Fate's Hand: Book One of The Celtic Prophecy (11 page)

And replaced a dying soul, so did th’ mage

Th’ destiny o’ hope from tha’ day,

Sleeping, waiting, innocent until wha’ may.

So Chance intertwined th’ fates o’ those famed

To be rejoined and set right when legacy is reclaimed.

She drifted off, the eerie cadence of her voice disappearing, and it took a moment more for Alex to awaken from the trance. “Th’ legacy reclaimed, that’s obviously th’ seat o’ power; I ken this. Wha’ am I no’ seeing?”

“Time is fluid. All things happen in an instant. I can see when ye were born and when ye will die, just as I can see th’ day o’ the Earth’s first dawn and its last. It is life, and for ye ‘tis yer mortal coil—wha’ makes ye and all of humanity so unique an’ desirable.”

“Aaricht, th’ Phoenix cast th’ soul o’ th’ woman’s bairn out inta th’ universe and it was called inta th’ body o’ another centuries later?”

“Th’ Phoenix is a spell for willing sacrifices forfeiting their own soul for th’ preservation o’ our Ways. Upon completion o’ th’ soul transfer incantation on tha’ fateful day, several banshee attendant ta th’ nearby families heard th’ desperate call for aid and, in chorus, began ta wail. Th’ combined cry o’ th’ spirits was heard by all, including th’ lord o’ th’ Underworld, who up ta this point kent nothing o’ th’ pitiable state o’ his mortal lover.

“He didna comport himself well. He lashed out at his lover, Brighit, no’ understanding her motive. Her captors fed by th’ ire o’ Cernunnos carried ta their ears by th’ winds o’ change, they starved, tortured, eviscerated, and then burned her alive. They were increasingly incensed by her hold on life, living in ignorance of th’ forces tha’ manipulated them and kept her alive. It was…brutal.

“After th’ rage o’ th’ Horned One settled and he found reason once again, he found tha’ she had done it out o’ love—perverted th’ ways intended for th’ working ta offer her child a chance. It was too late for her. Ravaged by mortals and her god, she sits in th’ Underworld endlessly screaming, recognizing no one. It is said tha’ he goes ta visit her daily, holding her as she screams, hoping tha’ one day it will stop, and she’ll recognize him, and be able ta find peace. In part, th’ quest ye are on has roots thaur. He thinks that if she sees th’ girl, she will recognize th’ soul and find peace in th’ fact that her ultimate sacrifice of body, mind, and spirit was no’ in vain.

“All things happen in th’ same instant, as I said afore. Th’ other spell was worked in ignorance, but th’ same desperation rang out through time. So as Brighit was casting th’ Phoenix, and th’ banshee were singing their dirge, th’ other gods saw th’ true sacrifice of both women and bade it be so. Th’ innocent soul cast out found a home in another in need. Th’ reason th’ ceremony o’ thanksgiving had such a profound affect was tha’ fate recognized th’ soul through th’ precise stones used.

“This emotion, love, has th’ capacity ta break down th’ strongest and strengthen th’ weak—most curious. These emotions…they seem ta be more compatible with mortals. Th’ sheer force o’ love intertwined these two bludlines. It has combined and strengthened th’ link.

“Both children were fated ta take their place within th’ Auld Ways. Each was gifted with her own separate affinities and talents. Those two lines are entwined within one body and spirit through th’ actions o’ others, because o’ love. This female, whom ye ken familiarly as Brenawyn, is th’ strongest high priestess o’ Druidism in th’ record o’ time, but her abilities are unknown ta Fate. Her legacy must be reclaimed. All is dependent on it.”

The wind shifted and the animal spirits raised their heads to it. The surrounding forest became still. Motes of dust and leaves falling from the trees hung suspended, birds were pinned motionless in the air, the Well of Seagais lay tranquil. The animal spirits gathered tight around Alex and stood at the ready—hackles up and teeth bared, facing outward. At once they bellowed, belting out a plaintive lament that shook the ground.

Nimue stood, and for a moment she was shrouded in tiny sparkling motes that were once the gown; now with a toss of her head, the gown was replaced by resplendent jeweled armor. “Go. The Vate is close. They will find her.”

Alex fell back on his living room floor, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. He was unprepared to be forcefully hurled through the veil between the worlds; his chest constricted and he lay prone on the floor until the stabbing pain subsided.

“Did ye ha’ a nice visit with yer mother?” Cormac yawned.             

