Elphame's Choice (12 page)

He looked away from Brenna’s body and straight into the open eyes of the Huntress. He felt his cheeks heat under her silent, knowing gaze.

“I will take first watch. I’ll wake you when the moon is at midpoint.” Without waiting for him to answer, she stood and disappeared into the forest like a sleek silver wood sprite.

Cuchulainn could hear the muffled sounds of her body making its way through the underbrush as she slowly walked their perimeter.

“Damned Ice Princess,” he grumbled to himself. “Let her take part of the watch. She’s mistaken if she thinks she will get an argument from me.”

Cu shifted his weight, trying to find a more comfortable position, thinking how glad he’d be when he could sleep in a bed again, and how annoying the Huntress was, and how much work they had before them…thinking about everything he could to keep him from remembering the soft-voiced Healer with the scarred face who smelled of rainwater and fresh grass.

Sleep enfolded Elphame like a fond parent, and she dreamed. In her dream she was running through a forest of ancient oaks which all looked exactly like the one her sleeping body was resting beneath. It was night, but the sky was brightly lit and the full moon illuminated the forest like a torch made of snow and fire. The floor of her dream forest was clear of underbrush, and there were no hidden holes or roots to trap her hooves. She breathed deeply and evenly, stretching her leg muscles and lengthening her stride so that the wind whipped against her face and the trees blurred as she sped past.

She loved to run. Her dream reminded her of how long it had been since she had gone on a good, hard run—since the day before she’d left Epona’s Temple. Too long, her subconscious mind chided her.

The floor of the forest began a rolling ascent, and she pumped her legs, relishing the burn in her powerful muscles as she shot up the incline. She burst out of the forest and into a small clearing to find herself suddenly shrouded in fog. Breathing hard, Elphame came to a halt. The mist curled around her, thick and gray. She blew on it and suddenly the misty color changed and it became tinged with a hint of red.

The color beckoned her.

It swirled in an unending circular pattern that reminded her of one of Epona’s holly-hedged labyrinths that decorated the temple grounds. In her dream the familiar comparison made her smile, and she stretched out her arms, spreading her fingers wide. Slowly, she began to turn and as the mist caressed her body she realized that she was naked.

“Elphame…”
The disembodied voice floated around her on the mist. It was a man’s voice, but she didn’t recognize it.

“Come to me, Elphame…”

Instead of alarming her, the sound of the unfamiliar voice touched something deep within her and her body responded with a fierce rush of heat. The dampness of the caressing scarlet mist filled her, licking her skin and calling alive feelings that until then she had only imagined. The mist thickened and with it so did her desire.

“Yes…”
The man’s voice coaxed seductively.
“Let me love you.”

Elphame was wrapped in a gossamer web and everywhere it touched her nakedness her body came alive. No, she thought with a growing sense of awe, she wasn’t covered with a web. She was wrapped within wings.

“He has wings!” she said aloud, and the sound of her voice jolted her suddenly awake.

In the dark woods north of MacCallan Castle Lochlan lurched to a sitting position, instantly awake. His body was burning with need. He’d dreamed he was with Elphame, and for the first time ever, she had felt his presence in return. He leaped from the snug shelter he’d made for himself within the cave formed by rocky outcroppings, unfurled his throbbing wings, and began the long, arduous climb up the side of the ridge, desperate to burn off his pent-up desire.

His mind flamed. The pain in his head pierced so hotly that he thought his mind would implode, but he maintained a rigid control over himself and concentrated on pushing his powerful body until sweat slid from his skin and his breathing came in ragged gulps.

He’d lived so long…one hundred twenty-five years. It was a curse, this longevity which had passed to him and the others from their Fomorian fathers. And who knew how much longer his heart would beat and the dark blood of his father would slither with its tempting madness through his body? The struggle. The constant struggle weighed on him.

