The Awakening Page 30

  Whatever was in the basket began to slither and hiss.

  “Who are you?”

  “Yseult, as I said. One who knows your grandmother well. I am the dark to her light. I am one who helped Odran send your father, that weak excuse for a son, to his death. Come, come watch, child, while I do the same to the woman who bore him. Then I’ll take you to your grandsire. He waits to cloak you in robes of gold and show you the true power in your blood.”

  Dizzy, sick, Breen stumbled back. The beauty of Yseult’s face, a face that had been pleasant, even ordinary, grew to terrifying.

  She glowed, a dark light, while the snakes—two-headed snakes—in a basket—not of straw, but gold—began to slither over the sides.

  “No. I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re not getting near my grandmother.”

  The smile flashed, brilliant in its confidence. “So young, so foolish, so weak. Will you make another pretty ball of light to stop me?”

  When she gripped Breen’s arm, the heat scorching through her skin nearly buckled her knees. Even as she jerked back, one of the snakes struck. That pain dropped her.

  Still she struggled to draw up the light, the power, to find a shield, a weapon.

  It snapped from her fingertips, struck Yseult’s cloak. Smoked.

  Eyebrows arching, Yseult stepped back. Then the smile returned. “So you have a bit more than I thought. But not enough, little flower. Not enough.”

  Breen crossed her hands in the air. This time the little bolts of light fell harmlessly to the ground.

  “You want more. I can feel your need. I can give you more. Your grandsire can give you more than your feeble mind can imagine.”

  “I don’t want anything from you, from him.”

  “But you’ll have it. And we’ll take it.”

  As Yseult stepped forward, Breen prepared to fight with whatever she had left. And the dragon roared through the fog.

  He swung his tail to encircle Breen as Keegan leaped off his back.

  With the sword already in his hand, he charged Yseult. She upended the basket, sending the snakes streaking toward him as she whirled into the fog.

  “She’ll be your death, Taoiseach,” she called out. “And take her place in the black tower while Odran rules for all time.”

  “I will be yours.”

  The snakes screamed as he shot them with light. When they turned to ash, the fog swirled away. Yseult was gone.

  Keegan sheathed his sword. “I will be yours,” he repeated, and turned to Breen. He signaled his dragon to uncurl his tail, then shook his head.

  “And how do you expect to fight sitting on your arse?”

  He took one step toward her, then his expression changed from temper to shock.

  He rushed to kneel beside her. “Did they strike? Are you bitten?”

  “My arm.”

  Roughly, he shoved up her sleeve, cursed. Helpless, mired in the searing pain, she screamed.

  “I’m sorry, truly. No, no, stay awake!” As her head lolled, he gripped her chin hard enough to bruise. “You have to stay awake. We need to burn the poison out before it takes you into the Sleep, and there’s no time to get you to Aisling. We do this together.”

  “I don’t know how. I’m so tired.”

  “Look at me. Join with me. Light with me, fire with me, power with me, two into one. See the dark moving in your blood, cleanse with white fire until there is none. Say this with me.”

  Everything blurred, her eyes, her mind, her ears. “What?”

  “Stay awake, gods damn it. Look at me. My eyes are your eyes, my mind is your mind, my will is your will. Speak the words with me and call the fire.

  “Join with me,” he repeated, and she mumbled with him.

  When they finished the first incantation, the pain leaped back, sent her into gasping moans.

  “I know there’s pain. Use it. You’re already stronger. We say it again now. We hold together now. Three times, it takes. So twice more.”

  Not pain, she thought. This was beyond pain. She’d been lit on fire from the inside out. When she screamed, when she sobbed, he waited.

  “Once more, just once more, and it’s done. I promise you.” His grip on her hand tightened. “I’m here with you. Once more.”

  She had to catch her breath, had to bear down knowing that unspeakable pain would rip through her a third time.

  She kept her eyes fixed on his, gold lights swimming in the green. “Join with me,” she said, and wept, unashamed, through the rest.

