Divine by Choice (36 page)

With unexpected quickness, Rhiannon lunged forward and grabbed my arm.

“What the hell are you doing!” I yelled, trying to pull away from her and still keep an eye on Nuada, who kept moving closer to us. At my shout he halted.

“I see there are two of you,” his voice whispered. “All the better, females. All the better.” His laughter hissed.

Suddenly Rhiannon pulled me roughly into her, and in the same swift, sure movement she brought up the hand that held the stiletto. Then everything happened very quickly, like someone had pressed a giant fast-forward button and our lives responded. I felt a searing pain in my side, and something sharp crunched sickeningly against my rib.

My thoughts fluttered wildly. Oh, Goddess! Has she killed my daughter? My body went numb and I felt nothing except the damp warmth of blood. My knees were weak. Through the odd humming in my ears I heard Clint's agonized shout.

Cruelly Rhiannon slashed the material that had been my coat, and with a great ripping sound she tore through the layers of clothing that were already becoming red soaked, exposing the deep, ugly wound high on my left side. I felt like I had been turned to stone as I watched her pink tongue snake out and lick the blood from the knife blade.

At the sight of my blood Nuada's body quivered and jerked spasmodically.

“Now I command you!” Rhiannon's voice sounded magnified as it echoed through the glade. “With this blood you are bound to me—for it is as if I sacrificed my blood and my body—the blood and body of a Priestess, Epona's own Chosen. You must obey.” I felt my knees give way, but Rhiannon's unnatural strength held me erect so that I was still facing Nuada. “Enter my servant!” she shrieked.

At her final command Nuada's body lost all semblance of form, and pooled black and poisonous against the clean whiteness of the snow-covered glade. The oily blackness that was Nuada surged forward, entering the circle at the same instant Clint burst from the tree line. It covered Bres's chanting body. The slick surface quivered for a moment, then Bres's body absorbed Nuada. His chanting stopped and slowly he lifted his head. Bres's eyes opened. They glowed red.

“Shannon!” Clint's voice sounded far away, but I could see that he was just feet from me. I tried to answer him, but Rhiannon hurled me at him with a snarl.

“I should have known you would be here.”

I felt Clint's arms enclose me, and he dropped to his knees, trying to cradle my body protectively.

“What have you done, Rhiannon?” Clint's voice broke and he pulled frantically at his scarf, then balled it in his hand and pressed it against the bleeding wound in my side.

“And I should have known you would choose her,” Rhiannon's voice dripped with sarcasm. “You have always been weak. I pray that your daughter will be born with my strength.”

I felt Clint jerk as if she had slapped him. “Daughter…no, you couldn't be.”

Rhiannon laughed. “Of course I could be. Though I haven't decided yet whether I'll actually keep this child or not.”

Clint shifted me in his arms so that he could free his right hand. I felt him unzip his coat and reach within. When his hand emerged it held the gun. His aim was rock steady as he pointed the muzzle at Rhiannon.

Her body went very still, and I saw her eyes flicker back and forth from Clint to the man-creature that crouched motionless within the circle.

“I should have killed you the night I realized what you were.” Clint sounded calm and rational, totally at odds with the bizarre situation.

“But you could not kill me,” Rhiannon purred. “Instead, you played our little games. Do not pretend you do not still remember the feel of your hard cock as it entered my body and pounded into me over and over…and as we did other things in the dark of the night. Remember how your blood spurted with your seed as you let me slice open that throbbing cock, and then orgasm in my mouth.”

Clint's arm tightened around me when he answered. “Until last night I would have said you were right. I have been haunted by the things we did together…” Clint's eyes flashed to Bres's still form. “…All of us. But no more. I've been healed of you and your filth.” I could feel his muscles tense as his hand tightened around the gun. “The best thing I could do for this world would be to put you, and any child you conceived, out of your misery.”

It took a tremendous effort for me to force my hand to move to Clint's arm. At my touch his eyes found mine.

“Remember your promise.” My voice was stronger than I imagined it would be. It sounded ethereal and otherworldly, like it hadn't emerged from my body at all. “You gave me your oath.”

Clint's jaw clenched and I watched him war with himself. Slowly, he lowered the hand that held the gun.

Rhiannon's mocking laughter surrounded us.

“Weak! Always weak. What a broken, pitiful shadow you are of what you might have been. You are no threat to me.” Still laughing, she turned her back on us and stalked to the edge of the circle.

She stopped inches from the melted snow. The Bres creature devoured her with his red-glowing eyes.

“Nuada…” The name rolled seductively off her tongue. “You did not think me powerful enough to command your obedience. Now who has been the fool?” Rhiannon's breathy voice demanded.

