Mystic Warrior (36 page)

When he still received no response, Murdoch threw back his head and howled his silent appeals to the heavens, fully opening the heart he'd kept closed for so long. “Aelynn, I am yours to do with as you wish. I'll please all the gods in the firmament, but Lis is too precious for the world to lose. For Aelynn's sake, for the sake of all your people, please help me Heal her. You may strike me dead afterward if that's your desire, but please, let Lissandra live!” Tears streamed down his cheeks and onto her breast.

The blue glow in his ring abruptly coalesced and shot from the stone into a single beam of light, nearly startling him into falling backward. In moments, the dim womb of the chamber shimmered with cerulean brightness. The chalice gleamed and began vibrating so hard that it rattled on the altar slab. In awe, Murdoch felt energy plunge downward through the chalice and burst into the chamber, enveloping him with magnetism, pushing him into the light.

No longer fighting his fate if it meant keeping Lissandra, Murdoch surrendered his soul and prepared to slip down any path that welcomed him.

Lissandra's spirit guide fluttered anxiously in the clouds, her face a stern mask of concern and impatience. The impatience was typical. The concern was not. As always when she sought guidance, Lissandra floated ethereally in the blue light of the heavens, waiting for direction.

At first, she saw nothing but the azure incandescence. The light was so peaceful that she wanted to linger and relax on its soothing waves. But some undefined insistence tugged at her more than her spirit guide's fretfulness.

Visions were so damned difficult to understand. She struggled to follow her spirit's pointing finger, but for some reason, her mind didn't move as smoothly as usual. Languishing in oblivion seemed easier.

A strange tranquility flowed over her, allowing her to release the heavy responsibilities she'd carried for a lifetime.

A blinding white light abruptly illuminated the sky, capturing her fascination. Even her spirit guide quit her anxious dance and waited in respectful regard. Lissandra followed her gaze, and her heart swelled with joy.

Her mother and father smiled on her with approval. She thought she might burst with an outpouring of tears, gratitude, and delight—until a strong tug of a more earthly sort caused her to gasp and almost slip back into herself. She resisted, needing to see her parents again.

Her mother's waist-length hair hung loose over her shoulders, and she looked years younger and happier. She raised a palm of benediction, then blew a kiss.

Dylys had never done such a thing in her lifetime. But the pure essence of her love was familiar, and Lissandra wrapped it like a protective cloak around her.

Her father was smiling, something he'd seldom done in her memory. His strength hugged her, as if in farewell. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she felt a ghostly kiss of approval upon her brow.

The earthly tug was more desperate now, fraught with grief and terror, pulsing with a love far stronger than the faint one fading into the light. The urgency was both strange and familiar, and she studied it with such curiosity that she didn't feel her parents' departure. She knew they were with her, in her heart, and she could call on them if she must.

With slow comprehension, she grasped that the soul bleeding with anguish elsewhere needed her more than her parents did. Someone required Healing.
As she did
, she realized with wonder. She hurt when he did, and vice versa. How extraordinary.

And necessary. Through unseen hands, a life force flowed into her body. Healing energy eased her paralysis and gave her strength. For a brief moment, she glanced longingly to the place where her parents had been. Her spirit guide tapped her toe.

A blast of pure heat wrenched her soul back into her body.

Spluttering, cursing her guide for being so hasty, Lissandra wrinkled her nose and tried to sit up—only to find herself wrapped thoroughly in Murdoch's body. . . .

His
spirit was completely inside
her
, as if it was meant to be.

She laughed and embraced him with her mind, knocking him backward and driving the breath from his lungs. In a joy she could feel straight through her heart, he hugged her
inside and out
. What a miraculously strange—and comforting—feeling!

Relaxing as she had done in the clouds, she curled up against Murdoch's familiar broad shoulder and slept, knowing she was where she belonged.

