Reliquary's Choice: Book Two of The Celtic Prophecy (7 page)

“I … I don’t understand.”

“T’is no’ for ye ta kin the ponderings o’ a god. Come, I will serve as yer teacher in this.”

“No, what happens if he needs me. I have to stay here.”

“Suit yerself then.”

With a sudden sensation of freefalling, Brenawyn found herself on the mossy ground in the familiar copse of trees staring up at the night sky through the branches with her heart ready to explode in her chest. She gasped for air. Disoriented from the connection loss, she sat and saw her grandmother’s house in the distance. She crawled to Alex when he started to stir. She did what she could in her weakened condition to turn him on his side, helping him to vomit out ingested water and bile. Odd, to be vomiting water as one almost drowned, because he was completely dry. He collapsed again, but his chest rose and fell with regularity and his pulse was steady.

“Be calm, he stirs. Are ye ready for the lesson ta begin?”

Brenawyn jumped and swung to face Nimue, who had obviously followed them through. “If you are omnipotent, why are you being so magnanimous? A mere human—who insulted your very existence?”

Her eyes glowed iridescent and her jaw tightened. “It has been agreed, though it pleases me no’. Even with extended life as the high priestess, yer life will be over before the leaves on the Tree o’ Knowledge in Tir-Na-Nog fall for the season. All beings are chained by fate. Yer fate has been written, but it is no’ the only possibility. The covenant,” brushing the ends of her lock of hair, “makes it a stronger prospect, but we must no’ falter in our aims for the alternative is unacceptable.

“Once was a time that we were strong, a time before the Great War that had us retreat ta Tir-Na-Nog. This was the beginning o’ our downfall, helped by yer ancestor. We found it curious, her struggle to save the child. She was unwise ta do so, many were angered by her abuse o’ her meager talents. A great argument resulted. Some called for her death, ta be sacrificed as old—some still do. Calling on powers only a god possesses! The insolence! Ta attempt the Phoenix, an incantation reserved for the perpetuation o’ beliefs. And perhaps if it was just her action, her blasphemy, she would ha’ been compelled ta sacrifice herself if not for the other factor.

“Which was?”

“Brighit was Cernunnos’ lover. She was burned a’ the stake for her beliefs by those that professed belief in yer merciful deity. Before she died, she offered her child ta the universe. The Phoenix again, but only half—the other half. Again, cast for love.”

“So, it comes down to a matter of supply and demand?”

“Hmm?”

“Supply and demand. According to the story, the soul is released and because my grandmother called out for what? Help? Whatever. It’s not as if I believe this, but for argument’s sake, she lit the overhead register light? Called AAA? Called for your help, essentially, and it was granted? Why?”

“As I said before, we ken it was love that motivated her, just as it was for Brighit, which we found out too late, but that’s whaur yer protector comes in.”

“Love? So what?”

“Doona be so flippant. The concept is interesting. What one o’ ye will dae for this so-called love. It interested us and thaurfore we granted the fusion o’ soul and body in utero. The result—ye. Or so he believes. Though, for argument’s sake, he has thought so several times ‘afore throughout these six hundred years.

“Alexander is six hundred years old?”

“In the eternal servitude o’ the Wild Hunt and thaurfore by extension, the Hunter, Cernunnos, yes, ta yer mind, he is just over six hundred years old, but within that time, has died dozens o’ times, subject ta the Hunt.”

“What? Wait, slow down …  I’m getting confused.”

“I see this will take more time. Perhaps, I shall put the memories o’ these events in yer mind and be done with the ordeal o’ having ta explain in small words.”

“No,” she said, backing away from the goddess. “You will do no such thing. Stay out of my head, lady. God or no, stay out.”

“Child, ye doona yet kin, I can dae anything I please ta ye, Alexander, Leoncha, Maggie, or yer dog quivering on the door o’ yer abode. But for the sake o’ the agreement, I will try ta curb my impatience and let ye ‘process the new information’ as I believe he worded it.”

“Who worded it?”

“Alexander bargained for ye.”

“All right, we’ll come back to that. Tell me about the Wild Hunt. How is Alex involved?

