Blazing Earth (2 page)

S
he, the unspeakable beast, rose on black-and-red wings and filled his vision of the sky. She tilted her head back and roared her joy. The sound of it turned his blood cold, but what Corann saw next caused his legs to give out and his heart to pound against the walls of his chest.

A dragon!

The goddess was a dragon.

She roared once more and spewed columns of fire into the air. Then she lowered her head and aimed her weapon on those who yet fought her human soldiers around the circle. With great bursts of flame and heat, she decimated them, leaving ashes in her wake.

And then only he stood between her and the rest of the Warriors of Destiny. He must stop her. Somehow he must stop her or their gods-given mission to protect all of humanity would end here and now.

Corann closed his eyes and began to chant. He knew not the words, only the melody, so he began with that. Words,
he trusted, would follow. The screams around him faded as he focused his mind, heart, and soul on the protective spell he wove.

It was the hot air blowing in his face that distracted him from his task. Opening his eyes, he stared into the unholy gaze of the goddess Chaela. All his beliefs, all his faith, failed him in that moment and the only thing he could do was stand, shocked and terrified, as he watched the dragon inhale a deep breath.

And exhale. . . .

Corann jumped from his pallet, the scream still escaping from deep within him. Sweat poured down his head and body and he could not stop shaking. The other men sharing his tent all peered, wide-eyed and shocked, at him as he tried to regain control of himself and his terror.

Touching his chest, he knew he was not burned. He was alive.

It was a dream. Or was it a vision of some future or some past? Corann left the tent and walked into the woods. Disturbed by what he had seen, he wandered deeper into the trees seeking peace and guidance. If he was to lead these people, if they depended on him, he must understand what he had seen.

Hours passed and he did not find what he was searching for. When the sun rose, Corann did not understand what he'd seen or what it all meant. And that was when the real fear struck him.

For if he could not cast a spell or face the evil one when the time came, everyone would die. As the leader of the priests, he was responsible for protecting
the others. It mattered not that he had just taken on this position. It mattered not that his abilities were nothing like what his mentor Marcus's had been.

None of that mattered when they all came face-to-face with evil.

Gods help them
all.

The Faithful are Lost and the Lost have Faith.

The Bringer of Life cares for the Caretaker

and the One who Loses all will gain the
most
.

The Lands of Lord Geoffrey of Amesbury
Plain of Sarum, southwest England

Tolan thrust his hands into the earth and crumbled the dry chunks of dirt between his palms. Closing his eyes, he used his other senses to determine the problem here. The pungent smell of decay wafted through the air as he continued to disturb the layers of dirt before him. But worse, a sign of dead earth, there were no creatures in it.

No worms. No insects. None of the usual inhabitants of healthy, growing soil. No life at all. Crops would never grow in this. He opened his eyes, tilted his head, and met the gaze of Lord Geoffrey's steward.

“'Tis dead,” he said, withdrawing his hands from the soil and brushing them off. Standing, he waved his arm across the area, pointing to the rest of the large field. “Nothing will grow here.”

“What can be done, Tolan?” Bordan asked as he twisted his hands together and frowned. “Lord Geoffrey wants to expand the production of crops in this
area of his lands. He does not wish to hear that it is not possible.”

Tolan shook his head and shrugged. Though he knew the problem, it was not something he could explain or describe to the steward. Bordan, indeed the lord himself, would not understand Tolan's link to these lands. To the land.

“Can you not mix one of your concoctions and add it to the soil? It has worked in the past.” The man grew anxious and sweaty in spite of the cool air around them. “Lord Geoffrey . . .”

Lord Geoffrey brooked no failure among those who served him. Nor among those he dealt with or owned. Neither nobleman nor serf would naysay the lord and come away unscathed. Bordan, gods help him, would be the one to deliver this bad news, so Tolan understood his growing fear. Lord Geoffrey often punished the bearer of the news as well as those who were a cause for it.

“I will speak to him, Bordan. Let me check other places on the field and see what can be done.”

“He arrives at Amesbury Castle on the morrow, Tolan. Come then.”

The words sounded like an order given, so Tolan nodded and did not try to argue. He watched as the steward waved for his horse and rode off at a fast pace. The man had many tasks to see to if his lord was coming home on the morrow. Tolan glanced up at the sun high in the sky and knew his hours were limited as well.

Winter tried to keep its hold over the land and air
even as the soil yet held to the sluggish sleep of the cold season. The wakening of spring was close, so close that Tolan could feel the tingling sensation of its approach in his own skin.

