Oracle's Curse: Book Three of The Celtic Prophecy Read online

  Brenawyn was relieved to hear him say so. In a foreign place and time it was the first sign of good fortune. She could only imagine what her fate would have been if Sinclair deemed otherwise.

  “Onto the second reason…”

  Brenawyn almost forgot that there were multiple reasons Sinclair wanted to keep her under guard because she was still so shocked at Liam’s apparent resurrection.

  William stopped and looked out over the expanse, sighing, “This land has magic in her.”

  Brenawyn stood at his side, “It is beautiful.”

  “Thank ye, lass. Long, long ago before the coming o’ the Romans it was a much different place. To read the stories, it was a land of wonder where the gods walked among men. I think it was a simpler time in one regard. Things were definite, if some god were to be angry, the people kent it immediately. Punishment was quick and fierce, but honest, and usually temporary. What most o’ them wanted from us was ta be worshipped. Acknowledged and prayed ta in the correct way, each had his own preference,” he laughed, “I suppose as do all o’ us. They were individuals prone ta peculiarities o’ such.”

  “Go on.”

  “The Druids were peacemakers—orators, diplomats, law makers. There was no problem they couldnae solve with words. They had no definition of violence within their ranks. There were only three castes o’ Druids originally. First was the vate, these were seers ta divine meaning o’ the gods’ will. The second was the priest, who conducted rituals and ceremonies honoring the gods. Third was the bard, whose job it was ta pass knowledge on ta the young so they in turn could carry forth the customs.”

  “I met a vate. I was not impressed.”

  “Did ye now? Ye’ll ha’ ta tell me about that some other time.”

  Brenawyn’s thoughts were in a jumble. She’d have to concoct an amended story to tell him if he pressed the issue later, leaving out her direct involvement and that of her grandmother. Revealing that Leo was a Druid might not be seen in so great a light. It might just be another nail in the coffin, or tinder on the pyre that could be her death knell. She’d keep that to herself, but out of sheer curiosity she wondered which of the three Leo was.

  “And Alex is a priest?”

  William turned to her, looking through her to something only he could see.

  “You did know he is…”

  “Och, aye, for certainty. What he is, is largely by his own making, the clod.”

  “How so?”

  “He is the Reliquary.”

  “That explains nothing.”

  “He was o’ the warrior caste, a later edition due ta the difficulties they had with the Romans.”

  “Things are starting to make more sense.”

  “By the time he was born though, the gods had long since retired to Tir-Na-Nog and the Romans soldiers were dust in their graves. The new caste stood as silent sentinels existing only because it honored those that fought and died a’ the hands o’ the invaders. He would have served never seeing battle o’ those proportions free ta live his life here, but he had ta go and be typical Alexander.”

  “What happened?”

  “It wasnae so long ago that things changed, and the night it happened was the start. We held the ritual here; the gods came, they still have claim ta a limited hold in this realm allowing some ta come and go. T’is a big energy expense, but they use it gladly for ceremonial purposes. Remember, they want ta be worshipped above all else. So, that night was the official installation o’ Alex and some others ta full warrior. Alex was always the best hunter amongst the clan. His aim was true and he was quick about it. He also bested the other lads a’ any contest and it made him cocky, thinking himself indispensable. Well, I wasnae there ta see it myself, but different accounts all relay the same. He was reveling in the honor of being newly appointed, he was emboldened thinking the gods thought him ta be indispensable as well. He reached out and touched the goddess o’ prophecy.”

  “And?”

  “And? He touched her without being given permission.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” Hadn’t she done the same when she, if it was the same faery, had seized? She didn’t know there was protocol.

  “Because of his audacity, he was made Reliquary. The living collection o’ all the lore o’ the Druids, and his office is ta defend it with his life, so he is priest, ta be emissary ta the gods, performing the rituals in observation and be their physical form here in this realm. He is bard, ta teach those that come the stories; and he is warrior, man and beast able ta defend it.”

  “He is not his own man.”

  “Nay, through his own foolish means, and he’s paid dearly already.”

  “So, how did that set things in motion?”

