Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture (6 page)

A breeze, not stronger than a breath, ran across the room and cleared the haze, giving her a clear view of everything around her. The room was dark with heavy curtains that kept out the sunlight. Large pieces of furniture cluttered the space.

They were not alone. Someone was in the large wingback chair. She turned to Bran. Behind his unkempt appearance, frowning face and threatening presence she sensed a desperate man in deep pain. Why had he brought her here? She focused on the chair in front him.

“Caylyn has been a bit under the weather. I’m sorry my wife is unable to greet you properly.” His protective arm rested around the top of the chair. Caylyn was dead. She remembered Arik and Ellyn rushing to Orkney to tend to her. But they had arrived too late to help her.

Her eyes were drawn to the woman seated there. She had an ethereal quality about her. But the woman didn’t move or say a word. Could it be Caylyn? What had Bran done?

A muffled noise behind her pulled her attention. Bran’s handsome features morphed into a sneer as his eyes shifted toward the door.

He brought his attention back to her and beckoned with his finger. Her arm holding her staff extended. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she fought for control.

His lips moved but he made no sound as he continued to stare at her staff. Pinned in place like an insect to a board, she was helpless. Her hand trembled but she was determined to stop him. She fought on and, with great difficulty, was able to keep her staff from him.

A smirk lit his face. “I only want to borrow it—for Caylyn. You see, she’s not been well. Would you rather help her yourself? Come here.” He stepped toward her, grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the chair.

The sound of pounding broke through the haze that clouded her mind. She hesitated and turned toward the door. Yes, that was where the noise was coming from. He pulled her hard and brought her face close to his, so close she saw the dark specks in his amber eyes. So close she saw the haunted, desperate look in his face. So close she knew he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Then he touched her mind.

“Heal Caylyn. You’re Arik’s great sorceress. Heal my wife.” Focusing hard, she used all her strength to push him out of her head. She leaned on her staff. Light-headed, she concentrated harder and fought him for control of her mind. But little by little he claimed it.

“Rebeka.” Someone screamed from the other side of the door as the pounding turned to the sound of splintering wood.

She glanced back at the chair. The glimmer that had surrounded the woman faded. The woman, her withered hands grasping a faded handkerchief, drew a deep breath from Rebeka. She recognized the dead body of Bran’s wife. The handkerchief was her gift to Cay the day she married Bran.

“Rebeka, I’m almost through,” George called as the door splintered.

“Is this why you called me here? For Caylyn?” She stared at the woman and wrinkled her brow. She turned to Bran and searched for any semblance of the boy she remembered but she couldn’t reconcile his features. Something—the Dark Magick, she imagined—had erased all remnants of that boy. That’s when she understood what he had done. He’d sacrificed everything to bring Caylyn back.

“I can’t do anything for her.” Her voice was a whisper and his face was awash with tears. “No one can.”

“You were my last hope.” For a moment his features changed and he was Bran. “I tried everything. There is no other place for me to turn.” He slid to the floor and put his head on Cay’s lap. His eyes, with a pained expression, searched her face.

She stood next to him. She knew the grief of losing someone you loved. There was nothing she could do.

His body quivered and he bolted up. With his hands fisted at his sides and determination marked on his face, his features appeared to stretch and change.

“Fight it, Bran. Don’t let it take hold,” she encouraged him. “Let me help you.”

“No,” he screamed at her. “Don’t mind-touch. I don’t want to hurt you, Rebeka.”

“Don’t lock me out.” She concentrated and touched his mind at the edges. There wasn’t any resistance.

“No. Stop. It’s a trap. Don’t make me do this. I. Can’t. Stop. It.” Bran struggled to keep control. “Go, now. Tell Arik I…” Bran closed his eyes. She thought she saw tears. “It wasn’t his fault. Leave now,” he demanded.

But she hesitated. One more attempt. She was transfixed as his face changed into a maniacal sneer. He grabbed her hair. “I don’t need your sympathy. I need my wife.” He shoved her away and sent her to the floor, her staff clattering across the room.

In her compassion, her defenses were down. Bran hovered over her like a dark hawk. She tried to retreat, scuttling backward on all fours like a giant crab. She groped for her staff but it was beyond her reach. The sound of her heartbeat was dimmed by something else. Bran. He was invading her mind. She couldn’t get him out of her head but she could contain the damage.

