Divine by Choice

by P. C. Cast

  This time when he came into contact with Clint’s aura, the brilliant golden sparks had faded to the yellow of candlelight. It was enough to make Nuada step back once more, but only just out of reach of the aura. I saw the strain clearly visible on Clint’s sweat-covered face, as did the demon.

  “Your pathetic strength is waning.” Nuada hissed as he moved forward again.

  I lunged to Clint’s side and grabbed his hand with both of mine, which were still unnaturally warm from their contact with the trees. Concentrating, I hurled all of that warmth into Clint, just as I had hurled it through the stream and into Partholon. At the same moment, Nuada stepped within the walls of the vibrant blue fortress.

  Sparks shot like lightning through Nuada’s dark body and his scream echoed against the forest edge. Nuada’s form seemed to collapse in upon itself as he was flung backward.

  “You are mine. Until I possess you, what you love I will destroy, be it in this world or the next.” The words hung in the air as the shadowy form dissipated into the forest.

  A wave of dizziness sloshed through my head, blurring my sight. My knees buckled. With a groan, I dropped Clint’s hand and fell to the cold ground.

  “Shannon!” Clint knelt beside me, pulling me into his arms.

  “I c-c-can’t f-feel my l-legs.” My teeth were chattering and I was shaking uncontrollably. I looked up into Clint’s pale face and tried to lift my hand to touch his cheek, but my arm wouldn’t obey the simple command. I felt oddly detached from my body, like it and I didn’t belong together.

  “Don’t talk,” he said. Frantically, he threaded his hands under my armpits and linked them across my chest. Breathing heavily, he heaved backward, dragging me toward the two pin oaks.

  My vision tunneled until a thick band of gray framed everything. I heard a strange noise, and realized it was my own breath coming in gasps.

  With a grunt, Clint closed the last bit of space between the trees and us. Gently he stepped from behind me, and pulled me into a sitting position so that I was resting my back against one of the mossy trunks.

  As if it was happening to someone else, I could feel the heat of the tree against my back, but that warmth didn’t seem accessible any longer. The cold in my body was too overwhelming, and my consciousness began to flicker like a candle in a gale.

  Through a film of gray I could see Clint drop to his knees, straddling my lap. He reached up and put his palms on either side of my head, pressing them against the side of the tree.

  “Help her,” he demanded. “She’s dying!”

  The jolt of warmth that flowed urgently into my body shocked me, and a groan of pain escaped my numbed lips as feeling began to return to my limbs. My arms and legs were being pricked with hundreds of sharp little pins. My expanding chest felt tight as I breathed deeply. I gulped the life-bringing air and realized groggily that I must have quit breathing. With paralyzing fear I thought of my child, and was rewarded with a wonderful rush of nausea. Oh, Epona, let her be safe.

  The gray mist swirled, and then cleared from my vision. Clint’s face swam into focus. This time my arm obeyed me when I told it to lift, and I reached up, letting my thumb wipe away a tear that slid down the side of his face.

  “I’m okay now.” My voice was a weak whisper.

  “Thank your Goddess,” he rasped. I noticed his arms were trembling.

  “And you.” My hand fell back to my side, and I pressed my back more firmly against the life-giving oak.

  Clint rocked back on his heels and moved off my lap to sit beside me, his own back resting against the tree, too. I could feel him watching me, but I didn’t turn my head to meet his gaze. Instead, I stared across the clearing, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

  At that moment, the slate-colored sky opened and delicate flakes began to fall silently to the ground.

  “It’s snowing,” I said softly.

  I could feel Clint’s jerk of surprise. “Do you think you can move away from the tree now?”

  I nodded weakly, suddenly aware of the chill in the air and the cold dampness of my sweat-soaked clothing. Stiffly Clint pushed himself to his feet. I raised my hands and he pulled me up to stand beside him, putting gloves on us both.

  “Can you walk?” he asked.

  “Yes.” My voice still sounded strange, but at least I was firmly attached to my body again. I was wobbly and light-headed, but I was pretty sure I could walk.