  “The gods need ta be worshipped. It is the source o’ their power, and when they had ta retreat ta Tir-Na-Nog mankind had ta fend for themselves. Man’s innovation and ingenuity grew a’ alarming rates because the gods were no longer present ta provide. Prayer stayed the longest out o’ repetition, but the prayers answered became fewer, and the time between each became longer. The frequency o’ prayer dropped, and there was no punishment forthcoming. People thought their gods had abandoned them, so they turned ta other answers.”

  “Let me guess, Christianity.”

  “Aye, and for a while, both existed, but with all things, this was short lived. Resentment for unanswered prayers tuned ta anger and hostility. What was once tolerable was now abhorrent.”

  “And this is your second reason for my imprisonment.”

  “Its not imprison—

  “No. Relax, I get it. I foolishly showed my powers to a roomful of strangers, some of whom could be…” Brenawyn trailed off.

  “Aye. They can be. I cannae say what is in their hearts. We have suffered in the past, and I cannae ken how it has affected them. They are my people, and we live in harmony more or less, but ye are an outsider, a stranger, and a priestess ta gods most doonae acknowledge anymore.”

  Chapter 7

  The cellar door creaked open; of course, stereotypically, it had to creak. She was in an abandoned house, in all probability miles from any people; there was probably a lakeside camp nearby with stories of a roaming homicidal maniac, too. There was a cavernous well—Maggie was caught in a bad horror movie in the making. Noting the irony of her situation did nothing to abate her anxiety. Her mouth dried and her hands shook more at each of the interloper’s heavy footsteps descending into her prison. She would come face to face with Cormac again, but this time there would be no way for her to resist him with the cast on her leg.

  Andy looked worried, and he motioned for her to be calm. What the fuck did he know? He wasn’t the one being kept against his will. She tried to focus on the irony again, it helped, kept her mind working, a sand shovel against the tide, but Maggie would take it even for a few precious seconds before the panic attack surged and all rational thought was impossible.

  Eleven, twelve, thirteen, how long was that set of stairs? Fourteen. She was breathing faster and shallower. Her heart raced. Her muscles tensed. Her chest constricted. And then he was in the door frame.

  “I should ha’ just cut yer throat in the forest.” Cormac declared as he looked her over. “Little use I fear ye’ll be, and too heavy a burden.”

  Gulping for air, Maggie squeaked out, “Then let me go. Leave me here to get out on my own.”

  “Alas, I cannae. T’was ye or the old woman. Ye ha’ no magic but still a strong connection ta…”

  “To who? Brenawyn?”

  “Aye.”

  Sweat was dripping from her brow, beads of perspiration slid down her cleavage making her yank at the loose dress. “You’re mistaken. I mean nothing to her. I’m not family. I’m not even a friend. All I was…am…was a clerk in her grandmother’s store. I don’t even know if I still have a job. You’ve fucked up that place good.”

  “Prevarication is useless.”

  “Huh?”

  Cormac raged toward her. “Doonae lie
ta me! Did ye no’ think we watched the house. We ken what ye mean ta her. She’ll dae as we dictate if it means havin’ ye safe.”

  Breathless, Maggie probed, “Do you even know where she is?”

  He groaned in frustration, raking his fingers through his hair, “I ken where she’ll be,” he said, turning to Andy. “Get her ready ta move. T’is no’ safe for any o’ us ta be seen outside. I ha’ secured other arrangements.”

  Andy nodded and followed him to the room beyond.

  Spots were dancing in Maggie’s vision, and if she didn’t get her breathing under control she’d pass out from hyperventilating. She cupped her hands over her nose and mouth concentrating on employing deep breathing techniques to regulate her intake. The pounding of blood in her ears felt as if it would squeeze the last bit of air from her lungs and her heart would finally explode. She knew it wasn’t rational, that she should be eavesdropping on the men’s conversation in the next room, but she was going to die here on the cot.

  Get breathing under control. In, out, in, out; don’t gulp the air! Chest pains will ease when breathing is measured. In, out. In, out through the fingers.

