Captive (27 page)

THEY WERE FALLING.

They were falling, and Moira was screaming.

Sarah felt a brief stab of thankfulness that when she’d jumped, Moira had been facing
the tower. She wouldn’t have wanted the girl to see the sea rushing up at them the
way Sarah was seeing it. She wondered if she should close her eyes.

Is it better or worse to see your death coming?

Her doom was suddenly blotted out, land and sea obscured by a giant black shape.

Sarah grunted as they landed atop a broad surface covered with a silken substance
that mitigated the harshness of their abruptly broken fall. Instinctively, Sarah grasped
for something to hold on to. She grabbed handfuls of the strange stuff around her,
finding it soft yet strong.

Feathers?

“Are we dead, miss?” Moira still clung to Sarah.

“No,” Sarah told her. Assured that they were no longer plummeting to their deaths,
Sarah tried to gather some sense of what had happened.

The wind still whipped through her hair and pulled tears from her eyes, but it hit
the front of Sarah’s body as if they were being propelled forward through the sky.
Along with the steady rush of air, Sarah heard another sound, a repetitive low whoosh,
forceful as the beating of a drum but larger, its resonance hollow.

The sound was accompanied by movement, slow yet great, on either side of Sarah and
Moira. Wings. The powerful stroke of massive wings.

Moira had been looking about with the same puzzlement as Sarah when she suddenly blanched.

“It can’t be.” Moira began to whisper frantically under her breath. Her words made
no sense, and then Sarah realized the girl was reciting the Ave Maria.

Sarah grasped Moira’s hands. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the Morrígna.” Moira’s voice shook.

The fact that Moira could be so afraid despite the miracle that they hadn’t plummeted
to their deaths made Sarah’s mouth go dry. “What’s the Morrígna?”

“The war ravens,” Moira said. “Three goddesses—pagan goddesses—Badb, Macha, Nemain.
I thought they were only legends.”

Sarah peered into the darkness. She could just make out the head of the great bird
that had saved them and was now bearing them toward the mainland.

“Tristan summoned them,” Sarah murmured.

“He can command goddesses?” Moira shuddered. “I knew Master Tristan had great power,
but not like this.”

“They aren’t goddesses,” Sarah told her. “They’re creatures from the nether, from
Bosque Mar’s realm. Keepers have the ability to summon such beings into our world.”

But not usually creatures of this magnitude.
A thought Sarah kept to herself. No wonder Tristan hadn’t wanted to reveal this plan
to her. Knowing that he could wield magic this dark made Sarah uneasy. She’d been
right that Tristan was the invaluable object hidden in Castle Tierney, but she was
only just beginning to realize what that might mean.

Maintaining a tight grip on the giant raven’s feathers, Sarah craned her neck to look
back at the island. A sooty, orange gleam silhouetted the castle, but Sarah could
see little else.

Where was Tristan?

Fear spiked through Sarah’s veins. What if Tristan had never intended to leave? What
if he’d arranged for her escape, using himself as a distraction but knowing he wouldn’t
go with her?

Desperate, Sarah climbed up the raven’s neck.

“Where are you going?” Moira cried as Sarah left her behind.

“Stop!” Sarah shouted at the bird. “Turn around!”

“Sarah!” Moira scrambled up beside her. “What are you doing?”

Ignoring Moira’s pleas, Sarah yelled again. “We have to go back! The one who summoned
you is in danger! Please, we have to help him.”

The raven gave no heed to Sarah’s commands. The inexorable beating of its wings continued
to propel them eastward, away from the island.

Sarah bowed her head, exhausted and defeated. She’d known there would be little chance
that the great raven would respond to her. Whatever words Tristan had spoken during
his spell were in a language completely unknown to Sarah. And the powers that Tristan—or
any Keeper—invoked when calling upon the nether were those rejected by Searchers.
No one but the Keepers could access the magic that connected them to Bosque Mar.

Tears slipped from beneath Sarah’s eyelids.

She’d lost him. She was free, but she’d lost Tristan.

“Sarah.” Moira’s fingers dug into Sarah’s shoulders.

Sarah opened her eyes and at the same moment her stomach dropped as the raven swooped
toward the earth.

“What is it doing?” Moira’s eyes were wide with fright.

Leaning forward to see past the bird’s hulk, Sarah made out shapes far below. Shapes
that were quickly becoming larger and more defined.

