Elphame's Choice (39 page)

Elphame deliberately turned her back on Fallon. With a growing sense of numbness, she met Lochlan’s gaze.

“Tell me about the Prophecy.”

Lochlan drew a deep breath. Even though he was chained and wounded he stood tall and proud, looking more like a winged godling than a prisoner. When he spoke, his deep voice carried clearly throughout the castle, mesmerizing the gathered clan, but his eyes saw only Elphame.

“You already know that my mother was Morrigan, youngest sister to The MacCallan who was the last Chieftain of this clan. As many of the MacCallan women have been, my mother was touched by Epona. She passed on to me her deep faith, as well as a prophecy she swore Epona whispered to her in a dream. The Prophecy foretold that
through the blood of a dying goddess our people will be saved.”

He paused. His words seemed to hover in the air around him, reminding Elphame suddenly of the way his name magically became tangible when she called to him. She shivered, feeling foreboding caress the length of her spine.

“My mother said that the Goddess promised her that it was me who was destined to fulfill the Prophecy. Even on her deathbed her faith never wavered. She died believing that I would someday find a way to make Epona’s promise come true. When I began dreaming of an infant touched by the Goddess,
born of a centaur and a human, I knew her prayer had been answered.”

Lochlan’s smile warmed his face, and for an instant it was as if the listening crowd faded away and the two of them were alone.

“I think I began loving you when you were a child, and then I fell in love with you as you matured into a beautiful young woman. But it was when I watched you speak to your people before the ruined gates of MacCallan Castle that I realized that there was nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice to keep you safe—not even if I was dooming my people to banishment and madness.”

“It was you,” Brighid said suddenly. “You saved Elphame the night of her accident.”

“Yes,” Elphame said, her eyes never leaving Lochlan. “The boar would have killed me had Lochlan not killed it first.”

“I don’t understand.” Brighid’s voice broke into the gasps of surprise that came from the gathered clan. “What purpose does the Prophecy serve? If you aren’t enemies bent on reliving the past of your fathers and rekindling the war, why did you not simply come into Partholon peaceably? Why did you think you needed the sacrifice of Elphame’s life?”

“They’re going mad,” Elphame said with sudden understanding. “The darkness they carry in their blood calls to them. The more they fight it, the more painful it becomes for them.” She gestured sadly at Fallon, who was still clinging to her mate. “Eventually the madness wins.” Her eyes swept her people as she spoke calmly to them. “And there are children who carry the blood of their human ancestors—blood many of us share with them. It is worse for them. They have had no human mothers to nurture their humanity.”

“So you believe that Epona wishes Elphame to be sacrificed so that her blood can somehow wash the madness from your people?” Cuchulainn sneered. “The Prophecy itself sounds mad.”

“You may be partially right, Cuchulainn. I have discovered that all these decades we have misinterpreted the Prophecy,” Lochlan said.

Fallon’s torn wings rustled as she jerked painfully away from her mate. “You lie!” She spit the words.

“No,” Lochlan said simply. “I have tasted her blood. I read the truth within it.”

In the stunned silence that greeted his words, Elphame could not keep her hand from touching the two small scabs on her neck.

“What is he saying?” The words were low and angry and sounded as if someone had torn them from Cuchulainn.

Elphame did not turn away from her brother’s rage. “Lochlan is my lifemate. He and I have handfasted and our marriage has been consummated. He tasted my blood as part of that mating ritual.”

Cuchulainn stared at his sister as if he didn’t recognize her. Elphame made herself look away from him before her veneer of courage cracked.

“What is it my blood told you?” she asked Lochlan, amazed that her voice betrayed none of the tumult that was taking place within her.

“The Prophecy says that it is through the blood of a dying goddess that we will be saved, but it wasn’t speaking of a physical death, just as it wasn’t literally your blood that must be sacrificed. What the Prophecy really meant was that you must take the dark blood of our fathers within your body, so that it would mingle with, and ultimately replace your own blood. When that happens—because you have been touched by the Goddess—you will take on the madness of our fathers. The battles my people fight daily to maintain their humanity will be transferred to you.” He paused, the horror of what he was saying reflected on his face. “The madness would be
washed from us, but for you it would be worse than your physical death. It would be the death of your humanity.”

“That’s impossible,” Cuchulainn scoffed. Angry shouts of agreement erupted from Clan MacCallan.

Elphame’s eyes remained locked with her lover’s. In her mind she again saw his horrified expression as he fled from her bed after drinking her blood. With a surety that echoed throughout her soul, she knew her husband had spoken the truth. The veracity of it resonated within her as she finally understood, and then accepted, the choice she must make. She looked hastily away from Lochlan before he could read the decision within her eyes.

Her raised hand called for silence.

“My judgment is complete.” At that moment she was neither a sister nor a wife; she was The MacCallan, and her words rang against the listening walls of her castle. “Cuchulainn, your loss as well as the clan’s loss has been great. Reparation must be made.” She turned from her brother to Fallon. “You took an innocent life. Your life is forfeit in return.”

Cuchulainn moved toward the winged woman, his sword drawn and ready.

“No!” Keir shrieked.

“You cannot save her, but you can die with her.” Death filled Cuchulainn’s voice.

Fallon ignored her mate and stepped forward, as if she was eager to meet the warrior’s sword.

“Then kill me and show your barbarism,
human
,” she said haughtily. With a single motion, she ripped away the ragged clothing that covered her nakedness and exposed her pale body. One hand swept down to caress the bulge that was her abdomen. “But know that when you kill me, you also murder my unborn child.”