“I have been the fool, mistress,” the voice of the man who had once been Bres echoed liquidly.

“And who will you now obey, Nuada?” she prompted.

The newly inhabited body twitched spasmodically. The answer was almost a snarl.

“I will obey you, mistress.” The words were subservient,
but his tone was dangerously condescending, as if he spoke to an overindulged child.

Suddenly Rhiannon's hand shot out, striking the body that held Nuada viciously across the face. I noticed that when her hand broke the space above the circle the air appeared to ripple, like she had to force her hand through an invisible barrier. Instantly a thick red welt, much more pronounced than a normal open-handed slap should have produced, puckered the pale skin of Bres's face.

“You will learn the proper way to speak to me. And I will enjoy teaching you that lesson.”

I felt Clint stiffen at her words and glanced at his face. It was set and hard. It was obvious he, too, had been privy to Rhiannon's perverted instruction.

“This stops now,” he said with finality.

Still holding me, he shrugged out of his coat, and then one-handed pulled his thick sweater quickly over his head so that he wore only his jeans and a T-shirt. Quickly he propped the sweater behind my back so that my head and shoulder didn't have to rest against the snow-covered ground. Then he laid his coat over me. It was still warm with the heat of his body.

His movements had caused the creature's gaze to waver from its mistress, and seeing that she no longer held its full attention Rhiannon whirled around, eyes slitted dangerously.

When she saw Clint standing there her expression shifted from war-ready to amused.

“Did you, too, need another lesson in obedience?” she goaded.

“Not likely,” Clint answered as he raised his gun and sighted. I took in a deep, painful breath to yell at him to stop, but the instant before he squeezed the trigger he shifted his aim from Rhiannon to the creature within the circle.

The sound of the shot was deafening, but it didn't cover
the shriek of madness that tore from Rhiannon's throat as a crimson-ringed hole blossomed in the middle of the Bres creature's forehead.

“No!” she screamed as the body crumpled to its knees then fell heavily forward, exposing the bloody crater that just seconds before had been the back of Bres's head.

Rhiannon tore her eyes from the body of her servant and stared at Clint. When she spoke, spittle flaked from her bronzed lips and she looked vaguely disoriented. “You killed him. You should not have been able to harm him within the power of the drawn circle.”

Clint shrugged his shoulders and met her wild gaze evenly. “It would probably help in the future if you remembered that this is Oklahoma. You're not in Partholon anymore, and bullets don't give a good goddamn about a circle of melted snow.”

“Especially when they are wielded by a High Shaman,” I added. Clint and Rhiannon blinked at me in surprise. My side felt like it was on fire, but my voice was amazingly strong (which I thought might either be a good sign or a sign I was having a last-minute adrenaline surge before dying tragically).

Behind Rhiannon I saw movement. Bres's dead body twitched and writhed, calling our attention back to the aforementioned circle. With a sickeningly wet sound the liquid darkness that was Nuada pulled free and lifted from the corpse.

“Oh, shit,” I said.

Rhiannon's twisted smile answered my words. Her laughter bubbled hysterically and I understood suddenly that she must be totally mad.

“What will your bullets do against this, Shaman?” she sneered. Then she faced the creature. “You are still mine. My blood still holds you.” She pointed a shaking finger at Clint. “Destroy him.”

S
lowly, the pool of darkness responded to Rhiannon's command by drawing itself up. As I watched in horrified silence, it began to solidify once again and the evil mound took on shape and form.

Struggling, I pushed myself painfully to a sitting position. I needed to get to a tree, any friggin tree. Plan A would, of course, be to get to one of the ancient pin oaks; I knew the power they held. But they were within the circle, and Nuada was between them and me. I looked frantically at the tree line. The nearest tree was probably a hundred feet away. Looks like it was time for Plan B.

Grinding my teeth together I tried to stand, and fell immediately and painfully back onto my butt. Seems my legs weren't going to cooperate. I opened my mouth to call Clint, and closed it again.

Clint was standing very still. He was lifting his arms slowly up and away from his body. I could hear that he was chanting, but I couldn't decipher the words.

I looked quickly from him to Rhiannon. Her attention was focused not on Clint (or on me, for that matter). Instead, she was moving methodically around the circumference of the
circle, crooning the words
mo muirninn
to the re-forming creature as if it was an endearment. Every few feet she took the pointed toe of her leather boot and drew a sharp cut in the skin of the circle. When she had broken the circle in one place, she made her way around several more feet of its melted circumference, where she repeated the bizarre procedure. All the while she kept up the crooning.

