Elphame's Choice (38 page)

“This is what we must do,” he explained to the winged man. “I will cut it off here, just below the quill.” He pointed to the arrow. “I will count three and pull it out. Then will come the uncomfortable part.” The centaur’s gaze shifted to the man standing nearby. “Brendan, the cauterizing iron is in the kitchen hearth. When the arrow is out, fetch it quickly.”

“That would be the uncomfortable part,” Lochlan said wryly.

Danann smiled. “Not the fetching of it.”

An unexpected chuckle shook Lochlan’s shoulders and he winced at the pain. “Let’s get on with it then, Master Centaur.”

“Grasp the quill,” Danann told Elphame.

Don’t think of him as Lochlan, she ordered herself frantically as she took hold of the arrow’s end. Think of him as a stranger you’re trying to help. She clenched her teeth together, trying to forget that she had rested against that shoulder and tasted its sweat with her searching lips.

With a crack the shears snapped through the wooden shaft.

“Now lean forward,” Danann ordered.

Elphame thought Lochlan fell rather than leaned forward. The torn wing lay across him, covering his back. Without looking at Danann, Elphame gently gathered the limp wing in her hands and lifted, then folded it so that the protruding end of the bloody arrowhead was exposed. The only sound Lochlan made was a pain-filled groan at the first touch of her hands on his wing.

One of the centaur’s gnarled hands closed around the arrowhead, the other rested firmly against Lochlan’s back.

“On three,” he said. “One, two, three!”

The old Stonemaster’s arm muscles bulged as he tore the arrow from Lochlan’s body in one clean pull, then he pressed
a cloth against the gaping hole, trying to stop the scarlet river that followed it.

“Quickly! Bring the iron,” Elphame ordered Brendan, who was already turning toward the Great Hall.

Lochlan lay very still against the marble floor, his head hidden in the crook of his right arm.

Elphame stroked his hair, feeling the tremors that ran through his body. “It’s almost over,” she told him, trying to keep her voice from breaking.

In the space of just a few breaths, Brendan returned carrying a metal pole the length of a man’s arm. The round end of it glowed with a sickening red light. Elphame barely noticed that he had been followed by several clan members, who stood watching in wary silence.

Danann motioned for Brendan to bring him the iron.

“Lochlan,” the old centaur’s voice was calm. “You must remain very still while I close the wound. Do you need to be held?” Danann asked him.

Lochlan turned his head so that he could look up at Elphame.

“Her touch will be enough.”

He pulled his hand from under his body and offered it to her. Without hesitation Elphame clasped it within both of hers.

“Brace yourself,” Danann said the instant before he plunged the glowing iron into Lochlan’s bloody wound.

It was Elphame who cried aloud when Lochlan’s body bowed in pain and the stench of burning flesh hovered like a toxic fog around them. Lochlan’s eyes never left hers and he did not make a sound. When Danann finally took the burning iron away from his flesh and began salving the wound with balm, only then did Lochlan close his eyes and turn his head back into his arm. He did not release his hold on Elphame’s hand.

“Elphame? I brought this for him.”

Through vision blurred by tears she hadn’t realized she had been shedding, Elphame looked up at Meara. The housekeeper was holding a neatly folded blanket, which she lay on the cold marble next to Lochlan.

“Thank you,” Elphame said.

When Meara turned away, another woman took her place.

“Wynne sent more broth. The stew is for you, my Lady.” Kathryn, the new addition to the kitchen staff, bobbed a quick curtsey before she placed the tray which held a mug of broth and a fragrant bowl of stew near Elphame.

Then another woman, who Elphame recognized as one of the weavers, broke from the watching group and approached her. She was carrying a small woolen wrap in her arms. With a shy smile she draped it around her Chieftain’s shoulders.

“Tis cool here at night, milady. Have a care for yer health.” Her words rolled musically, placing her as one of the locals.

Unable to speak, Elphame smiled her thanks and her blurred gaze passed over her clan. Their expressions were somber, but she saw no anger or resentment amongst them, only the reflection of the concern the three women had shown.

“Yes, have a care for your health, milady,” called a man Elphame recognized as Angus.

