Blue Keltic Moon (Children of the Keltic Triad) (21 page)

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Under her gentle touch his brow wrinkled with his frown. She had said those words before, as a child. When he’d returned from the world between worlds the first time. In this now, smooth comfort eased from her fingers and into his mind. This time, he let her follow the path of his humiliation to discover the past he’d hidden.

Another woman’s cool fingers had pressed lightly, just above his eyebrows. “If you fight me, this will be painful,” the seeker, Petulia, had whispered in his ear.

Tendrils, light as the newest growth of a Faerie vine had curled inward from each of Petulia’s fingertips. He had seen them, felt them as she inched deeper and deeper into his consciousness. One by one, the tendrils wrapped around the stones of his mental barriers, easing between the tightly mortared construction, and tore them down. With the tearing away, a scream had ripped from his throat.

He swallowed heavily against the strain and dryness, reminding himself Breanna’s fingers touched him now. With his permission. With his full belief she could help him. She crooned to him of that healing, but the memory remained, demanding acquiescence.

Each deconstructed stone had become a scream, followed by his captors’ wild laughter. Unable to stand, he’d hung by his wrists, gouging deep tears in his abused skin. He hadn’t felt the pain or the hot blood that ran down his arms. His shoulders popped with remembered strain. His throat burned. Unable to escape the seeker’s touch, he thrashed his head.

“Shh. It’s me, Gowtham. Let me take the hurt.”

Breanna’s touch.

Anguish returned. Petulia’s tendrils had withdrawn, leaving a void that filled slowly as his mind returned to him. She had taken but somehow the contents of his mind remained intact. She knew—good and ill—knew all he knew, all he’d done, all he was. Petulia had stolen honor and dishonor both as she’d sought through his mind.

He had failed to keep the Zeroun clan safe. There had been nothing left for him. At one point, he had begun to hope. To hope the evil ones would kill him.

But members of Breanna’s family had rescued him, although that rescue had taken him to the world between worlds. Twice he had entered the gray and twice had he been forced to leave the place where he may have been able to forget the violation of his mind. New anger simmered, skittering from Breanna’s healing touch.

Her touch called to him and the anger dissipated in the welcoming comfort.

Her touch. So different from the seeker’s. He relaxed and felt Breanna’s gentle, mental smile. “That’s it, Gowtham. Now, we need to break down the walls you’ve constructed around those memories. Please. Allow me to help you.”

With a reflexive ruthlessness he barely understood, he reinforced the barriers around his frozen heart. Ah, but the aching of his soul far exceeded any pain his physical being had ever suffered. As he had then, he longed to slink away, make his way back to his beloved desert and disappear. Or, perhaps wander off in this foreboding place to dwell in the emptiness... like the wounded animal he was.

“Gowthaman?”

Trying to deny the voice—a musical combination of Breanna then and now—he shook his head.

“Gowthaman?” Breanna the child. A memory then.

Releasing a long breath, he tried to smile. “Yes, little missy?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Now that the golden-haired child had seated herself firmly in his mind, his memories coalesced around her and the comfort of her innocent smile. With a groan, he fully opened his mind to Breanna’s healing.

“Somebody hurt you, didn’t they?” The cherub’s voice intruded again on his thoughts.

“Yes, little missy, someone did.” Why should he have denied the fact when the marks upon his body vividly showed the physical abuse? He had hoped none would discover the rape and torture of his mind.

“Here, too.” She touched his temple, a twin of her older self’s touch. A cool wave of comfort eased into his mind. He tensed at the invasion and the child jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to do that without asking you first if it’s okay. But you hurt so bad.”

He frowned. A child could not know of that pain. At her serious expression, he attempted a smile. “Do not worry about me, little missy.”

She giggled and patted his cheek. “Why d’you call me that?”

“Because you are so young, yet still I honor you.”

“Oh, like you’re old.” She giggled again.

“But I am, little missy. Older than you can imagine.” Had he smiled at her then? He could not remember.

“But, you’re Faerie, so you’ll live a long time.”