Splinters from the smashed door flew past her. She hoped the flying debris would distract Bran long enough for her to get a stronger hold of her mind and push him further out of her head.

“Hold on, Rebeka.” She sensed George’s touch in her mind before he entered the room. Together, with their minds, they beat back Bran’s attack.

Bran winced with her effort and gaped at her. He dropped to his knees, bent over her and let out a sigh. “You fight hard, I will say that. As dogged as Arik. But you’ll lose in the end.” A moment of doubt flashed across Bran’s face. She imagined Bran, the one she knew had returned. Encouraged, she pushed harder. She was gaining ground.

“I dare say you surprised Arik when you used the Dark Magick, but that doesn’t matter now.” He took a deep breath. “But I’ll be kind to you. I’ll take away your memories.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, don’t be concerned. I’ll take away the memories of him, none of the others. You won’t even miss him. He could pass right by you and you wouldn’t recognize him. But Arik will suffer. If he ever finds you he’ll watch you and know you remember nothing.” He glanced at the door, an uneasy look on his face. “Sorry, I haven’t got time to be gentle.”

Her hands flew to either side of her head. Her scream started in the depths of her soul.

“Little by little you’ll lose your memories. You’ll try to hold on to them but you won’t be able to. Then one morning you’ll wake and they’ll be gone.” He pulled her to her feet.

The scream raced through her, building, gathering energy. She took no note of it being Dark Magick. Her sole plan was to stop him from taking her memories, taking Arik from her.

“I’ve been kind to you, Rebeka. You won’t remember.” He glimpsed at the chair. “I won’t ever forget.”

She opened her mouth and let out the silent scream.

“Bran,” was the whisper that rustled in the room. “Bran.” The word got louder.

Bran snapped around and glanced at the chair. “Cay?” He let go of Rebeka, as if holding her had scorched his hand. Standing stoic and still, she watched the confusion touched with fear play across his face. Now was the time to move, while he was distracted. She pushed Bran from her head as George rushed through the shattered door.

“Cay?” Bran ran to his wife, ignoring George.

Rebeka gasped in relief as Bran pulled his mind from hers. Weakened from fighting him off, she stood on unsteady legs and sagged against George. While her eyes were locked on Bran he reached out to his wife with a tender touch. She knew he searched for any sign of life. His love for Cay was so evident that all she saw was a dear friend grieving and for a moment she grieved with him.

George squeezed her shoulder and shook her. “We’ve got to get out before he comes after us.” They made their way to the door.

“Stay here. Don’t move.” George propped her against the doorjamb and in desperation searched the floor.

Rebeka looked back at Bran trying to revive his wife. She pitied him but only until she remembered how much havoc and disaster he had caused them.

She grabbed her head. Hundreds of whispers wracked her mind. Was it starting? Was she losing her memories of Arik? Blinded by her tears, she choked at the idea. George was once again at her side carrying her staff. He pulled her from the room. As soon as they got over the threshold the whispers stopped and she collapsed on the floor.

When she woke she was lying in the hallway. George was patting her hand. Arik. She said his name over and over in her mind, imprinting it there so she would never forget it.

“Rebeka.” She opened her eyes and noted a slow smile spread across George’s face.

“Where?” She tried to rise. George pushed her back with a gentle hand. She was lucky George hadn’t left her there after what she had done.

“We’re in the estate house, outside the old master suite. How do you feel?” He had covered her with his coat.

“My head hurts. I need to sit up.” In a rush, she remembered what had happened. George helped her sit with her back against the wall and gave her a bottle of water.

“Here, drink this.”

“Thanks.” Confused, she stared at the door in front of her that stood ajar. It was all in one piece. She peered into the room. Sunlight poured through the large, curtainless windows. The room was empty.

“George, the room was filled with old furniture. The door…” She grabbed George’s sleeve. “It was Bran,” she whispered.

George put his hand on top of hers. “Yes, it was. You’re safe now.”

She studied his face. “It wasn’t a portal?” She’d been foolish to believe… “There are two of them.” She stared off into the distance.

His face was in front of hers. “What do you mean two of them?”

