid or a Terran—whatever that was—after all she had no godlike powers, but Cull and the others believed so and she would play on that as long as possible.

  “I accept your service for I need your aid, otherwise I would destroy you. Mortals in this day and age follow new gods and I have neither the time nor the desire to ally myself with those upstarts. My father still sleeps, safely hidden away, so it falls upon me to see to his protection and wreak my vengeance upon Nimhnach. But I must return to the village and ferret out more information. None of you would be able to infiltrate the area; only you speak the language, Cull, and your actions would immediately expose your ignorance of the modern day world. I will come back later and share what I learn with you all.”

  “Lady, I shall speak with my comrades and tell them of your plan.”

  “Don’t waste time in idle discussion. I need to be on my way so I may prime the trap. The longer we delay, the more chance there is that Nimhnach will escape us.” There, that should speed things up.

  Cull related their conversation to Ma’an and Torc.

  “’Tis a good plan,” Torc said.

  “Can we trust her?” Ma’an asked.

  “We must. We are fortunate she did not destroy our spirits, but she does need us. She will return,” Cull stated.

  “She has not answered many of our questions,” Ma’an reminded him.

  “There will be time for answers later. What we need now is action.” Cull turned toward Brigid and saw her fondling the shiny, silver object. “And I think she grows impatient.”

  Ma’an threw his hands up in defeat. “Tell her we agree with her plan and pray that she is true to her word.”

  Brigid’s sense of relief at Ma’an’s agreement was outweighed by her indignation. “I am always true to my word.”

  The men gasped as they realized that Brigid understood all they had said.

  “I need no longer conceal my knowledge of the language. I wished to measure your honesty and determine your intentions toward me.” She turned toward Ma’an. “’Tis no matter whether you approve of my plan or not. But luckily for you, I needn’t kill you all now. I will need your assistance later.”

  Ma’an found his courage and spoke. “When shall we expect your return?”

  “I cannot say.” She paused. “I think it would be better if you laid low for now.”

  “Laid low?”

  “Stay here. You don’t want to draw any attention to yourselves.”

  “Aye. Who knows if that dead body has been found yet.”

  Dead body? My God, what else haven’t they told me?

  * * * *

  Gabe awoke with a start. He’d dreamt that Brigid was in trouble. He didn’t think; he reacted. He ran, crashing though the forest back toward the stream. Dashing headlong, he tripped over a fallen, concealed branch and went sprawling. Rising to his knees, he crept toward the stream. He peered through the dense undergrowth and checked out the small clearing. Empty. He entered the open area, peered at the sandy shore and dropped to the ground.

  Blood. There were drops of blood on the sand. Shoved underneath the bushes were crockery shards. And a bloodied knife. He shuddered, took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind.

  There wasn’t much blood, perhaps it wasn’t Brigid’s, but belonged to whoever had taken her. He crawled toward the bank and examined the sandy shore. Grabbing a handful of mud, he concentrated and gathered all his Earth Keeper skills to read the dirt. The remnants were too meager. All he could discern was that more than one pair of feet had been there. He clenched his hands. What good was his Protector strength when it couldn’t have prevented this and couldn’t tell him where Brigid was—or if she was still alive? He dabbed his finger in a clot of blood. It was Brigid’s. He had to believe that she hadn’t been killed. There would have been a body. Less than fifteen minutes had passed. Not enough time to… No. He wouldn’t think like that. Brigid was still alive and hadn’t been touched. He would have known.

  He stood. Enough. He needed to get help. He’d have to trust the humans in town for the moment. But only for the moment.

  Chapter Three

  29th April—Mid-afternoon

  Brigid swiped at another heavy branch punishing her legs, using the sturdy flashlight she’d taken from the glade. Her skin beaded with little ruby scratches. The thick forest growth seemed bent on pricking her and tearing at her clothes. Her right arm ached from being raised to shield her face. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the birches were purposefully whipping at her. Half the time she stumbled when she inadvertently closed her eyes to protect them. She tried to keep the sound of the stream on the right. She thought that was the way she should go to get back to town.

  Cull had been no help. He had no idea where the town was. He didn’t even know that one existed and she had been in too much shock to pay attention to their route when they dragged her away from the stream. She forged on anyhow, putting as much distance as she could between her and the glade.

  She was frantic to get back to Gabe. He must be worried sick wondering what had happened to her. Knowing Gabe, he would have gone to get help. Had it been only a few hours ago that they had made love in the forest?

  The trees finally thinned out, but somehow she had lost the stream. She stopped indecisively. Which way should she turn? Towering oak trees on her right seemed to beckon her. She shrugged. It was as good a way as any. She thought she was headed east toward where the town should be.

  The woodlands grew dense again and she despaired of ever finding her way out. She made one last turn and abruptly reached a dead end. A sheer cliff soared high, blocking her path. She sank to the ground, her hands clenched. Her fingernails pressed into her wounded palm and blood seeped through the makeshift bandage. She wanted to strike out at something. Anything. Instead, she hauled herself to her feet and approached the rock face.

  Could she climb it?

  Slowly, she ran her hands over the rough stone. She inched her way around the gray wall. Then she saw it—a small opening hidden by a crease in the rock and some heavy brush. A cool draft flowed freely from out of the darkness within. If air was coming from somewhere inside, there had to be a way through to the other side.

  She was more than grateful that she had ordered Ma’an to give her the flashlight. She’d tested it and miraculously it still worked, although she had expected to use the sturdy torch to use as a club, not a light.

  She fumbled in her pocket for the single tube of lipstick she had shoved into it years ago, or so it seemed. She’d use it to mark the walls of the cave should she be forced to turn back. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and plunged into the darkness, the flashlight beam her only ray of hope.

  The eerie silence engulfed her. The blackness crept around the edges of the light. The dirt floor was uncannily smooth. The twists and turns of the underground tunnel led ever downward, but the fresh breeze continued unabated. Initially, she was able to walk upright,
but soon the ceiling began to slope lower and she needed to duck her head. Every so often she’d take the lipstick and mark the rough walls with a lurid blood-red arrow. Before long, she was crawling, the silky dirt cold against her hands and knees. She prayed that she wasn’t heading toward a dead end because the thought of crawling backward all the way to the entrance was daunting. However, that alluring draft kept drawing her on.

  Then the narrow shaft took a deep dip downward and a sharp veer to the right, almost turning upon itself. She tumbled forward, sprawling on the floor of a large cavern revealed by her flashlight’s piercing beam as it rolled on the ground. Still on all fours, she groped for the rugged black tube and played the light upward. High overhead she caught sight of a small opening in the cave’s ceiling. She stood cautiously. If the breeze only came from that hole, she was in big trouble.

  She shuffled around the cave wall in the murky grayness, leaving the flashlight off to conserve the batteries, and almost missed the tight crevice.

  Should she try to squeeze through the slit in the stone?

  She had only one other choice and that was to go back the way she came. She shook her head. There was no choice. She’d have to attempt to slip through and see if she had found a dead end.

  Taking a deep breath, she scraped through the narrow gap and gasped as a myriad of torches burst into flames illuminating a vast cavern with a gilded wooden throne and a man lying on top of a bed carved of stone incised with intricate, spiral designs and runes.

  Dagda, her father—the man of her dreams.

  She sank to her knees and squeezed her eyes trying not to faint. It was then that she felt a firm hand on her shoulder and heard a deep, golden voice whisper her name. “Brigid, my daughter.”

  She opened her eyes and smiled at the male figure that towered over her. “Father?”

  He nodded.