He had wished then that the fact were not true, for how could he live with his actions for the length of such a lifetime? He had no choice then, and no choice now. “Yes, that I shall.”

“Don’t be sad. I’m gonna marry you when I grow up.”

Despite the pain, and surprised at her confident statement, he chuckled. “Are you now? Why would you wish to marry an old librarian like me?”

“You’re not old. And because that’s what people who love each other do. Just like Daddy and Mommy.”

In the stillness of the world between worlds, he heard the echo of her words from Breanna’s lips “...who love each other.”

Breanna’s grandfather, the then leader of the Defenders of Mankind had crouched beside them.

Breanna frowned up at him. “Granda, Gowtham’s hurt bad. But I can fix him.”

Gowthaman stared at the young girl. None had used a shortened form of his name, not since he was a young faerie lad, not much older than the child was now. Warmth filled his chest. She was... a peculiar child.

The adult fingers at his temples shifted with Breanna’s soft snort but the gentle memory continued.

“Did ye ask him, Bree? What did yer da tell ye?”

Counting on her small fingers, she answered by rote. “Don’t heal without permission. Don’t heal when people who don’t understand are around. Faerie healing—”

“Aye,” the Alastriona laughed. “Ye remember well. So, did ye ask him?”

She turned a crystal-blue gaze on Gowthaman. Her earnest expression returned the smile to his face. What harm could there be to humor her? Perhaps any fledgling talent she held would ease the physical aches.

“Gowtham, may I heal your hurts?”

After a quick glance at her grandfather’s tolerant grin, he nodded. “As you wish, little missy.”

Bright joy suffused her face and she shook her finger at him. “My name’s Breanna, silly.”

Now he whispered her name, “Breanna,” and received such a powerful wash of love and heat he gasped. His inner vision burned with entwined gold and red then faded again into his memories.

Pressing her small hands to his chest, the child closed her eyes. Calm, cool waves engulfed him, easing the burning pain of his physical injuries. One by one, he watched as he bruises healed and the skin knit over cuts and scrapes. She carried more than a fledgling talent.

A pale pink glow surrounded her hands. Tinged with hints of deep red and gold, the glow pulsed softly with the beating of his heart.

No. How could that be? This was not a part of his memory. He had not seen soulfire then. Soulfire never appeared in one so young. The magical expression of... love... would not... could not... despite her foolish affirmations she would marry him. No, the haze had to have been a remnant of confusion within his tortured mind.

When he lifted his gaze to her face Breanna the child opened her eyes. The brilliance of her smile held him still while she lifted her hands and touched his temples softly. Her adult fingers trembled then remained firmly in place. As he had then, he did now, opening his mouth to beg her to stop, for he could not pull away from her touch.

::I’m not gonna hurt you, Gowtham. I’d never hurt you.::

Whose voice? The child or the woman?

Then the soft pink entered his mind, hovered in the darkness of his abused memories before taking the form of small hands that lifted bits of his protective mental wall and pieced them together, slowly rebuilding his shields. Finally with a touch light as the kiss of innocence, the child retreated.

“Oh, no,” Breanna said quietly. “I’m sorry, Gowtham, I did that without knowing how difficult it would be for you. I shouldn’t have. I... I didn’t understand the extent—”

He lifted his hands to cover hers. “I know. Now, I understand many things. I must breach those reinforced defenses, for they do not shield me from pain, but hold me captive. The walls you constructed are strong. Breanna, will you help me? I do not know if I can do this alone.”

“You’re not alone. You’re never alone, Gowtham.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Let’s fix what I did out of love so long ago.”

Gowthaman took a deep breath and returned to the memories haunting him for so long. Deep, passionate red surrounded him as he tore stone from stone, tossing the pieces as far as he could in every direction, so they would never be found and brought together again. Angry, violent winds howled around him trying to contain that which he released.

Whenever a memory pressed too close, Breanna was there, binding the pain into submission. Until only one final, solid lump remained: the cold, hate-filled touch of the mind-seeker. With a mental battle cry, Gowthaman smashed the memory. The weak, ineffectual wail as the pain dissipated made him smile.