  I looked up at the swollen sky. The delicate flakes had been replaced with thicker, thumb-size blobs and the wind had picked up, causing them to fall at a sharp angle. I shivered and drew the damp collar of my coat around my neck.

  “We need to get back to the cabin.” Clint’s tone reflected his worried expression. He linked his arm through mine, and we stepped out of the shelter of the two trees and into the wind-driven snow.

  My legs were unsure, and I leaned heavily on Clint’s arm. My breath was coming hard as we reached the edge of the clearing and stepped beneath the canopy of the forest. We picked our way slowly through the undergrowth until we found the small path. Not giving me time to pause, Clint pulled me down the path until we came to an especially ancient-looking oak. Then he guided me the few steps off the trail to the massive tree and let me lean numbly against its healing trunk. My eyes closed as I drew within me its warmth and the tendrils of its power.

  “Rest, Beloved of Epona,” fluttered through my tired mind.

  “Ready?” All too soon Clint was prodding me forward.

  The journey back to the house took on a surrealistic pattern. I would stumble down the path, holding tightly to Clint’s strong arm until I thought I could go no farther, then he would guide me to an ancient tree. I was like a cell phone being partially recharged—my thoughts were broken and scattered.

  The ever-present Oklahoma wind continued to increase until snow was forced through the thick ceiling of the forest. Daylight faded and my fragmented thoughts wondered how long we had spent trying to open the door into Partholon. I must have spoken the question aloud because Clint’s answer broke the silence.

  “Hours.” His tone reflected his exhaustion. “It will be dark soon.”

  I gasped in surprise.

  “You can make it, Shannon my girl. We’re almost home.” He tried to sound reassuring as we continued forward.

  Home—the word lingered in the snow-tinted air. Home was what I had just left back in the clearing. The sorrow in ClanFintan’s fading voice still echoed in my heart.

  I stumbled on a step and lurched back, shaking my head in confusion. Clint’s arm went around me and he half carried, half dragged me up the stairs and through the door.

  “Sit here. I’ll start a fire.”

  I fell into the rocking chair and watched as he knelt before the fireplace. He tore off his gloves and his shaking hands hurried to strike the match. Our breath was clearly visible in the frigid air of the cabin.

  The fire caught easily and was soon crackling with heat. But the warmth couldn’t reach me. My teeth chattered and my face felt numb.

  Clint paused only long enough to tear off his coat and pull off his wet sweater and shirt before kicking off his boots and pants. He moved quickly to the dresser that stood next to the bed and yanked open one of its drawers. He grabbed a sweatshirt and threw it over his head. With almost the same movement he jerked on a clean pair of jeans. Then he searched through the drawer until he found another sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. With his free hand, he grabbed the afghan off the end of the bed. Then he rushed back to my side. By this time I was shivering uncontrollably.

  He started fumbling with the zipper of my coat until he had it undone, then he roughly pulled it off and started to yank the cashmere sweater over my head.

  “Hey!” I sputtered, but he paid no attention to me. Instead, he pulled off my boots before he boosted me to a standing position where I tottered drunkenly as he stripped me of my leather pants. Methodically he rubbed my body dry with the afghan before dressing me in the s
weatshirt and pants.

  “Sit while I get us something warm to drink.” He pushed me back into the chair, which he then pulled even closer to the fireplace, covered my lap with the afghan and stepped purposefully into the kitchen.

  “The man is like a damn tornado,” I muttered through lips that I was sure were blue. I could hear him rattling pots and opening and closing the door to the refrigerator. Shifting my weight so that the rocker leaned forward toward the brightly burning fire, I held my hands to its warmth, relieved I was no longer shaking uncontrollably.

  Clint returned quickly and shoved a mug of steaming liquid into my hands. I took it and he hurried back to the kitchen.

  “Drink it,” he threw over his shoulder.

  I hugged the mug with my hands and sipped. The hot chocolate was warm and rich, and I felt my body come alive as the drink made its way down my throat and into my empty stomach, which growled menacingly.

