Oracle's Curse: Book Three of The Celtic Prophecy Page 7

  The stairs looked impossibly high, and she was grateful that she had been out of it when they brought her down. If she needed more confirmation that she was in an old house, the stairs offered it. The treads were short, the risers unevenly spaced, and there was no handrail. It wouldn’t pass code now, so the house had to have been built in the 1800s or before. She had been in plenty of buildings built prior to 1700. As campy as the Salem tourist sites were, she’d liked to visit them, although foregoing if she could, the usual guided tours because they came with too many Blessed Be and So Mote It Be’s. Actually, those came not from the guides but the fanatical patrons who didn’t realize or care if they were being offensive. She wasn’t offended really, not because of the religious bent anyway, god, with a capital G didn’t exist, she had long ago decided, or if he did he was deaf to little girls’ prayers. It really just bugged her that people were so fake.

  At the base of the stairs Andy pivoted the chair and Maggie felt the back wheel hit the tread of the first stair. Stepping on the back, she was tilted so she looked up at Andy. From this inverted position he looked like a teenager again.

  “Here we go. Stay still and don’t worry. I won’t let go.”

  Maggie nodded her head and closed her eyes. Maybe this way it would be over sooner. Closing her eyes didn’t help though, the anxiety bubbled nonetheless and panic rose. She reached out to touch the wall; there was nothing she could hold onto, but she tried to employ the technique that her counselor once told her to identify things she could touch, see, and hear. If she could touch them, all the better. It grounded her. Andy grunted, “Keep your hands in.” Maggie snatched her hands back, folding her arms and opting to bite her lip instead as she focused on her breathing and heartbeat.

  Each thump of the wheels against the edge of the next step was another lump in her stomach. “You should have just sat me on the bottom and told me to pull myself up step by step on my ass. I do have one good leg and my arms work just fine.”

  “Not an option.”

  “No, really, we could still do that.”

  “No.” Andy pulled harder, jostling Maggie in the chair so she had to grip the arm rests for security. “Can’t have you relying on yourself to do things. Might give you ideas to do something foolish.”

  Maggie’s mind worked. He wanted her completely dependent on him whether it was his wish, that bitch, Linda’s, or Cormac’s, the fucking bastard.

  “It’s either this way or being drugged again. Thought you’d prefer this way. It was not Linda’s choice or Cormac’s, though he doesn’t bother with details. He’d opt for drugs because he doesn’t want to be bothered with little issues. Remember why you are here. He is not a patient man.”

  Silence reigned except for a grunt and a thump with each stair until they reached the door. “Put your arms back and hook them around the door frame. You’ll have to help with this last one. The frame is just wide enough for the chair and this last step is larger than the others. Ready?”

  She was through the door and steered down the hall and into a front room. There were heavy brocade curtains drawn tight, their tasseled tiebacks hung open and empty at the sides. There was more furniture covered with the same tarps she’d seen downstairs, but this room had been used recently. There were a couple of rumpled tarp indents from people sitting on the couches and a trash bin overflowing with paper products and Styrofoam containers.

  Andy stretched his arms, pulling from the elbow across his body and repeated it on the other side.

  “I’m sorry I’m so heavy.”

  “Heavy? No. You’re not fat. You could use a good sandwich or two in fact.” He laughed, “Though that would have made my job harder. Seriously, though it was just awkward. Don’t worry for me.”

  Linda, a heavy-set woman in her mid-thirties with stringy brown hair, came in the room with a cloth sack and zip ties. “The van’s packed and pulled up out front. All we need to do is get her in it.”

  “Have you heard from Cormac?”

  “He’ll meet us at the destination.”

  “I see.” Andy said reaching for the zip ties. He turned toward Maggie and held them up.

  The first thought was to resist. It was bad for her if they moved her, less likely that she would be found. Linda must have seen the hesitation because she grabbed Maggie’s wrist painfully and slapped her hard enough to taste blood. Linda was strong and she had both of her arms prisoner holding them out for Andy to tie.

  “Make it tight.”

  “I am. It wouldn’t do any of us any good if it cut off circulation.”

  “What do we care? She doesn’t need her hands for what Cormac has in mind.”

