Fate's Hand: Book One of The Celtic Prophecy (8 page)

Stopping directly in front of her, Alex gave a wink and melted back into the crowd. Brenawyn took another moment to gather courage and stood, approaching the North-facing stone. Gathering up the hem of the dress, she knelt and ran a hand along the blue veined surface of the stone. It felt cool, smooth, and unyielding.

Courage.

Raising her arms above her head to the open sky above, her voice rang out in the gathering silence. “I acknowledge the North Spirit, who gives us true bearing, guiding and calling us home. I call to the wind, who lives companionably with the North giving us life-sustaining air to breathe.” She reached for the amethyst. “I summon both to this circle. Let this crystal be forever etched with our plea.” Placing it gently at the base she reached for the matches. “And the flame of the candle mark our prayer.”

She tore a match from the book and struck it against the strip on the cardboard. It lit briefly, only to be guttered by a breeze, but before she had the chance to strike the match again, the crowd gasped. She glanced up, distracted, and glanced around at the scene beyond the stones. Wind beat against the spectators. Most were bent against the gale, sheltering small children, her grandmother and Alex stood in a similar position, Alex hunched protectively over her, blocking much of the wind. They squinted from the gusts as their clothes plastered themselves to their bodies. Both were staring directly at her.

The wind continued to batter them, but her robes were still. The wind whipped round and round, building momentum. There was a scream from somewhere in the crowd, babies crying here, people running for cover there. With a deep whoosh the wind changed; rushing from every direction and from all angles it entered the circle. The stones hummed as it passed their threshold and rocketed past her, the edges of her robe snapping against bare legs.

The wind converged on the offertory pedestal in front of her, and the wicks of the three white candles positioned there, blazed to life with five foot flames. Brenawyn whipped her head around, finding Alex as he bent down to whisper something in her grandmother’s ear. She twisted to hear him and then both looked at her in unison with equal expressions of consternation and nodded stiffly.

She continued to look toward, not understanding what they wanted her to do. Finding no answer in their stern faces, she assessed. The wind was strange, but nothing, no one, was harmed. What could it hurt but to continue with this bit of theatre? “Come and reside with us, rejoicing in the coming harvest.”

A force hit the flames from above, compressing them to pinpoints, painfully bright. A silent blast wave emanating from the three white flames rocked her back as it rolled over her. Brenawyn heard a whoosh and lifted her head in time to see all the candles around the circle were lit.

She stumbled to her feet, retreating from the North stone, the overturned basket forgotten. She took a couple of steps backward, but froze. That wasn’t smart, heading toward ground zero. No. She moved in the opposite direction, intent on getting out. The demonstration was over, but as she neared, the candles’ flames leapt, morphing the height of the stones. She cringed, fearing being burned. Brenawyn saw her grandmother standing now, clutching Alex’s arm, both were mouthing something.

Why couldn’t she hear them? She whipped her head around, straining. Why couldn’t she hear anyone? It was only a couple of dozen feet. She ran closer. What were they saying?

Finish it?
She shook her head not understanding.
Finish what?
Alex leaned over to hook Maggie’s arm, dragging her toward him. Maggie looked startled, but agreed to whatever he had said to her and took his place, placing a hand under Nana’s arm and freeing Alex to approach the circle.

Brenawyn stepped closer, flinching as she passed close to the candles, afraid of a possible flare up. She reached out as Alex approached, but there was something in the way. Smooth, cool—
glass?

It can’t be. It’s impossible
. Again and again, she tried, more forceful each time, until she was beating on an invisible wall, panic-stricken. Alex put out a hand and was met with the same obstacle. She saw awareness dawn on his face, and he motioned for her to stop. He bowed his head then braced his hands on the stones that stood an arm span’s distance apart on either side of him.

He lifted his head and Brenawyn stumbled back in shock when iridescent eyes matching the emblazoned tattoos on his chest met hers. She could hear him, only him: “Brenawyn, finish it. Finish th’ incantation. Do it noo.”

