Highland Shift (Highland Destiny: 1) (18 page)

When Elena stepped from the boat, she was back in the chamber, and the robed women were waiting to care for her as though she were their precious child. They laid her back on her makeshift bed, brushed her hair from her forehead, and dribbled more water between her dry lips.

“Faolan is looking for you; he will find you,” Brigid whispered. “You must give him the mirror so all can be saved. Faolan will find you on the morrow. Rest now, Elena, Light of Faolan.”

Elena slept.   

For three long nights and two full days, Faolan searched every part of the farm. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Elena. She has to be here somewhere, he thought. Was it possible Elena had shifted time, even now trapped in a century that
wasna her own? Faolan didn’t know much about time shift, but he knew that many believed the ancient Druids had that ability.

The MacGailtry land had an ancient stone circle hidden deep in the woods that was nearly 10,000 years old.
It was protected by strong wards, and as far as he knew, Elena wouldna be able to see it because of the spells hiding it from view. Faolan had spent nearly half his life researching Druid use of the stones to no avail. Yesterday, he’d examined every inch of the circle and found nothing to indicate anyone had been near the area recently.

Could Elena have found the circle? Had she been ensorcelled? There was one person he knew who could read the signs. Why had he not thought of going to Brigid sooner? He ran through the kitchen yelling at Lilly that he was going to get the old seer.

Even though he’d not called ahead, he wasn’t surprised to find Brigid waiting by the street, a large carpetbag in her hands. Faolan started to ask her a question, but she cut him off.

“Go.
Och, you left it late, lad.” Brigid climbed into the truck and said again, more urgently, “Go, go fast.”

Faolan peppered her with questions, but Brigid sat still, her eyes closed, listening to something only she could hear. When they arrived at the farm, Brigid climbed out of the truck and went straight to Elena’s bedroom to look around. She stopped near the fireplace and sighed, “Ah, ‘tis true.”

“What is it? Do you know where she is, has she shifted time?” Faolan asked desperately.

“Nay, lad, she is near, but you must find her.”

Faolan ran his hand through his hair, dark circles under his eyes, looking half-mad. “How? How do I find her?”

“Is there something you and she have both touched, something personal?”

Faolan’s eyes scanned Elena’s room, “Her hair brush,’” he said.

“Get it, lad, bring it along,” demanded Brigid, already heading for the kitchen.

Red and Lilly were hovering, desperate to help, but unsure where to start.

“Where does the lass go when she is by herself?” Brigid asked.

Red answered right away, “The north steading. She is always mucking about in there, messing with her stacks.”

“I looked there,” insisted Faolan.

“Och, of course you did, but which eyes did you use, lad?” Brigid issued orders, “Red, go build up the fire in Elena’s room. We will bring her there. Lilly, make tea, add sugar, and let it begin to cool. Start a broth as well. Faolan, come, we will bring her home.”

They went directly to the north wing of the steading where Brigid grabbed Faolan’s hands, looking ridiculously small next to his giant frame. “Faolan, ‘tis time for you to draw on your magick. It sleeps deep within you. We must draw it forward and call on the gods and goddesses to awaken it in you. ‘Tis time,” she repeated.

“Tell me what to do, Brigid,” Faolan pleaded.

Brigid drew a candle, bottle of water, a bowl, incense, and four stones from her bag. She handed the stones to Faolan. “Place them one each on the points of the compass.” She put the unlit candle in the center of his circle and put the bowl filled with water next to it. She lit the incense,
then turned to Faolan.

“This must be your magick, not mine,” she said. “I will guide you as best I can, but beware. This all depends on you. I canna do it. When it comes time to close your mind to all but the spirits, you must let nothing intrude. You will receive your answer only if you let nothing else intrude.”

Faolan entered the circle from the East and lit the candle, clutching Elena’s hairbrush. Following the path of the sun, he offered a greeting of peace to each of the four points. He sat near the center of the circle and focused on opening himself. It filled him with awe to know after all these years he was saying the words of his father, his ancestors. He felt the mantle of his ancestry settle onto his shoulders, filling him with a sense of destiny.