  Before I could call for him, Clint reappeared, holding a tray laden with hastily put-together sandwiches, another mug and a pan of steaming chocolate. He handed me a sandwich before pulling the other rocker next to mine and helping himself to his own.

  I bit into the thick ham and cheese that rested between two slices of homemade sourdough bread. Thankfully, my morning sickness seemed to be (at least for today) limiting itself to the morning, and the sandwich was the best thing I’d ever tasted in my life.

  “This is good,” I said around the delicious sandwich.

  “Just eat.” His voice was rough and he was staring into the fire as he ate. Then he must have regretted his tone because his gaze left the fire and softened as it found my face. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  I gulped some more of the hot chocolate and nodded. “I already do.”

  He smiled his relief and we finished our food in silence.

  I had just swallowed the last of the hot chocolate when my yawn started deep within me.

  “You need sleep.”

  A shimmer of fear touched my tired mind. “But what if Nuada comes back?” I could hardly believe I was just now thinking of the possibility.

  Clint took my hand and pulled me out of the chair. “Nuada. That’s what you called it back in the clearing.”

  My hand tightened on his. “He was Lord of the creatures we fought against. He’s supposed to be dead.”

  Clint put one finger gently against my lips, effectively shushing me.

  “You can explain after you sleep. And I don’t think he will come back tonight. He was only partially formed, so his recovery would have to be even slower than ours.”

  “But what if it’s not?” I couldn’t help the tremble of fear that went through my body.

  “I would know if anything approached this cabin.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “Trust me,” he said as he led me to the bed and pulled back the thick down comforter. I sank into its softness, realizing I would not be able to stay conscious much longer. I curled on my side and Clint covered me before he started to turn back to the chair by the fire. I grabbed his hand, stopping him.

  “Is there another bed up there?” I jerked my head toward the loft above us.

  “No,” he answered quietly. “Just a computer and a desk.”

  “Then sleep here. You’re exhausted, too.”

  Clint paused and his eyes searched mine. Then he nodded tiredly and went to the other side of the bed. I could feel it sag with his weight. My back was to him, and without a word he put his arm around my waist and pulled me snuggly against his warmth. I knew I shouldn’t, but I fell asleep feeling the security of his heartbeat against my body.

  CHAPTER 5

  My dreaming mind felt odd, fuzzy—not like the precursor to the DreamLand I was accustomed to slipping so easily into. My sleeping self cringed, expecting a replay of the nightmares that had visited me the previous night. Instead against my closed eyelids a scene that could have been from my childhood wavered and finally focused.

  The brick ranch-style home sat atop a gentle rise in the land. The front door opened to a concrete patio that was surrounded by fragrant butterfly bushes interspersed between homemade brick planters that spilled over with wildly blooming petunias. Half a dozen wrought-iron lawn chairs in various stages of rust were staggered around a huge Oklahoma sandstone rock. An enormous oak stood sentinel in the front yard. My sleeping self smiled as I watched a gentle wind caress the leaves; that front yard never failed to catch a cool breeze.

  The screen door opened with a bang and my dad stepped into the scene. He had a horse’s halter slung over his shoulder and an ice pick–like tool in his hand. He sat in one of the chairs and leaned forward, spreading the halter out on the rock. Then he began working at it with the tool. His broad shoulders curled and the thick muscles in his football player arms bunched with a strength that belied the gray in his hair.

  Even though my conscious mind knew I was dreaming, joy filled my soul. My dad was alive in this world!

  “Hon!” The sweet Oklahoma drawl softened my stepmom’s voice as she called from the house. “You know you could just go buy a new halter instead of fooling with that old one.”

  “Nope, nope,” Dad mumbled. “This’ll be fine.”

  “Well, how about a cold Coors?”

  “That doesn’t sound half-bad,” he said, a small smile playing across his face.

