Divine by Choice

by P. C. Cast

  No, it wasn’t a trick of my eyes. It was magic. This time it was pure Oklahoma magic.

  My eyes traveled around the elliptical clearing. It was happening all around us. From within the forest, shapes began appearing. Regally, one by one they stepped out of the sheltering trees and into the grove, ancient men with faces so wizened with time that they appeared ageless. And for every living man there appeared with him the spectral, glowing shapes of several others. At first they were hard to identify as individual entities because they blended so well with the white and gray of the ever-falling snow, but the ring of ghostly warriors kept striding forward. The closer they came the more clearly I could distinguish their features.

  The old men approached us, and as one they began a rhythmic chant. I couldn’t understand the words, but the sound pulsed with the same primordial beat as Clint’s invocation. The dead warriors did not speak, but they moved forward with lithe steps in time to the elders’ call. I distinctly saw the plumed regalia of long-extinct battle dress rise and fall with each of the warrior’s movements.

  The ring of warriors, both living and dead, moved forward, like a noose tightening.

  I tore my eyes from the incredible sight to look at Clint. A wonderful, pure power radiated from him and he, too, had joined the elders in their rhythmic chant.

  I shifted my gaze from him to Rhiannon. She was oblivious to everything except destroying the circle of her own making and crooning to the creature within it. She had almost made her way around to her starting point. I looked at Nuada and saw that his slick, black body had completely re-formed. He was a living shadow of the creature ClanFintan had defeated. He prowled back and forth, his attention focused on the small section of circle Rhiannon had yet to break.

  I felt something brush the air around me, like someone had waved a feather duster over my body. The hazy shapes of two warriors passed so close to me I could have reached out a hand and touched their pale fringed shirts.

  Greetings, Chosen One.

  Several spectral thoughts invaded my mind, sounding totally different than my Goddess’s bell-clear voice.

  We thank you for your remembrance.

  I blinked in surprise. These must be the spirits of the warriors from Nagi Road, the lost warriors. I stared in slack-jawed amazement as they followed the living elders to the edge of the melted circle.

  Rhiannon’s booted toe broke the final section of the circle and she stepped back with a triumphant shout, colliding with the shriveled form of the nearest elder. Shock made her feet unsure, and she almost fell, but the old Indian’s strong arms held her upright.

  “Stand aside, Sorceress.” His voice was like the rustling of autumn leaves. “We have work to complete.”

  Rhiannon wrenched herself from his grasp. She looked wildly around, her wide eyes taking in the ghostly army. Its ranks had swollen until the spirits of the dead warriors filled the ancient grove.

  “Do as the Shaman advises, Sorceress.” Nuada’s voice slithered over the last word. “I shall complete what you left undone.”

  But before his black-taloned feet could leave the damaged circle, the chanting of the elders had begun anew. This time there was an urgency and tension to the words. The beat had intensified until I felt my heart echo its pounding.

  Nuada’s dark maw opened to expose his pointed fangs and he snarled at the company of spirits. Then his eyes narrowed and he found Clint.

  “There you are, Shaman.” He sounded infinitely dangerous. “Now we will finish this between us.”

  The instant he broke free of the circle I felt a change ripple through the warriors. From all around me they gave voice to long-dead battle cries, which lifted unerringly skyward and echoed off the heavy clouds. As one they surged forward, tightening the circle of their own making.

  Nuada paused before the wall of imposing spirits.

  “The dead have no hold on me.” Nuada gestured with one claw imperiously back to Bres’s empty corpse.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Clint said slowly and distinctly. “Bres was an aberration from another world. And as such, he held no power over you. Those who surround you are the spirits of dead warriors, protectors of this forest and this world. I have awakened them—” I heard the gentle smile in his voice “—much as they once awakened me. Now we banish you and your evil god forever from this place in which neither of you belong, back to your realm of darkness.”