With a hand still clutched to his chest, “Cormac! Do ye no’ hold with locked doors? Maybe as a message that yer no’ wanted?” Alex gained his feet and advanced upon his unsolicited visitor.

Cormac sat back in the chair and shooed Alex away with a wave of his wrist as he casually assessed the apartment’s door over his shoulder, “Well, that’s o’ nay concern and if ye truly wanted to keep me out, ye would ha’ used a stronger barrier and layered the wards.” A smile played at his lips as he shifted positions to sit on the edge of the seat, “Tell me, are ye getting old? Ability slipping perhaps? I always disagreed with th’ decision ta pass th’ mantle o’ Shaman ta ye.”

Alex had once counted him a friend, but that was long before he was chosen. They had grown up together in the same village, competed for the same pretty lasses, though Cormac tended to go for those that Alex’s good sense told him to steer clear of. There was none that could take them if they stood together in a fight. If that was all there was, it should have been all that was needed; Alex would have thought himself lucky to have the love of a good woman and the bonds of brotherhood. But then came the vows. Pompous arrogance, or rather ignorance, spoils a righteous cause. Alex and Cormac were both narcissistic and blindly turned the staid initiation ceremony into a parade when they had heard that it was to be overseen by the goddesses Aerten and Caer Ibormeith.

They had taken the vows kneeling shoulder to shoulder in Tir-Na-Nog, and were branded as part of the warrior’s caste securing them places amongst the Coven to uphold the traditions and practices until the priestess was found. All would have ended well if not for Cormac’s daft-headed idea to call out Caer to have her relay the prophecy; and to add to it, Alex’s senseless notion to reach out to stop her when she didn’t pay Cormac any mind. He knew his mistake immediately and the thought of it now still made him tremble, as she rounded on him, her light blue eyes already clouding over with the vision.

I ha’ erstwhile seen ye Shaman made,

By yer ill-advised actions many years will fade.

Hunted and hounded, separated from wha’ ye hold most dear,

Joined in th’ eternal Hunt ye shall find fear.

Set free only at th’ Hunter’s caprices,

Compelled ta seek th’ lost one.

Hunting throughout every nation,

Will wha’ ye find be yer destruction or salvation?

Alex remembered every word, for they had sealed his fate.

Aerten herself presided over the Rite of the Phoenix in the next hour. Prophecy and Fate together, one to foretell and the other to make it so; no wonder people tended to steer clear. The previous Shaman only held the office for twenty-three years. Gray hair hadn’t even begun to grow on his head.

He remembered Cormac’s face at the proclamation and ceremony. It didn’t change. The envy was almost palpable—almost as great as the hatred Alex read in Cormac’s smug countenance now. Cormac couldn’t bring himself to move beyond it then, and their friendship had dwindled soon after. He saw it as the gods’ favor, not as the death sentence it was.

“I’ve no’ had the time ta dedicate ta replacing th’ spells ye so callously shattered. I did make contact with th’ woman, though o’ th’ one who intervened I’ve learned nothing.”

“Nay. It doesna matter noo. It appears tha’ th’ gods ha’ found her.”

“Ye were in th’ crowd yestereve.”

“I saw ye carry her back. Verra interesting tha’ incantation was, aye?”

Alex rubbed his temples, trying to get a hold on his annoyance. “Wha’ dae ye want?”

Cormac snickered, “It looks like ye weren’t needed after all. When dae ye think ye’ll be called back to the Stalking Grounds, noo that ye ha’ proven yerself incapable o’ e’en identifying a mere potential?”

Alex balled his fists, but Cormac was up and took a wild swing. Alex easily ducked and came back with a solid left blow to his jaw, followed by a right to his ribs. Cormac staggered back and lost his balance against the coffee table. He splintered the pressed wood table as he fell.

“Do ye want more, Cormac? Ye ne’er could best me at hand to hand. Wha’ makes ye think ye can dae so noo?”

“Truce.” Cormac held out his arm. “Help me up.”

Alex clasped his forearm and yanked.

“We must make arrangements ta present her ta th’ Elders.”

“Book yer flight and go home, Cormac. Take th’ Vate with ye. She’s nay longer needed.”

“Wha’ o’ th’ woman?”

“I will take care o’ her. I will stop by to pay my respect ta th’ Oracle afore ye go.”

Chapter 13

Roaches skittered across the tiled bathroom floor, so Cormac couldn’t even say the motel was clean, despite the overpowering smell of bleach in the confines of the motel room. He closed the door and looked over at the snoring form of the Vate, unconscious since the moment her duty was done. She lay curled on top of the bedclothes in the same position since she was deposited there. At least the dead eye was closed.

