Blue Keltic Moon (Children of the Keltic Triad) (17 page)

From that day when she was but five years old, when she had stated she was going to marry him, she had resided deep in his soul. Now, as a woman, the young girl’s innocent love had blossomed, changed, grown. Now, he loved her as that woman.

A shadowy presence spoke from the dense thicket of trees lining the path. “You should have told her long before now.”

Knowing Nightshade only voiced the crux of his inner debate, Gowthaman still straightened his back and denied. “Told her what?”

Nightshade stepped from under the cover of the tall trees and shook his head. “You are more a fool than I thought.”

Gowthaman took a deep breath and released it slowly. He discovered no anger in response to the man’s statement, only acceptance of his own failures. “Perhaps.”

“No perhaps about it, honey.” Nightshade studied the sky. “Time’s short. Coralie is making ready to begin the chant. You’ve ignored your opportunity. Again.” He glanced back and tapped a hard knuckle against the journal. “You’d best be getting that into Breanna’s hands.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Nightshade stalked up the steep path. Gowthaman heard him mumbling but ignored the words he knew were true. He was a fool. Now, he would pay a price for that foolishness. He started forward deliberately. No, not foolish. Fear-filled. He stumbled, righted himself and continued. He was afraid. Of feeling. Anything. For any person. His thoughts, memories, and emotions had been stolen once and used to endanger an entire family. The clan who had accepted him despite his unwilling part in Feidhlim’s planned destruction.

Despite the evidence of soulfire burning his skin, he would not again endanger Breanna by loving her.

A faint glow, reminiscent of reflected flames, shadowed the dips and valleys of the low-lying clouds. The eerie nighttime sky brightened. Clouds parted, revealing a rounded, glowing circumzenithal arc, the lower edge of the nearly full moon.

Bree pressed one hand against the churning in her belly. Her earlier run had calmed her enough she’d been able to gather the team and get them here on time. Still, her mind never ceased working rapidly through her list of mental lists. Any action to bolster her refusal to listen to the insidious little voice claiming there would be no success, that she’d fail, and worse yet, doom the others to remain in the gray.

She reached the outcropping, climbed the steep hill and turned to survey her small team. Jayse had refused to allow Lucidea anywhere near the possible danger of opening the veil. In order to keep her safely in the manor, both he and Tori remained behind as well. Nightshade and Gowthaman would report their successful entry into the world between worlds.

Here on the outcropping, Coralie stood calm and silent, staring into the sky, looking as though she was simply out for a stroll on a calm, midsummer evening. Breanna sighed, wishing she could share that calm.

As she expected, her brother bounced on the balls of his feet, filled with nervous energy. His gaze darted toward the moon, around the flat hilltop and over the loch’s dark waters. He cocked his head to one side as if listening. Then he closed his eyes, wrinkled his forehead and a flash of pain tightened his features. She was about to cross the rocky path to him when he opened his eyes, blew out a harsh breath and resumed his energetic bouncing.

Whatever demons pursued her brother would have to wait. He seemed in control and she fervently hoped he was. She didn’t have the energy to worry about him.

Bree turned toward Coralie. The Alfar-Sindhu nodded.

“’Tis time,” Coralie said.

––––––––

M
orghan brushed a shock of hair from his forehead and frowned. Since coming to himself, he’d done little but watch the elemental. He touched his face, feeling the deep furrow between his brows. How long has it been? Days? Months? Mere hours?

He pressed his fingers to his eyes, a firm touch to rub away the confusion. After he blinked, it took a moment for his eyes to focus. No matter how long he remained in this cursed land of gray, he would not return to the confusion. For he had an enemy to watch, an enemy’s actions to gage, analyze and ultimately end.

Taking a deep breath he angled one shoulder to rub against the thick gray bark of the tree at his back. A sharp pain stabbed needles into his upper arm and he adjusted the torn strip of cloth he’d wrapped around the bite. ’Twould heal. He gave a soft snort. At least he no longer felt the need to hide his actions from his nemesis. The elemental’s magic allowed him to know—Morghan scraped the itchy spot again—to know where Morghan was and what he did.

A foul magic that.

Yet, mayhap it was a good thing, for the magic had given Morghan a sense of knowing as well—when he made the effort to search his mind for the point of intrusion. However, there was little to do in this dry landscape and if maintaining a watch on Brandr Ur would help him focus his thoughts and find a way to defeat the elemental, then watch he would.

