Divine by Mistake (38 page)

As I already knew, it was a fairly comfortable way to travel, but it was pretty hard to carry on a conversation with your husband if he happened to be your source of conveyance. That was okay; I enjoyed gawking at the scenery.

ClanFintan had been right, Doire nan Each was no grove. The path we traveled was on the edge of the forest, between the tree line and the high eastern bank of the Geal River. The river was beautiful, wide and wild, with a clean, rocky smell that reminded me of the night Epi and I had spent next to it. But it was the forest that drew my eyes. It was easy to believe it was ancient. Oaks grew to such enormous heights that I could have barely reached the bottom branches standing on ClanFintan’s back. Just a short way into the forest I could see that there was very little ground cover, just a thick rust-colored blanket of old leaves and dry branches and logs. The passing army caused birds to scold and squirrels to chatter; I even glimpsed a doe and her fawn springing away in fright. The leaves rustled in the gentle breeze melodically, and soon I felt my head grow heavy.

ClanFintan reached back and pulled my arm around his waist. “Lean on me and rest. You have been getting too little sleep.”

I yawned and burrowed against him, breathing deeply of his unique scent. I mumbled sleepily, “It seems like you’re always telling me to rest.”

The breeze brought his deep voice to me. “I like caring for you.”

“Good.” I yawned again. “Please don’t let me fall.”

“Never.” He put his arm over mine. The sounds of the forest lulled me into a surprisingly deep sleep.

I was on a cruise ship, which was rocking gently in the blue Caribbean Sea. Lying next to me on a bright fuchsia sunbathing chair was Sean Connery, circa 007. In the ship’s pool in front of us frolicked a whole school of dolphins. They kept telling me to forget 007 and to come play with them. The dolphins had a ball-shaped thing that they were tossing around on their noses, and swatting soundly with their tails. I looked closer and realized it was my ex-husband’s head…

I laughed as my spirit body rose from ClanFintan’s back to hover briefly over the huge oaks. Mentally shaking off a feeling of numbness that I could only explain as me being way overtired, I turned so that I could look down the line of the centaur army, and felt a rush of pride at its numbers. They were so powerful and brave. How could anything stand against them?

“Okay.” Even my spirit voice sounded weary. “I’m ready.” And as I said, “By the way, how often do we have to do this twice in one daaaaayy…” my body shot forward with the familiar catapult-like explosion. I followed the line of the river, which blurred under me like a big silver ribbon, and then I changed direction and headed to the west. I was surprised to see that the sun was setting—guess I’d been napping longer than I’d realized. The Loch came into view. I tried to catch sight of my warriors who had left the temple this morning to march to the Loch and then sail to the rendezvous point with the other two armies, but I was moving too quickly to see anything except a blur of dark blue.

Laragon Castle passed beneath me, and I made myself look, but nothing was moving except some dark birds. I turned my head away, knowing where my spirit would be traveling to next. I turned once more to the west, and the mountains loomed huge ahead of me and to my right. They gave me a creepy feeling, which I thought was odd because I usually liked mountains. (No, I can’t ski well, but I have totally mastered sitting in the lodge drinking mulled wine.) The closer I got to the mountains, the stronger The Feeling. It was like…when you’re walking alone at night and you just know someone’s following you, or…

Oh, no. I knew what it was like. It was like the night of my spirit visit to MacCallan Castle when I’d first felt the inklings of the presence of Fomorian evil. I tried to calm the sudden pounding of my heart while I looked around me. Guardian Castle was nowhere in sight. I was hovering over the beginning of the mountain range, and wasn’t nearly far enough into the mountains to be close to Guardian Castle. My body drifted lower, and I studied the jagged terrain below me. The twilight made it hard to see. I drifted down the far side of the crest of one of the first large peaks.

And my heart froze.

Below me, spilling over the side of a mountain and into a small valley was an avalanche of creatures. Even though the terrain was too rugged for them to use their wings to help their advance, they moved swiftly and silently. In the waning light something about them struck me as reptilian.

Find him,
the Goddess whispered into my mind. My body drifted lower still, until I floated near the heads of the leaders of the creatures. From above it was impossible to distinguish individuals—they all looked alike. Their wings were semi-erect; their heads were tilted down, as if they needed to watch where their talons were stepping. They were all tall and skeletal-looking, and I couldn’t friggin find Nuada.

Frustrated and not knowing what else to do, I drew a deep breath and yelled,
“Hey, Nuada! Where are you, sweet thang?”