At first, Elena’s name entered his brain every few seconds, but he pushed thoughts of her back and closed his eyes, straining to hear.
The sound began as a distant whisper, the chanting soon filled him. In his mind’s eye, he watched as the flame left the candle, made a sun-wise circle around the room testing his resolve, and then beckoned him to follow. Faolan floated behind the flame as it passed through a pile of furniture stacked against the wall, through the wall, and into a long, dark passageway. At the end of the passageway were two large doors, and Faolan floated after the candle’s flame, through the door on the right.

He entered a chamber that was very cool, the only light from his flame. White-robed figures lined the room, yet disappeared as soon as he was fully through the door. Two chairs faced each other against the far wall, and he could see Elena cradled between the arms. He could not see her breathing.  

The scent of freshly turned earth signaled a renewal of the seasons. Then the roar in his head reached a crescendo and filled Faolan with sounds of nature: wind rushing through the trees, water tumbling over river rock, the roar of fire wiping a landscape clean. A voice, ringing clear and pure as a bell, spoke from within his soul, “Welcome home, Faolan of Gailtry, Faolan of the Light.”

He came slowly back to himself as if returning from a long journey. Brigid was there, but silent, anxious not to intrude too soon. When he was ready, he looked up at her, his eyes full of uncertainty.

Brigid said, “Hurry, lad. There’s not much time left.”

He stood a bit unsteadily, shook his head, and asked Brigid, “What do I do now?”

“Did they not show you?” she asked her voice pitched higher than usual, filled with tension.

“There was a candle,” he said, walking to the junk pile. “I followed it through walls. It started over here.” When he walked around the pile, he saw what he had missed before. There was an opening in the far corner, not visible unless you squeezed around the back. He pushed boxes and a dresser aside to make a clear pathway. He put a hand on the metal plates; they felt warm to his touch. He wanted to scream with frustration. How was he supposed to know what to do?

He looked over his shoulder at Brigid, who nodded encouragement. Faolan placed one hand on each plate. The doors glowed, and he pushed in his aggravation. They opened easily.

Faolan entered a vestibule that he recognized. It was the room from his vision. He raced through the opening, heedless of any danger ahead, desperate to find Elena. Brigid followed behind whispering strange phrases.

The small candle flame flickered in the breeze he created in his haste as he ran down the long passageway. He was dimly aware of the unlit torches hanging on the wall, and that he was heading downhill as he raced toward the doors. He must be deep inside the land. He was relieved to see the oak door on the right had a key in the lock. Brigid took the candle from him as he turned the key, his hands shaking.

He flung the door open, calling, “Elena?” As soon as stepped into the room, something white fluttered just beyond his peripheral vision. He raced across the room and found Elena, asleep or unconscious, looking peaceful. “Elena,” he cried, his voice breaking. He tried waking her, shaking her gently, calling, “Elena, love, wake up, I am here. Wake, Elena.”

Brigid’s voice was tight, full of tension as she said, “Pick her up. We must get water into her and get her warm. Hurry, ‘tis near too late.” She picked up Elena’s backpack and held the door open.

Faolan picked Elena up and ran back up the long passageway. His heart thundered but not from the exertion. Nay, his heart was pounding too hard from the thought that she might even now be lost to him. How could life be so cruel to show him his true
heart, the light of his life, only to steal her away? Elena must be all right; she must live. “Please wake up, Elena.”

Faolan pleaded to any god that might listen with favor upon his request. “I canna live without her. If you must take a life today, take my life for hers.” He’d no sooner completed that thought, than the entire passageway rocked, the walls seemed to shift, and Faolan struggled to maintain his footing. The world righted itself, and Faolan ran faster.

As soon as they entered the house, Faolan carried Elena to her bed, and Brigid barked out orders. “Faolan, remove her boots, socks, and pants. Rub her legs. Get the blood circulating. Lilly, bring the sweetened tea. Make sure ‘tis warm but not hot.”