His words broke the awkward silence of the clan. Several of the men approached Elphame, speaking softly to her and gazing with open curiosity at the winged man who needed only the touch of their Chieftain to endure such an agonizing ordeal.

THE NIGHT PASSED
slowly. Lochlan spoke very little as she and Danann finished tending his wounds. He drank the second mug of broth and then, wrapped in Meara’s blanket, he settled back against the mighty column and appeared to sleep.

Elphame did not want to leave her lover, but she could feel her clan’s need of her, and so while Lochlan rested she walked among them where they gathered in the Great Hall, stopping to talk here and there, but mostly being seen and letting them feel her presence. Her tears were gone and she had combed her hair and changed into a clean plaid, with the ancestral brooch of The MacCallan displayed clearly on her bodice. The clan’s talk focused on the castle and the work yet ahead of them. No one mentioned the winged man chained in the next room, nor did they speak of Cuchulainn’s mission, but there was a tangible sense of waiting, and many glances were cast surreptitiously toward the castle’s entrance at the least sound
of the wind brushing against the thick, expectant walls. No one left to sleep in the comfort of their tents, instead heads bobbed and then revived occasionally as the night aged, and Wynne and her cooks busied themselves keeping mugs filled with strong, black coffee and stomachs filled with thick stew.

The black of the night’s sky was being replaced by the soft gray of predawn when Elphame crossed the Main Courtyard to check on Lochlan. Someone had brought chairs for Brendan and Duncan, who had refused to allow any of the other men to relieve them of their charge to guard the winged prisoner. Both men were sitting close to Lochlan and Elphame felt a jolt of surprise when she realized that the men were deep in conversation with him. Purposefully, she stepped lightly so that they would not notice her approach.

“One hundred and twenty-five years.” Brendan shook his head. His expression was wary, but curiosity was thick in his voice. “I cannot imagine living so long. You don’t even look as old as Danann.”

Elphame’s smile mirrored the one she heard in Lochlan’s voice.

“I would not want to pit my wisdom against the centaur’s. My years might outnumber his, but experience weights heavily in his favor. I would not want to cross wits with him.”

Duncan snorted. “None of us would.” He paused, as if carefully considering his next words. “I watched what happened when The MacCallan asked the spirit of the column to tell her the truth of you. If you had been guilty of the little Healer’s death, our Lady would have known it then.”

“I did not kill Brenna, but I tell you honestly that I will carry the guilt of her death to my grave. I should have found a way to prevent it,” Lochlan said.

“Fate—she can be cruel,” Brendan said.

Duncan grunted in agreement.

“Gentlemen, morning is near. Wynne has hot food and drink for you. I temporarily relieve you of your watch,” Elphame said, stepping into the torchlight that illuminated the little group.

This time, instead of hesitating the two men rose to their feet, bowed to their Chieftain and walked silently from the courtyard. Alone with Lochlan, Elphame suddenly found that she didn’t know what to say. She rearranged a pile of discarded bandages and placed the lid on a jar of balm.

“Sit here beside me for a little while, my heart.”

Elphame’s hands stilled and she looked into his eyes. His face was pale, and there were dark circles ringing his expressive eyes. The blanket that covered him had slipped from his wounded shoulder, and a pink tinge of blood seeped through to stain the white linen bandages. He was sitting more upright than he had been before when she had thought him sleeping, but he still leaned against the sturdy column, as if he, too, gained strength from its touch.

With a sigh, she sat on the cold marble near him.

“It’s so hard to know what to do, Lochlan,” she said miserably. “How do I balance who I am with what I feel?”

The chains rattled as he took her hand in his. “You are doing well. They are loyal to you, Elphame. You need not worry about losing your clan.”

“And you? Should I not worry about losing you?”

“You cannot lose me, my heart.”

“What if Cuchulainn doesn’t find your people, or, worse yet, kills them and does not allow their story to be told? Or what will happen if he brings them here alive, and they lie—they say that you were in on the killing of Brenna? None of the clan can Feel the truth through the spirits of the stone. I can keep Cuchulainn from killing you, but I may have to banish you, Lochlan. Do you understand that?”

