Earth's Blood (Earth Reclaimed) (15 page)

Fionn started. He spun and looked right at her.
“Nay, leannán. Doona try to return here. Not with your mind or your body. ’Tis dangerous for you to even be within my mind. D’Chel still wants you. He hasna given up.”

“Fionn.” His name tore from her in an anguished howl. “You have to—”

The vision winked out as quickly as it had come. Sour-smelling sweat poured from her body and pooled beneath her. What was going on? Had they been taken captive as she’d been? She raised both forearms under the covers and slammed her hands down on the mattress. Frustration battled an impotent rage.

I couldn’t take on a field mouse in my current state. I have to sleep.

Rune padded into the bedroom, claws muted by the carpet. He jumped onto the bed and licked her face. The anguish pouring through her quieted under his touch. After a time, he lay next to her, and the warmth of his body lulled her into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter Fifteen

F
ionn glared at Arawn. “Do ye have any more bright ideas?” He snapped his fingers a few times. “Quick. I need them afore Aislinn throws caution to the winds and comes after us.”

“Aye. I have one, but it might be the death of Gwydion and Bran. Mayhap us, too.”

Fionn clamped his jaws together. His mage light knocked gently against Arawn’s, where the two globes were suspended off to one side. He scanned the underground room where they’d found Gwydion’s and Bran’s astral selves contained within glowing cylinders. The dank chamber looked like an impromptu dungeon with stone walls and an iron portcullis for a door. Water dripped down slime-covered walls. Not so much as a rat had shown up to pump for information. Fionn shook his head to clear it. He wanted to return to Aislinn so badly, it got in the way of his concentration.

He laid a hand on the glass chamber with Gwydion’s essence locked inside. It brightened. The master enchanter spoke into his mind.
“I wish to hear Arawn’s idea.”

Fionn lifted a brow. “Did ye hear that?”

“Aye.” Arawn nodded. “’Tis a small enough boon, but I doona believe Aislinn was held in this space. Did she tell you how she managed to free herself?”

“Nay. There wasna time. I’d been injured.” The glass warmed beneath Fionn’s hand. A corner of his mouth turned down. “Gwydion is impatient, and rightly so. Ye changed the subject at hand.”

“That I did.” Arawn drew his dark brows together. “’Tis because I am still thinking, but I can see why he would be edgy. He must find his body—and soon.” Arawn strode across the small space. Something that sounded like bones crunched beneath his boots. He laid a hand on the other side of Gwydion’s cylinder.
“Can ye hear me when I am not touching you?”

“Yes.”
Gwydion’s mind voice sounded exasperated.
“Ye doona even need to stand nearby. Bran and I can hear. We just canna talk unless ye are touching us.”

Fionn started to ask how they’d let themselves be captured, but now wasn’t the time. “If ye have an idea”—he locked gazes with Arawn—“spit it out.”

“Shield us.”

Fionn cast a ward to encompass all of them. Their magic worked within the stone walls of their prison, but they’d been unable to project it outside. It was almost as if someone had woven heavy iron bands into more than just the portcullis. His body had grazed it on the way in, leaving a burn across his shoulders. At the time, he’d thought it a shade too easy to sneak into the dark gods’ lair.

Aye, and now I know why.
They’d barely gotten inside the room when the portcullis dropped like a boulder, shaking the stones in the walls. Fionn had spun and called magic to halt the gate, but it hadn’t helped. He’d grasped it with his hands, and the iron had seared his palms. It had taken precious time and magic to Heal them.

Arawn drew an arm across Fionn’s back and pulled him close. “Thicken the ward. I doona wish to be overheard.”

“The dark ones had no problem penetrating Aislinn’s warding.”

Arawn made a sound between a snort and a grunt. “Mayhap because she used her body as a lure in the past and they learned the pattern of her energy. I will use mind speech. Betwixt that and your ward, we should be able to converse. Besides, the iron that dampens our magic should be a two-way street.”

“How so? If it weren’t so thick, we could blast past it.”

“Aye.” Arawn set his lips in a hard line. “Because ’tis so dense, ’twill help keep our conversation private.” He placed a hand on Bran’s cylinder. It flickered and brightened.
“Afore I describe what is a verra chancy escape route, bear with me. What do we know about where we are?”

“When we try to cast magic beyond here to escape, it bounces back at us,”
Fionn said.

“Aught else?”

“Even if you are successful freeing yourselves,”
Gwydion said,
“there is still the problem of breaking the enchantment that holds us within these cylinders.”