  Maggie screamed and struggled.

  “Hush,” Andy said, “it’ll be okay.” As he bound her hands, he looked up. “Can I see you out in the hall, Linda?” His tone indicated that it wasn’t a request.

  Straightening her spine, Linda dropped the cloth sack over Maggie’s head and tightened the drawstrings to fit snugly around her neck.

  They didn’t walk all that far because Maggie could still hear them clearly.

  “What do you think you are doing scaring her like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “You know what! We have a long way to go—just us, undetected, because if we’re caught, you and I will be going away for a long time. Do you think Cormac will help us? Think again, Linda. We need her calm and quiet.”

  “Not if she’s drugged.” Linda turned and before Andy could catch her, she was back in the room plunging the needle into Maggie’s arm.

  Disoriented because of the sack, it didn’t register what had been done until Maggie started to drift out of consciousness.

  Chapter 11

  A chill was in the air when he awoke; but the breeze brought the smell of a doe with her fawn nearing the den—perhaps that was what woke him. The underlying obligation to make sure the pack had food to winter another year. The rest of the pack was sleeping still, nuzzled together with exception to the pup who stood precariously on the rump of another adult to chew on the Alpha’s ear. He rolled, and the pup pounced, trying out his rudimentary training. The Alpha pawed at him, revealing his neck in another exercise to instruct on vulnerabilities. The pup, he knew, could sense it, just as he could, the soft, exposed weakness of the throat. The skin smelled different here. It was a beacon for determined fangs and unrelenting pressure to end a life. What was death to one meant life to more. To survive, to live, there was no difference.

  The pup’s tail wagged against the Alpha’s chest indicating the loss of concentration. Whines and yips emanated from the pup, and for a moment the Alpha was content to play with this child—pup.

  These fleeting moments were to be treasured, few and far between were the times when the entire pack ate their glut, where they all slept the sleep of the sated. The Alpha was a good one. His pack was well fed. Luck had a lot to do with that. Most others felt the gnawing hunger most days, pups died, older members sacrificed themselves for the good of the group. Not in his pack, though.

  The sharp, needle teeth called the Alpha back to the present to find the pup pulling on a jowl. The Alpha raised a paw and swatted it to the ground. Last to go was his hold on his jowl. Enough. Once loose, the Alpha shook his great head smarting from the nips.

  He rose and looked out over the pack in the darkened den. They were nuzzled together in a heap of grey fur, one indistinguishable from the next, and turned his attention to the doe and fawn. They were grazing closer now unaware of the wolves. He decided to let them be. This wasn’t a decision based on mercy, but nature. The pack did not kill unless it was necessary. They didn’t need to eat. Tomorrow, and all the days after, yes. The story might end differently if the two happened this way again, but for now he wished for the mother to teach her offspring what it was to be a deer, to show her the sweetness of new grass, to show her what it was to run in the open field.

  It took a while for the Alex to realize he was awake. Bare arms and legs akimbo
were too close to the nestled warmth of the dream. Alex squeezed a breast and patted a leg of another woman so he could get up. One hunger sated for the moment, now he needed food. He was hungrier than he ever remembered being in his life. His stomach felt empty and he smelled roasted meat coming from somewhere above. It called to him.

  He left the sleeping women and wandered close to the cavernous walls. There, by another carved staircase was a stone table set into the wall. On it was a hunting kilt and belt. He swathed his hips, securing it at his waist and ascended to search out food.

  Climbing, sounds of activity met his ears indiscernible at first, but the more he climbed the raucous laughter, music—one of the stringed instruments was out of tune—competed with each other; rather the troubadour’s tenor was drowned amid the noise of inattentive guests. It was too bad, really, because he had a strong voice reaching ranges not often heard without strain.

  He entered the hall from a side door, and saw the expansive room decorated with carved wood frescos covering the walls and ceiling, each depicting detailed scenes from a Hunt. The first among them, from before history began, was petrified Wattieza, the first tree, and its polished ebony grain shown as if it glowed from within. It had the place of honor, decorating the open dome above the circular dais in the the center of the room. The floors were covered in scenes, too, fashioned of stone mosaics. Polished semi-precious stones caught the vibrancy of the Hunting Grounds’ flora and the vivid red of the kill.