“I saw him.” She kept her eyes on the floor. She couldn’t look into George’s eyes. “The old Bran. The one we all loved. He told me to get out but I stayed. I couldn’t leave without trying to help him.” He raised her face to his. “I watched as he tried to fight off the Dark Magick. It changed his face. He fought but it took over.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “That was who attacked me. I couldn’t keep him from touching my mind.” She stood on shaky legs with George’s help. “It’s Caylyn. He asked me to help her but I couldn’t.” She stumbled trying to make her legs move.

“Slow down, we don’t need to rush.” He brushed off her singed staff and gave it to her.

She stared at her walking stick. “For a moment I believed it was a bad dream.”

“No, it wasn’t a dream but it wasn’t a portal. I wouldn’t have been able to get to you if it were. Even Bran’s magick can’t create a portal. It was an enchantment. You were there but it was temporary.” He put his arm around her and helped her down the hall.

She glanced back at the room. “He said he was taking my memories. I’ll lose them little by little until I won’t remember…Arik.” She started trembling. “I was so sure tonight I would be back with him.” She turned to George when they got to the top of the staircase. “Instead, now I’ll lose him forever.”

March 20, 1606

“Steady, men,” boomed Logan’s captain, his voice trumpeted across the field of soldiers.

Arik, at his tower window, watched the men below eager to observe Logan’s plan. He scowled at the west. Even at this distance the ground rumbled with the pounding hooves of the advancing horde. In step with Logan’s men, he imagined them hefting their swords, others readying their bows, everyone keeping their eyes on the black line of riders rushing toward them and waiting for the order to attack.

“Come on,” Arik urged the advancing men. His neck muscles hardened with tension. Logan’s second in command raised his arm high, a purple cloth grasped in his hand. His eyes narrowed. Where was the signal? What was the delay? The riders were close.

The purple cloth dropped like a stone.

The left flank sprang into action, crumbling in disarray before his eyes. Arik stood in place trying to make sense out of what he witnessed. In unison, the attacking troop swerved toward the disassembled men and rode for the weakened spot. Horsemen swept up the embankment and clashed with the foot soldiers who tried to maintain a semblance of resistance before their line broke apart. The advancing men and horses thundered past them over the top of the ridge and down into the dry streambed.

He had been driving Logan hard to make certain he was ready for the challenge of taking over for him when he left to bring Rebeka back. But the line shouldn’t have collapsed. For weeks his men played war games, neither side besting the other. The tried-and-true tactics were discouraging and Logan had pressed him to try this new maneuver. He couldn’t leave Fayne Manor defenseless. Had he pushed too hard? He tossed the notion away. His brother was battle tested.

An arrow, a purple ribbon trailing, soared high in the air and caught his attention. He stretched his neck out the window and searched for the bowman.

On the ground, Logan stood—his spent bow in his hand. The signal understood, in a rush the men on the left flank regrouped, closed the gap, then pressed toward the invaders. The concern that plowed deep furrows into Arik’s face smoothed.

Arik’s fist pounded the ledge while the exercise continued to unfold, the anticipation building.

Logan wasn’t done.

Pursued from behind and seeing the disadvantage of being caught in the bottom of the ditch, the raiders made for high ground on the opposite embankment. As they climbed the rise, a line of Logan’s elite forces took their positions on the top of the ridge. Logan’s men pressed their advantage and advanced from every direction. Arik roared his encouragement from the tower window. The raiders were surrounded. Victory was Logan’s reward for the well-laid trap.

A trumpet blew three staccato bleats. The maneuver was over.

Logan glanced at the tower and gave his brother a courtly bow. Arik acknowledged his success with a triumphant raised arm. Satisfied in his decision to allow the new maneuver, Arik had not been disappointed.

Arik turned from the window and his soaring spirits sobered. The comforting tower room closed in around him. He scoured the mute walls for an answer, bearing the weight of a pilgrim begging the gods for a cure. The answer wasn’t there.

He sank into the chair, resigned, his elbows rested on the writing table. The acute guilt weighed him down like an ox’s yoke. “I should have warned her,” the damning whisper passed his lips. He slammed his fist on the wooden table, sending his hopes and the parchments flying. Another deep breath, then another. Again. Again, until at last the tempest in his head calmed. “I should have… I should have protected her.”