She took several steps backward and turned to run, casting glances over her shoulder at him. She gathered the basket and the strewn rocks and turned toward the South standing stone. She plopped the bloodstone at the base with no theatricality, then stole a quick look at her grandmother for affirmation. Nana sat in the wheelchair, her white knuckled hands gripping her knees. Alex knelt beside her with his right arm tense on the armrest of the chair. He looked ready to spring.

“I acknowledge the South Spirit, who awakens us to the promise and surprise of a new day. I call to the Earth, who provides a continual food source and the very ground we walk on. Let the flame stand as sentinel and this crystal be etched with our plea. I summon both to this circle. Come and reside with us, rejoicing in the coming harvest.”

The flame of the South plinth burned green and the stone at the ground glowed. At once birds sang in chorus accompanied by the natural sounds from the various fauna in the surrounding park rising to an almost ear-piercing cacophony. Glancing around, members of the remaining crowd were holding their ears and small children cried. Hundreds of sparrows flew into the circle, bobbing and weaving throughout the pattern. The birds flew around the perimeter, following the same path of the wind, and at an unseen signal, the flock pumped their wings to gain altitude, clearing the top of the stones, flying higher above the circle. Still in sight, the flock undulated and soft downy feathers rained down as the birds molted in unison.

The featherless wings stopped flapping, sending bodies plummeting toward the ground. It was so quick that if Brenawyn had blinked she might have missed it. The motionless wings multiplied with a tearing, two wings became four. Orange and black scales grew out of the plucked skin to overlap as they settled to cover the new wing structure. She squinted to get a better view…butterflies! Thousands of butterflies fluttered up on a breeze born in the South, mere inches before the first would have smashed against the earth.

They flitted about her, alighting in her hair, on her shoulders, chest, knees, and hands. She giggled as one brushed the side of her neck. In concert, those that had taken momentary refuge on her, lifted off at one time and congregated on the pedestal. They covered the platform and the candle entirely, posed there for a fraction of a second, and again took flight simultaneously, leaving a steady green flame burning behind.

A warmth radiated from her chest and fear was forgotten. Brenawyn regained her feet and strode to the West-facing stone. She knelt in front of it and placed the blue tourmaline at the base of the pedestal. “I acknowledge the West Spirit, who gives us comforting warmth and encourages us to seek new adventures. I call to the Water, who quenches our thirst and heals our wounds. Let the flame stand as sentinel and this crystal be etched with our plea. I summon both to this circle. Come and reside with us, rejoicing in the coming harvest.”

Thunder boomed and lightning crackled across the sky as ominous storm clouds rolled in. As she finished the summons, the sky opened up in a maelstrom, pelting fat raindrops on the heads of the assembled audience, drenching them in seconds. Lightning struck trees on the perimeter of the park, sending limbs crashing to the ground, but now no one moved.

The candle’s flame was still alive, if only a pinprick. But it flared likes sparks struck from flint when the punishing rain gave way to drizzle. Larger and more persistent it grew, despite the moisture in the air, spattering her and the entire circle in rainbows.

She lifted her hand, mesmerized by the prismatic colors of the kaleidoscopic candle on the plinth and the stone beyond.
Perhaps this is what the world looks like from inside a diamond,
she thought as her sleeve fell back to reveal the same effect across her skin.

Am I stone? Diamond? The same?

A heaviness crept into her limbs and the circle tilted drunkenly as Brenawyn gained her feet. Shifting patterns of color floated in front of her and swirled together in her wake. In front of the last stone, she fell to her knees, drawing out of the basket the obsidian and placing it reverently at the foot of the East-facing stone.