  With a reptilian hiss Nuada lunged toward Clint. Calling forth speed a living warrior could never hope to emulate, the first ghostly being blocked the dark creature’s path and slashed out at him with the dead blade of a hatchet. Instead of passing harmlessly through Nuada’s body, it sliced neatly into the dark flesh. Before the echo of Nuada’s agonized scream had faded, the section of cut flesh turned to ash and dissipated into the snowy air.

  A thousand extinct battle cries shrilled against the tree line as the ghostly army surged forward, enveloping Nuada’s shrieking body. Soon I could see nothing but a writhing form cloaked in the angry spirits of warriors.

  And then there was silence.

  With the glimmer of forgotten dreams the warriors disappeared. Where Nuada had stood all that was left was a small ash-covered indentation in the white carpet.

  The snow stopped falling.

  “Shaman, do you have further need of us?” one of the ancient men asked Clint respectfully.

  “No, my friend. Thank you.” Clint’s aura still framed him in a haze of sapphire.

  But the elder didn’t turn away immediately. Instead, he spoke solemnly to Clint. “My heart feels joy because the wound within the White Shaman has been healed.” His words were enunciated beautifully, as if each separate syllable held a secret meaning of its own. Then the old man’s eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to Clint, looking intently at the younger man. For a moment it was easy to imagine he was seeing inside Clint’s soul.

  The ancient Indian’s brow furrowed into caverns of worry. “Think, my son.” His scratchy voice sounded infinitely sad. “Be quite sure that is the path you would travel. It is a long one.”

  Surprise flickered over Clint’s face, but it quickly cleared.

  “Thank you, Great One. I will remember.”

  “I will see you again, White Shaman. Until then, goodbye, my son,” the old man said as he turned and made his way silently from the grove.

  “Goodbye, father,” Clint replied to the age-crooked back. Then his attention turned to me and he moved quickly to my side. He crouched down, pulling me close.

  “Do you think you can walk?” he asked quietly.

  Within his embrace I felt suddenly warm, and some of the piercing pain in my side faded.

  “No!” Rhiannon screamed as she hurled herself at Clint, knife held up ready to strike.

  But Clint reacted too quickly. He stood to meet her maniacal charge, and with the ease born of a true warrior’s confidence he deflected her blow, twisting her wrist until the knife dropped harmlessly to the snow.

  Still holding her wrist, Clint bent to retrieve the weapon, then spoke to Rhiannon with grim finality. “It’s over, Rhiannon. I will tolerate no more.”

  “You!” she sputtered. “You! As if you could dictate the actions of a Goddess.” Her voice was ugly with loathing.

  “I would never assume to dictate to a Goddess, but you are not a Goddess.” I was surprised by the gentleness in his voice.

  “Lies!” Rhiannon yelled. “I am Epona’s Chosen, Beloved of a Goddess, Her Incarnation. And I am pregnant with a Daughter of Epona.”

  “No,” I said quietly into the empty silence that washed against her words. “You used to be her Chosen One, but you aren’t now.”

  “I suppose you think you are,” she hurled at me.

  “Yes.” I took a deep breath and shifted my weight slowly so I could meet her eyes. “Yes, I am. I didn’t ask for it. At first I didn’t even want it, and I don’t pretend to know everything I should about it.” I squared my shoulders, ignoring the pain an
d the new rush of wetness the movement caused. “But now I embrace it. Partholon is my choice.”

  Before Rhiannon could respond with her twisted reasoning, I asked, “What do the trees call you?”

  She paused and seemed to consider the question. “The trees? They are here to reinforce my power, to make my magic greater.”

  I shook my head wearily. “They don’t reinforce your power. You’ve been siphoning power from the land, yes, but the trees are not willingly giving it to you. Rhiannon, you’ve embraced Pryderi. That means you have betrayed Epona.”

  “Epona is selfish and jealous. She tries to bully me into only worshipping her, but I’ve always made my own decisions. Why should I stick with one goddess when there are many from which to choose?”

  “What do the trees call you?” I repeated the question slowly, as if I was talking to a very dense child.

  “They call me nothing,” she snarled.

  “They welcome Shannon by name as Epona’s Chosen One,” Clint said softly.