“As long as thaur was memory, memory o’ the gods, we ha’ existed. No beginning and no end. But before this, the concept o’ fate existed solely. This is why the gods are subject ta fate as well. T’is the way o’ the universe. The universe requires balance, good paired with evil, light paired with dark. Polar opposites. This is one o’ the tenants o’ the universe’s make up. The Wild Hunt exists, in part, ta meet the demand o’ balance. Hunter paired with the hunted.”

“So bad versus good?”

“Is a lion evil when it tracks and brings down the gazelle? No. T’is just in both creatures’ nature ta be that which they are. So the Hunt is merely that, pursuit and capture on the field.”

“How did Alex become involved, because I gather you have been around for more than six hundred years?”

“Cernunnos was enraged at Brighit.”

“And he had her punished before he had time to realize she did what she did to save the child,” Brenawyn surmised.

“Aye, he seethed and ranted, and the underworld shook. He only saw the sacrilege, what he thought was sacrilege.”

“He thought she was aborting the pregnancy.”

“Hmm …  aye, in a way. He thought she was discarding the honor o’ bearing a god’s child. By the time he figured it out, it was too late. The child’s soul was lost ta time and Brighit was insane, driven thaur by Cernunnos.”

Brenawyn walked to the edge of the clearing, keeping her back turned Nimue. It was against her instincts, but she needed time to process. The story Alex had told her in the car a few days ago, could it be true? In any other time, place, instance, she would chalk the whole thing up to wild imaginations. Hell, she had a vivid one herself, but too many unexplainable things had been happening of late. “Cernunnos found Alex, didn’t he?”

Brenawyn turned to find Nimue looking down at the prostrate form of Alex, “Alexander was raised ta be the next Shaman o’ the Order, the voluntary recipient o’ the memory o’ perpetual belief. He underwent the Rite o’ the Phoenix at the age o’ thirty. As Shaman, much like the priestess, his life is extended far beyond …  ten times the span o’ a single human’s life or more, a perfect candidate for the search for the child.

At first, this seemed ta placate Cernunnos, but as yer centuries passed and no sign of the lost one, Cernunnos became unreasonable. It was interchangeably our fault, Brighit, humans and their fear o’ what they doona ken, and finally Alexander. After the third failed attempt at finding her, Cernunnos tore Alex’s soul from his body, the first declaration o’ new quarry, and the Hunt began. Even with his extended years as Druid Shaman, he was a mere mortal so the first Hunt ended shortly after it had begun. With the first resurrection, the first o’ many to transform him inta something else, he had heightened ability—a result of the completion o’ the Hunt ta be more o’ a challenge next time.

“How many times?”

“Often enough, but no’ consistently, though now that ye ha’ been found, perhaps Cernunnos will lose interest in him. Each time he has been brought back it was with additional abilities. Alexander is the most powerful Shaman that will ever live and yet he is chained at the neck unable ta help himself for all eternity despite his heightened abilities.”

“Can’t Cernunnos release him?”

“No. Once quarry, quarry he will remain, ever ta be tied ta the hunting grounds. Even a god canna break the bond. Alexander is now part o’ the eternal quest for balance.”

“What of his soul?”

“Once Cernunnos held that, though now it is beyond even him … destroyed by the machinations of devious minds. Doona be concerned for his soul. His destiny didna turn out as he hoped, but he kent the cost o’ the commitment. To say he would protect ye with his life doesna apply ta this situation, because in death he will come back stronger. He is devoted and relentless. He will protect ye until yer powers exceed his own.”

“So my vow was unnecessary?”

Brenawyn saw the answer reflected in the goddess slight smile and glowing eyes. A wave flew from her fingertips and hit Alex as he lay on the ground, immediately waking him. He slowly gained his feet, but when he did Brenawyn could see it wasn’t under his own power. His head hung between his shoulders and his body slumped as if an invisible force were holding him up.

“Hey, what are you … ”

“An example ta allay yer fears. Look and learn.” She turned her attention to Alex, “Look alive, Shaman, and show her what ye are.” His head snapped up and murder was emblazoned on his face.

Jaw set, “A’richt, Mother.”

“Mother?”