“I acknowledge the East Spirit, who gives us rest for our weary bodies to replenish our minds so we can again work the wonders of the Ways. I call to the Fire, who warms our hearth allowing us sight in the dark, and who is the full cycle of birth, destruction, and rebirth. Let the flame stand as sentinel, and this stone be etched with our plea. I summon both to this circle. Come and reside with us, rejoicing in the coming harvest.”

From somewhere beyond the surrounding shimmer and the perimeter of the stones, a flash of intense heat and light—different, harsh and more direct—burned away the dancing colors. She felt a matching heat at her back and turned to see a high flame spouting from the reflecting basin situated in the center of the circle. The flames jumped and caught in the high grass ringing the pedestal. Spreading outward in a concentric circle, the flames grew, consuming the green tender blades of grass.

Brenawyn turned her back to it, unconcerned.

In moments, tongues of fire lapped at the hem of her robes but she remained unmoved. She felt the heat, hot but not uncomfortable, but had no fear of being burned. She cupped a flame and held it in her hand, the skin of her palm untouched as the flame burned. The flames raced around her, burning their way to the edge of the stone, the entire circle engulfed now. She still sat within, waiting patiently for the flames to recede, her skin untouched, unblistered by the blaze.

A warm wind began to blow, and by the time she got to her feet, the flames died. The ground all around was scorched. A groan from the earth, and tiny blades of grass and weeds sprang forth, a phoenix rising from the ashes to replace all that was once green and fresh. When the dandelions bloomed, then set seed, the red flame of the candle for the East and Fire burned steady.

Brenawyn bent down to retrieve the near-empty basket and let herself be pulled towards the reflecting basin. Once there, she was compelled to place the last stone, the tiger’s eye, in the center of the basin and began to circle the basin once, twice, and on the third time raised her arms once more and looked heavenward.

“I acknowledge the gods and goddesses of Old: Cernunnos, Epona, Belanus, Taranis, Blodevweld, Danu, and the Triple Mother Goddess. I offer my spirit to you. Let me be an extension of your will and of your Ways.” The candles spouted high purple flames. “Let the flames stand as sentinel and this crystal be etched with my plea.”

With what started out as a tickle of a feather drawn across the skin, soon turned into a tormented itching and by the time she pushed up her sleeves, her skin burned from within. Her hands and wrists were beet red. She blinked and saw something move under her skin. She gave a sharp shriek as purple marks appeared at her fingertips. The marks converged at the base of her fingers to coalesce into glowing swirls racing up her hands, wrists, and arms. Pulling the neck of the robe away from herself to look to see how far the damage went, she didn’t actually see the flame turn colors, but knew they had by the renewed pain and the appearance of blue scrolls etched on her skin.

In turn, the flame turned red, green, white—and each time the color changed, new markings were added to her growing iridescence. Finally, the flames sputtered out and the pain subsided.

At the guttering of the candles’ flame, she lost sight of the perimeter stones. She gave a brief thought to Alex, Maggie, her grandmother somewhere beyond. But now she was alone, standing in the warm radiance of the blessings of the Spirits and nothing else mattered.

“So mote it be.” The flames of the candles marking the perimeter were extinguished simultaneously and she felt the energy leach from her limbs. Brenawyn’s mind swam, registering physical exhaustion. She couldn’t fight gravity’s pull on her. She crumbled to the ground.

Chapter 10

Alexander felt the barrier of the veil drop, and he reached Brenawyn first, checked her vitals, and bundled her almost weightless body securely in his arms. Thoughts of calling for help never entered his mind. He didn’t say a word or spare a look, but the crowd melted from his path.

Approaching the house, she stirred in his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling deeper into his chest. He tightened his grip, holding her closer to him as he mounted the stairs two at a time. A shop clerk, whose name escaped him, was waiting, apparently apprised of the situation via cell phone, and rushed out to hold the door to the apartment for him. He didn’t take the time to even nod his thanks, just headed upstairs. Her dog was waiting at the top of the stairs, nervous at his sudden appearance. Investigating the bedrooms, he discovered hers and closed her door abruptly on the inquisitive dog.