Give in
…the pain within him hissed.
Stop fighting. Let the madness take you. Revel in the power that is yours to command
. Lochlan could end the pain by embracing his dark heritage. He ground his teeth together. And then he would become like his father’s race. He would be no better than a rabid animal or a demon. Either description would be accurate.

He wanted more—for himself, and for his people.

Elphame…her name was like cool water to his parched soul.

They’d met in the realm of dreams—he was sure of it. She’d heard his voice, and opened herself to him. He had wrapped her
in his wings and stroked her. She had known him. She had recognized at least part of what he was. He’d clearly heard her speak.

“He has wings!”

Elphame’s voice still shivered through him, and the wonder reflected in it filled him with hope and unspeakable joy, making the pain in his body temporarily easier to bear.

VESTIGES OF THE
dream stayed with her throughout the morning, and even in the middle of the afternoon Elphame would find herself staring off into the distance, remembering the caress of the scarlet-hued mist. It was during one of those daydreams that she missed what the worker was saying.

“So that’s it, my Lady.”

“I’m sorry. My mind was elsewhere. Can it be repaired?” Elphame asked, annoyed at herself for her lack of attention. It had just been a dream. It was silly of her to be so distracted by it.

“As I said, it will take some work, but I believe it can.” The young man had wide shoulders, thick hands and a rugged, sun-browned face that spoke of many years already spent exposed to the weather, but his brown eyes were warm and his smile confident as he looked up from probing around the rear base of the fountain. “I’ve already begun work on unclogging the castle’s main well. When that is finished the water should once
again run freely from it to the kitchen as well as to this fountain, my Lady. Unless there is a break in the underground system of channels, which I have yet to discover.”

“Good, thank you.”

The man bowed politely to her and left the courtyard. Elphame gazed at the statue of the pretty young girl who looked so much like her. The debris that had been hiding the fountain had been cleared, and now the task of cleaning the statue was at hand. Danann had recommended using sand and soapy water as well as a stoutly bristled brush to restore the statue—the same restoration technique that was being employed by several women who were standing atop hastily erected scaffolds to clean the massive columns that encircled the courtyard. The sound of their conversation mixed well with the noise of the reconstruction that was already beginning on the roof. The castle was alive with activity.

“I probably should be overseeing something terribly important instead of obsessing over you,” she whispered to the stone girl. Elphame had already scrubbed the filth from Rhiannon’s face. The marble from which the statue was carved was a luminous cream color, and the girl’s newly cleaned face stood out in brilliant contrast to the rest of her body. “But for some reason I believe you are terribly important.”

“I approve of you talking to the stone, my Lady.” Danann’s rich voice came from beside her, making her jump. She didn’t know which one of them moved more silently, the Stonemaster or the Huntress, but she had a feeling that both were going to be hard on her nerves.

Recovering from her surprise, Elphame touched the statue’s cheek. “It’s not hard to talk to her. She seems real.” El turned to face the old centaur. “There’s something about this fountain, and about this courtyard that feels very important to me. I know that there are other duties to which I should be attend
ing, but I’m drawn here, to the heart of the castle. I can’t rest until this—” she opened her arms to include the entire area “—is revived.”

“Heart…revived…” Danann said slowly, scratching his chin. “An interesting choice of words. When one speaks of building a new home, or even of reconstructing an old home, one does not usually use words that describe a living, breathing person—like
heart
and
revive
. Can you tell me why you do so?”

Elphame’s eyes moved from the centaur back to the statue of her ancestress.

“That’s easy,” she said quickly. “The castle is alive to me. I don’t see it as dead stone and rotted timbers.” She thought about speaking with the spirit of The MacCallan, and she wanted to tell Danann about the encounter, but somehow it felt like a betrayal of her brother to confide in someone else what she had been unwilling to tell him.

“Yes, Goddess. You have an affinity with this castle.”

“It’s a new thing to me, Danann. I’ve never felt anything like it until I came here.”

Danann smiled at the beautiful young creature. “That is because until you came here you were too caught up in your own life to feel the magic that surrounded you.”

“That makes me sound like I have been shallow and silly,” Elphame said.