 

In wonder, Murdoch ran his hand over Lis's slender back. The wound had disappeared as if it had never been. Beneath his hand, he'd felt the lead pulled out of her as iron to a magnet. If he looked, he might even find the slug on the floor.

Awe wrapped him in belief.
The gods had answered him!
Him, the unworthy warrior.

Lying on the cavern floor, beneath his blissfully sleeping amacara, Murdoch studied the cup shining on the altar—a creator of marvels, a chalice of plenty. Perhaps it was meant to stay here, in the world where it was needed most. Could Aelynn be saved without it?

Watching Lis breathe again, feeling the strong beat of her heart against his chest, experiencing the relief and joy of her running through his mind, Murdoch knew a gratitude so great that he swore he would do whatever the gods asked of him. Otherwise, he might never move again. It felt too right to hold her like this.

But, of course, it was all wrong, and he was being selfish once more.

An Oracle directs his energy to others first.
He wasn't certain whether that was Lis or her mother speaking to him. He understood now that the universe contained many spirits wiser than his, and he was empowered to access their wisdom, if he would only listen with an open heart and mind—and if he could refrain from blocking them with infantile tantrums.

This new knowledge gave him the direction he needed to drop down from his giddy, mindless joy to the reality of their situation. “Badeaux, are you still alive?” he called.

The whimpering had stopped, Murdoch realized, and he listened anxiously, not just because he feared the ceiling would fall without the Minutor's aid, but because he'd been inside the man's damaged mind and understood the tortured depth of the grief buried there.

“Don't know,” the older man mumbled. “What happened?”

If the miner was really lucky, he would have lost his memory of all that had transpired. The grief would Heal faster without the pain of recollection. “We were touched by the gods.”

“More like bludgeoned,” came the grumbling reply.

Murdoch laughed. That had probably been the fault of his inexperienced Healing, but no point in correcting him. “You said there are more tunnels. Are any accessible from this chamber? We seem to have destroyed the one we entered.”

He tried not to hope too hard as he carefully adjusted Lissandra in his arms so he could sit up with her. She stirred, and just that movement brought a foolish beam of joy and relief. She was alive. And so was he. Anything was possible as long as they both lived.

“There's a door behind the runes,” Badeaux finally said. “Other side of altar.”

Taking a deep breath, Murdoch gradually eased from Lis's sleeping mind, praying this wasn't all a dream that would disappear upon waking. She snuggled her nose against his neck.

He used his earth sense to locate the hollow behind the altar. He could almost see the carving in the stone. The blinding light of the chalice and the blue light of the gods had evaporated, leaving only the dim illumination the miner provided. He would wonder the whys and wherefores another time, after he carried Lis to safety. “How does the wall move?”

Badeaux crawled through the rubble that separated them. Coated head to foot in dirt and dust, his eyes hollow, the Minutor gazed wearily at the wreckage he'd created, then down at Lissandra. “Is she dead?”

“No, she's Healing. But I suspect the air here isn't healthy for her.” Murdoch watched cautiously, waiting for any further signs of the man's mad obsession. “Can you get us out?”

The old miner seemed more dazed than crazy. Furrowing his already wrinkled brow as if straining to recall his thoughts, Guillaume studied what appeared to be a solid rock wall.

Murdoch waited patiently for the miner to rediscover the power within him. Amazingly, he realized that no matter how much energy he'd expended to restore the Minutor's wits and bring Lis back to life, his head was completely clear of the pain of overexertion. Did this mean he now had the ability to control his energy all the time? Had he been Healed?

He would experiment later. Safety came first.

Ignoring the chalice on the altar, the old miner laid his hand against the stone and ran his fingers through the cracks and crevasses.

Energy began to build within the chamber once again.

Murdoch hurriedly laid Lissandra down and covered her completely with his body. If the ceiling caved in, she wouldn't feel it, at least. He pressed his hands over her head, hoping they would shield her.

She woke, of course. “Interesting position, but the bed is hard,” she murmured sleepily. “I think I have a stone in my back.”