  “No!” Rhiannon whispered.

  “Yes.” His voice had hardened and she stared at him as if she wanted to reach into his mind. “I have witnessed it. Shannon is Epona’s Chosen. She has been recognized in both worlds. And she, too, is pregnant with the true Daughter of Epona.” She shook her head disbelievingly in jarring movements from side to side. Clint continued relentlessly. “The Goddess speaks to you no more. She has not spoken to you for quite some time. You know what we say is the truth.”

  She stood there, wordlessly shaking her head, and I saw myself mirrored within her. I saw everything that I had ever feared. All of my insecurities and hurts were suddenly reflected in her expression.

  “I am sorry, Rhiannon.” I spoke kindly to her. She was broken and I felt no victory in it, only sadness and a sense of loss.

  Clint withdrew his hold on her wrist. She backed away from us through the vestiges of her circle and past the body of her servant, until she tripped on the bulging root of one of the ancient oaks. When she fell she did not get up. Her sobs washed through me as if they were my own.

  Once again Clint crouched down beside me.

  “Well, Shannon my girl, are you ready to go home?” He sounded resolute.

  I couldn’t seem to find my own voice, so I just nodded.

  “First you better let me take a look at that wound.”

  I closed my eyes and pressed my head into his shoulder as he removed the blood-soaked scarf from the hole in my side. I sucked air as he prodded the cut.

  “Sorry, love.” He kissed my damp forehead. “It’s a nasty cut, but it looks like your rib took the brunt of the blade. Let’s see if I can fix this so that you don’t bleed to death.”

  “That’d be nice,” I said faintly.

  Clint wrapped my scarf around my torso to secure the makeshift bandage in place. I tried not to make much noise, but the truth is it hurt like hell and I couldn’t help whimpering.

  “Do you think you can walk?” he asked when he was satisfied with his work.

  “If you help me,” I whispered.

  “I’ll always help you.” He touched my cheek and his lips gently met mine. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  Putting one arm around my shoulders and the other under my elbow, he hoisted me painfully to my feet.

  “Oh, shit, that hurts.” I was panting hard and sweat had broken out all over my body.

  “I know, Shannon my girl, I know,” he said as he helped me take baby steps forward. “Almost there—once you get to the trees you’ll feel better.”

  I had a vague realization that we had passed Rhiannon, who was a silent shape curled into a fetal position at the foot of the closest oak. Then I was at the base of the giant tree. Clint leaned me gently against the cushioned velvet of the moss-covered bark.

  Welcome, Beloved of Epona, the Goddess’s Chosen One.

  The words sounded wonderful. “Hello,” I murmured, pressing the side of my face against the soft moss. “Please help me. It hurts so badly.”

  We hear you, Chosen.

  With the words came a sudden rush of warmth that surged the length of my body. Like a shot of morphine-laced adrenaline I immediately felt soothed and invigorated.

  “Oh, thank you, ancient one.” My breath came easier as my body responded to the tree’s healing power.

  “Better?” Clint’s hand rested on my shoulder.

  I nodded at him.

  “Good enough to change worlds?” His voice didn’t waver, but it sounded oddly hollow.

  I looked into his eyes and I suddenly knew if I said no, if I said let’s wait until my wound has healed, I’d never go back. I’d stay here forever and be this wonderful man’s wife and the love of his life.

  It must be your decision, Beloved. Yours and the Shaman’s.

  I closed my eyes and leaned heavily into the tree. “But there’s really no choice,” I whispered the words to my Goddess. In this world I was an English teacher and a daughter. And I could be wife to a man who loved me very much.

  In Partholon I was a symbol of security and the evidence of a Goddess’s promised benevolence and fidelity.

  Deep within my abdomen I felt a fluttering like the tiny wings of a young hummingbird, reminding me what my decision must be.

  I opened my eyes and smiled sadly at Clint. “Good enough to change worlds,” I assured him.

  He nodded his head once. “We know what to do. I’ll help you straddle the stream, and I’ll mirror your position on the other side. You concentrate on calling ClanFintan.”