“No, Goddess, not at all. What it would make you is like most of the other souls who are living out their current lives on Partholon. The trouble is, you are unlike most of the other souls.”

Elphame didn’t know how to respond to him. She hated being called “Goddess,” yet when it came from the Stonemaster’s lips it seemed more of an endearment than a title. And she had desired two things for as long as she could remember—to be like the rest of Partholon, and to be gifted with some form of magic. Yet what Danann was saying was that one excluded the other.

Elphame sighed. “It’s hard to understand.”

“Yes, for those of us who have been touched by the spirit realm, it is often a difficult thing to understand,” Danann said kindly. Then he was silent, studying the partially restored statue.

“But I’d like to know more,” she said, afraid the centaur might be done speaking. “Would you teach me, Danann?”

He gave her an appraising look. “You did not learn how to open yourself to the spirits of the earth when you studied at the Temple of the Muse?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Ah, I see.” Before he continued he considered his words carefully. “You must realize that I am not a teacher, nor am I a shaman. I cannot instruct you, I simply have a talent for hearing the spirits of the earth, most especially those that dwell within stones.”

Elphame’s face fell in disappointment, but the centaur was not finished.

“I cannot instruct you,” he repeated, “but I can guide you.”

“Oh, Danann, thank you so much!” Elphame took the old centaur’s gnarled hand within both of hers.

“How could I refuse such an enchanting student?” Danann said fondly. “Why don’t you take a break and walk a little with me? I feel my bones setting if I stand in one place too long.”

“Of course, where would you like to go?”

Danann smiled enigmatically at the young woman who was such a unique blending of centaur and human. “Let the spirits guide you, Goddess. We will follow.”

Elphame frowned. Let the spirits guide her? How? The Stonemaster was gazing expectantly at her, as if he had no doubt that the spirits would call her name, or pull her in a certain direction, or something…anything. She furrowed her brow, concentrating on the surrounding stone. She felt peaceful
and happy, just as she had from the moment she’d arrived at the castle. But that was it. Nothing told her to go anywhere.

“I can’t…” she began.

“You try too hard,” Danann spoke quietly, raising his hand to silence her. “Begin slowly. Simply open yourself to the influence of the spirits, and start walking. They will guide you when you are not attempting to force their will.”

Feeling ridiculously dense, Elphame asked, “Open myself?”

The centaur nodded patiently. “Take three deep breaths and then cease thinking.”

Eager to comply, Elphame took three long, cleansing breaths and cleared her mind. Then she told her legs to move, and with the aged centaur walking stiffly beside her, they left the courtyard. Slowly, in a meandering pattern, El headed in the direction of the kitchen, but as she reached the hallway outside the Great Hall, she felt compelled to turn to her right and walk away from the beehive of activity that emanated from the rooms on the other side of the glassless windows.

“Remember that the world around us is imbued with soul.” Danann’s voice took on a melodic tone that was almost hypnotic. “From the stones of your castle, to the water that surges in the sea so close below us, the very earth is ensouled. It is living and breathing, and often simply waiting for one who has the stillness of mind to listen to its many voices.”

Following a silent tug that pulled something deep within her, Elphame left the long hall and walked through an arched doorway which led to an interior courtyard that was much smaller than the one that held the fountain. El stopped and studied the area. She didn’t remember passing through here the day before on their quick inspection of the castle. The courtyard was open to the sky, but not because the roof had been burnt off. In this particular area it had purposefully been left roofless. The floor there wasn’t stone, but grass, which had
gone wild and grown almost to her knees. There were several entrances to the little area, one of which was a steep flight of stone stairs that led up to a large, low room that had once been connected to the roof of the castle and its balustraded walls—before fire had consumed it and left it only wreckage. It must have been the warriors’ barracks, she thought, and wondered briefly about the men who had lived and died there.