A horribly familiar hiss erupted from one of the lead Fomorians. He halted abruptly, causing the synchronized line behind him to falter and stop. They milled around in confusion as Nuada searched the air above him. I drifted down until I my spirit body was floating almost directly behind him. I sent a silent plea to Epona that she would lift me back up and out of reach before he turned around.

Do not fear, Beloved.

Without breathing, I leaned forward and whispered my breathy spirit voice almost directly into his ear,
“Looking for me?”
As I begun speaking, my body was already lifting—which was a good thing because Nuada spun around, grabbing only empty air with his distended claws.

“Up here, big boy!”
I felt the shiver that told me I had become visible, and Nuada’s eyes were slits as he caught sight of me. His companions, too, could see me, as was obvious from their reaction. I glanced down at myself, realizing that I was naked again. I gritted my teeth. My body was still kind of see-through, so somehow that should make it okay that I was naked. At least that’s what I told myself.

“We come, female,” he spat.

“Good.”
I blew kisses at his leering companions, which made him snarl.
“The centaurs are looking forward to your defeat almost as much as I am.”
My mocking laughter echoed from the side of the mountain as Epona made me transparent once again, and lifted my body away and back to…

“Uh!” I sat abruptly upright, blinking in the golden-tinted twilight.

“Rhea?”

I cleared my throat and said, “They’re on their way.”

We made camp as it became fully dark. ClanFintan said there would be light as soon as the moon rose, but not enough to risk snapping off a centaur’s leg. Besides, the Temple of the Muse was only a day’s march ahead. It was possible that they would be going into battle within forty-eight hours, so this night might be their last chance to rest before engaging the Fomorians.

The thought of the battle to come made my stomach hurt, but surrounded by one thousand strong, well-armed centaurs it was hard to imagine that anything could stand a chance of defeating us. Not even demonic, vampiric creatures like the Fomorians.

Soon after halting for the night, campfires flickered and the Huntresses returned with fresh meat that was quickly spitted and strung over the open flames. I excused myself, heading in the direction of the river to find a convenient bush and a trail down to the river so that I could wash some of the travel grime off me. ClanFintan, Dougal and a host of other smart-alecky centaurs made loud offers to accompany me, but I declined gracefully (telling them to mind their own friggin business).

The bank was much steeper than I had anticipated, but it was lined with a lovely assortment of low, leafy bushes. I smiled as I chose my facilities.

Then I scrambled down the bank in a spot that looked like it might have been a deer path. The Geal River glistened in the pale moonlight as if someone had broken a giant thermometer and spilled silver mercury over the top of it. It was more turbulent here than it had been downstream and it growled as it tumbled over rocks and crevices, beautiful in a wild, untamed way I would have never experienced in my old world. I’d seen many spectacular rivers: the Colorado River, Red River, the Rio Grande and the Mississippi. And I’d thought they were lovely and scenic, but this river felt different. It hadn’t been tamed and commercialized and touristized. It was still the pulse of its country. As I dipped my hands in its icy wetness and washed my face, then drank from it, I could almost taste its power. Surprisingly, instead of being overwhelmed by its primitive strength it invigorated me.

You belong here, Beloved.
The words were spoken clearly in my mind.

“Could that be true?” I said aloud to the Goddess. “I think I want to believe it. I know I want to believe. But I’m…I’m just
me.
Nothing special.” Or at least not special enough to be chosen by an ancient goddess.

What does your heart tell you, Beloved?
The gentle words soothed through my mind.

My heart said that this was my home, and the wonder of it caused the flesh on my arms to prickle and raise.

Remember to follow your heart, my Beloved…
The sweet voice faded away like wind-blown leaves.

I stood beside the tumbling river for a long while trying to wrap my mind around the concept of belonging to a new world and age—and being called
my Beloved
by a goddess.

Feeling more than a little overwhelmed, I struggled back up the bank, which must have grown steeper as I’d communed next to the river. I was breathing hard and losing ground, when a strong arm reached down and pulled me the rest of the way up.

“I was beginning to worry about you.” My husband gave the path I’d just been trying to navigate a frown. “This bank is really too steep for you to be climbing—it could give way and you would find yourself in the river.”

I brushed my breeches off and muttered, “
Now
you tell me.”

“I would have come after you sooner, but I know how you value your privacy, and I thought I would wait until you were finished.”

“Darn nice of you.” I started walking back to our campfire. He fell in beside me, looping his arm around my shoulders and adjusting his long stride so that he didn’t walk over the top of me. His warm, solid presence grounded me, and I realized that whether or not I believed I should be the Chosen of a goddess, there was one thing I did not question, and that was that I belonged with ClanFintan.