Then Clint's words became audible to me and my gaze flew back to the Shaman. His aura was shimmering in a jeweled light that pulsed wildly around him, and he appeared suddenly so strong and powerful that the sight brought tears to my eyes. He was standing with his legs planted shoulder width apart. His arms were now almost straight above him. His hands appeared to reach up into the air as if he was calling the sky down upon us. His head was tilted back in the way ClanFintan had positioned himself as he called the Change to him.

Clint's voice had taken on a singsong quality totally unlike the chants I had become familiar with in Partholon. Instead, his words were punctuated with a deep, primitive beat that I could feel pulsing through the air around us. I listened intently.

I call you forth to me through the wind.”

Clint's body turned to his right.

Again, he turned.

With his next words he completed his own circle.

As his words ended Clint's arms dropped and he peered around him as if he was just awakening from an overpowering dream. The blue of his aura was still glistening, but I saw nothing changed about him or the area that surrounded him.

Oh, Goddess, I prayed silently. If whatever he was doing didn't work, help me get to the trees so that we stand a chance of defeating Nuada. With that thought I pushed my legs underneath me and began trying to scoot my way to the tree line. I glanced up to keep a check on how far away the elusive safety appeared.

And I blinked in confusion. Rubbing my eyes, I was sure my vision must be screwed up from my wound. Forgetting about Clint and Rhiannon, and even Nuada, I stared at the line of trees and brambly bushes that ringed the ancient clearing.

No, it wasn't a trick of my eyes. It was magic. This time it was pure Oklahoma magic.

My eyes traveled around the elliptical clearing. It was happening all around us. From within the forest, shapes began ap
pearing. Regally, one by one they stepped out of the sheltering trees and into the grove, ancient men with faces so wizened with time that they appeared ageless. And for every living man there appeared with him the spectral, glowing shapes of several others. At first they were hard to identify as individual entities because they blended so well with the white and gray of the ever-falling snow, but the ring of ghostly warriors kept striding forward. The closer they came the more clearly I could distinguish their features.

The old men approached us, and as one they began a rhythmic chant. I couldn't understand the words, but the sound pulsed with the same primordial beat as Clint's invocation. The dead warriors did not speak, but they moved forward with lithe steps in time to the elders' call. I distinctly saw the plumed regalia of long-extinct battle dress rise and fall with each of the warrior's movements.

The ring of warriors, both living and dead, moved forward, like a noose tightening.

I tore my eyes from the incredible sight to look at Clint. A wonderful, pure power radiated from him and he, too, had joined the elders in their rhythmic chant.

I shifted my gaze from him to Rhiannon. She was oblivious to everything except destroying the circle of her own making and crooning to the creature within it. She had almost made her way around to her starting point. I looked at Nuada and saw that his slick, black body had completely re-formed. He was a living shadow of the creature ClanFintan had defeated. He prowled back and forth, his attention focused on the small section of circle Rhiannon had yet to break.

I felt something brush the air around me, like someone had waved a feather duster over my body. The hazy shapes of two warriors passed so close to me I could have reached out a hand and touched their pale fringed shirts.

Greetings, Chosen One.

Several spectral thoughts invaded my mind, sounding totally different than my Goddess's bell-clear voice.

We thank you for your remembrance.

I blinked in surprise. These must be the spirits of the warriors from Nagi Road, the lost warriors. I stared in slack-jawed amazement as they followed the living elders to the edge of the melted circle.

Rhiannon's booted toe broke the final section of the circle and she stepped back with a triumphant shout, colliding with the shriveled form of the nearest elder. Shock made her feet unsure, and she almost fell, but the old Indian's strong arms held her upright.

“Stand aside, Sorceress.” His voice was like the rustling of autumn leaves. “We have work to complete.”

Rhiannon wrenched herself from his grasp. She looked wildly around, her wide eyes taking in the ghostly army. Its ranks had swollen until the spirits of the dead warriors filled the ancient grove.

“Do as the Shaman advises, Sorceress.” Nuada's voice slithered over the last word. “I shall complete what you left undone.”

But before his black-taloned feet could leave the damaged circle, the chanting of the elders had begun anew. This time there was an urgency and tension to the words. The beat had intensified until I felt my heart echo its pounding.

Nuada's dark maw opened to expose his pointed fangs and he snarled at the company of spirits. Then his eyes narrowed and he found Clint.

“There you are, Shaman.” He sounded infinitely dangerous. “Now we will finish this between us.”

The instant he broke free of the circle I felt a change ripple through the warriors. From all around me they gave voice to
long-dead battle cries, which lifted unerringly skyward and echoed off the heavy clouds. As one they surged forward, tightening the circle of their own making.