“Hush; don't distract Guillaume.” He pressed a kiss to her brow and prayed.

Years of cynicism had been stripped away in these past few minutes, leaving the raw, tender hope that Aelynn
really
watched over them. And that he owed the gods his life for saving Lissandra's.

Even more astonishingly, he could now distinguish among the different energies flowing through him: the thin, indestructible chord that was Lissandra; the tough, frayed rope that was Badeaux; the shining force of the chalice; and the deep, dark powers of the earth.

This must be what it felt like to be connected to others and not left adrift, alone. There was power here that he could feel and use. Power greater than his swords or lightning.

As the Minutor struggled to discover the secrets, Murdoch drew on the energy of the holy force lines and channeled them to the miner to enhance his more humble abilities.

An opening appeared where the miner had laid his hands. The ceiling didn't crash. The earth didn't tremble. Murdoch's head didn't hurt.

Lis stared up at him in amazement. “What did you just do?” she whispered. “I felt it, but I do not understand it.”

Murdoch snorted and rolled off her. “Neither do I, and don't count on it lasting. The power in here is drawn from the earth's core and is so potent, it's a miracle the hill hasn't launched itself to the moon.”

Refusing to feel awe or even relief until he had Lis safe, he stood and held out his hand to help her up.

She accepted his offer of aid without argument, dusting off her ragged tunic as she did so. He cherished the fit of her slender hand between his fingers. Better yet, he loved that she trusted him so thoroughly that she no longer needed to argue over his need to take care of her.

She sent him a wry glance that said she felt this new unity, too.

Through the open door, a blast of cold, damp air swept the dust from their noses.

“The chalice?” Lissandra waited for his decision.

“I still have a very different opinion of Aelynn's role in the world,” Murdoch warned, “but if the Council will allow me to go home, I want to raise our children there.”

Her smile of joy and acceptance was a balm to his troubled soul.

Understanding better now that Lis was his connection to humanity, he wrapped one arm around her. With his other hand, he grasped the Chalice of Plenty's jeweled stem, and tugged with all his strength.

He staggered backward, unprepared when the weight abruptly lifted from the altar.

Lissandra's laughter chased away the dust motes.

 

They emerged into sunlight on the far side of the tor to be greeted by the grim faces of Mariel and Trystan. Astonishment replaced the couple's fear when they recognized the chalice in Murdoch's hand. Amelie stood with them, and she gave a cry of joy as she jerked free of Mariel's hold to wrap her arms around Murdoch's trou sered leg.

His dark hair streaked with gray dust, his cheek bleeding, his coat torn into a disreputable rag, Murdoch looked the part of ruthless scoundrel or worse. But he held the gleaming chalice with the same loving care with which he would carry a child. Lissandra linked her hand around his elbow and let her joy speak for her.

He had saved her life at great peril to his own. Any doubts she may have harbored in the dark crannies of her soul had been swept clean in a brilliant burst of blue flame.

Murdoch gently laid the chalice in Lissandra's hands, and knelt to gather Amelie into his arms. She chirped and petted him, pelting his cut cheek with kisses.

Lissandra gulped back unexpected tears at seeing the grim soldier brush away a child's frightened tears. She rocked the chalice as if it were her own babe. Murdoch had saved them all.

“How did you know where to find us?” Guillaume asked, limping out after them, looking much the worse for wear. His pistols had been buried in the stone, and he did not appear to remember them.

“After that quake, even the fish in the sea knew where you were,” Mariel replied drily.

She was as pale as any ghost, and Trystan did not seem much better. The pair had been terrified, and perhaps frustrated with helplessness, not knowing what was happening.

Lissandra touched their hands in gratitude and sent them Healing strength. “I am sorry we frightened you.”

Looking a little steadier, Mariel leaned against her husband and covered her swollen belly with her hand. “I swear, the sun went dark, the earth trembled, and even the children wouldn't stay in the nursery until I promised to come see what it was all about.”