He didn’t have to close his eyes to imagine her. She was forever etched in his mind. But his lids slid closed as he sniffed the air like his best hunting dog ferreting out a scent. Last night the fragrance had been lavender and rose. Today, melted wax and spent sulfur.

Faith
, the early hours of the morning he had sensed success within his grasp only to have it slip from his fingers. The formula wasn’t right. His fists were closed so tight that his fingernails bit into his palm. He was so close he could feel her safe in his arms.

The nights were the worst. She filled his dreams. He felt her touch, heard her voice and tasted her lips only to wake in the morning and lose her all over again.

Enough
. This was torture and it wasn’t getting him any closer to her. He gave himself a mental shake and forced the images away. No prescription existed for creating a doorway through time, not even for a druid Grand Master. All he had were calculated guesses. “Maximillian had done it,” he whispered to himself, staring at the runes on the walls. What did Maximillian have—no, what power was unique to him? The stars. He rummaged through documents, transcribed arcane symbols and reworked the formulas to align it with the stars. An hour later, he put down the quill and rubbed his eyes, satisfied he had gone over each rune and found where the correction needed to be made. Each druid had a power. Rebeka’s magic was still a mystery, but it would be revealed to her. His came from the earth, Logan’s from song and Leticia’s from plants. He’d been searching in the wrong place.

He stood and stretched to work out the kinks from sitting hunched over the table. He surveyed his tower room. Gone were the beautiful tapestries that had adorned the walls. In their place were hundreds of charcoal markings, runes and formulas that covered every inch of the high walls. He took a piece of charcoal and with precision followed the formula.

“Ninoor nin ah ray,” he chanted in a soft whisper that echoed in the room. He went from one symbol to the next. His eyes focused on each rune as he narrowed in on the area he needed. Relief rushed over him when his finger landed on the runes that needed to be altered. He rubbed them out and replaced the section with the new set of runes.

Out of the quiet, while he scrawled the last symbol, the clear voice of another reached his ears. “Ninzure nin ah ray.”

Arik went silent. His hand froze.

“Ninzure nin ah ray,” the voice chanted with an urgent tone.

A spark of excitement ignited in the pit of his stomach. At last, success was more than a wish and a dream. It was within his grasp. He added his voice to the chant. His heartbeat mimicked the cadence. The runes on his body thrummed with the energy. Where once a lone sash of symbols traced up his back and down his torso to that private place of power, now the markings were embellished with magical sigils and spread across his chest and back like a close-fitting shirt. Each new addition a protection against the consequences of the powerful magick he was invoking.

As the chant crescendoed then faded to silence, so did he. He remained quiet, dizzy from the rush of anticipation. He whispered his thanks to the Great Mother.

Dare he hope for success?

No, no doubts. Magick required intent, focus and determination. He had them all and he would succeed. Now with the corrected formula he was ready to try again.

The gold pentacle that covered the floor between the scrying mirror and the hearth glittered in the firelight. The ancient design of the pentacle was there long before him. Fresh pools of melted wax and smudges of charcoal surrounding the relic confirmed the many times he and Logan had attempted to open the portal. He bent and prepared the area for the last marking. Logan would lend his voice and add the final symbol. He straightened and reviewed his changes one more time.

All was ready.

“Arik,” Logan called out from the other side of the door.

His head whipped around. “Come,” Arik said. Glad that Logan was with him, he was eager to begin. Today they would succeed.

“I’ve brought you some bread and cheese. You haven’t eaten for two days. I wouldn’t want you to waste away.” Arik saw the plate but he had no appetite. He had scoured all his books and documents for information, even those with Dark Magick. With great care he drew on select rubrics and had fasted to purify his mind and body.

He welcomed the smile he detected in Logan’s voice. The division of work between him, Logan, Marcus, Jeannie and others had gone well. The result was his tenants were no longer at one another’s throats and the estate was running without many problems.

Logan set the plate on a spot he cleared on the table. “You appear rested.” Logan tore off a piece of bread and gave it to him.

He gave his brother a penetrating stare. “You’re not a very good liar.” Holding the bread, he motioned to the window. “The maneuvers went well today, very well.” He didn’t miss the pride in Logan’s eyes. “I had no idea your main battery stood ready behind the ridge. I believed your men were not prepared and that Marcus had the advantage.” He clapped Logan on the shoulder. “Your strategy was well planned and executed.” He tossed the uneaten bread onto the plate.