Angling onto one buttock, Morghan brushed away a sharp rock then settled again with his back to the tree, his knees bent so his feet rested flat on the ground. He balanced his wrists on his knees and stared across the plain. Brandr Ur sat in a ruined temple on a throne of stone, centered on the rubble-strewn dais. Distending his nostrils, Morghan huffed out a breath.

The distance was not great, so the elemental’s face and expressions were clear to him. And puzzling.

If there had been another being before the elemental, Morghan would be convinced Brandr Ur spoke then reacted to a returned bit of conversation.

A shudder crept across Morghan’s shoulders. Brandr Ur was speaking to another. Momentarily thankful he wasn’t the focus of the elemental’s mind-talk, he filled with anger that anyone should have to experience the touch of another within their mind.

Morghan clenched his fists and fell into a memory. He remembered the page he’d found torn from his brother’s journal, a single page that spoke of feeling another being invading his mind, of the fear of insanity and hopelessness that drove his brother from their lands. Morghan straightened his fingers, then clenched them again, his ragged nails digging into his palms. He had felt that same invasion. From the same being.

He’d fought the foreign presence there in the false security of his two worlds, and then for a time after he’d been brought here. He frowned. Had the elemental simply ceased invading him, or had he lost enough of himself he had no longer cared? How long had he spent walking in madness, allowing the elemental to manipulate him?

Closing his eyes, he pressed one hand to his belly. Without even the need for food or drink, how did one track the days? He failed to understand how, after his initial hungers had passed, his body had been sustained. He was not dead. This one thing he knew for fact.

How had his people fared during his incarceration? He found a smile at the rediscovered memory of Lucidea’s determination that she would not need to rule. Ah, she’d be a fine ruler. He rubbed at the wound. More competent than he, and more willing to accept assistance. Dark thoughts skittered across his memory and a growl rumbled in his throat. If Pagas had done anything to harm Coralie or his new-found niece...

The air surrounding him warmed. Uncomfortably. He blinked to clear the dry air blur from his vision then jerked to his feet.

Leaning forward casually, Brandr Ur sat on a low stone near him. Watching. A faint smile tilted his arrogant lips.

At the sound of a Morghan’s second, focused growl, Brandr Ur chuckled. “Relax, child of my descendants. I am not here to fight you. This time.” He stared into the distance and Morghan fought the impulse to turn and follow his gaze. Ignoring the elemental, Morghan set his shoulders and searched his memory for words he should know, words his Coralie had given him before for the battle. But the words were hidden from him so he planted his feet firmly in the dry earth, shrugged to release the tightness of his shoulders and fisted his hands in preparation for a physical battle.

“Settle yourself.” Brandr Ur curled his lip in a mocking sneer. “I do not deign to fight you at this time.” He glanced again into the distance. “Don’t you feel it? Are you so dulled the ripples in the veil elude you? Reach out, prince of waters, weak though you are, for you are still blood of my blood. Even your meager abilities should allow you to know that which surrounds you.”

Morghan eased his stance. Curious about the elemental’s strange behavior, he cocked his head to one side and listened. The elemental smiled and leaned back, crossing his arms and giving a sharp nod.

“Good. Follow the pathway of what you feel, foolish prince. Follow and know the time grows short. We shall join in battle once again before the veil. I shall triumph.”

“Ye shall no’.”

Brandr Ur’s smile widened. Heat pressed against Morghan, burning his cheeks, flushing the skin of his forearms, burying coals of pain deep in the jagged wound. He refused to move, to show any reaction to the elemental’s attack. Lifting his chin he bared his teeth. “Fight me, then, father of my blood. Now.”

After a moment of strained silence, Brandr Ur broke into laughter. Gasping, he pointed his finger at Morghan and spoke between harsh breaths. “You... amuse... me. Perhaps I... should... not destroy... you.”

“If ye do no’, ken ye this, I shall destroy ye. I have no qualms in killin’ ye now. Ye will die.”

“No. I will survive and you will die. Eventually. Perhaps I should keep you temporarily, for you lighten my day.”

Flexing his hands, Morghan strained, angling his upper body toward his foe. “I shall lighten yer head from yer shoulders, like ye had done to m’ brother. Yers would be a more fitting sacrifice to my mind.”

