Highland Shift (Highland Destiny: 1) (17 page)

He sensed an old and noble soul within Elena, and he mourned her already, but
leave him she must. From what Brigid had said, his heart was near, but so was danger. He needed to protect Elena from his life. He must know that she was safe, even if it meant she was safe with someone else, someone she would grow to love in time. The thought saddened him. He would have a few more months near her, not that a few months would be enough. One lifetime would not be enough. Never had another touched his soul, yet Brigid had said his heart was coming. How could he love another? There was no more room in his heart; Elena had taken it.

Follow his light, Brigid had said. For many years, Brigid had been telling him his true heart must be found in order to lift the curse, now she spoke of light. What did it mean? What was she trying to tell him? Faolan found the reference books on the shelf and began to look at the various ways to translate light, to use light, to have a light. Nothing there seemed helpful.

Elena’s computer was next, but too many search results made it futile. If only Brigid would be more specific about which light. He blew out a frustrated breath, Faolan stood and restlessly began pacing.

He knew Brigid set great store in names. She was named for Brigit, the Celtic goddess of inspiration and healing, daughter of
Dagda, and a Tuatha De Danaan. Faolan knew his own name meant ‘Little Wolf,’ which seemed a strange irony to be named for that which you would become. Could Brigid mean for him to follow his light, with light referring to a person’s name?

Again, he turned to Elena’s computer and searched for sites that would help him find names that meant light, or some variation of light. The first search revealed more than two million entries, most of them web sites devoted to finding the perfect name for a baby. He randomly selected one and began.

Faolan sucked in a sharp breath, and his heart raced. It had taken him a long time, because he had been looking for Gaelic names. This was a name more associated with Spain than Scotland, but he was sure. Now he now knew what Brigid meant. It was the name of his destiny, his true love, and his true heart.

Elena, form of Helene.
Torch, light.

Hunched over the book for hours, Elena finally stood and stretched. What started as a cursory inspection of the large volume had evolved into an obsessive search for
truth. It was a comprehensive description of Druid life through the ages, from the mundane to the fantastic. There were hundreds of illustrations, each followed by explanatory text. Or at least she assumed it was an explanation, just as she assumed the next part was the actual spell associated with the picture.
Too bad, I missed out on taking Gaelic as a foreign language.

About halfway through she discovered the actual spell they needed to free Faolan. A man was drawn in a series that showed his transformation from full man to full wolf. There was no one with him, he didn’t appear in pain, and it was daylight. Nothing about the illustration indicated he was suffering in any way.

By contrast, the next set of pictures showed one man acting as spell caster, another as victim. The victim wore an expression of terrible agony, and he was more than half formed into a wolf. The full moon was clear in the night sky, and a woman cowered in the background, as though afraid the wolf would eat her. Elena shivered before something about the picture made her take a closer look. The spell caster was holding a mirror in his hand and below the picture of the wolf was another illustration of a mirror. It looked exactly like the mirror that she’d hidden in her room.

This really was it, Elena was sure of it. She held the secret in her hands that would free Faolan, Red, and Lilly! They needed the mirror in the picture, and she knew where to find it. The spell was in the book; the cure was so close. It didn’t matter that she would lose Faolan completely once he was cured. Nothing else mattered at this moment, not now that she knew he could be freed from his terrible curse.

Elena put the book carefully in her pack; she would not let it out of her sight. She wanted to wait to tell him until they were alone, so after dinner would be best.
Dinner!
Elena had been so busy all morning that she’d missed breakfast completely. Lunch must be long over, and she was thirsty and hungry. Hopefully, there was a nice big roast or something similarly filling for dinner.

Elena hefted her pack onto her back and opened the door. Or rather, she tried to open the door… the handle wouldn’t turn. She yanked and pulled, twisted, and kicked, but the door wouldn’t budge. Panic set in immediately and she was no longer the intrepid explorer of all things magick. As memories of the worst of the foster homes
flooded her, she started banging on the door, yelling and screaming for someone to let her out.

Finally, forcing herself to calm, she remembered how she’d opened the panels to the chamber. She laid her hands on the door, concentrated very hard, and prayed for it to open as she pushed. Nothing happened. Breathing fast, Elena pressed her hands against every surface of the door, including the doorknob, hinges, and the keyhole, anything she could think of. Still nothing worked.

Oh God, no…not this, please, not this.
Elena carefully examined each of the walls, looking for markings, looseness, or warmth. Anything to indicate there might be more than meets the eye. There was nothing to indicate there was another way out. The floor and ceiling were similarly disappointing.

Please let me out,
I’ll be good, I’ll be good.
The familiar childhood plea came back to her now, and her throat closed on a scream. She returned to the door, fighting against her captivity until her throat was raw and her fingers bled. When she could no longer claw at the door, she sank to the floor with her back against the door. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she rocked, lost somewhere in her past.
Someone always comes home to let me out eventually.

When Elena came back to herself, she was hungry and very thirsty, but she was also exhausted. She knew she’d reacted foolishly. It was imperative that she
conserve her strength. She needed some rest before she tried anything new. Pulling the two chairs from either side of the altar, she pushed them together so they were facing each other and lay down.

It felt as though she’d been in the chamber for many hours. Faolan would look for her.
Right, and where would he look?
She fought against the rising panic that threatened to overtake her, once again. With deep, slow breaths, she forced herself to calm down and eventually she slept.

