Rising Fire (27 page)

M
arcus and Roger watched as the couple walked back into the camp. They laughed at the bawdy comments thrown their way by his friends. The bride blushed at every one, more likely now to understand their meanings than before.

Warblood and fireblood joined, now in heart, mind, body, and soul. He watched as they did not need to say words to speak to each other. This was a blessing from the gods and would be helpful in the coming battles.

Marcus had no doubt that this would not end easily. Roger, the warblood's man, agreed. For, in spite of his resistance and in spite of Marcus's lack of battle skills or experience, Roger de Bardem and he had forged a truce.

Now they each had bad news to deliver to William.

They walked first to the fire, where they accepted a bowl of porridge and then they greeted him and Roger. Marcus invited them to sit, sending a few men down to pack the tent so they could leave soon.

“The others arrived late last night, Will,” Roger reported. “None are happy that they missed the fight.”
William's gaze narrowed for a moment while he listened to Roger's words.

“What are you not telling me, Roger?”

“How the hell do you do that, Will?”

“If you really want to know, I can smell it. Your smell changes as you try to hide something.”

From Roger's expression, Marcus thought the man probably had not wanted to know. He wanted to laugh but held it back because he knew the rest of it. Before Roger spoke a word, William turned his head to face Brienne. She took his hand and held it tightly against her. Then she nodded. William stared at her for several minutes and then turned back to his friend.

He already knew the worst of it.

“The king is dead,” Roger said softly. “He fell from his horse in the middle of a storm. They found him the next morning dead.”

No one spoke then as they watched William struggle with the news. His father the king was dead. Enough of his men knew the truth that it took little time to comprehend it. Natural sons, and daughters, were common enough and nothing unusual among the nobles and royals. Alexander, he'd been told, never suffered an empty bed or a lack of offspring—except for the legitimate, living kind needed to inherit the throne.

“You knew, Brienne?” he asked.

“Aye. Lord Hugh told me that he was going to kill the king as part of his plan to unleash chaos even before the goddess does.”

“And I knew he was in danger. I told his royal commander to be on watch for an attack. Where did this accident happen, Roger? Do you know?”

“They said he fell off the cliff at Kinghorn in Fife.”

Marcus had not seen much of the country of Scotland yet so he did not understand the suspicious tone in Roger's voice. “Is that unusual?” he asked.

“There are no cliffs in Kinghorn, Marcus. Only straight, level roads and a beach.”

William glanced over at Brienne. “A part of his plan that was successful.”

“I am so sorry, William,” she said, kissing his hand then.

William sat in silence for a few moments, and Marcus allowed him this short time to grieve. Another casualty in the evil one's war to bring chaos to the world. A dead king without a clear, viable heir would do that. There was a young granddaughter, offspring of a now-dead daughter, but she was not more than a bairn, and so many things could happen to wee ones.

“Marcus?” William broke his silence. “And your news?”

He could not help the smile this time. The warblood had some sharp abilities, including the ability to detect the truth by odors. It was but one that he would discover if the old legends and stories were true and accurate.

“The gods spoke to us last night while you . . . ” He did not finish that. “Aislinn interpreted the signs and the words and knows where the next circle is located.”

“North, based on the direction Hugh escaped in.”

“Aye. In the Norse isles to the north. Orkney.”

William nodded. “And the rest of it, if you please. I would know what we are up against.”

“If we know, then so does he,” Aislinn said from behind William. “He took one of our priests with him when he escaped. Devyn.”

“Alive?” William asked.

“Aye. For now.”

William began to pace around their small group. Marcus knew he was searching for a solution, but he did not know their ways.

“Can you break your connection with him?” he asked.

“No,” Aislinn said.

“Aye,” he replied. At Aislinn's startled glance, he nodded. “There is a way.”

“Marcus, please,” she begged as she walked to him. Lowering her voice, she whispered, “You know it will mean his death. Do not do this. I beg you.”

“Aislinn,” William began, taking her hand in his and making her look at him. “He will not be alone in his death. Some have gone ahead of him and others, many others who will follow us will follow him into it. But his death will be empty if he dies at Hugh's hands without purpose.”

Marcus watched Aislinn's tears spill over, and Brienne went to her to comfort her. Whatever she whispered to Aislinn made the difference, for she nodded to her and then at Marcus.

“How do we accomplish this?” William asked again.

“We must break the ties we have among ourselves and weave another in its place.”

“Another connection? Between . . . ?”

Marcus considered it for a moment and then glanced at those around him now. “I think we should try to form a link among us, though I suspect it will not work with Roger. No magic, you know.” He could not help but tweak at the man.

“When can we do this? When can we try?” William
asked. Roger remained silent, a suspicious glint in his eyes.

“First I must prepare the others. I think we must do this to protect everyone. If Hugh thinks he can learn our plans in this way, he will continue to take and torture—” He stopped as the huge guard stepped forward. He was the one who'd tortured Corann.

“He will. He is,” he said, confirming Marcus's fears. “He will.”

“Then we must do this quickly. If he can learn nothing from Devyn, then he may . . . ” The man shook his head, extinguishing any hope of rescuing the man he'd raised from a boy.

“I will summon them,” Aislinn said, walking away. The man trailed not far behind her.

“It will take some time, Will,” Marcus said. “We will call you when it is done.”

“What do we need to do for this? Is there some way to prepare?” Roger asked.

“Nay. Nothing. Just be willing when we try, my friend.”

Marcus went to where the priests would gather and explained the situation. Much discussion and disagreement followed, but Marcus wanted everyone to have their chance to speak when coming to a decision among their community. For most of them, it would be the first time without a connection to the others, and it made everyone uneasy.