“We surprised Marcus—a difficult feat,” Logan admitted. A wide grin flashed across his face.

“You should eat something.” Logan gave Arik a parchment. “We received a message from Doward before maneuvers.”

Arik ignored Logan. Eat. He sounded like Jeannie when the girls were small. He blew out a breath. Logan had his best interests in mind. He opened the document. “I was hoping for some word from the Council before I left.” As Grand Master they had been in close contact, but since Rebeka left they had been silent.

“He says that they seem to have vanished. He’s never seen them go into such deep hiding. There are places he wants to investigate before he returns to Fayne Manor.” He handed the document back to Logan.
Faith
. He ran his hand through his hair. He had hoped the Council could help him. No, something smelled and it wasn’t pleasant. He knew he had to continue on his own. “Keep watch for him. Tell the Council what has happened and that I’ve gone to bring Rebeka back.” He paused, not wanting to say the words. “And to deal with Bran.” He tried to keep his voice even. When he glanced at Logan, he knew he hadn’t succeeded.

Logan nodded. Placing the document on the table, he moved to the wall and concentrated on the new markings. “You expanded the air element to include the stars.”

“The time portal was Maximillian’s design. Including his power may show us the way.” He hadn’t been this calm in weeks. Was the Great Mother telling him something? Arik examined the formula again. He knew it was right.

Logan nodded and read the rest of the formula. He, too, knew it was correct. “I see you’re ready to begin.”

“Aye.” Arik stood next to Logan. “We made great progress last night. You did well with the change you made to the formula. I finished it.”

Logan took some of the scattered papers. Arik leaned over to take them from him but Logan pulled them out of his reach, glancing at them.

“Arik, you needn’t resort to this. Dark Magick isn’t the answer.” Logan shook his paper-filled fist at him. “We spoke about this over and over. We decided. We would not use Dark Magick. Do you think you can control it any better than Bran? Stop it from eating away at you, like it does him?”

Arik had chosen his course. Months ago he was certain of success. Now, each day he faced defeat and he didn’t wear it well. How could he explain to Logan that he would rather die trying everything in his power to find her than live without her? He was determined to find her. Now. Not tomorrow or next week.

“Look at the wall.” His arm circled the walls around them. “They shout with every attempt we’ve made.” He pulled open his shirt. “I wear the marks of each one. Each time I’ve tried to locate her, each time I used magick, a new mark was added to strengthen the request. If this attempt fails there is nothing left but Dark Magick. We’ve avoided it as long as we can. Bran’s Dark Magick took her away. It may be the only way to bring her back.”

“No, better you use the enchantment than Dark Magick.” Logan threw the papers to the floor. Logan didn’t try to hide his distaste.

“The results of the enchantment are temporary. Logan, I want her back permanently.”

“You must know I do, too. We’ll find her and you’ll bring her back, but not this way.” Logan clapped him on his back.

“Then how? Do you know another way?” Arik asked. The silence stretched for several heartbeats.

“I didn’t think so,” Arik said, his voice soft. “Enough. There’s work to do.” Arik opened the large domed topped chest next to the window and rummaged through it. “Today, today we’ll find her.” He cleared his mind of any doubt that plagued him. “While I adjusted the markings I heard the same chant as last night. It varies a bit from ours.” His hands stilled and he beamed at his brother. “Someone works with us.”

“Arik,” Logan cautioned. His hand stayed his brother’s arm. “Do we rush into this too quick?” Quick? They’d been trying for six months. Had they become so accustomed to failure that success was to be avoided? Or was Logan worried about taking his place?

“Sniff the air. Do you smell it?” Arik stood straight and took a deep breath, filling his lungs. “It’s success. Don’t fear it.” He stared at Logan. “Never be fearful of success. Be ready for it.” He bent back to rummage in the chest. “I need you to be with me on this. Any doubt weakens our chances for success.” Was he trying to convince Logan or himself? “Now let’s go over things one more time.”

“I will set the wards before we begin.” One by one Logan ticked off each task on his fingers. “You’ll take your place in the pentagram. I’ll not touch you or speak to you. I’ll lay the last ward. You’ll start the ritual and together we’ll chant as we have practiced. And I’ll wait for you and help you bring Rebeka back through the portal.”