He bent to deposit her on the bed, but in her semi-conscious state, she nuzzled his chest and ran feather light kisses along his collarbone. He froze over her with a firm resolve not to take advantage of her in this state. He closed his eyes trying to get a grip on the situation, but the fact was she aroused him, and feeling her mouth on him felt too good.

She mumbled, “You smell like sunshine and grass.” She grasped him closer as he reached mechanically behind his neck to unclasp her fingers. She cried, “Don’t leave me.”

He knelt at the side of the bed, placing her arms at her sides and reached to brush her hair away from her face, “Shh, I’m no’ going anywhaur.” He kissed her forehead and realized she was burning with fever—a fact that had escaped his notice with the exertion of carrying her back from the park. Rising, he smoothed her robe over her thighs for decency, and went to wet a towel in the bathroom.

Alex emerged to find Brenawyn gloriously naked, kneeling on the bed, crumpled robe and dress discarded on the floor. The glowing swirls of her markings accentuated her curves, sweeping out and around her body. His eyes followed the lines as they delicately decorated her breasts to their peaks, and interestingly merged again mid-abdomen to run down to the apex of her thighs, only to sweep out again with the flare of her hips. His mouth went dry and he dropped the wet towel on the floor, forgotten.

Brenawyn, eyes glowed with inner luminescence, her lips spread in a sensual self-satisfied smile as she noted his close perusal. In response she slowly stretched and raised her arms above her head and arched her back slightly to give him an unobstructed view. “You like to look at me.”

He nodded in agreement, taking a step towards her. He burned to touch her, to cover her breasts with his hands, his mouth…to bury himself within her. It would be easy and a relief to give in, here, now…to surrender to the will of the goddess. Did it matter that she was imbued with the spirit of the goddess of fertility and not of a clear mind? Would she be as eager to mate with him if she was not? It mattered to him because somehow, he knew it would matter to her. It was this realization that stayed him.

He paced away, not very far in the small room, but turned his back toward her in hopes of getting a handle on his burgeoning desire. Bracing himself with hands on either side of the bathroom doorway, he tried to think of any number of random, sobering thoughts. He was so focused on this fruitless task that he barely registered the slight squeak on the mattress springs before he felt Brenawyn’s supple body against his agonized one.

Alex pressed his forehead against the bathroom door jamb, trying to remember why it was a bad idea to enjoy her touch while fervently hoping she’d explore further. As if in answer to his silent plea, she reached down to gather the hem of his kilt in one hand as the other reached further and encircled his engorged cock.

She let out a throaty purr and began rhythmic pressure as she slid her hand up and down his shaft. He let out a groan and caught the reflection in the bathroom mirror through the open door. The reflection of what she was doing stilled him, and she peered around his shoulder to see what caused the change. She eased the pressure on his member, smiled luxuriously, and slid her leg up and around his thigh.

“Do you like this?” She tugged at his belt, and when it gave, the kilt fluttered away everywhere it wasn’t caught between the press of their bodies. She lightly ran her index finger down the length of him; the act itself wasn’t as shocking as the illumination of his sigils in response to her touch. The realization hit him like an electric charge.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” She ran her hand elsewhere on his legs, abdomen, and chest; everywhere that she could easily reach, and the same reaction occurred—his runes glowed at her touch. “It’s our individual wells of magic responding to each other.” She stood on tiptoe and caught his earlobe with her teeth and whispered, “It’s a sign that we are meant to be lovers.”

Alex pulled away from her and turned, letting the kilt fall to the ground. Brenawyn smiled in response and towed him out to stand by the bed. “Alexander, I want you.”

He took a step back, “No’ this way, Aine.”

Brenawyn cocked her head to the side, letting her hair fall over a shoulder, partially covering her right breast, and ran her left hand over her body, skimming the contours. She dipped her fingers, rubbing briefly between her legs, and quietly added, “I need you inside me.”