The ritual took time, and Marcus was exhausted when they completed it. And alone. It was very strange not to feel the others with him. Not to feel Aislinn there. And from her pale face, she was experiencing the same thing.

And Devyn would suddenly be alone in the clutches
of the evil one's sycophant. Offering up prayers for a merciful death for a true follower, Marcus sought his sacrificial knife for the next ritual.

He called William, Brienne, Aislinn, and Roger together, and they sought out a private place in the forest to carry this out. Roger's face went gray and green when he noticed Marcus's blade, but he did not explain until they reached a place where he'd discovered several rowan trees growing. The tree, sacred to the gods, would add potent magic to his spell.

He sat on the ground and invited them each to sit in a particular place—priest, fireblood, human, priest, warblood—and then he prayed over the dagger. Then he held his hand out and asked for Roger's.

“What are you going to do with that?” William's man asked, not offering his arm.

“You carry no mark. I must make one before we can perform the ritual that will connect us to one another.” Roger glared at him through narrowed eyes and then held out his arm.

Marcus leaned into the circle between them and took hold of Roger's hand. “Hold on to mine.”

With practiced strokes, he cut into Roger's forearm, slicing deep into the skin, forming the same shape that he and the other priests, save Aislinn, bore—the stick figure of a man. His blood flowed onto the ground as Marcus chanted the words to sanctify the mark. Then he turned to Brienne.

“Burn it.”

“What?” both Roger and Brienne said at the same time.

“It must be burned. It must be a brand, not cuts of a dagger that can heal. Purify it with your fire.”

He watched as she struggled with the act of burning another human with her powers. He had no doubt she'd seen her father use his powers to hurt and maim, but it was not in her nature and never would be. He did not doubt that she would be called on to use it as a weapon in the days ahead of them.

“Go ahead,” Roger said, grasping Marcus's arm tightly. “If it must be done, do it now.”

He saw William nod at her, and then she looked to him. At his nod, the sliced flesh began to sizzle and burn. Each cut he'd made searing itself to the others until the skin branded and sealed. Roger hissed and clenched his jaws closed, but otherwise said nothing.

And then it was done and he released Roger's arm.

“I am sorry, Roger,” Brienne said. Tears filled her eyes as she looked over at her husband.

“We all have our duties, Brienne. I've had much worse than this in skirmishes and practice,” Roger said.

“Now we can do the rest.” Marcus stood up. “We must connect our flesh in order to connect our minds. Like this.” He showed them how to cover and clasp the person's mark with their opposite hand, creating a circle.

He and Aislinn began weaving the spell, teaching the others the words to chant as the connection between them wove threads between their thoughts even as their flesh touched. It took some time, more than it would have taken with priests, but he repeated it over and over until he could hear their voices in his thoughts.

Some time passed—he knew not how long—until suddenly he became aware again of the wind and the sun and the others around him. Glancing at each person, he spoke their names in his thoughts.

As they nodded in reply, Marcus offered a prayer of thanks to the gods for allowing this.

Aislinn?
William spoke first.
Can you share the prophecies you've received with us now?
He glanced at Roger and Brienne.

Aislinn looked to Marcus for permission, for this was something else forbidden for anyone but priests.

Tell them,
Marcus said.

“When the threat is revealed and the sleepers awaken, a Warrior seeks the truth while the Fire burns away the deception. Begin in the East, then North, then South, then West . . . Find the true gate among the rest.”

He watched Brienne's eyes widen at the mention of the warrior and the fire. And now that they had the location of the first circle, north and south and west made sense. Scotland, Orkney, England, and Ireland. The path their journey would take to stop the evil one. The reverse journey of their Celtic ancestors in coming here and building these places.

And the next one?

“While those of the blood advance and the lost lose their way, Water and Storm protect the Hidden. The Hidden reveals its secrets only to those who struggle with their faith.”

And Hugh will know that one? Devyn will tell him?

Aislinn and Marcus both nodded in reply. The young man would give up the words.

“Then we should begin now,” William the warblood, their leader, said.

Within hours, they were on their way to the northern coast of Scotland and then on to the Norse lands of Orkney.

E
udes looked very, very worried. He had not the finer skills of Brisbois in prolonging life even while prolonging the anguish. How three brothers could be so different, Hugh did not understand, and it mattered not now.

“Is he dead, then?” he asked.

“Aye, my lord. Just now.”

The burned and beaten body lay before him in the dirt. At least he'd given up the words that the powerful priest had received in prophecy before dying.

“And he said what else?”

“He just kept blabbering at the end, out of his mind, my lord.”

“What. Did. He. Say?” he repeated slowly. “The exact words, Eudes. Now, before you take his place there.” Hugh pointed at the tree where they'd chained the priest.

“He said—it is empty. It is empty. They are gone. Over and over. Makes no sense, my lord,” Eudes said.

Hugh screamed out his frustration then, and all of
his men tried to be or look someplace else other than where they were. He understood it.

The damned priests had figured out a way to sever their connections with this one. Probably between all of them. They had to know it would mean this one's death. He shrugged, looking at the body. It was unexpected for them to be that ruthless. With a thought he finished the task begun earlier and burned the man to ashes.

Turning back to his commander, he gave new orders.

“Orkney. We head to Orkney.”

“Very well, my lord.” Eudes bowed and left him alone.

While those of the blood advance and the lost lose their way, Water and Storm protect the Hidden. The Hidden reveals its secrets only to those who struggle with their faith.

He would need to find the waterblood and the stormblood, and the wild, windblown isles to the north somehow seemed an appropriate place to find them.

Another chance to free his goddess and to destroy those who'd betrayed him. He would make them all pay for that.

Read on for a sneak peek at the next Novel of the Stone Circles, by Terri Brisbin

 

RAGING SEA

 

Coming in October 2015 from Signet Eclipse.