  He was drawn to a corner of the room to look at the newest addition, half completed. He recognized the wolves—himself leading them in semi-circle formation around Ruadan. The most striking element though wasn’t the carvings’ minute detail, the fur of the wolves even looked soft, but the wood itself. It wasn’t cured, and sap ran freely from its pores over the figures and pooled in the fine lines blurring the features. He wondered the purpose of time wasted, of art destroyed, when a shadow fell over him.

  Alex turned to see Pendragon with two goblets. He handed one to Alex and remarked, “Yer likeness is depicted hundreds o’ times in this room, but this is the first as a Hunter and the one that drove the prey to ground no less.”

  “I didnae make the kill.”

  “Details…it nay matters. Yer first was a god. I doonae envy ye the enemy ye’ve made and the misery he will likely inflict upon yer person, but t’is a caveat.”

  “What is?”

  “I ha’ been a Hunter for near twice as long as ye’ve been a part of the Wild Hunt, and I’ve only claimed the capture once.”

  “I am painfully aware. I was there when it happened, aye?”

  “Aye, hate me, but doonae begrudge me the acclaim I won that day.”

  “Yer point?”

  “My point is that ye routed a full blood god on yer first go, and beyond yer temporary arrangement with Cernunnos, and I’m sure it doesnae feel temporary, but it is nonetheless, ye are a mortal.”

  “I’m sure ta be called again soon as I am free back ta the Grounds to be hunted by Ruadan—

  Pendragon looked at him in disbelief, and put his hand on Alex’s shoulder, “Ye doonae ken?”

  Alex shook his head, “What?”

  Pendragon leaned his head back and let out a guffaw. Once he settled down, he clapped Alex on the back, “Ye’ll ne’er serve as prey again, as long as ye keep in good favor with Cernunnos.”

  Alex’s heart leapt at the possibility for he thought he was fated to be the favored prey of the Hunt eternally. “But how? Why?”

  “As ta that, I cannae say. The will o’ the gods and all o’ that, no’ for mortals ta venture a guess. He’ll tell ye in his time or no’. Come, enough talk. We feast!”

  They approached two empty seats at the table, Edric was on the one side, and Cernunnos on the other. Before being given leave to take his seat by the god, Alex looked around at the table. Seated were all of the members of the day’s hunting party and he wondered if this was everyone. Seen in this venue, the party seemed sparse, but their collective ferocity on the field was the tipping point, for each was lethal and merciless. Alex had direct knowledge of this, having been at the blade’s edge of most of these competitors. He died at their hands, and was brought back stronger, faster…more of an animal. How many resented the fact that they would never hunt him again? Or as frequently, he amended, sure that he’d anger Cernunnos sooner than later. He was prime, as elusive as the unicorn, as unique as the chimera with the magic of the warrior caste and shapeshifting abilities of the Reliquary. He’d made an enemy of Ruadan sure, but there was resentment simmering and future violence on the horizon.

  Cernunnos nodded and indicated the seat next to him. “I’m sure ye doonae mind that we ha’ started without ye, particularly since ye were otherwise engaged.”

  “Nay.” A pinprick of trepidation flickered in Alex’s mind at mention of his latest exploits, a thought immediately tramped down at the memory of eager hands and mouths and hot, slick cunts. He shifted in his seat, physically aware that he wasn’t as sated as he had thought he was. Perhaps later he could find his way down there again.

  At the nearest door a servant appeared and sharply clapped twice looking back through the door as a line of serving girls brought in larders full of meat. This first servant, a handsome woman with silvered hair, led the parade to the circular table and flipped a bare section of it up to allow the food servers passage.

  “The table was modeled after one I had in my home once. T’is terribly efficient, aye?”

  Alex looked at Pendragon with a smirk, “Ye say ye had a round table?”

  Pendragon looked perplexed. “Aye, I did just say that.” He glanced at Edric on his left and the man just shrugged and grabbed for a turkey leg.

  Alex was amused by the utter genius of the centuries’ worth of poets that made a mundane object so renown. It was a table, nothing more.