“I understand that you will do what you must do. But neither banishment nor death can destroy my love for you. And do not forget that Epona’s hand is in this, Elphame. I have decided to trust the Goddess as my mother before me did.”

Elphame shook her head. “I don’t think I have your faith.”

Lochlan smiled knowingly. “Don’t you, my heart? You have been touched by the Goddess since before your birth. Perhaps you just need to trust yourself enough to listen for Her voice.”

Elphame raised his hand so that she could press her cheek against the warmth of his palm. “Are you sure you’re not as wise as Danann?”

“Quite sure.”

He caressed the side of her face and she leaned forward to kiss him gently. Involuntarily, his wings stirred and he could not suppress a moan of pain. Elphame pulled away from him quickly, her face clouded with concern. She reached to touch his wounded wing, but stopped the gesture short, afraid to cause him more pain.

“The wing will heal,” Lochlan said, trying to comfort her even though his voice sounded ragged. “I would not have survived in the Wastelands if I was fragile and easily broken.”

“But it’s your wing,” she said.

“It will heal,” he repeated. “Do not be afraid to touch me.”

She was leaning carefully into him when the clatter of many hooves entering the castle caused her to jerk back. Heart pounding, she stood to face Cuchulainn and the dark news he brought with him.

When her brother rode into the courtyard she almost didn’t recognize him. He was spattered with blood and filth, as was the golden Brighid who entered the room beside him. But it wasn’t simply that Cuchulainn’s visage had been changed by battle and exhaustion; his face had hardened into the mask of a stranger. Behind the warrior and the Huntress, men and
centaurs crowded into the castle. Elphame recognized several of the men as having come from Loth Tor. Someone shouted from within the Great Hall, and the waiting clan surged into the courtyard.

Just within the torchlight, Cuchulainn reined his horse to a halt and dismounted stiffly. Then he unwound a thick length of rope from around the pommel of his saddle. Elphame held her breath as her brother’s massive arm muscles bulged while he walked steadily toward her, pulling whatever was tethered to the rope with him. Elphame’s sharp release of breath was lost in the collective gasp that filled the courtyard when the winged figures stumbled into the light. She heard Lochlan struggle to his feet behind her, but she could not take her eyes from her brother’s captives.

There were four of them, three males and a female. Their hands were tied in front of them, and the rope that bound their wrists ran up to loop around each of their necks before it connected to the next prisoner, so that if one had fallen and been dragged by Cuchulainn’s horse, he or she would have caused the others to be choked. They bled from multiple lacerations and were covered with dirt and blood, but their most terrible wounds were not on their bodies. The wounds that made Elphame’s stomach wrench and her breath catch were the bloody shreds that their proud wings had become. Only the skeleton of their pinions remained. What used to be evidence of the strength gifted to them through their dark blood, were now only ribbons of mangled flesh.

They would not heal, Elphame realized with an understanding that sickened her.

“The creatures were where he said they would be,” Cuchulainn said in the voice of a stranger. “They were not captured easily, but criminals seldom are.” He gave another cruel tug on the rope and the male closest to him, who was obviously twin
to the prisoner to whom he was bound, tripped and fell to his knees, causing the others to be wrenched together painfully.

Lochlan’s chain clattered as he stepped forward to the end of his metal tether. “They are already defeated. There is no need for you to torture them.”

Cuchulainn turned on him, eyes filled with fury. “They murdered Brenna!”

“
They
did not murder her, I did.”

All eyes were drawn to the winged female. Her body showed the fewest signs of wounds; even her wings hadn’t been as ravaged as the males. As she spoke she straightened her spine and attempted to hold her damaged wings tightly against her body. She tossed her silver hair back and her ice-colored eyes looked contemptuously around the gathering. Elphame thought she had a terrible beauty that burned from within her like a dangerous pale flame.

“Do not speak, Fallon,” the tall blond male tied beside her hissed.

She ignored him and met Lochlan’s eyes. “The time for silence is past, is it not, Lochlan?”

“Fallon, why—”

Elphame touched Lochlan’s arm, breaking off his response, and Fallon’s beautiful face twisted into an ugly sneer.