  “There now, there, brave one, let me have a look. Don’t close your eyes, don’t sleep, not yet.”

  Gently, so gently, he brushed her hair back from her damp face. “Ah, she burned you for good measure, the whore bitch. This I can fix for you, and it won’t hurt so much. Look here, do you see where the bites were, the red heat, the swelling? It’s gone. The poison’s burned away. There’s only the brand she put on you. Leave that to me.”

  She let her head fall back, didn’t even have the strength to wonder that it rested against a dragon’s leg.

  “Where are we? This isn’t the road by the farm, by the cottage.”

  “She lured you away.”

  “I hear . . . the waterfall.”

  “Aye. Odran can’t come through, but she comes and goes as she pleases it seems. She meant to take you through the portal here with her dark magicks.”

  “I . . .” She sighed, beyond relief as her arm cooled, as the pain, even the hint of it vanished.

  “There now, that’s done.” He brushed his hand lightly over her cheek. “You did well. You did the hard and you did it well.” Then he sat back on his haunches. “Now what the bloody hell were you thinking, going off with such as Yseult?”

  “I didn’t know who she was, and I was just walking to Nan’s. She asked if she could walk with me to visit Nan. She said they were friends—or implied it—then everything changed. She took the light. I had a ball of light, and she took it, crushed it.”

  He held her hand still, and she wouldn’t forget that. He held her hand because hers trembled.

  “Why would you have a ball of light on a clear afternoon?”

  “There was fog, and it was raining and foggy, and—”

  “As it was here, when I came?”

  “Yes, like that.”

  “Her witchery is all it was.”

  “There wasn’t fog?”

  “An illusion, for you.”

  “But . . . how did she get me here? We only walked for a few minutes. And how did you find me? How did you know?”

  “She entranced you. You were singing. I could hear you sing, but you were nowhere to be seen. She’s powerful, is Yseult, and planned it well.”

  He glanced over, gauged the distance to the waterfall, to the portal.

  “But not well enough. I saw your light, heard your voice. And after they were both gone, I followed the light in here.” He tapped a finger just above her heart.

  Then he rose, took a skin from the saddle. “Just water. You need it after the purifying. Marg will have something to set you full to right, so don’t sleep until you are.”

  “I feel . . . sort of drunk.”

  “That’s not surprising, is it? It’s the first either of us have worked that spell.”

  Water streamed like magic down her throat. Before she almost choked. “You never did that before? How did you know it would work?”

  “It did, didn’t it? Now on your feet.” He took the skin, then simply wrapped an arm around her to haul her up. Tightened it when she swayed.

  “Dizzy,” she managed, and dropped her head on his shoulder. “I need a second. I don’t think I can walk yet.”

  “You won’t be walking.”

  Though still limp when he swung her up, she went rigid when she ended up in the saddle.

  “Oh no, I don’t think—”

  He swung up behind her. “I won’t let you fall.”

  Then the dragon simply lifted into the air and, like the falc
on, wove through the trees as he climbed.

  The wind rushed through her hair, over her face.

  “You—There aren’t any reins.”

  “We know where we’re going. The saddle, it’s for the rider’s comfort, and for carrying supplies.”

  She wanted to just close her eyes until she could feel her feet on the ground again. But something else inside her wanted more. So she looked out at the sky—blue and white and gold. And down, at hills and fields, streams and cottages. Green and green, brown and gold again, the blue bay, the white froth. The sudden rise of an iridescent tail.

  She’d thought she’d begun to understand magicks, even feel them. But until that moment, she hadn’t known.

  She reached back, gripped Keegan’s hand.

  “I said I wouldn’t let you fall, and we’re nearly there.”

  “No, no, no. Not that. It’s . . . it’s all so amazing. It’s wonderful. It’s all so beautiful.”

  Enchanted, she took her hand back, lightly stroked it over the dragon’s back. “He feels almost polished, like jewels. He protected me.”

  “It’s his nature. It’s his heart.”

  She saw the farm below and found herself regretting her first flight—maybe her only—had been so short.