The beautiful red caressed him then flowed away. He opened his eyes.

“You will still have the memories of that time,” Breanna said.

“I know. I shall have the memories, but they shall not have me. You have returned the control to me.”

“Good.” She lurched forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Good.”

“Breanna, I...”

Shaking her head, she hugged him tightly. “No, you don’t need to say anything.” Then she leaned back. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but her smile was a bright as the faerie sun. “When we get home, I’m going to go right up to Granda and say ‘See, I told you I could fix him’.”

B
randr Ur squirmed, attempting to find a comfortable position on the hard dais that had been his chosen place of watching for so very long. He grumbled under his breath. After the ages he’d spent here, he’d expected the rocks to conform to his needs, to ease his body as he waited. And planned.

A slow smile followed by the cracking roll of his neck and a deep shrug helped. The planning was complete. All that remained was the waiting of two meager nights and he would be free once more. Free to determine the fates of worlds. Free to deliver his ultimate revenge upon those who’d sent him here.

Dispassionate, he gazed across the wide landscape, empty but for rocks. Rock. Nothing but gray rock. Not even a tree to flame remained in his valley. He reached to pick up a fist-sized stone and concentrated but the stone would not burn. After tossing the rock as far as he could, the elemental eased back to prop himself on his bent elbows. Lighting flame to something... anything would be a relief.

He paused to consider why he had never completely destroyed the small section of this cursed place his twice-cursed descendant occupied. There had been great joy in burning away any hint of moisture and blocking the prince of waters from communicating with his world.

But once that joy dissipated, Brandr Ur had found no need, no desire for additional destruction. What were a few scraggly trees or bushes?

A scent drifted past him on the dry, hot breeze. He jerked upright, inhaling deeply. Then he shook his head, rubbed his nose with his palm and inhaled again.

Fire.

Small, insignificant. But fire.

He chuckled then laughed loudly. None who resided here felt the need for the comfort of fire. So the builders must be those who had entered this night, intent on rescue. How—he rested one hand centered on his chest—touching. Let them have their image of comfort and security.

He had told the prince he would not near the weakening veil until the time of his escape. As he was a being of his word, he would not physically interfere with the scheming of the near-mortals.

Focusing on the small group gathered a few leagues away, he skimmed over the uninteresting minds until... Ah, yes. This one. One mind among them held his interest. One mind he’d touched before. One mind held possibilities.

Finding a comfortable nook within the young mind, he watched, listened, and studied the complexities of this new species. He discovered a taint, an ancestor perhaps, that with a gentle nudge, opened the mind wider to him. The taint reminded Brandr Ur of others he had used in the past, but there was no lust for power elsewhere in this mind.

Accepting the challenge of bringing this being, this possible follower to him before the veil opened, Brandr Ur slowly receded from the mind’s depths and lingered on the surface, listening.

“...I’m not trusting that the elemental won’t try something.”

Communication opened with a simple twist of his thought
. ::I said I shall not approach the prince until the time of our final battle. In two night’s time, when the veil weakens, then shall you see me. Then shall you know my glory.::

Chuckling at the useless attempts at shutting him out, of building puny mental walls, Brandr Ur remained seated firmly in the other’s mind.

The young one spoke out loud. “No, I’m going to keep watch anyway.”

::Watch if you wish. You will not see me until the time of my glory is at hand.::

::Get out of my head.::

::In time, my young friend. I find you... interesting. There is much potential in you, potential to increase my glory. And your own.::

::Get. Out. I won’t listen to you. I’m here to defeat you, not to become your pawn.::

The rippling defiance delighted the elemental. Until a solid bubble of indigo shoved at him, blocking him from the young one’s mind. He thought to return an undeniable pressure, then let himself slide away with only a hint of resistance.

::I shall return, my young friend. Then we shall see who is to be defeated. And who will hold supreme rule. Two nights, young one, we meet face to face.::

::Fuck off.::

Brandr Ur’s thought essence returned to his body. Dark, heavy laughter rang from the temple, echoed from stone to stone, filling the gray valley.