“That’s right, Lochlan. Do not speak unless she allows it. As always, you are the hoofed goddess’s puppet.”

Elphame felt anger flare within her, and the ice in her voice matched the coldness in the female’s eyes. “Take care how you address me. I am The MacCallan, Chieftain of Clan MacCallan, and your fate rests in my hands.”

The winged woman’s laughter was cruel and humorless, and Elphame knew without any doubt that she was looking into the eyes of madness.

“My long dead human mother would be pleased that I have
finally grasped the concept of irony. My fate does indeed rest in your hands, Goddess, except that until today it was you who were to have been sacrificed to fulfill that fate.”

“Enough, Fallon!”

Lochlan had to roar over the sound of the clan’s angry voices. No one came into MacCallan Castle and threatened its Chieftain without answering to the wrath of the clan.

Elphame raised her hand for silence. She walked toward Fallon and Cuchulainn moved so that he stood beside her. As they approached the winged female the male tied beside her stirred. Elphame ignored the jangle of Lochlan’s chains as he strained against them, as well as the raw anger that radiated from her brother; her entire focus was on Fallon.

“Explain yourself,” Elphame demanded.

Fallon lifted her chin. “Ask your lover the real reason he stole into Partholon alone and searched you out. It wasn’t just that he had dreamed of you since your birth. It was more, much more.” Her eyes turned sly. “But perhaps some part of you already knows that.”

Elphame’s clan murmured angrily and she had to lift her hand again for silence.

“By your own admission the blood of an innocent woman is on your hands, and now you stand within the heart of my castle and spew half-truths and riddles.” Anger pulsed through Elphame’s body, and as it filled her it shifted and changed into a righteous fury that tingled along her skin and make her thick hair swirl and crackle around her shoulders. In a voice magically magnified she repeated her command.
“Explain yourself!”

Fallon’s eyes widened at the clear evidence of the indwelling of a goddess’s power, but instead of being humbled, it only seemed to fuel her madness. She turned her heated gaze on Lochlan.

“Look at how your lies find you out! There is no denying
that you recognized her as a goddess, yet in your obsession with her you thought to keep her to yourself. When you drained her blood and the curse was lifted from you, what then did you think to do with us? Or did you care so little for your own people that you did not think of us at all?”

“You have killed and embraced madness, Fallon. Your words are meaningless,” Lochlan said.

But Elphame had been watching her lover carefully while Fallon had been speaking, and she had seen the guilt that flickered through his eyes before he schooled his expression.

“For once I will agree with the winged creature. These words are meaningless. The female killed Brenna, the female must die.” Cuchulainn’s voice was so devoid of emotion that it made Elphame’s heart ache.

“No!” The male beside her growled through bloodied lips. “What she did, she did only to save our people. Lochlan abdicated the responsibility that was his as our leader. When he betrayed us and refused to sacrifice the hoofed goddess, Fallon believed she had no other choice.”

Cuchulainn’s angry roar was echoed by Clan MacCallan and several of the men drew their deadly claymores and moved forward as if they would strike the winged beings down.

“Silence!”
Elphame’s voice sizzled through the room, lifting the hair on forearms and causing prickles of power to move over skin. Silence fell like a snuffed torch.

Fallon’s sarcastic laughter filled the power-thickened air with hatred. “I was wrong about you, Goddess. For all of your power, you really did not know. You had no idea that Lochlan sought you out to fulfill the Prophecy. You believed his cloyingly sweet words of love.”

Lochlan’s chains rattled as he pulled against them. “You know nothing of what you speak!”

“I know that it is your fault that the human female died!”
Fallon spewed her poison. “If you had fulfilled the Prophecy I would not have had to kill her to lure your lover from her Again her maniacal laughter echoed throughout the courtyard. Then her crazed expression fell, like tallow melting from a candle, and her colorless eyes filled with tears. “But I was not prepared for your ultimate betrayal.” Her long, slender hand touched the ragged edge of her torn wing, as if it did not truly belong to her. “Oh, Keir, look at what he did to us.” She broke into sobs as the male beside her took her into his arms.