  Alex’s mouth watered at the delicacies paraded before him. Haunches of beef, pork, lamb, turkey, and chicken; seafood in all forms: octopus, lobster, shrimp, salmon, tuna, swordfish, shark; his plate wasn’t large enough. He ate with gusto and demanded more.

  A different flank of serving girls made sure goblets were never empty. Reaching over shoulders, they rubbed against the party, some so emboldened as to push Alex’s hands against their bosom or their sex. He could feel the heat of their core even through the overskirts. Many of the men took advantage of the offered flesh. A couple of the more courteous rose from the table with a maid or two to a distance not too far off, to dine in another way. Edric was not so gracious, swiping at the dishes before him. He placed a girl on the table; her skirts rucked up to her waist sitting in way that gave Alex a clear view of her pleasure.

  There was depravity here and he sobered at the realization. All were engaged in some sort of sexual sport at this point, even Pendragon, though he had the respect to retire from the room. Alex saw him disappear with an auburn-haired beauty and suddenly wondered what Arthur’s wife had looked like.

  Alex got up from the chair and turned in Cernunnos’ direction. He sat focused on his plate as he consumed food and wine, unconcerned about the orgy happening all around. There was a small contingent of serving girls flitting around him. They were attentive, to his dining needs solely. A few noticed Alex and they looked back and forth between the two, visibly hesitant at who to serve. Their problem was apparent, leave Cernunnos and run the chance with garnering his ire. Alex had been there plenty of times, not an area he’d wish on his enemy let alone women. Alex shook his head indicating he wanted nothing.

  The true situation made itself clear in that moment when he saw relief reflected in their eyes. They were expected to please the members of the hunting party, and now that he was a part of that group—he felt nauseated. He grabbed for a goblet but the wine turned to vinegar in his mouth. He stuffed a forkful of pork in his mouth and it turned to ash. He was on the other side of the slave-master construct and all he felt now was shame.

  Cernunnos looked askance at him. “Befor
e ye leave this hall, ken that ye cannae return until the conclusion of the next Hunt, whenever that may be. If ye don’t leave, however, ye can bask in all the delights that it has ta offer for as long as…”

  “Understood, but I’m ready,” Alex wanted nothing more than to run from these halls never to return.

  Cernunnos wiped his mouth and hands on a folded cloth napkin provided by a serving girl, and waved away the basin of steaming water to rise from his chair. “Och, then a word ‘afore ye go?”

  Alex fell into pace with the god and soon found himself back in front of the half-finished fresco depicting his Hunt. “Dae ye like it?”

  “Aye, t’is a rare artist ye ha’ here. How many dae ye employ ta dae this?” He waved a hand indicating the entire structure.

  “I didnae ken. Ne’er ha’ given it thought. As with everything, it just is. Record ‘afore there was history, record long after those who care are dust.”

  Alex nodded, but only because he couldn’t think of anything to say in response. It spoke of grim fate and the useless struggle against the inevitable. He didn’t need to be reminded.

  After a moment Cernunnos sighed and touched the dripping sap, rubbing it between his fingers. “all o’ the frescos ha’ started the same, carved from unseasoned wood. The sap starts the alchemic process of turning wood ta stone.”

  “Takes an incredibly long time, in the mortal world.”

  “Even longer here.” In an act that belied his soft response, Cernunnos put his fist through the half-completed panel.

  Alex reeled back from the sudden violence. All action in all corners of the room stopped and Alex felt the weight of stares at his back. When nothing else occurred, the sighs, moans, and rising slap of flesh on flesh rose again. This was his cue to leave.

  “One additional thing, Reliquary.” Cernunnos snapped his fingers to someone behind Alex, “Ken that I should just let be, but I owe ye for finding my daughter.”

  Three of the women he had serviced in the pools below arrived, nodded at some unspoken command, and all turned to Alex at once. The one nearest smiled and ran her hands over her face, over the top of her head, and down to her shoulders, her appearance changing as she did so. Blonde hair darkened to the blue black of a raven’s wing. The next woman did the same. Her skin lightened and cheekbones lifted. And the third, her lips plumped and her eyes when she opened them were the color of new grass.