Alex sneered and nodded his head in disgust. “The dog and pony show is tired and how many times do I ha’ ta tell ye that I am no’ yers ta put on display.”

Nimue surged at him forcing his chin down with a strength that belied her frame, “And when will ye learn, my
bright
boy that I doona care what ye kin. Ye will do as ye are told.” She held her fingers up over her head, and tore at the air. Nothing happened at first, but then a slight distortion in the air beyond the deity’s hand began to grow. Brenawyn rubbed at her eyes, but Alex’s response was all she needed. His eyes grew wide and he would have cowered away if not for the vice on his chin. Brenawyn was not hallucinating. “Or would ye prefer ta catch the attention o’ the Hunter again? The transformations are getting harder ta bear, are they no’? Without me, ye’d be crawling, begging for yer life ta end. Nothing would be real but the pain.”

Pleading, “No, please. I humbly apologize. Doona drop the glamor. Please, no’ yet. I canna go back yet.”

Nimue considered him for a moment and must have been satisfied because with a flick of her wrist the distortion was gone, she patted his cheek and she released him. “Be a good boy and show her.”

Brenawyn, stepping forward stammered, “Please, he … he doesn’t need to show me anything. I’ve seen him turn into a wolf. I don’t have any doubts about his strength. Please. You’re his mother. How could you do this to him?”

She swiveled to face Brenawyn, “I am losing my patience at yer insolence, child. Doona make the mistake ta cross me again. Agreement or no’.” Looking back at Alex she said, “prophecy or no’, nothing will remain of ye but ashes.”

“Brenawyn,
a chuisle mo chroi,
understand that she means every word. Step back and be forewarned. The wolf was,” ripping his shirt over his head, she heard the familiar cracking of bones, “just the beginning.” The rending of denim came next as his body, wracked with pain, crouched. Brown fur sprouted and ran along his back like a chain of dominos, creaking as muscle massed under the new pelt. Grunts gave way to the growl of the bear she saw in the other realm. The same? Was it the same? Just as the transformation was complete, the Bear—Alex—bent again, the cracking of bone rang out sickening loud against the wall of the forest around them. Riveted, she watched as the thick brown pelt was replaced by the spotted hide of a leopard. Standing in place, where just seconds before stood the bear, now a leopard stared at Brenawyn. Without breaking the gaze, the leopard hunched down, lower than the bear. Popping and cracking, the leopard cried out, panted, a second cry cut short by the lonely shriek of a hawk. Feathers replaced the spotted fur, lastly developing on arms turned wings. This was the same hawk, just as it was the leopard, the bear, and the wolf. Brenawyn stood horrified and Alex beat his wings. Small whirlwinds loosed dirt and pebbles as he took flight.

Brenawyn ducked, not out of necessity, but rather reflex. She watched as he flapped his wings to get above the tree line and then glide in wide lazy circles once, twice, three times before coming down to land in the same spot. The hawk stood with his wings out and the change came again. Molting feathers, which disappeared before hitting the ground, left the dusky skin of Alex standing naked in all his glory. His manhood jutted out from his body and Brenawyn felt her cheeks flame and she looked away, glancing at Nimue, who stood off to the side looking, surprisingly, at her.

Nonplussed at the events or his state of arousal, Brenawyn had no time to consider the machinations of this crazy bitch and looked at Alex again. His runes glowed red and blue starting on his chest and racing outward—torso, abdomen, legs; he was covered. She gasped in horror as out of the corner of her eye she saw a man of sorts, made of mud and rock, rush at Alex. He held a blade of deepest black and Alex met him unarmed. The assailant swung wide, but Alex pivoted and feinted, over and over, moving the fight closer to the tree line. Brenawyn followed at a distance, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. If his mother could sit idly back and do nothing, wait …  she sent the damn thing.
Shit, I have to do something.
But what? A gun would be good. A sword, though she had doubts that she’d be able to lift it to bring it down with any force. Force enough to what? Distract it for a moment and hopefully Alex could do whatever he was going to do? Time enough for him to get whatever weapon he was going to get. What the hell was she thinking? Shit.
Think, Brenawyn. Think. What the fuck is happening! Now would be a good time to wake up.