Celtic Stars (Celtic Steel Book 4) (2 page)

“Fire-breathing ye say?” Jamie asked nervously fiddling with the bow still clutched in his left hand.

“Aye.”

“By the gods,” Jamie gasped, finally able to make out the outline of a creature standing not more than ten yards before him. It was a clear gold metallic aura he recognized first, muted against the noonday sun until wisps of smoke and fire billowed from its large mouth. In one monumental turn, it rose on its hind legs, stretched out its wings and let out a magnificent cry that sent shivers down his spine.

“Shite,” whispered Patrick while Lucian grunted in fear.

“Do no’ fear,” said Jamie. “He means us no harm.”

“How do you know that?” Patrick retorted, clearly un-comforted.

“Aye, how do you know that?” repeated Lucian.

“I can see it,” Jamie repeated calmly and slowly as he inched forward toward the dragon. Laying his bow on the ground beside him, he clasped his hands in front of him and began to hum. Soon, his melody was deeper and stronger as Daenal began to chant loudly as well.

“He’s calming,” remarked Patrick in shock. “He’s seated now.”

“I’m going in to get a better look,” whispered Jamie. He could clearly tell from the outline of the creature that it was tall, probably eight feet or more, nearly two men wide and by the shaking of the ground when it moved, heavy indeed. Its eyes glowed molten amber and the whirling noise evidenced the folding and unfolding of its enormous wings.

“Watch for Daenal, no matter what happens to me, watch for Daenal. Take care of her please, she is me betrothed now. Let no harm come to her.”

“
Yer
the one that said it meant us no harm,” Lucian remarked smugly.

“’Tis right ye are, I did say that. I meant, it means
us
no harm, every time it looks at Daenal, it gets a strange coloring about it and it breathes the fire. I don’t rightly know what to make of it. It’s as if it’s irritated with her for some reason.”

“Why would it be irritated by
her
?” Patrick remarked under his breath. It wasn’t as frightening as Patrick would have imagined. It seemed a calm yet regal creature. Strong and steadfast, it held its ground. It obviously had a reason for being here, at this moment in time, but what that reason might be was anybody’s guess. It stood there, breathing heavily, staring down the two druid priests; Patrick, the clan’s Lord and Lucian, the clan’s scribe. And then there was Jamie Burke, Patrick’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. The largest man he had ever known and the fiercest warrior in these parts according to rumor and most amazingly, blind since birth. What was Jamie Burke going to do with an angry fire-breathing dragon?

Having, in fact, been the first to win the archery competition in the clan games, Jamie Burke, of the rival Burke clan, would now marry Daenal O’Malley, Patrick’s wife’s sister.  That is if Jamie survived his impending encounter with the dragon, who, it seemed, was intently set on meeting Daenal.

Jamie could see Daenal’s aura in the distance change from a calm blue/green hue to the muddled gray of unrepressed fear and panic.  “Nochtagh d’ ridgefloit,” Jamie uttered loudly in the direction of the creature.

Patrick and Lucian exchanged knowing glances and took up the charge behind Jamie, walking in sync with his footsteps. They gasped as the dragon crest rings on their right hands lit up again and burned hot against their skin.

“Nochtagh d’ ridgefloit,” Jamie repeated more forcefully this time as he came to a stop about twenty feet directly in front of the dragon. “Nichrott,” he added.

Instead of calming the creature, Jamie’s words appeared to irritate the dragon further and it turned suddenly in the direction of Daenal.  There were about thirty yards between the dragon and Daenal and Jamie Burke meant to close that gap as quickly as possible. Would he be any match for its speed?

“What did he say to him?” Patrick asked Lucian in wonder.

“I’m no’ sure exactly,” Lucian replied, shaking his head. “I am no’ at all clear about the language, it sounds something like an ancient dialect I once heard.”

“He said, ‘She is mine,’” spoke Flynn Montgomery from behind them. “She is mine. Leave her be.”