Elphame’s eyes were drawn to the foot of the stone stairs. Her legs carried her forward of their own volition. Her hoofs made a soft shushing sound through the overgrown grass. She thought that perhaps the stones in the stairs were calling her, but she stopped several strides from them.

The sadness that filled her was sudden and unexpected.

“Oh!” She sighed heavily, blinking back the tears that filled her eyes.

“Breathe, Elphame.” Danann was at her side, speaking calmness through her surging emotions. “The natural world is alive with power, information, counsel and wisdom. It is not trying to harm you, it is trying to speak to you. Still your mind and listen.”

Elphame drew in another deep, cleansing breath and when she exhaled, she released her trepidation—and listened.

“Come to me, you bloody cowards!”

She recognized the voice instantly—he’d just spoken to her the night before. A jumble of images converged upon her, and she struggled to stay calm as the little courtyard wavered, shifted and, like a torch being lit within a night-darkened cave, the shades of the past suddenly flared to life around her.

The MacCallan stood in front of her at the base of the stone stairs. Horrible, winged man-creatures surrounded him. Blood poured off open wounds that had been torn in his arms and chest, but his huge sword was still swinging in an arc around him. At his feet were two headless things, victims of his
strength. Snarling, the man-creatures circled him, careful to stay out of reach of his deadly blade.

“Come to me, you bloody cowards!”

He repeated his challenge. Entranced, Elphame couldn’t take her eyes from him. His words had caught the attention of more of the creatures. One by one the ring around the old warrior grew until twenty man-creatures surrounded him, their wings taut, and their bloody mouths leering in expectation.

Elphame could feel her breathing increase and her heart beating erratically as the creatures began to tighten the circle and converge upon him. But The MacCallan didn’t panic. His movements were calm and sure. She saw his sword flash and heard it slice through the first and second and third creatures, until it could no longer keep up. Then their fangs and teeth reached him. He fought with his fists, which were slick with his own blood—so much blood that the vision seemed framed in crimson.

Even as the Clan Chieftain dropped to his knees, he didn’t cry out. And he didn’t yield.

But Elphame couldn’t take any more. Even though her mind knew she was only watching the shadows of the past, the scene was too real to her. She had just spoken with him the night before—she still remembered his gruff, good-humored voice and the warm sparkle of his eyes. When he fell to his knees, she fell with him and, sobbing, closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands.

The instant her knees touched the grassy ground, the sounds of the battle ceased.

“You witnessed the past for a reason.” Danann’s voice anchored her back to the present. “Be still and continue to listen—do not cause the spirits to have spoken in vain.”

Trying to calm the trembling of her body, Elphame took
her face from her hands and opened her eyes. The day was peaceful; the courtyard was cheerfully lit by the sunlight of a warm spring afternoon. No more doomed ghosts of the past fought to their deaths. Elphame wiped her eyes and tried to clear her thoughts again, but the image of the noble Clan Chieftain kept filling her mind.

Had his death been replayed for nothing because she was an inexperienced fool who did not know how to listen to the spirit realm? Ashamed, she bit her lip and looked down. Something that lay amidst the tangled weeds and grass caught the sunlight and sparkled. Holding her breath, Elphame reached through the overgrowth and grasped the metallic object, lifting it from the dirt and into the sunlight.

It was a round brooch, heavily tarnished and crusted with dirt, but even a funeral fire and years of being exposed to the elements could not extinguish the beauty of the rearing mare on the silver shield.

“It is the brooch of The MacCallan,” Danann said, bending to inspect the treasure. “It is what you were led here to find. Cherish it, Goddess, The MacCallan himself gifted you with it.”

As she fingered the gift she thought she heard an echo of the Chieftain’s response when she had named him The MacCallan.

“Aye, lassie, I was. Now that position is held by ye.”

It seemed the old spirit was truly a welcoming one. She felt his approval through the warmth of the Chieftain’s brooch, which she turned over and over in her hand as she and Danann walked slowly back to the Main Courtyard. The centaur allowed her time to digest what she had just experienced, but before they reentered the busy courtyard, he paused.