“One thing at a time,”
Fionn muttered. His brow creased.
“Would freeing you sever the enchantment and allow you to return to your bodies? Or is there something we’ve overlooked?”

“What do ye mean?”
Arawn asked.

Fionn locked gazed with him.
“Will breaking the enchantment free their astral selves from the glass chambers, or do we need to do something additional? I doona wish to miss anything.”

“If this were Earth, simply freeing us would fix things,”
Bran said.

“I believe it is worth a shot,”
Gwydion cut in.
“I have a feeling I know what Arawn has in mind. You will do best unburdened with our essences.”

Fionn hadn’t stopped staring into Arawn’s dark eyes, but reading his thoughts was difficult.
“What think ye?”

The god of the dead tightened his jaw.
“If we pull enough magic to free them, we will surely alert Perrikus and D’Chel.”

“I’ve been wondering why we haven’t seen them yet,”
Fionn muttered darkly.

“If ye work a spell atop another, it just might work,”
Bran said.
“That would free us at the same moment the two of you make a run for it.”

Fionn nudged Arawn.
“Spill it. Once I know what ye have in mind, I’ll be better able to assess if we could pull both magics off.”

Dark hair fell across Arawn’s face as he leaned forward over both glass chambers. Even his mind voice was the barest whisper.
“If ’tis only Fionn’s and my magic—”

“Nay.”
Gwydion interrupted.
“Ye need all our minds to ensure our best chance. Once we are free, Bran and I will return to our bodies—assuming they havena died and can still pull us back to them.”

“Right as usual.”
Arawn sucked in a breath.
“My plan was to use the paths of the dead. ’Tis my realm. They accept me.”

Fionn tightened his muscles until they threatened to cramp. He’d walked the halls of the dead—and more than once. They gave him the creeps.
“How will we get there from here?”

“The dead are not of the Earth, as ye may think.”

Fionn clamped a hand around Arawn’s wrist. They were wasting precious minutes.
“Then where?”

“The realm of the dead is everywhere. It knows no boundaries.”

Fionn pushed his tongue against his teeth in frustration.
“That isna helpful.”

“The risk,”
Arawn continued as if Fionn hadn’t said anything,
“will be getting from here to there. I am not certain how the architecture of this particular border world fits with the country of the dead.”

“The risk,”
Gwydion murmured,
“is you would be trapped in an airless void until it squeezed the life out of you and forced you into the Dreaming forever.”

Fionn inhaled raggedly. “The odds?” he barked before realizing he’d spoken aloud.

Arawn shrugged.
“I doona know. I have never tried to do this afore.”
He spread his hands in front of him.
“Surely at least fifty-fifty.”

Fionn wanted to scream that wasn’t good enough. He had Aislinn to consider. He owed her an apology—and a lifetime together.

Bran’s cylinder flickered.
“Ye must decide quickly. I feel them closing on us.”

Arawn faced Fionn and clasped his forearms.
“I wouldna have suggested it if I dinna believe it was almost our only chance. Otherwise, we sit like tethered pigs, awaiting the pleasure of the dark ones.”

“We could hold them off for a long time—”

“Aye, but not forever. ’Tis their world. We will weaken here over time.”

Fionn projected magic to search for Perrikus and D’Chel, but came up dry. It was a wonder Bran could feel them through the iron in the walls. Maybe it had to do with not being burdened with a body. He balled his hands into fists. Any chance was better than none.
“All right. I’m in. Let us decide who will do what.”

“No decision to be made. We lay hands on the glass chambers so Gwydion and Bran can help. Ye must free them while I open a pathway for us. Is everyone ready?”

Fionn nodded.

“We begin now. Doona tarry. I canna feel beyond these walls, but I trust Bran.”

Fionn called earth and fire. Earth was sluggish, but fire responded with alacrity. Once he held a mix he was certain would be more than sufficient, he inundated Bran’s glass chamber. It shattered. The room brightened and Fionn did the same to Gwydion’s prison. Magic flashed so bright, Fionn shielded his eyes. The air sizzled, smelling like ozone.

“Say a prayer for them,” Arawn murmured. “They are off. Come on. Perrikus and D’Chel are nearly—”

“No nearly about it, Celt,” Perrikus snarled. “I am here. Whatever you have planned—”

“Is accomplished,” Arawn shrieked. He grabbed Fionn’s arm. A rush of magic buffeted his body and roared loud in his ears. Perrikus grabbed his other arm. For a long, awful moment, Fionn felt as if he were being ripped in half. Dark magic bombarded his body like a sledgehammer.

Wards. I need wards.
Fionn poured fire into a shield to stymie Perrikus before D’Chel turned up to help.