T
WO

Dragon’s Point

Daenal awoke in a fog. Her head was splitting and she could feel a slight trickle of fresh blood slithering down her cheek. Or was that rain? Or water? She couldn’t be sure. It was the noise that was deafening. Slowly, she rose to her feet, pressing her hands against the hard, cold stone wall of what she presumed was some type of cave. She could see the faint outline of muted light in the distance, mere feet in front of her, and she made the light her goal. Inching her way slowly towards the source of it, she lost her footing and tripped over a protruding stone.

“Ouch,” she muttered under her breath before regaining her composure and taking up her quest once again.  She cursed her long flaxen hair before tying it in a hasty knot at the nape of her neck.  Thankful she had worn her truis and deerskin boots, she tied the bottom of her tunic around her waist and stood straight up to get a better eye on her footing.  She didn’t want to trip again so, she would have to be very careful. And this time, time she would work more slowly.

It was dusk by now and the light she thought she saw was actually a reflection of the moon against the backdrop of the bay surrounding O’Malley port.
How high up am I?
She thought to herself. Another cold drop of liquid cascaded across her forehead and she realized at once it was water hitting her head, not blood.
Thank the gods
, was her first reaction, before pure panic took over when she realized she must be high above the cliffs near Dragon’s Point, the plateaued ridge adjacent to Finnegan Falls.

The Falls!
How in the world would she have gotten up to the Falls? It was near impossible to traverse the grounds on foot, let alone climb the twenty foot rock wall leading to the mouth of the cave which sat behind the waterfall, overlooking the port.  Her head swam again and she caught a whiff of what smelled like burning flesh or burnt food or – could it be – sulfur?

The legends surrounding Dragon’s Point were many and varied. They had been passed down from generation to generation, throughout the village and neighboring clans.  As far as she could recall, no one in her lifetime had ever traversed the ledge she now stood on. Looking over the falls, she imagined how cold the violently running water might be. How long the fall would take if she were to step out, and if her spine would simply snap in two upon impact or if anyone could possibly survive such a violent descent.
How could they?
She breathed to herself.

After giving her physical senses liberty to distinguish her surroundings, she realized there was something else that she was missing. There in the back of her sub-conscious was a nagging sensation. It began as a forlorn melancholy hum and grew stronger, darker, deeper and foreboding. It was unmistakable. Sickness or injury, she was surrounded by the despair of weakness, of un-wholeness. So much, so that she became nauseated and shaky.  She began to weep.

There was stillness in the air, the kind that only came with the realization of the presence of dis-ease. Someone was desperately in need of healing and she could feel it. Was that why she had been brought here? Had someone taken her and brought her  - here? How on earth did they get up the side of the rock wall? The humming in her ears grew stronger, yet – it wasn’t the sound of the falls that she was hearing. It was as if her heart was beating so loudly within her chest that it had infested her mind, like a hundred drummers pounding in synchronicity. Looking down at her hands, she realized she was injured. There were scratch marks and dried blood trailing along her forearm, down towards her wrists.

For a moment, she thought she might faint, but she steeled herself and began controlled breathing, just like the elder scribe, Airard, had instructed her. Had it not been for the controlled breathing, she would never have  made it to through the clan games or offered to hold that apple during the archery contest.
The contest! Oh my, what had become of Jamie?

A rustling behind her brought to memory the activities of the day. The clan celebrations, the contests, and Jamie, her beloved, as he pulled back the arrow. And - the terrible, winsome noise with the thunderous landing made by
that creature
. The unmistakable look of horror on Jamie’s face, Patrick and Lucian’s equaled panic and her sister, Darina. Darina was plump and round with her first child which was due in only a few weeks. She was clearly very concerned and she was also confused and obviously angry with her and Jamie both.

“What kind of stunt de ye think yer pulling here, me seesta?” Darina asked. But Daenal had no real answer. Darina wasn’t the type to understand Daenal’s ‘feelings’, instead chalking her “gifts” up to superstition and childlike imaginations. The worst fights and misunderstandings she could ever recall Darina having with their mother had been over Daenal and “her ways.” In the end, mother had always won out, and Darina had learned to bite her tongue, but when it came to the survival of the clan, Darina was not so forgiving. As the eldest daughter of Dallin O’Malley, Darina took her responsibilities seriously. Now that she was the Laird’s wife and second in command, she was a force to be reckoned with.