Mouth agape, Alex backed up quickly, arguing with his baser instincts he reached down, scooped up his kilt, and belted it on. Only then did he face her again. “No, Aine, dae ye ken me a fool? This is wrong and I will no’ be party to it.”

Brenawyn-Aine straightened, “Ye will dae wha’ has been foreseen. Ye and her,” motioning to indicate the body she possessed. “Wha’ we will, will be. Ye will dae as we command.”

“I willnae dae this noo—this way. Ye may leuk like Brenawyn and sound like Brenawyn, but ye are no’ her. She is no’ giving her consent. If ‘tis meant ta happen, that is, if we,
Brenawyn
and I, are destined ta become lovers, then I would ha’ it that she came ta me on her own, not possessed by ye or any other divine being.”

He bent to get the dress and tossed it on the bed. “Get dressed. I will be in the kitchen awaiting her kin. Doonae come out o’ this room.”

“Insolent cur. I will make ye suffer—”

“Impossible to make me suffer more,” Alex murmured, but as he turned his back to walk out, Brenawyn-Aine scratched him. His reaction was too slow, and she swiped at his welling blood and touched his torc, activating his shape-shifting ability
.
“Damn ye, Aine.”

“Ye will dae as we bid, beast.”

The beat of his heart increased, thumping loudly in his ears, his chest, “Please, nay.” Blood pumped to his extremities. “Tis no’ enough ta ha’ me? Must I…”

Dust motes hung in the air, the temperature of the room dropped infinitesimally: the onset of night, scents of lavender and rose hips from the potpourri on the corner nightstand, and of her, Brenawyn. Her scent. Her readiness. A ragged cry slipped from his throat. “I will no’ defile her.”

“Yer resistance is…interesting. How many times ha’ ye been through th’ resurrection, I wonder?”

“It matters no’. I am nothing more than a slave.”

“Too much o’ th’ individual still remains. If t’were up ta me, I would strip ye o’ it noo for yer insolence.”

“Ye are bound by th’ same laws tha’ I am. More so, I’d imagine.”

“Ye think me powerless?” Brenawyn-Aine pinned him against the bedroom door and ripped at her wrist, letting the blood fall on the wolf, bear, and leopard carvings of his torc. “For noo, let us see if ye can withstand th’ three.”

“NO!” but it was too late. Primordial instinct surged through him.

He grasped her about the waist and lifted. He saw her pulse quicken, her lips plump, her nipples pearl, he could feel the heat from her slickened core. It didn’t take long. By the fifth thrust, he growled and spilled his seed into her.

Thought and reason seeped back as instinct dissipated. Brenawyn-Aine’s self-satisfied smile filled him with self-loathing. Trembling, he gathered his kilt and left the room without a backward glance. He fumbled to the kitchen and vomited into the sink.

A few minutes later, Alex heard the front door open and Leo laboriously start to climb the stairs, her cast thumping on each step. She found him in the kitchen, arms still braced on the counter as he looked out the window. She approached, but he held up a hand. A chair slid across the linoleum and she sat with a huff. He sighed, turning to her to find her playing at the edging of one of the placemats, worrying it into a crumpled wrinkle. Wiping her eyes with a paper towel, she looked up expectantly at him, and then frowned when she didn’t read what she had hoped in his face. She was silent for a long moment, searching his eyes.

“I will not lose her.”

“Let’s no’ get ahead o’ ourselves. Ye don’t ken if t’will come ta that.” Alex tried to soothe. “I ken ye ha’ questions, but they ha’ ta wait. The first thing we ha’ ta dae is ta close th’ ritual. All other issues must wait. The marks are still glowing. She is still possessed by th’ Mother Goddess.”

Eyes wide, she quickly looked down the hall to the bedroom and then turned to Alex, her eyes narrowed, assessing him. She rose from the chair to cross the room and absentmindedly touching the knife block, asked, “Did you have sex with my grand-daughter?”