  Rhiannon’s mocking laughter sounded strained. Clint and I turned to look at her. She was still curled at the base of the tree, just a few feet from where we stood. Her hair was a wild tangle and her eyes were glassy and unfocused.

  “You cannot return.”

  Her words chilled me.

  “Of course I can. I almost did before. It was only Nuada’s appearance that messed up the transfer.”

  Now the laughter was mingled with sobs. “You know nothing, Chosen One!” she said sarcastically. Then she seemed to collect herself. She wiped her eyes and sat a little straighter as her words continued. “You can call your centaur mate to the grove, and perhaps you can even touch him briefly through the magic of the trees, but you cannot return to him without a blood sacrifice.” She tossed her head in a way that reminded me disconcertingly of myself. “Ask your Goddess, if you don’t believe my words.”

  Clint closed the few feet between them and crouched down next to her, much as he had done for me earlier. Again I was surprised by the gentleness of his voice as he spoke to her.

  “Rhiannon, I did not need a blood sacrifice to bring Shannon here. I just called her and she came.”

  Rhiannon’s head swiveled so that her face was very close to Clint’s, as if she was a child sharing a secret with her playmate.

  Or a lover sharing a secret with her mate.

  “I did it.” Her whisper carried in the stillness of the empty grove. “I was calling Nuada. I had been calling him for many passages of the moon. I could feel him but I could not draw him here, even though I was making the proper blood sacrifices. Something was holding him.”

  “You killed someone that night?” Clint’s voice was infinitely sad.

  “Yes.” The word hung in the air between them. “That is how you were able to complete the spell to call her here.” She looked at me then, and instead of her eyes being filled with the hatred I had seen before, they looked empty and tired.

  “And the day Nuada actually came here?” I prompted.

  “I sacrificed another. This time Nuada came into this world easily at my call.”

  “She can’t be telling the truth,” I said nervously.

  Clint didn’t look at me, instead he touched Rhiannon’s tear-stained cheek with one hand, while he rested his other palm solidly against the trunk of the pin oak. Shutting his eyes, he seemed to close in on himself. His aura pulsed so brightly I had to shield my eyes. When the light was gone, he wa
s looking at me. His expression was infinitely sad.

  “She’s telling the truth.”

  “Well, if we need blood, I have plenty of that dripping down my side!” I yelled my frustration.

  Rhiannon shook her head slowly. “It must be a death. I learned that lesson well in Partholon. Pryderi taught it to Bres and Bres taught it to me.” I was surprised to see her face pale until it was almost colorless. “The Triple Face of Darkness revels in death.”

  I remembered the stories Alanna had told me about Rhiannon’s botched experiments during the time she was attempting to exchange worlds with me. Alanna had made it clear her “experiments” had met with horrible deaths, and I had come to know too well the evil of Pryderi.

  “Fine. We’ll get an animal.” The thought of slitting some poor creature’s throat in sacrifice made me feel a little sick, but it was worlds better than the alternative.

  “It is not enough.” Rhiannon was staring at me. “You must sacrifice a human for a human to move through the divide.”

  I looked at Clint for help. He only nodded slowly in agreement.

  I felt my shoulders slump.

  Never able to go back. I was never able to go back. The reality of it was crushing. I closed my eyes and felt my silent tears mingle with the damp moss.

  How is this a choice? I sent the angry thoughts to my Goddess. If this was the “rule” then the “choice” had little to do with what Clint or I wanted.

  The decision to return was yours, Beloved. The choice to send you is the Shaman’s. The confusing answer passed lovingly through my mind.

  I heard movement beside me and opened my eyes to see Clint standing next to me, so close his right side almost touched my wounded left side. He had pulled Rhiannon with him and he still held her tightly by the wrist. She wasn’t struggling, though, but stood quietly beside him. The thought struck me how strange the three of us must look, Clint flanked by two mirror images.

  I looked questioningly at Clint. His eyes were filled with deep sadness and resolve. It frightened me.