Brandr Ur waved one hand in dismissal. A vision popped into Morghan’s head, blazing with the heat and crackle of invisible flames. He saw himself bound by a chain wrapped thrice around one ankle. A multi-tipped cap sat low on his head, the bright colors burning to vision accustomed to the gray.

Brandr Ur lounged upon a velvet-lined, gilded throne, twirling the free end of the chain. He spoke. “Pagas did not wish to entertain me. He saw no glory in such a position at my side. You, blood of my blood. How say you?”

Tearing the belled cap from his head, Morghan shouted, “I will no’ be toyed with, ye pretender god.”

“Pretender god?” Brandr Ur lay one hand on his chest. Then he rose, stretching to his full height and tugged the chain until Morghan sprawled at his feet. “There is no pretense in me, prince. I shall return to the god-form I held so long ago, return and claim my true place. The place you and your kind denied me.” He tossed the chain to the side and gave Morghan his back. “Get up, fool. I came to you this day to give you the opportunity to worship me. Not that I believed you would.”

The elemental, the throne, the chain disappeared. Morghan opened his eyes to the muted landscape, and Brandr Ur’s back as he stalked away. But the elemental’s voice echoed still in his head.

::Remember my words, blood of my blood. Listen. Feel. I think you may be pleased with the happenings. Or... perhaps not. Either way, I will not again stand before you until the night of my liberation. Two nights, prince. Two nights for you to use as you will, until one way or another... you are mine.::

Sudden silence brought Morghan no comfort, for the elemental’s words confused him. What should he listen for? There was never anything new, nothing worth listening for. Yet, in the silence, a vibration tickled the back of his neck. He chased the tickle with his palm and turned from Brandr Ur’s valley. The awareness crawled over his scalp to the center of his forehead, drawing him toward his own claimed area of the world between worlds. Listening to a hum building in the air, he allowed the pull to move him forward. The hum called to him in familiar, dulcet tones. He paused, shook his head but couldn’t clear the rising chant from his mind. Someone was...

“Nay,” he cried. “Nay, ye must no’.” Panic rose with sour bile in his throat, strangling the breath from his lungs. His heart pounded a ragged, staccato beat. The cold sweat of dread coated his skin and he shivered. “Coralie, ye must no’,” he choked out. “Do no’!”

Finding strength in his fear, he ran.

T
he trio gazed at each other in silent communication before Chance and Breanna moved behind Coralie to form a loose triangle. Gowthaman eased closer to Breanna. She acknowledged him with a faint smile when pressed the journal into her hands. “I’ll bring this back safely to you.”

He ached to shout, to cry to the rising moon he didn’t care if the book were lost, torn to shreds, disintegrated. He didn’t care about a book. He cared about her safety, her return. To him. Instead he swallowed heavily and said, “I know.”

They stood, hands touching over the leather cover. He knew she was distracted, her mind racing to make sure she’d discovered and dealt with every conceivable contingency. Say something. Tell her. “Breanna? I...”

Expression clear, she focused her bright blue eyes on him. Words stalled in his throat. His declaration of love would potentially be another burden for her to carry into an already too dangerous mission. He couldn’t.
Tell her.

Coralie’s low chant flowed with increasing intensity and a musical trill. He curled his fingers around Breanna’s, lifting one of her hands from the journal. She held the book close to her chest with the other hand and tilted her head in question.

Tell her. Coward.
Yes, he was a coward. Looking into her beautiful eyes, he sighed then spoke in a whisper. “Be safe.”

With another of her soft, sad smiles, Breanna leaned closer and pressed her warm lips to his cheek. Heat burned through him and a brief spasm tightened his hand around hers. All he needed to do was turn his face, take possession of her lips and kiss her as he had before. As she was meant to be kissed. A simple act to show her the strength of his love.

“We will,” she whispered then turned away and his opportunity dissolved.

Wind tossed the surrounding branches with a cacophony of creaks and rustling. Breanna took a step forward, tightening the triangle. Her heart thumped with heavy doubt and sadness. She should have told Gowthaman how much she loved him... at least one more time. The empty cold at her back told her he had moved away, back to the safety of this world. Caressing the leather journal, still warm from his hands, was a way to hold him close to her heart. When they returned, she’d make sure he knew exactly how important he was to her. She shook her head as old movie lines sang a countermelody to Coralie’s chant. ...is another day... just a day away... always tomorrow.