Brigid reached into her bag and pulled out incense and a jar of paste. She unbuttoned Elena’s shirt and started slathering the paste on her chest, and Faolan inhaled deeply of the warm, earthy smell. “Rub faster, lad.”

Lilly returned with a mug, lifted Elena’s head, and spooned the tea into Elena’s unresponsive mouth. Brigid would not let Lilly stop until the whole cup was gone. “Give it another fifteen minutes, and do it again.”

Brigid felt Elena’s legs and ordered Faolan to take off his shoes and pants and to climb under the covers with Elena. “Press every bit of skin
agin hers. We must make her warm.” Faolan undressed and pressed his legs tightly against Elena and wrapped her in his arms. Elena was completely unresponsive, cold and limp to his touch.

“Should we take her to hospital?” he asked Brigid, fear making his voice harsh.

“Nay, lad, she wouldna make the trip. There’s no time to lose. You must use your magick to heal her. ‘Tis the only way. Close your eyes and call to fire to warm her and to water to restore her. ‘Tis not supposed to be her time. Heal her with me.”

Brigid laid one hand on the center of Elena’s chest and the other on her forehead, and began whispering under her breath. Faolan, still holding her close and pressing his warmth against her, closed his eyes. He blocked everything from his mind, spoke with his heart, and called upon the spirits to feed his light, fire to heat her, and water to her veins.

A sensation of fullness took him. The roar of an internal wind howled, battering him with its intensity. Then, as the wind began to still, he heard a very faint and thready heartbeat. He willed his heartbeat to match it, to strengthen it, to carry it on wings until Elena was strong enough to sustain it herself. The beating grew stronger, and Elena’s breath came more evenly. He slowly opened his eyes to meet Brigid’s steady gaze.

With Elena’s heart beating strongly on its own, Faolan wanted her to wake, but Brigid insisted she needed to heal, and sleep was the best medicine. Once she warmed to a normal temperature, Faolan reluctantly slipped out of her bed and dressed. He took over sole responsibility for giving her tea and broth when Lilly brought them in.

As nightfall approached, it scared him that she hadn’t wakened yet. So many things could have gone wrong. Why hadn’t he taken her to the hospital? He could still call a doctor. “Brigid, I doona’ know what else to do. Why hasn’t she opened her eyes yet? What if something is going wrong?”

Brigid was packing her bag to leave. “Doona’ worry, lad. She will wake for a time tomorrow, more the next day. You must just be patient and be there for her. Doona’ leave her. Give her time.”

“Thank you, Brigid,” he said hugging her tightly.

“
Och, be on with you, Faolan,” and she patted him lightly on the arm.

When everyone left, Faolan sat on the bed next to Elena. He felt her forehead, her arms, and reached under the covers to touch her legs, She felt perfectly warm, neither too hot nor too cool. It hurt him to see the dark circles under her
eyes, the dirt smudges on her face. He took her hand in his, and kissed the ragged tips of her fingers. Faolan still had Elena’s brush and he began to brush small sections of her hair, gently removing the tangles. He tenderly washed her face and hands. Elena slept unmoving through all his ministrations.

He lay down on top of the covers, cradled Elena tightly against his chest, and whispered, “Come back to me, love. I need you.”

When Faolan woke the next morning, Elena was staring at him, her luminous green eyes filled with uncertainty. He quickly touched her forehead and Elena flinched. “Elena?” He sat up, pulling his arm back, and tried again, “Elena, love, ‘tis me, Faolan.”

Her eyes filled with tears, “Oh, Faolan, tell me you’re real,” she whispered in a scratchy voice.

“Aye, lass, ‘tis me. You’re safe now,” he said in a voice tight with unshed tears of relief. He touched her face, stroked and kissed her hair. “Drink up, lass.” He handed her the glass of water by the bed. He lifted her head, and Elena winced when she moved. He laid her back down, went to the door, and called for Lilly to bring some oatmeal and toast.

When he returned to the bed, Elena was drifting off again. “Elena, love, doona’ sleep quite yet, you need to eat something.” Faolan helped her to a sitting position, just as Lilly walked in with a tray.