“It’s taking us to the village,” Sarah said. Her heart lay heavy as a stone behind
her ribs when it should have been exulting. But Sarah could find no joy in her freedom,
only desolation.

As the mainland rose up to meet them, the Morrígan slowed, gliding over the village,
then circling, lower and lower. When they hovered just above the rooftops, the raven
gave a sudden croak that rattled Sarah’s bones.

“I think we’re meant to jump,” Sarah told Moira.

She looked down. It wasn’t a bone-breaking fall, but it would be jarring and Sarah
hoped not too painful.

Sarah took Moira’s hand, squeezing the girl’s fingers tightly. “Together.”

Moira nodded.

They scooted to the joint where the raven’s left wing met its body and Sarah realized
too late that jumping wasn’t part of the plan. The Morrígan’s silken feathers colluded
with gravity to pull them off the bird’s back, and then they were falling.

Sarah dropped Moira’s hand and shouted, “Crouch and try to roll when you land!”

She hoped the girl had heard and understood. Tucking her body, Sarah hit the earth
and let herself roll along the ground. She came to a stop and lay on her back, waiting
for her breath to return. Above Sarah, the Morrígan gave another loud call and then
its massive shape rose into the sky and was gone.

As Sarah managed to draw her first breath after the fall, another silhouette loomed
over her. There was enough light in the village that Sarah could see the crossbow
aimed at her heart.

“That was quite an entrance,” a familiar voice said.

“Anika!” Sarah’s reply was something of a croak, and Anika laughed.

“Give yourself a minute to recover.” Anika put the crossbow aside and offered Sarah
her hand. “That wasn’t a short fall.”

“Tell me about it.” Sarah found she could breathe more normally as Anika helped her
to her feet.

The moment Sarah was standing, Anika pulled her into a tight embrace.

“We thought you were dead.”

Sarah wrapped her arms around Anika’s shoulders, holding her friend close. “I came
pretty close . . . a few times.”

“What happened?” Anika stepped back, her gaze searching Sarah’s for answers.

“It’s . . . There’s so much . . .” The joy of seeing Anika ebbed as Sarah’s mind sped
back to the island. “Tristan.”

“Who?” Anika frowned.

From their hiding places within the shadows of the village, more Searchers appeared.
All were armed and ready for battle. One of them had Moira by the elbow.

“Sarah!” Moira cried out meekly, casting a fearful glance at her captor.

Sarah was relieved to see it was Patrice who had taken the girl.

“Patrice, she’s not a threat,” Sarah told the guide. “She helped me escape, and she’s
a refugee.”

Patrice glanced at the frightened girl and nodded. “You understand that we’ll have
to take precautions.”

“She’s not a Keeper,” Sarah protested.

“I know that,” Patrice answered. “But she lived among them?”

“Yes,” Sarah replied, throwing Moira an apologetic glance.

“For how long?” Patrice asked, and Sarah’s heart sank.

Moira answered before Sarah could. “All my life, ma’am.”

Patrice’s chest rose and fell as she drew a long, uneasy breath.

“She was born into service,” Sarah said, putting her arm around Moira’s shoulders.
“It’s not her fault.”

“I assure you she’ll be taken care of,” Patrice told Sarah. “But until we can get
a better sense of who she is, we’ll have to treat her as a prisoner.”

“Sarah.” Moira looked up at her, eyes questioning.

Sarah felt a surge of resentment toward Patrice but had to admit the rationale behind
the Guide’s decision.

“It will be okay, Moira,” Sarah told the girl. “I promise. No harm will come to you
and you’ll be well treated. We’re soldiers, and this is a war. We always have to be
careful. Do you understand?”

Moira nodded.

Patrice offered Moira a thin smile. “Brave girl.”

Moira lifted her chin. “Sarah taught me how to be brave, ma’am.”

Feeling her throat close up, Sarah gave Moira an encouraging nod but couldn’t speak.

One of the other Searchers suddenly shouted, “Incoming!”

The group scattered, diving back into the shadows and readying their weapons.

“Come on!” Anika grabbed Sarah’s arm and pulled her beneath the eaves of a house.

A familiar, bone-vibrating call sounded above them and then a figure dropped from
the sky, hitting the earth hard. Tristan rolled along the ground and then rose to
his hands and knees, shaking his head as if to clear it.