As he did every year. His body felt the impending changes that would awaken to life or put the growing things to sleep before they happened. Once he reached manhood, this mindfulness of the earth had begun and it had grown stronger with each passing year. From awareness to something . . . more over the last several years, something that seemed to guide or encourage the plants to grow.

It had not been just him—his father and grandfathers before him all seemed to have this connection to the earth. Decades and generations of men committed to stewardship of the land, and their commitment had been successful through years of lean or plenty. Their results had been noticed, and the lords who held these lands over time always called on his family to oversee their estates.

His father and grandfather before him had served Lord Geoffrey's family since this lord's ancestors had been given the lands in reward for service to their king generations ago. And, as Tolan glanced across the distance at his own son working there, he knew the practice would continue for many more. 'Twas simply the way of things.

Walking to the shed where he kept supplies and seed, Tolan retrieved a small sack of useless powder he'd made for just this purpose and took it back to the field. Calling for a small cart, he and two of the workers
filled the back of it with soil from the dead field. Making certain he was witnessed, Tolan poured the powder over the soil and mixed it with his hands.

“Spread this evenly over the field,” he directed.

With his arms crossed over his chest, he watched as the men did as he'd ordered. It took some time and the sun was sliding down toward the west by the time they finished. He dismissed them and all the workers to seek their evening meal and rest and waited for the moon to rise.

In the silence of the gloaming, Tolan walked the perimeter of the field and when night fell, he was ready. Kneeling in the center, heedless to the growing cold, he removed his garments and plunged his hands and arms once more into the soil, spreading his fingers as widely as he could. He raised his face to the sky, closed his eyes, and whispered the prayers handed down to him by his father and grandfather before him.

“O mother of old. O mother of plenty. Send your life into this land, into this place, and grant abundance where there is none. Cernunnos, bring your fertility to this soil and bless it with life. As my fathers before have cried out to you for your favor, so do I.”

He repeated the words over and over until they blurred into a single, chanting sound. He dug deeper and deeper into the soil until he could go no farther and his face lay on the surface and his body was in contact with the ground. Tolan lost himself to the chant and continued on and on and on until something touched his hands deep in the ground. Then the area
around his body grew warmer and warmer, sending bursts of heat into his skin and through him.

When the heat lessened, he wiggled his fingers to loosen the soil now tightly packed around them. Easing back to his knees, he withdrew his arms from the ground and hissed in pain as his forearm scraped along the edge of the hole in the soil. Lifting it, he noticed an area of reddened skin there. Tolan brushed the dirt from his skin and pulled his breeches on. Standing still for several minutes, he offered up a new prayer now—one of thanks for the gift they'd given him and for answering his call for help with this field.

It would take some days for the results of his ritual to work—or not, depending on the whims and blessings of the mother and Cernunnos. However, he would be able to report to Lord Geoffrey that he'd taken measures to improve the chances of bringing the field back from barren to growing.

His stomach growled then, as it did each time he performed this or the other rituals, and he laughed aloud at the mundane occurrence. He had called down the god's power and all his body wanted was food.

Once he acknowledged that hunger, a new awareness surged through him that he'd not experienced before, making the irritation on his arm ache again. As he walked toward his cottage on the edge of the fields near the village, Tolan realized that this was indeed something new, something different. Mayhap it meant the god was pleased and would grant his request to bring life back to the field? Or was it another level of
the gift he and the males in his family carried in their blood? All he could do was wait and watch the field for signs of the god's blessing or rejection of his plea. In the past it could take many days or even weeks, but Tolan suspected the answer would come more quickly this time.

Lifting the latch on his door, Tolan opened it to find his son and the girl he paid to see to the upkeep of the house and cook his meals huddled closely together whispering. They jumped apart and darted careful glances his way but said nothing. The tension that now filled the room around them told Tolan several things.

Blythe was a comely young woman and his son had noticed. His son was a boy no longer but growing into manhood. These two would be acting on their attraction soon, if they had not already crossed that line.

“Good even, Blythe,” Tolan said with a nod. “Something smells wonderful.” His stomach growled loudly, adding to his compliment. The girl smiled and went to the hearth to serve the meal. “Kirwyn, have you washed?”

Tolan stepped to the door and pulled it open. A bucket of water, kept there for that purpose, waited and both of them used it. Tolan took advantage of the moment for his warning. Better to speak of his concern than to ignore the signs and lament it later.