  The chest constriction eased, and her first instinct was to remove her hands to take a gulp of air. She fought the urge and remained as she was concentrating on oxygen regulation.

  “…she ha’ told me ye’ve spent all o’ yer time down here. Is that true?”

  “Yes. I thought you wanted me to…”

  “She’s bonny, is she no?”

  “Well…I guess…”

  “O’ course she is. Young, clear skin, sun-kissed cheeks. Perky breasts, too small for my tastes but nicely-formed…and long legs. Did ye no’ notice when ye helped strip her o’ her clothing?”

  Andy made an appreciative sound, and Cormac continued. “Ha’ ye ever had a lass like her?”

  Maggie didn’t like where the conversation was going, but the direction shifted.

  “Did she ask about yer life? Seem attentive? Ask ye why ye were involved in this? Beg ye ta help her?”

  There was silence, then, “Oh, um…in that exact order almost.”

  “She’s trying ta manipulate ye, lad.”

  “She is? I don’t think she would do that.”

  Maggie could hardly hear his responses, his enunciation grew muddier, and the volume lowered. Shit, that’s not good. Rejection makes men do things.

  “She’s yer test. The Oracle herself foresaw it, that ye would face many trials in yer initiation. This is yer first. She’s a temptation.”

  Cormac’s baritone rang out clear and true almost as if he wanted her to overhear him.

  “What do I do? Maybe you should reassign me. Have Carolyn or Linda take my place.”

  “Is that what ye want, ta disappoint me?”

  “No, no, of course not, but what if I’m…weak?”

  “Och, lad, dae ye think I wasnae in yer position once? Ye ha’ ta reflect on what yer heart is telling ye.”

  “I want to serve you, Master.”

  “Aye?”

  “I want the Auld Ways restored.”

  “And?”

  “I want to transcend.”

  “Then if that is the case, ye need ta be diligent because reward does no’ come ta those who doonae work for it.”

  “I understand.”

  Maggie’s hope died.

  Chapter 8

  Alex’s heart beat in sync with the horse’s, but he strained against its hesitation when he felt it slow. He urged it on but the horses’ instincts took precedent for fear of miss stepping in the denser flora of the forest floor. In his right mind he’d know that horses were not predators, and while this one currently had the bloodlust, it was not in its nature to pursue.

  Alex leapt off, tearing at his clothes, letting the shift override logic; the need to stay human forgotten. His bones lengthened and the wolf’s stifle and hock were fully formed before hitting the ground running apace with the horse. Fur sprouted and covered his new body like dominoes falling. Last was the lengthening of the jaw, Alex gnashed his teeth as the canines grew. Of all the physical changes that he went through, the teeth always were the most lasting pain. They left his mouth bloody and raw from new teeth ripping through the gums, and the subsequent tearing through prey’s flesh was electricity on a live nerve. It made him live in the moment, so vividly aware of his surroundings, the smell of the heart’s blood pumping out, the final death knell that so closely imitates orgasm, death, and excrement that immediately follows.

  He overtook the horse, plunging into the undergrowth; olfactory senses filled with the smell of Ruadan. He was close. He could feel in the pads of his paws each frenzied step reverberating off the spongy ground. He could smell the blood from the skirmish with Cernunnos, and the new scratches obtained from branches cutting at his skin.

  On either side the undergrowth exploded with wolves joining the chase, falling in behind the alpha. They moved in unison, turning in murmurations much like those of starlings, connected collectively to Alex’s mind. His senses grew wider. He knew where Ruadan was ahead, could anticipate his movement, but he also knew where everyone else from the hunting party was, too. Hounds, slaughs, horses, men, gods. He knew how much each carried on his person, the weight of the hunting tackle, the saddles—there were six coins in Edric’s right pocket, odd since the coins held no monetary value here—and the weight of each member compressing the earth under them.

  There was a growing echo in each footfall telling Alex that they were nearing the cliffs at the edge of the Hunting Grounds. Ruadan was slowing, too, his heartbeat was strong, but there was a slight tremor in his gait. His muscles were reaching their limits. He’d have figured it out by now, soon he would have to turn and fight it out. All this Alex gleaned from his paw pads.