  “I’m grateful, to both of you. I’d be dead if you hadn’t come.”

  “They don’t want you dead. Yet.”

  With that, they landed, and Marg raced over behind a whining Bollocks.

  “Where was she? What happened?”

  “Yseult happened.” Keegan jumped down, then reached up and lifted Breen from the saddle. “She’ll do,” he told the dog, who pawed at his legs to try to reach Breen.

  Instead of putting her down, he swung her up again to carry her toward the house.

  “I can walk now.”

  “Not well, I’d wager. Sleep snakes she had, and Breen was bitten.”

  “How long?”

  “Get her inside.” Aisling hurried over. “We’ll purify.”

  “Already done.”

  “You?”

  “Both of us.” He paused, and his voice filled with frustration. “I can’t get her inside if you’re in the way, can I now?”

  “Let me see.” Aisling reached up, put a hand on Breen’s heart, one on her head. “She’s clear. She’s clear, Marg, not to worry. Well done, Keegan.”

  “She’ll need the after potion. My poor girl.”

  “Mahon, my love, take the children out back. Breen needs the quiet. Harken, the after potion, if you please.”

  “Yseult,” Keegan said to the men.

  Mahon cursed, earning wide eyes from his sons, and a hard look from his wife. Keegan carried her in, dumped her on the settee, where Bollocks planted his paws on her chest and lapped madly at her face.

  “I need Mahon to scout with me—as we were about to do before this came about.”

  “See that Mab’s with the children then. Go on now, Bollocks.” Aisling gave him a nudge and a rub. “Leave her to us for a bit now. Go on with the boys.”

  “Go outside.” To reassure him, Breen kissed his nose. “I’m okay.”

  Keegan nodded, took another look at Breen. “We’ll train tomorrow, and harder. This wasn’t a random scout on his luck, but planned. Odran knows you’re here. He knows you’ve awakened. We’ll train harder.”

  Harken walked in with a cup as Keegan walked out.

  “Drink this now,” Aisling ordered. “Every drop. Then we’ll have some stew for you, I think. It empties you out, the purifying.”

  “Yeah. I feel hollow everywhere.”

  “I should’ve known.” Sitting beside her, Marg took her hand, pressed it to her cheek. “I should’ve expected, prepared.”

  “It’s not your fault. You’ve been preparing me. Keegan’s been preparing me. I hate that he’s right. I have to work harder. I was weak, and stupid. I was,” she insisted when Marg protested. “I won’t be next time.”

  “You’ll have some food,” Aisling declared. “And you’ll tell us, from start to end. And we’ll see what needs doing. She’s your blood, Marg, and neither weak nor stupid. But Yseult’s a wily one, and potent with her bloody snakes. So we’ll hear it, then we’ll see what’s needed.”

  When she’d finished, and felt herself again, Harken stepped away from the window where he’d kept an eye on the children. He cupped Breen’s face in his hands and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  “Trapped in a bespelled fog with a powerful black witch, branded by her, and bitten by a sleep snake, and still there was enough light and fight in you to guide Keegan to you. You’re your father’s daughter.”

  She hadn’t thought of it that way, but only of failure.

  “I hope so. I don’t understand the Sleep thing. Keegan said they didn’t want me dead.”

  “’Tisn’t death,” Aisling told her, “but it mirrors it.”

  “You know the tale of the Sleeping Beauty?” Harken asked. “Well, it wouldn’t be a kiss to bring you back. One bitten by a creature such as that will fall into a dark, deep sleep, wakened only by the will of the one who commands the snake.”

  “We’d have broken the spell.” Marg reached out and took Breen’s hand. “But it’s difficult and it’s dangerous for all. It’s good you and Keegan killed the poison before it reached your heart and your head.”

  “She was going to take me through the portal in the waterfall. How would she get me through?”

  “I haven’t heard of her back in Talamh since we shuttered it. It must have taken her years to work a spell. She’s from here,” Marg added. “So that would help her. There are other portals, of course, all closely guarded. Still scouts slip through, as did the one Keegan killed when we visited Eian’s grave.”