  And the dream scene froze. My sleeping mind instantly tensed as my attention shifted from the freeze-frame of my father to the pastureland that surrounded the yard. And within that frozen dream vision darkness seemed to seep from the edges of the land.

  Until I possess you, what you love I will destroy, be it in this world or the next.

  Like smooth stones, the words turned over and over in my mind until the dreaming view of my father darkened into nothingness.

  My eyes opened abruptly to focus on Clint’s back as he bent to add more crackling wood to the cheerily burning fire. I tried to get my breathing under control and still the wild pounding of my heart before he turned around.

  As with the dream the previous night, I knew this vision had not been one of my Magic Sleep journeys, which were basically soul-departing trips that my Goddess initiated so that I could witness events that were actually taking place. This had the feel of a dream, with the shadow of a nightmare mixed within its texture. But did the fact that I wasn’t actually witnessing events as they happened mean that my Goddess wasn’t at work here? Perhaps Epona’s powers weren’t as clearly defined in this world, especially if my gut feeling was right—Pryderi was somehow at work within this evil. What if Epona was trying to warn me? The rush of emotion that followed that thought was much more refined than simple intuition.

  I sat up and Clint turned to look at me, surprised I was awake.

  “Nuada is after my dad,” I said with grim certainty.

  Clint nodded. “I don’t doubt that.” He paused. “Did he know your father’s mirror image in Partholon?”

  “Nuada killed him.” I spoke quietly. “I watched as it happened.”

  “Then we will have to warn him.” He glanced at the phone.

  My laugh was humorless. “I don’t think this is something that can be explained over the phone. I need to see him.”

  “Where does he live?” Clint asked as he went to the window and pushed aside the heavy plaid curtain.

  “Just a few miles outside of Broken Arrow, which isn’t far from Tulsa.”

  “I used to live in Tulsa. I know BA,” he said over his shoulder. He shook his head as he studied the scene outside the window. “The forest warned me that winter would be long this year, and I knew it had been unusually cold lately, but I wouldn’t have believed so much snow so early would be possible.”

  I rose stiffly from the bed and hobbled to join him. I peered out onto a scene that should have been set in February in Wisconsin, not early November in Oklahoma. The moon’s fairy light mingled with the still-falling snow. The treed world outside the door had opened its naked arms
to embrace the early snowstorm. Like old men clothed in lopsided furs, the trees and bushes were already covered with a thick layer of white.

  “My God! It looks like the friggin frozen tundra.” I shivered, doubly glad of the heat of the fire and the thickness of the borrowed clothing.

  “Can you travel?” Clint was still staring out at the changed landscape.

  “Do you mean walk out of here?” I felt tired deep within my body.

  “No, I’m not a total recluse. I have a vehicle. But if we wait much longer I’m afraid the roads will be impassable, and we will have to walk.”

  I shook off my pervading weariness. “Then let’s get out of here.” I looked down at Clint’s baggy sweatpants that pooled around my ankles. “I don’t suppose Rhiannon left any other clothes, did she?”

  Clint studied me and shook his head. “Nope.” There was a hint of a smile in his voice. “You’ll have to wear my clothes until we can get you something else. Isn’t there a Wal-Mart in Broken Arrow?”

  “A Wal-Mart?” I gave him a sideways glance as I picked up my boots that had been drying in front of the fireplace. “I had no idea you were such a classy guy.”

  “Just tryin’ to help, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary hat at me before he bent to pull on his own boots.

  I grumbled under my breath at him. Men.

  I didn’t realize I was hungry again until Clint mentioned that it would probably be wise to pack some sandwiches to take with us, so I ate hastily while we made food to go and tried not to notice the strange, continuous plopping against the windows of the thick snowflakes carpeting the outside world.

  “Ready?” Clint asked as he motioned me to the front door.

  I nodded and zipped my coat. Clint opened the door and an icy breeze rushed past us, bringing with it the crisp scent of new fallen snow. We stepped onto the porch.

  “Wow!” My breath hung before me like a mini-cloud of fog. “This is amazing.”