He paced, wearing the orange shag rug further, occasionally stirring the thick green concoction which she insisted having after every read. She finally began to stir. He strode over, helping her to a sitting position as he handed her the elixir. “Haur, drink this, it will soothe th’ pain.”

She slurped greedily at the foul smelling potion, licking her top lip to get the last of it.

He sat on the side of the bed, spreading an afghan around her skeletal frame, “Tell me, wha’ did ye see?”

“Our path is unclear.” Shaking her head, “Multiple visions, all dependent on th’ actions o’ others—Sinclair, her and ye.

“Could ye see if she’s th’ one? Or are we wasting our time yet again?

“Only tha’ she’s someone o’ import. Too many variables. Ye must put aside yer difference with Alexander. We must keep him close, manipulate th’ information he receives, use him, and then if necessary, ye can kill him.”

“Ah, if it were only that easy. I kill him, he’ll just come back stronger and more arrogant.”

“The apprentice’s botched attempt, acting, I think, on yer behalf. Aye, he cannae be killed, he is forever part o’ th’ hunting grounds. So it is noo, at least, but in time? Until then, observe th’ courtesies and respect yer betters.”

It rankled to hear Alexander considered his better, but she was right, Cormac had to bide his time until the moment he could make Alexander pay. “Wha’ shall I dae when he comes ta me?”

“Ascertain wha’ he has learned and then encourage him ta stay close, learn wha’ we ha’ been unable ta see. Encourage him ta train her.”

“And about th’ other matter?”

She rounded her eye on him. “Th’ acolyte needs ta retreat. He cannae be found by her—not yet. It is still unknown wha’ his portion is in th’ prophecy, but when it is made clear, ‘tis easy enough ta call him forth. Send him back in time, Master Bard. He deserves a reward, if only for a moment, for his devotion ta our cause. He served us well by diverting attention from th’ sacrifices.”

~ ~ ~

Alex had to meet with Cormac again and quickly, before they retreated to Scotland and disappeared into the murk. At daybreak, he ventured forth.

He closed and padlocked the door to the apartment’s attic and opened the attic window sash. He undressed, folding his clothes neatly to pile them on the edge of the wardrobe. What would he tell Cormac? The instinctual response urged him to flight as his bones hollowed and plumage settled around his body. He might not even get to utter one word.

The foreknowledge of Cormac’s limited funds led him to the sole motel in the area. He perched on the apex of the main building, where a blinking neon sign advertised vacancy. A screech from his lungs sent a curtain twitching at the end of the long U of cottages. The door opened, Cormac looked his way and hurried off with a bundle under his arm.

Alex found the pile of clothes: sweatpants and a t-shirt, under a tree behind the motel. The door latch gave when he knocked, sending the door swinging in, squeaking on its hinges. The Vate hunched on the end of the bed. Cormac, arms crossed, leaned against the closet door.

“Alexander,” he nodded in his direction. “Ha’ ye new information?”

“I have. She’s no’ th’ one we search for.”

“The gods seem ta disagree. Do ye doubt their power?”

The Oracle turned her milky eye toward him, smacking her lips together several times before speaking, “Shaman, th’ omens ha’ been vague and contradictory. While we cannae afford ta be hasty, th’ fact tha’ th’ gods ha’ recognized her gives credence ta our efforts.”

Cormac handed him a vial of silver nitrate, “Come Shaman, show us wha’ ye ha’ discovered.” Leading him to a plastic ice bucket filled with tap water, Alex worked the cork free and emptied the contents in the bucket, swirling it with his fingers. The water became cloudy instantly, and then a vision appeared. Recognizing Brenawyn, Alex wanted to hide it, throw the basin on the floor, eliminate her face from where Cormac could see.

“Ah, a verra pretty wench. Perhaps, I will take yer duties off yer hands.”

“Nay. Nay, it falls ta me; my obligation.”

“Oh, but ye are weary, rest this one out, I’ll take care o’ her. Eliminate her from th’ list o’ potentials.”

“No, Cormac. I will dae it.”

Alex didn’t hear the Vate approach from behind and cringed when she touched his arm, “Have her in Scotland and ready by Saimhain for her presentation ta th’ Elders. It must be done ta complete th’ initiation rite so she can take her place, long absented.”

Peeling off the borrowed clothes, “Until October then.”