Agreeing to allow Jamie Burke to compete in the games against the other sighted suitors may have seemed a good idea at first. He was, after all, better with a sword than any of the others, a good two heads and shoulders above the rest, and strong as an ox. He wasn’t. However, a keen archer, having been blind since birth. Daenal had to admit it was a risk letting him raise a bow in her direction.

It was at that moment, when the arrow was loosed that her world seemed to stand perfectly still. Nothing could have frightened or excited her more; the prospect of becoming wife to Jamie Burke, or by that marriage, becoming the wife of the new Burke clan leader. That is after Jamie claimed his rightful place from Easal. War would ensue, of that she had no doubt. But it had to happen. Jamie would regain the territory from the rogue leader and the Burke tribes would return to their own lands in time.   It was Jamie’s mother that frightened her most.

Odetta Burke had a long history of scuffles with the O’Malley clan and worst of all she was known as an evil  witch. Would Daenal’s own spiritual gifts be any match for Odetta’s black magic? What part would Jamie’s own relationship with his new-found mother play in the Burke uprising? The weeks and months to come seemed to vanish from her purview as she recalled her current circumstances. High above the port, she stood and prayed for clarity. Breathing deeply, she caught the smell of fresh blood in her nostrils and at once realized it was not her own.  In fact, it didn’t seem to be human at all.

Daenal’s meditations were interrupted sadly by visions of her betrothed, Jamie Burke.
Her Jamie
. The kindest, the noblest man she had ever known. Her
champion.
He had so valiantly played in the clan games and even won her hand by winning the archery competition. But at what cost? Where was he now? Where was she and how would he ever find her?

***

“The Lord will see you
now
,” the sentry murmured in her direction. “And bring the scrolls, he says.” Turning to avert his eyes, Ochnar silently pitied the woman. She wasn’t really a prisoner per se, but she wasn’t free to leave Burke castle.  A
permanent guest
more aptly described the situation. It had been months, and still she remained. Easal made sure she was made comfortable, but was clear that she would remain until he had want he wanted. And what he wanted was the impossible. Naelyn knew she would never leave.

She rose from her red satin covered bed and donned the closest thing within reach, a thin linen shift. Taking the candle at her bedside, she lit the lantern sitting atop the dressing table. She turned towards the wardrobe against the far wall and chose a green dressing robe. Splashing water on her face, she noted her reflection in the looking glass - the lines had grown deeper and her eyes had grown hollow.  She had grown accustomed to the strange hours that Easal kept and adjusted her schedule accordingly. She slept during the day, and she “worked” at night. He seemed to always call for her once the sun set and her face was wearing the results of her interrupted sleep patterns.

She let out a helpless, hopeless sigh before struggling with her slippers and standing upright, straightening her robe.

“Ochnar,” she half whispered, half mumbled, “The Lord has the key to the chest.”

“Aye,” he grunted before turning around to face her.  “Aye, I remember,” he nodded his head in aggravation. “I will return shortly, milady,” he said before bowing and backing his way out of what used to be the Lady of the Castle’s personal chamber.

Odetta’s chamber was the most unusual in the entire Burke fortress. Unique was the best word to describe it because Odetta was, well -  a unique individual. Although the appointments were lavish and beautiful, they were interlaced with unusual relics and interesting artifacts. Odetta had begun collecting weapons, scientific tools and some utterly bizarre things in her early youth.  Much to her father’s chagrin, her mother had supported her perplexing curiosity and enabled many of her most delicate purchases. Executioner’s swords, guillotine blades, surgical instruments, ancient texts, rock carvings and religious inscriptions. It was the looking glass collection that Odetta prized beyond all others. After her father’s death, she was finally able to replace some of the looking glasses he had shattered in his many fits of rage. Her mother made certain she was educated beyond necessity for her station in life.