  The murmuration of wolves changed, spreading out, the stragglers going wide and taking up outermost positions ahead of the alpha as they burst through the tree line. Ruadan was crouched ready with his back against the cliff’s sheer face. “Come on, ye bastard! Come a’ me!”

  The wolves crouched low to the ground and held the semi-circle position guarding against escape as Alex advanced. Ruadan made the first lunging move, but Alex was quicker and bounded out of reach, more balanced on four legs. Alex sprang at him, finding purchase and sinking his teeth into the arm of the god. It wasn’t a good hold, but first blood was drawn. Ruadan shook him off as if he were a lapdog instead of a twelve-stone wolf. Alex hit the ground on his side, the wind knocked out of him, but he regained his feet in an instant.

  A thunder clap sounding from behind announced the arrival of Cernunnos and the rest of the hunting party. All froze except the wolves, which still hunched and growled at Ruadan.

  Cernunnos dismounted and approached the nearest wolf and touched its shoulder. The animal squirmed away to keep line of sight with the prey causing the God of the Hunt, the God of the Wild to press his rights. “Disband.”

  The wolves’ concentration was disrupted, one shaking its head, but they all held their formation.

  “I say, disband!” Cernunnos bellowed.

  This time there was movement, a skittering of confused animal whimpers, and tails tucked between legs, they scattered in all directions. Cernunnos did not move to face Ruadan or Alex until the last of the underbrush settled from the wolves’ hasty departure.

  “Concede, brother. The Hunt is lost for ye. Ye ha’ been routed and all but captured.”

  “The rules were no’ adhered ta.”

  “That is why I ha’ ended it now. Acknowledge me as Hunt Master, and ye’ll be shown proper respect for yer rank and position. Dae no’ and in this moment I’ll strip ye of yer immortality and ha’ ye ripped apart for the duration o’ this Hunt. Think on it. Resurrected o’er and o’er, repeating the chase until ye concede. What say ye?”

  Ruadan looked at Alex, his wolf jowls still slavering, nothing holding him back but the will of the god, and thought better of it. Alex, he knew, was the willing servant of Cer
nunnos and he would at the god’s behest run him to ground repeatedly, not to mention the personal satisfaction that he would get out of being able to set the beast free here, not concerned about the carnage caused, or blood split, because there was no authority except the rules of the Hunt; unrelenting, savage rules, but within them a wide berth of acceptable behavior. Until he was clear of offense and appeased Cernunnos’ ire, Ruadan would be subject to the brutality of the hunter.

  Ruadan bowed low, “Aye, Master o’ the Hunt, I concede.”

  Alex couldn’t believe his ears. After all this he wasn’t going to be allowed the kill! The bloodlust raged in his veins, and he raised his head and howled for his pack to return.

  Cernunnos ignored Alex, and announced to the group, “Let us retire ta the Great Hall for revelries and feasting!” Then turning to Alex, “Come, I will deliver ye personally ta the bath house, as only those honored by the kill ha’ e’er visited.”

  Mounting his horse, Cernunnos led the way through to a path not before traveled, and Alex still in wolf form followed because his horse wasn’t provided. The journey was silent. Cernunnos kept quiet, and raging emotions boiled in Alex’s mind. He still heard Ruadan’ heartbeat, still smelled the sweet scent of the divine laced with tangy fear, and wanted, beyond anything in his recollection, to taste more of it. He salivated continuously, but he wasn’t going to be allowed to make the kill.

  The wolves reappeared and fell into formation behind Alex. Cernunnos didn’t turn, but addressed the new additions. “Interesting that. T’would under different circumstances be investigated…and dealt with, aye.”

  Alex seethed.

  “The priestess, my daughter is found. Ye ha’ all but delivered her yerself. This is my reward ta ye, and yet ye treat me with… dare I say it? Defiance bordering on mutiny. Did ye just no’ see what I dae in the face o’ rebellion?

  Alex wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth in and crush a windpipe, feeling the blood pumping out to quench his thirst.

  “We will continue this discussion when ye’ve sated yer lust. Here we are. Come. I will introduce ye.”