Nuada paused before the wall of imposing spirits.

“The dead have no hold on me.” Nuada gestured with one claw imperiously back to Bres's empty corpse.

“That's where you're wrong,” Clint said slowly and distinctly. “Bres was an aberration from another world. And as such, he held no power over you. Those who surround you are the spirits of dead warriors, protectors of this forest and this world. I have awakened them—” I heard the gentle smile in his voice “—much as they once awakened me. Now we banish you and your evil god forever from this place in which neither of you belong, back to your realm of darkness.”

With a reptilian hiss Nuada lunged toward Clint. Calling forth speed a living warrior could never hope to emulate, the first ghostly being blocked the dark creature's path and slashed out at him with the dead blade of a hatchet. Instead of passing harmlessly through Nuada's body, it sliced neatly into the dark flesh. Before the echo of Nuada's agonized scream had faded, the section of cut flesh turned to ash and dissipated into the snowy air.

A thousand extinct battle cries shrilled against the tree line as the ghostly army surged forward, enveloping Nuada's shrieking body. Soon I could see nothing but a writhing form cloaked in the angry spirits of warriors.

And then there was silence.

With the glimmer of forgotten dreams the warriors disappeared. Where Nuada had stood all that was left was a small ash-covered indentation in the white carpet.

The snow stopped falling.

“Shaman, do you have further need of us?” one of the ancient men asked Clint respectfully.

“No, my friend. Thank you.” Clint's aura still framed him in a haze of sapphire.

But the elder didn't turn away immediately. Instead, he spoke solemnly to Clint. “My heart feels joy because the wound within the White Shaman has been healed.” His words were enunciated beautifully, as if each separate syllable held a secret meaning of its own. Then the old man's eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to Clint, looking intently at the younger man. For a moment it was easy to imagine he was seeing inside Clint's soul.

The ancient Indian's brow furrowed into caverns of worry. “Think, my son.” His scratchy voice sounded infinitely sad. “Be quite sure that is the path you would travel. It is a long one.”

Surprise flickered over Clint's face, but it quickly cleared.

“Thank you, Great One. I will remember.”

“I will see you again, White Shaman. Until then, goodbye, my son,” the old man said as he turned and made his way silently from the grove.

“Goodbye, father,” Clint replied to the age-crooked back. Then his attention turned to me and he moved quickly to my side. He crouched down, pulling me close.

“Do you think you can walk?” he asked quietly.

Within his embrace I felt suddenly warm, and some of the piercing pain in my side faded.

“No!” Rhiannon screamed as she hurled herself at Clint, knife held up ready to strike.

But Clint reacted too quickly. He stood to meet her maniacal charge, and with the ease born of a true warrior's confidence he deflected her blow, twisting her wrist until the knife dropped harmlessly to the snow.

Still holding her wrist, Clint bent to retrieve the weapon, then spoke to Rhiannon with grim finality. “It's over, Rhiannon. I will tolerate no more.”

“You!” she sputtered. “You! As if you could dictate the actions of a Goddess.” Her voice was ugly with loathing.

“I would never assume to dictate to a Goddess, but you are not a Goddess.” I was surprised by the gentleness in his voice.

“Lies!” Rhiannon yelled. “I am Epona's Chosen, Beloved of a Goddess, Her Incarnation. And I am pregnant with a Daughter of Epona.”

“No,” I said quietly into the empty silence that washed against her words. “You used to be her Chosen One, but you aren't now.”

“I suppose you think
you
are,” she hurled at me.

“Yes.” I took a deep breath and shifted my weight slowly so I could meet her eyes. “Yes, I am. I didn't ask for it. At first I didn't even want it, and I don't pretend to know everything I should about it.” I squared my shoulders, ignoring the pain and the new rush of wetness the movement caused. “But now I embrace it. Partholon is my choice.”

Before Rhiannon could respond with her twisted reasoning, I asked, “What do the trees call you?”

She paused and seemed to consider the question. “The trees? They are here to reinforce my power, to make my magic greater.”

I shook my head wearily. “They don't reinforce your power. You've been siphoning power from the land, yes, but the trees are not willingly giving it to you. Rhiannon, you've embraced Pryderi. That means you have betrayed Epona.”

“Epona is selfish and jealous. She tries to bully me into only worshipping her, but I've always made my own decisions. Why should I stick with one goddess when there are many from which to choose?”

“What do the trees call you?” I repeated the question slowly, as if I was talking to a very dense child.

“They call me nothing,” she snarled.

“They welcome Shannon by name as Epona's Chosen One,” Clint said softly.