The smells of our campfire were welcoming and made my mouth water. Something that had probably been Bambi was sizzling on a spit over the fire—I could hardly wait to dig in. I was happy to see Sila had joined our campfire, and we exchanged warm greetings.

“My Lady!” Dougal’s cute self hurried up. “I pulled this log over for you.” He pointed to a log that made a perfect seat by the fire.

I smiled at him and patted his arm like he was a cross between a teenager and a puppy. “Thank you, Dougal. It’s perfect.”

He blushed and gave me a shy smile.

“Do you think you could find me a wineskin, preferably filled with a nice red?”

“Of course, my Lady!” And off he trotted. Literally.

“He is young.” My husband’s voice sounded amused.

“He’s adorable—don’t you make fun of him.”

ClanFintan snorted in reply.

“I’ll bet you were an adorable young thing once, too.”

ClanFintan snorted again, and several of the centaurs within hearing range experienced coughing fits, which sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Dougal returned with a full wineskin, followed by several young centaurs, all of whom bowed nervously to me. ClanFintan spoke to each by name. I recognized two of them from our excursion to MacCallan Castle, the others looked vaguely familiar, and I figured they must all be from ClanFintan’s private guard. Victoria joined us just as Dougal handed me a piece of sizzling meat on a stick, to the very obvious joy of the young centaurs.

“There is room here by me, Huntress,” one cute sorrel said.

“But you would be directly in line of the smoke from the fire there,” a muscular bay chimed in. “Here you would be free of smoke, Huntress.”

Several other centaurs opened their mouths to make their own bids for her attention, but Victoria silenced them.

“I need to speak with Lady Rhiannon, but thank you for your generous offers.” She accepted a succulent-looking piece of meet offered to her by Dougal, whom she rewarded with a grateful smile.

I thought poor Dougal might faint.

She took her place next to my log, and folded her knees gracefully. As she did so she caught my eyes and rolled her own, mumbling something about
silly fresh colts.

“They adore you,” I whispered to her.

She shrugged her shoulders and bit daintily into her Bambi-on-a-stick. After she’d chewed she whispered back, “Young males would all like to tame a Huntress.”

She said it as if there was very little possibility of that happening.

“You don’t have a mate?” I kept my voice low, thankful the centaurs were distracted by talking to my husband.

She gave a horselike snort through her nose. “No! Males take up too much time.”

I laughed, but my eyes gravitated to my husband’s handsome profile. As if he felt my gaze, he turned his head in my direction and smiled warmly from across the fire.

“But they can be awfully nice to have around.” I knew I sounded love-struck, and I didn’t care.

“That is because you love him. I have not found love—so I have taken no mate.” She didn’t sound particularly bothered by it. As if to verify that, she added, “Some Huntresses never mate.”

“Guess you’re kept pretty busy.”

“As Lead Huntress it is my responsibility to travel from herd to herd, training and overseeing all of the young Huntresses.” She shrugged her shoulders again. “It leaves little time for courting.”

“Well, Vic, maybe someone should tell them that.” I gestured to the young centaurs who were still sending her looks filled with longing.

She laughed and winked at one of the staring centaurs, who promptly dropped the meat he was pulling off the flank roasting on the fire. As he frantically tried to grab it out of the hot coals, Sila, who was reclining comfortably across the fire from us, laughed aloud.

“Take care with what you are doing, colt. I will not mend burns caused by foolishness.” At that, the young centaurs all chuckled at themselves good-naturedly.

But they didn’t stop sneaking looks at Vic.

“They are intrigued by the power of a Huntress. When one is intrigued by who
I
am—Victoria, not the Lead Huntress—then I may be willing to make time for him. Until then they are sweet diversions, and no more.”

I was dying to ask her about centaur sex, but ClanFintan chose that moment to join us, and, well, when girlfriends talk about sex it is a girl-exclusive subject, even when one of the girls is part horse.

“Huntress, this is exceptionally choice venison. May I commend you on your hunting today?”

See, I knew we’d been eating Bambi.

“Hunting is easy in this forest. It is brimming with game.” Vic sounded nonchalant, but I could tell she was pleased by ClanFintan’s praise.

I started to tell her that I thought it was good, too, when Dougal cleared his throat and caught my attention.

“Lady Rhiannon—” his eyes were shining and his cheeks were flushed “—I have been asked to inquire if we could entice a story from you tonight.”

Oh, jeesh. Here we go again.

“That would be lovely, Rhea.” Victoria gave me a girlfriend grin. “I have heard you are a master storyteller, trained by the Muse.”

Great. Actually I’m a master teacher who memorizes well enough to plagiarize pretty easily.

I could see ClanFintan shifting nervously at my side, obviously worried that Shannon couldn’t hold up to Rhiannon’s reputation.