While she slept, she had nightmares. She was four, and her mother left her; she was thirteen, and her
Grandda died. She’d been teen on the cusp on woman, and her foster father kept her locked in the closet for tempting him. The panic she felt became part of the fabric of the dream.

Then, in the disjointed way of dreams, women in long flowing robes of the softest white surrounded her, soothing her, calming her fears. They chanted quietly, a melodic, haunting sound that left her comforted.

When Elena woke, disoriented and sore, she had no idea how long she’d been asleep or how long she’d been in the room. This morning, she was the calm, analytical Elena. She knew she was in danger of shock and dehydration, and keeping her panic controlled was crucial.

She examined the door. The hinges were on the outside, so she couldn’t get at them. The lock was like nothing she’d ever seen before. Picking locks wasn’t in her skill
set, but maybe if she could remove the doorplate, she could access the locking mechanism.

She looked for a useful tool; no stones were loose. The chairs were too heavy to lift, and too sturdy to break pieces off. She couldn’t use the gold candelabrum because the gold would be too soft.
Damn! The dagger!
Why hadn’t she thought of using the dagger sooner?

With eight inches of blade and a jeweled handle, the dagger should be sturdy enough to dig at the wood surrounding the iron plate. If she loosened it enough she could knock the locking mechanism out or shift it so it would release. She worked on it for a long time, and managed to carve a groove into the wood around two sides of the doorplate. It didn’t look as though she was making much progress, but what else was she going to do?

Her arms and hands hurt from the exertion, and no amount of shifting her hold on the knife was providing any relief. With a flutter of yesterday’s panic she realized the light was growing dim.
Crap, the batteries in the lantern are wearing out. Just how much time has passed?
Conserving batteries and strength were top priorities. Switching from lantern to flashlight, Elena climbed back onto her impromptu bed again, and in a very few minutes was sound asleep.

The chanting started shortly after she dozed off. When she opened her eyes, the room glowed softly, bathed in candlelight, and again the white-robed women surrounded her. Elena knew she was safe as long as they were with her, so she closed her eyes to wait for the end of their ceremony.

The women were gone when she next woke, but Elena knew they’d be back later. She must have slept well; her limbs were heavy and relaxed. She turned the lantern back on and went back to work on the door. Her muscles ached from all the pushing and cutting she’d done on it yesterday.
Yesterday, all my troubles
… Something about that seemed familiar. She was beginning to lose track of what was happening, of when she was awake and when she was asleep.

This must be a very magic room, she thought.
Oh, wait… magick.
Faolan told her it was spelled m-a-g-i-c-k, so you could tell the difference between real magick and a magic trick.
What was I talking about?
 

“Elena? You stay right here. I just need to run to the store for some more medicine. I’ll be right back. I’m locking the door. Don’t open it.” Her mother’s voice was soft and blurry, like it always was when she drank her medicine. Elena sat up straight on the couch, hoping Mommy wouldn’t notice she wasn’t in her room.

Okay, this isn’t right.
Her mother had been dead for twenty years. In a lucid moment, Elena realized she must be hallucinating and started pacing the room, trying to keep the blood circulating. Surprised that images of her mother had come to haunt her, Elena used thoughts of her family to stay focused and went back to work on the lock.

Elena was four when her mother went out one night, never to return. She remembered telling her
Grandda about Mommy’s blurry voice, and Grandda sighed and shook his head. When she was older, she realized a blurry voice was what a four-year-old might think a voice sounded like when someone had been drinking. Her mother was usually drinking. 

Grandda
had taken her into his house, but he’d also been blurry. The social workers came and said they would take her away if he didn’t stop drinking. He had been a widower and a drunk for nearly ten years before Elena came to live with him, but to his credit, he pulled himself most of the way out of the bottle so he could care for Elena.

Although
Grandda had given up the booze, it hadn’t given up on him, and he died of liver failure when she was thirteen. All the money went to pay for his medical bills. The state buried him for free and placed his granddaughter in foster care.

Why in the world was she thinking about this?

Elena was very tired again, and a dim part of her mind acknowledged that she must be dangerously dehydrated. She was no longer hungry, and beyond thirsty. She just felt tired all the time; maybe she had iron-poor blood.
Stop, stay strong.

The women returned, and they brought Brigid with them. “Lass, these are the sisterhood. They are here to take you on a journey now. They will keep you safe, but this journey ‘tis important. There are things you will need to know. Some you willna remember until you need to, others you will remember for Faolan. May the gods and goddess smile upon your light.
”

The robed figures stood around a circle drawn on the floor, and Elena was in the center. The women took turns reciting lines and Elena wondered if she was supposed to have something to say.

“Oh Earth beneath us, you are the sustainer of all life.”

“Air surrounding us, lifting us, you inspire all life.”

“Stars of Fire above us, you empower our lives.”

“Water within us, you refresh our lives.”

The women of the Sisterhood gently bathed Elena’s face and trickled water from the gold chalice into her parched mouth.

A voice that could have belonged to an angel said, “Elena, on this journey, the water will be your guide and will give you life at journey’s end.”

Then Elena stepped onto a small boat, and they sailed to the western coast of Scotland where a small island emerged from the clouds, which confused Elena for a minute because she thought they were in the ocean. A wren appeared from the clouds and lighted on the branch of a nearby tree.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Elena told the wren, which in her dream seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

“Reflect. You will be seen and you will see. Then without hesitation, you must follow the path of learning, ‘tis important to our world. You will be sought as one who is wise, so begin your journey. There is a time coming, all your skills and all the true disciples may still not be enough. It is coming.”