“What are ye doing?”
Arawn screeched into his mind.
“I need your magic to get us out of here.”

“Trying to stay alive long enough to escape.” Fionn didn’t bother with mind speech. He didn’t have the power to spare.

Smoke rose from beneath Perrikus’s hand; the stench of burning flesh thickened. The dark god jumped back, nursing singed fingers. “Fucking Celt,” he growled and lunged for Fionn again.

“Now.” Fionn redirected everything he had into Arawn’s casting. A boom rocked him. The walls wavered and disappeared.
“Christ, but that was close.”

Arawn’s hand clutching his arm tightened.
“Och aye, we are just at the beginning. ’Tis a long journey from here to Earth. Link your mind to mine.”

A loud thunk jarred Aislinn from sleep. Disoriented, she bolted upright, eyes wide and staring, and gathered her wits. Rune was nowhere in sight. A glance at the window told her it was night, but she had no idea how long she’d been asleep. Was it the same day, or had she slept the clock round and then some? Her mouth was dry, her eyes gritty. She untangled herself from sheets and blankets and traveled the few steps to the bathroom, where she stuck her hands under the tap and splashed cold water on her face. Cupping her hands, she drank some, too, and then powered her mage light so she could see.

Head a little clearer, she turned off the water and straightened. She was just about to pull magic to scan for what had wakened her when Rune burst into the room with Bella right behind him. The raven fluttered to the top of the door and curved her talons around it. “You need to come,” Rune said.

“Yes, and quickly,” the bird added.

“Why? What’s happened?” Aislinn’s heart sped up. She hoped her magic had replenished itself, since it was looking as if she’d need it. She grabbed her pants from off the floor, ignoring that they reeked of blood.

“Never mind those. Follow me.” Rune loped out the door and turned hard left and up the risers to the attic.

“Daughter.”
Dewi’s voice sounded in her mind.
“Gwydion and Bran are returned, but they are very weak. Link with me once you are next to them. I will do what I can to help.”

She may have brought me back from the border world, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I link with her again.
Aislinn vaulted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Her mage light floated ahead of her to brighten the way.
“Where are Fionn and Arawn?”

“I do not know the answer to that. Mayhap, if the other two do not slip into the Dreaming, they will have answers.”

“What’s wrong with Gwydion and Bran?”

“You’re wasting time. Hurry.”
The dragon’s old, imperious tone was back in force.

Aislinn bit her bottom lip so hard it hurt. She catapulted through the door and took in a scene from hell. Fionn hadn’t described how the attic looked after the hybrids escaped, so she had no way of knowing what damage had happened then and which was new. Furniture was tossed about like wooden toothpicks. The walls had holes in them, and yellow ocher smeared the floor and open caskets. The stench was reminiscent of a charnel pit; she gagged and clapped a hand over her mouth. Fionn’s warding must have kept the smell from permeating the rest of the house. Thank God she’d only dismantled enough to get the door open for the animals.
If the rest of the house smelled like this, there’d be no living in it.

Gwydion and Bran lay on the floor. Their faces were gray, eyes closed. Rune licked frantically at Gwydion. Bella pecked Bran’s head, but softly. Aislinn closed the distance and dropped to her knees. She laid her hands on Gwydion, sent her Healer gift into him, and ran into the same wall she’d found in Fionn when he lay unconscious beneath the Arizona prison where they’d found Slototh. She moved her hands to Bran and found the same barrier.

“They are closed to me,”
she told Dewi and then mentioned that they felt the same way Fionn had when he’d retreated to the
Dreaming
, a last retreat for the Celtic gods. Once they barricaded themselves in, it took more magic than she possessed to get them out again.

“Damn it. I feared as much.”
There was a long pause.
“Um, would you trust me to link my mind to yours?”

At least she’s asking.
Aislinn remembered the last time the dragon had linked with her. Dewi had used her body as a conduit so she could have sex with the Minotaur. A shudder ran down her back, right along with a tongue of flame. It had been the darkest, kinkiest sex she’d ever had, but it had eroded her faith in Dewi almost beyond repair. If Aislinn were totally honest, she hadn’t exactly forgiven the dragon for that particular betrayal.

“Daughter. Time is wasting. They sink farther from us with each passing moment.”

“I am standing by,”
an unfamiliar voice said.
“I will see that my mate doesn’t get out of line.”

Nidhogg.

“I hope I get a chance to know you better,”
she told the Norse dragon.
“I think I’d like you.”

“The MacLochlainn belongs to me,”
Dewi protested.

“You’re wasting time,”
Nidhogg pointed out.