He should have known better by now.

I wiped my hands on my pants, tossed my hair back and stood.

Smiling at Dougal, I said, “I would be delighted to tell you a story.”

At my words, exclamations of happy surprise went up from the group around our campfire, and I noticed several centaurs within hearing passed the word that Rhiannon was telling a tale, so my crowd began to grow.

For a teacher, that’s a good thing.

I cleared my throat and put on my storytelling voice, which was part actress, part teacher and part siren. Tonight I made sure it was heavy on the siren part, while my mind was questing ahead, changing and rewriting the romantic legend of the
Phantom of the Opera.

“Once, long ago, a child was born with a horribly disfigured face. His eyes were mismatched, his lips were deformed, his skin was thin and yellow, like old parchment, and where his nose should have been, there was only a grotesque hole.” My audience made murmurs of disgust. “His mother abandoned him at birth, but a kindly goddess—” I searched my brain frantically “—the Muse of Music, took pity on him. She carried him to her temple and allowed him to live in the catacombs beneath it. To make up for his terrible disfigurement, she gifted him with that which was most important to her, a magical ability to make music, both with instruments and his voice. So, the child grew into a man, living in the bowels of the temple, worshipping music and perfecting his craft. His only love was music; his fondest joy was to listen to his Goddess training the voices of the neophytes who came to study at the temple.”

The centaurs were rapt with attention—a seriously good class.

“He never allowed himself to be seen, he even fashioned a mask, white as moonlight gleaming on snow, which he wore always to shield his face from the shadows and spirits that were his only company. He even believed himself to be a shadow, or a spirit, and he called himself the Phantom of the Temple.” (Well, it worked.)

“He convinced himself that he was content with his life, convinced himself he needed nothing more than music to fill his dark days and endless nights. Until the day he happened to hear a young neophyte auditioning, and he made the mistake of glancing at her through a hidden mirror. He fell instantly and irrevocably in love. Her name was Christine.”

I moved around the fire, weaving a bastardized version of the timeless story. I loved teaching the story to freshmen—every year I had them read Gaston Leroux’s original, then I would read aloud to them from Susan Kay’s 1990s romantic retelling. Then we would listen to Andrew Lloyd Weber’s amazing musical. By the time the final scene was played, there were very few dry eyes in my classroom.

For my centaurs I mixed the best of the three versions together, recreating a tale that mesmerized them.

“…and when he finally had Christine alone, down in his chamber beneath the temple, he knew there was only one chance she would love him—and that one chance was if his music could move her heart enough that she could forget the horror of his face. So he wrapped her in his words and sang to her of The Music of the Night.”

“What did Christine choose?” My husband’s voice was thick with emotion. The world had narrowed so that it seemed we were alone.

I smiled through tears and told a big ol’ whopping lie. “She overcame her fear of his appearance and chose the beauty within him—and they lived happily ever after.”

A cheer went up from my audience, followed by lots of loud clapping and stomping of hooves. In the midst of it all, ClanFintan pulled me into his arms and kissed me long and hard, which caused a lot more cheering and stomping. Then he picked me up and, to the accompaniment of lots of ribald shouts, carried me quickly away from the campfires. Over his shoulder I was surprised and touched to see Sila smiling wistfully as she wept openly, and Vic wiping tears from her shinning eyes with one hand, and waving at me with the other.

Clearly, I’d been a hit.

“And you didn’t think I could do it.” I kissed his muscular shoulder, then (on second thought) gave it a sharp bite.

“You know I can bite back.” He looked down at me with mock seriousness.

“I’m counting on it.” I kissed the place I’d just bitten.

“It is not that I did not think you capable of entertaining them…” He paused. I stayed silent, allowing him to continue as he carried me away from the firelight. “It is just that I know you do not like to be thought of as Rhiannon, and storytelling is a very…”

His voice trailed off and I offered, “A very Rhiannon thing to do?”

“Yes.” He looked relieved that I understood.

“Our lives overlap—” I shrugged “—I can’t help that. All I can do is make what was hers my own.” I wondered briefly what kind of mess she was making of my life. Then I squelched that thought. This was my life; there was nothing I could do about what she was or was not doing in another world. If I dwelt on the possibilities, like how badly she must be hurting my friends and family, it would drive me insane with frustration. There was no going back, no fixing it. I looked up at my husband’s strong profile, and admitted to myself that even if there was a way for me to go back, I wouldn’t. I understood it was a selfish decision, but he was my love and with him was where I chose to make my life. I closed my eyes and rested my head against his chest, wishing sincerely that Rhiannon would get hit by a bus.