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t his silence. She turned to him, mouth agape, as she drew the butcher’s knife. “How could you?”

He met her in three strides, and gripped her hand holding the knife, pressing it against his throat. “Cut me. Maim me. Kill me if ye think it will make ye feel better. It won’t dae a bit o’ good. I cannae die. I am th’ Shaman.”

“I know who you are, all the abilities you have as the man burdened with the mantle, but you are not immortal, Shaman.”

“Aye, that is no’ true, Leoncha. I am th’ favored prey o’ th’ Wild Hunt. I exist for th’ eternal entertainment o’ th’ gods. I ask ye ta put aside yer feelings for right noo because we ha’ a more pressing matter. Tha’ woman in thaur,” gesticulating to the stairway, “is no’ yer granddaughter. She may leuk like her, but her mind is no’ her own.”

Nodding her head as she processed this new information, Leo paced the floor. “But it’s impossible for anyone but the caster to end the ritual. We’ll have to wait until she wakes up and then walk her through it. Wait, do you know for sure that it’s the goddess she’s connected with?”

Alex nodded, “When I picked her up th’ triskele
[3]
was traced in th’ sand in th’ reflecting basin and haur I’ve had some time ta study her markings. The interlace is broken by th’ triskele and triquetra
[4]
, both symbols for Aine, the Mother Goddess. As for ending it, ‘tis possible. I can dae it. She isna prepared for this; her body is unaccustomed ta th’ strain o’ it. Why wasna she trained?” Alex stopped his question with a shake of his head and held up a hand, “Wait, doonae answer that, it can wait.”

Leo stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking down the hall toward the bedroom, and then towards her stillroom, “I would need to reference my texts. I don’t know how to end a casting not of my own making.”

“Leo, I can end it myself—don’t leuk at me tha’ way. It wouldna end th’ connection anyway, and afore long, I
will
be compelled ta return ta her. Brenawyn will be pregnant from my embrace afore tonight is done.

“Over my dead body.”

“Ye cannae stop me—I cannae stop myself! Hate me, curse me—I deserve it. ‘Tis nothing more than wha’ I think o’ myself. The longer she is possessed by Aine, the longer she is vulnerable. Aine kens my weakness. They all dae—and they’ll use it, use me, ta meet their ends, ta satisfy the ancient prophecy. Leoncha, dae ye ken wha’ happens after th’ Hunt comes ta an end? Wha’ happens ta th’ prey?”

“Resurrection.”

“Yes, but each time I come back different, with an additional ability which makes th’ next Hunt more challenging. But each time,
each time
I am less a man. I am nothing but an animal who is more instinct than reason, a slave without a soul, without free will. A slave with captors who will see tha’ a child results from th’ union o’ priestess and shaman because it ha’ been decreed through prophecy. And Brenawyn will only remember th’ encounter as a dream.”

“She cannot have children.” Leo said, almost as an aside.

This confession caused Alex to pause, but he quickly recovered, “Leo, tha’ may ha’ been, but doonnae tell me tha’ ye think tha’ being possessed by th’ goddess o’ fertility tha’ she would remain incapable? No, she will get pregnant. Help me no’ defile yer granddaughter further. Help me end this.”

Leo looked at him, wiping away the beginnings of tears, and said, “Of course. Whatever you need, I’ll do it.” She put her hand on his forearm as he stood, and confided in a whisper, “She’s the only family I have left. I’m an old woman, please don’t take her from me.”

Alex’s face became hard, “Another time, but noo I need ye ta recreate th’ placement o’ th’ stones. Ye are th’ only one who can dae it because ye share a blud bond. Tha’ bond will be acknowledged and honored by Aine, thereby allowing me ta transfer th’ power that’s coursing through her body.”

“Maggie should be back with the stones and candles. I’ll go and get them.”