“Have a care, Kirwyn,” he said, placing his hand on his ever-growing son. “She comes from a good family and is not to be toyed with. If you have needs—” He did not get the words out before Kirwyn interrupted him.

“I love her, Father,” he whispered with the vehemence of youth and first love in his voice.

“And does Blythe share your feelings, son?”

“Aye. We will pledge to each other as soon as her parents give their permission.”

Tolan felt a stab of guilt—he'd been paying more attention to the fields and not enough to his son and his son's temperament.

“Do you not seek mine, Kirwyn? And the lord's?” Tolan shifted to face his son. “Lord Geoffrey controls much of our lives, and your choice of wife, when it is time, will be one of the things he must permit.”

His son looked as though he would argue, but he took a breath and let it out. “I would do nothing to anger Lord Geoffrey,” he said.

“Good. When the time comes for such a request, and if you both feel the same way, I will add my voice to it.”

Kirwyn smiled then and nodded. As his son glanced past him, Tolan knew he was smiling at young Blythe. “Until then, have a care and do nothing to ruin her reputation or yours.” When Kirwyn nodded, Tolan smacked him on the back and nudged him toward the door. “Let us not allow Blythe's good food to grow cold.”

Kirwyn entered ahead of him and Tolan silently observed their interactions throughout the meal. From the tentative glances and avoidance of touching, he thought this was simply infatuation. Both had much growing up to do before they would be ready to consider marriage. Even though Tolan had not been much
older when he first spied Kirwyn's mother, Corliss, he did not pursue her in earnest until their sixteenth year. Kirwyn had time until then . . . however, not as much as Tolan would have hoped.

Tolan saw the girl to her parents' cottage on the other side of the village and wondered what Lord Geoffrey's reaction to a marriage between the two families would be. Sometimes the lord seemed very logical and concerned for his villeins' contentedness. But more recently, he'd been preoccupied with some great endeavor that took him from the area for weeks at a time. Fields, herds, and other critical aspects of their lives seemed unimportant right now.

A new interest drew Tolan's attentions and efforts. A shiver tore through his body then, shaking him to his very core. Somehow he knew that whatever was happening involved him, but he did not know how or why.

The area on his arm changed then, turning a brighter red and burning. Tolan must have scraped it along something in the ground and now it looked infected. That would be something new, for he rarely if ever became ill or suffered from injuries while he tended the land.

First, he would go to the stream and wash the dirt from his body. That should take care of the injury. And if it did not, he would see Elethea on the morrow.

This strange patch of skin was just the excuse he needed to seek out the village healer and her ministrations. His flesh hardened and rose at the thought of the woman known for her healing touch. Tolan, however,
thought on her
other
touches as he finished his tasks for the day. Touches meant not to soothe but to inflame. Caresses meant to entice and not diminish interest. Kisses meant to stoke the fire of passion between them and not to ease the growing heat they shared.

Aye, a visit to the village healer was just what he needed for what ailed him.

*   *   *

The journey had been worse than he'd expected. Even knowing that those who carried the power of the sea and storm in their blood were set against him, Hugh de Gifford had no idea how bad it would be. The angry seas turned to becalmed ones, leaving his ships adrift in the waters north of Orkney. Days passed and he heard the grumbling that his men dared not make too loud. He'd called out to the goddess, begging for her help, even offered several sacrifices to appease her, but the only answer he received was the raucous laughter of the gulls as they flew overhead.

However, the blood of those before him, generations of firebloods descended from Chaela herself, would not allow him to sulk or be turned from his life's mission. Too much had been given in service to the goddess since the beginning of his family to be stopped by this. Too much paid and too much lost. This defeat was simply another test of his resolve and his faith in their quest. There were still two more circles to be found, which meant there were two gateways that gave him another chance to prove his worthiness as the human consort to the goddess who would rule the earth once her enemies were destroyed.

More than a sennight had passed when something changed. The grip of the sea on his ships slackened and their sails filled with wind. Deciding to head toward his lands in Normandy before trying to sail to the south of England, Hugh allowed himself a measure of hope for the first time in many days.

Mayhap Soren and Ran, the stormblood and waterblood from Orkney, could only keep him at bay while they were on the sea? Had they reached the southern shores already? Content in the knowledge that he had someone in place there, not only among their people, but also waiting for their arrival, Hugh smiled and gave the orders to seek the coast of Normandy. A few days to gather more men, more supplies and ready themselves for battle could not be a bad thing.

Indeed not.