“Tristan!” Sarah shouted and rushed to his side.

She fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. Overwhelmed with relief at
seeing him, Sarah could do nothing more than close her eyes and cling to him.

“It’s all right.” Tristan folded his arms around Sarah. “I’m here. We’re safe.”

“Step away from the Keeper, Sarah,” Patrice’s command sounded at Sarah’s back.

Sarah didn’t let go of Tristan, but she turned to look at the Guide. Gooseflesh prickled
along her skin when she saw Patrice’s sword in her hand, ready to strike. “This is
Tristan. The one I told you about in my letter. He’s what was being guarded at the
castle.”

“Yes,” Patrice replied. “I know who he is. Now step away from him.”

The Guide turned a hard gaze on Tristan. “Keeper, I urge you to come willingly and
peacefully into our custody. It will go easier if you do.”

“Custody?” Sarah’s heart was ramming against her rib cage. As much as she didn’t want
it to, what Patrice was saying made sense. If they were taking precautions with someone
as harmless as Moira, of course Tristan would be treated as dangerous. But reason
eluded Sarah; her instincts screamed at her to protect the man she loved.

“He is not your enemy.” Sarah glared at Patrice. “If it weren’t for Tristan, I would
be dead.”

“Sarah, don’t.” Tristan carefully extricated himself from her grasp and stood. He
addressed Patrice, offering his hands as if waiting for them to be bound. “I understand,
and I turn myself over to you.”

Sarah moved to step between Tristan and the Searcher who approached with manacles.
“No.”

“Sarah,” Tristan said quietly, “this has to happen. You know that.”

Gritting her teeth, Sarah nodded, but before Tristan could be taken Sarah suddenly
pulled him close, kissing him. Tristan’s arms came around her, pressing her body against
his. Sarah heard Anika gasp, but she ignored the sound, unwilling to break the kiss
until she absolutely had to.

“Sarah.” Patrice didn’t have to say anything else.

Releasing Tristan, Sarah whispered, “I love you.”

Tristan nodded, and after his wrists were shackled, two Searchers led him away and
two others followed with Moira.

Sarah whirled, glaring at Patrice. “If anything happens to them—”

Patrice held up her hand. “Keep in mind who you’re speaking to, Sarah. I’m still your
commander, and I think it’s obvious we need to find out what exactly happened to you.”

Still vacillating between outrage and fear, Sarah said, “I’ll tell you everything.
Just promise me that no harm will come to them. They’re . . . I can’t begin to explain
how important they are to me.”

“Sarah,” Patrice said gently, “have you forgotten who we are? Who you are? You know
we won’t hurt him without cause.”

Sarah wanted to object, desperate for some further reassurance that Tristan would
be safe and that she’d soon be with him again.

“Obviously you’ve been through some transformative events,” Patrice continued. “And
we’ll take everything you’ve done and seen into account as we put pieces together.
But, Sarah, you must keep in mind that there are greater things at stake right now.
We can’t be reckless.”

Knowing any further arguments would be futile, Sarah’s shoulders slumped as she said,
“I understand.”

Patrice’s expression was grim when she said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Anika took Sarah’s arm as they entered the back door of a building, which turned out
to be the fishmonger’s shop.

“You made it out.” Ian stared at Sarah in disbelief. He was standing beside the fishmonger
at the shop’s counter. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“It came close to that,” Sarah told him. “Without Tristan—” Her chest cramped. She
wanted to be with him.

“Is he the one who summoned the Morrígna?” Ian’s eyebrows shot up. “The few villagers
awake at this hour will speak of these things for years to come. The night they saw
the Morrígna in the sky.”

Sarah met Ian’s curious gaze and her mind flashed to the dungeon and the dead woman.
Averting her eyes, Sarah dismissed the idea of telling Ian what she’d seen. He knew
his wife was gone, and the truth could only cause him more pain.

“A village isn’t a village without some good lore to call its own.” The fishmonger
chortled. “Perhaps it’ll bring in the tourists.”

“Thank you both for all you’ve done,” Patrice interrupted. “But we can’t linger here.
You’ll send reports of any activity on or related to the island.”

“Yes,” the fishmonger answered with a respectful nod.

Ian did likewise and said, “I’ll take you downstairs.”