  “She came alone,” Harken pointed out. “If she went through the waterfall, she couldn’t bring soldiers with her, that tells me. I’ll be taking myself off there, seeing if I can shore up whatever chink she managed.”

  “Don’t go alone. Don’t,” Aisling insisted.

  “What little faith you have in me.”

  “I’d say the same to any, you blockhead. Go with two others to make three.”

  “The witch rides with a faerie and a were,” Breen said. “An elf and a troll will come through the green wood. And with wood, stone, light, and magicks, the five close the door again.”

  Breen slumped back, stared at the faces around her. “What was that! I could see it. You and Morena and a man who becomes a bear. A woman who comes out of a tree, a troll with a stone axe.”

  “A vision.” And Marg smiled at her.

  “I don’t have visions. I mean, I have dreams, and they can be lucid. And I get flashes like anyone, but—”

  “Not like anyone at all.”

  “Likely it is when you joined power with Keegan it gave you a bit of a boost. Would you like more tea?” Aisling added.

  “No, no, I’m fine. It was like being there, watching, but through a curtain, a thin curtain.”

  “The curtain will lift with time,” Marg told her. “Now I think you need some rest. You’ve had a trying time of it.”

  “Not rest. Practice. I need to learn more, and get better at what I learn.”

  “All right then.” With a nod, Marg rose. “We’ll practice.”

  When they’d gone, Aisling put a hand on Harken’s arm. “What does she feel? You looked, I’m sure, out of concern, to be sure—as I needed to be about her body—that her mind was clean and clear. But you saw what you saw.”

  “I did.” He strapped on the sword he rarely wore. “And while clean and clear it was, she’s caught between fear and fascination just as she’s caught between Talamh and the world she’s known. Her loves, her loyalties, her needs, her doubts, they tangle inside her like vines.”

  He put on his cap, his jacket. “There’s naught for us to do about it, Aisling. She’ll make her choices when she makes them.”

  “I could bash your head for your patience alone.”

  “An
d it would still be what it will be.” He kissed her cheek. “Now I need to saddle a horse and go fetch Morena, and I think it must be Sean she saw in her vision. If Mahon and Keegan aren’t back, stay for supper.”

  “Cook it, you mean.”

  “Well, of course,” he agreed in his cheerful way. “But I enjoy the company and the children as well as the food.”

  She gave him a swat as he walked to the door. “And when will you finally ask Morena to wed you so she’ll cook your supper?”

  “She’s a terrible cook, as you know very well. And I’ll be asking her when she is ready to say yes, and not before.”

  “Why not give her a bit of a push?” Aisling wondered when he shut the door. Then she sighed, said, “Blessed be, brother,” and walked back to the window to look out on her children.

  She’d kill for them. She’d die for them, she thought as she folded her hands over the life growing inside her. Now she could only hope Breen would fight for them, and all the children in all the worlds.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  She worked and practiced until moonsrise. She ate, and gratefully, the roast beef and vegetables Sedric prepared. Though Marg urged her to stay, Breen insisted on going back to her cottage.

  She wanted the space, the quiet, and she wanted to sit down and write out every detail about what had happened.

  Writing it down would help her remember those details so, hopefully, she wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.

  When she settled into bed with Bollocks curled in front of the fire she could now light with a thought—progress!—she started to put rosemary under her pillow.

  Then, thinking of the vision in the farmhouse kitchen, she set it aside. Maybe it was time to welcome dreams, whatever they might hold.

  So she dreamed again of the black castle with its walls like glass, of the stony island on which it rose, and the raging sea below the sheer cliffs.

  The god stood on a wide balcony on the topmost tower. His black cloak swirled as he threw dark bolts of light at the sky and sent it to boiling.

  His eyes gleamed with rage, his face a mask of fury.

  From that boiling sky rain, sharp as arrow tips, fell. On the ground below and on the cliffs, those who served him screamed and scattered and sought cover from the lethal storm.