Elphame did not have to command her brother to stop.
Cuchulainn’s sword, which was raised for a killing stroke, faltered. Slowly, he lowered its tip to the marble floor. With pain-filled eyes, he looked at his sister.

“Brenna would call it vengeance and not justice if an innocent child was killed to atone for her death, though I would almost commit such an act if I thought her spirit would haunt me as a result.”

“I agree, Cuchulainn. It would not be just to take the life of an innocent.” Elphame’s voice was steel. “But someone must pay the price of Brenna’s murder.”

“Fallon is my mate. The child is mine. I will pay the price,” Keir said. Grimacing against the pain, he bent to retrieve Fallon’s clothing, which he handed to her without looking at her. Fallon did not speak, but Elphame thought she saw a flicker of emotion within the winged woman’s eyes that was not hatred or madness.

“Did you know Fallon planned to kill Brenna?” Elphame asked Keir.

“No, Goddess.” He did not flinch from Elphame’s gaze, but his voice was filled with bitterness. “We came only to see the Prophecy fulfilled, not to slaughter innocents. No matter what your people think of us, our ways are not our fathers’.”

“Keir, it was through no fault of yours that Fallon fell into madness. You are not guilty of Brenna’s death,” she said.

Slowly and distinctly, Elphame turned to face Lochlan. The mutterings and whispered conversations ceased. In the silence that framed them, Lochlan’s words were clear and strong.

“Keir is not guilty of Brenna’s death, but I am. I am the leader of my people. I am also their betrayer.”

“Your words are wise, husband.” In the preternatural silence
husband
was a brittle echo, as if when she said it the word crystallized and then shattered.

Her hand was steady as she held it out, palm open, for
Cuchulainn’s sword. Without speaking, her brother placed the pommel in her hand. Then with slow, methodical steps she walked toward Lochlan. He stood very still, watching her approach. Closer to him, but still beyond his chained reach, she stopped.

Lochlan ignored the watching crowd and spoke only for her. “When we handfasted I told you that I would follow you, even if it led to my death. I do not regret that pledge, just as I do not regret our love. When I answered your call and brought you Brenna’s body, I knew what my end would be. I accepted it then, I accept it now.” His smile held no bitterness and his voice reflected the depth of his love for her.

Instead of moving to strike him, she returned his smile. “Remember when you told me that I needed to trust myself enough to listen for Epona’s voice? You were right, Lochlan. I have finally found that trust, and with it I have heard the voice of the Goddess. Now you must trust me as well.”

“I trust you, my heart,” he said, extending his hands open and away from his sides so that she could easily deliver a killing stroke.

“Good, I will soon have need of that trust.” She glanced over her shoulder at her brother. “Forgive me, Cuchulainn,” she said.

As she drew a deep cleansing breath, her brother’s eyes widened and sudden understanding of what she intended flashed through him.

“Stop her!” he screamed, lunging forward.

His cry was echoed by Lochlan and the winged man tore wildly against the chain that held him, trying to reach his lover as Elphame quickly drew the razorlike edge of the sword along her own flesh from wrist to elbow in a long, deadly deep slice. Afraid Cuchulainn would reach her too soon, she tried to hurry and shift the sword to her other hand so that she could
finish what she had begun, but strength was already leaving her body and she fumbled her grip on the claymore. Silently, her soul cried for more time—and the stone on which she stood heard her unspoken plea.

Through a scarlet haze, Elphame watched the spirit of The MacCallan materialize at her side.

“I am here, lassie.”

He raised his glowing hand and the instant before her brother reached her she was enclosed in a translucent circle of power. Cuchulainn’s body stopped as if he had run into an invisible wall.

“Nay, Cuchulainn.”
Like the knell of a death bell the spirit’s eerie voice split the shouting that had erupted around them.
“Ye canna change the fate of The MacCallan. It is for her to choose, not you.”

“No, Elphame!” Cuchulainn cried, as he pounded his fists impotently against the invisible barrier of spiritual power.

Moving awkwardly, Elphame transferred the sword to her left hand and fought against a tide of dizziness to maintain her hold on it. Blood poured from the long slash in her arm in a jutting scarlet river. Setting her teeth she ignored the pain and pressed the blade against the unbroken skin of her right wrist, following the path of her vein down to her elbow. Only then did she let the sword clatter to the marble floor. She felt the warmth of the liquid that rushed from her body bathing her arms and legs. As if she was moving in a dream, she looked through the circle of power the spirit of her ancestor had invoked, to Lochlan. Tears coursed down his face as he strained against his chains to reach her.

Through the blood pounding in her head, she could barely hear the sound of her own voice. “Save me, and in return I will save you.” The effort it took to form the words was too much, and the world began to gray at the edges as she fell in slow motion to her knees.

“Ye know what you must do, nephew.”

At The MacCallan’s words, the circle of power dissipated along with the spirit, and with an anguished cry, Cuchulainn pulled Elphame into his arms.

“Bring her to me before she loses consciousness!” Lochlan shouted.

Cuchulainn’s frenzied eyes searched the winged man’s face.

“Trust me,” Lochlan said.

The warrior did not hesitate an instant longer, but began dragging his sister to Lochlan. He was joined by other strong hands, as the clan tracked through the ever-widening trail of blood to reach their Chieftain.

Lochlan dropped to his knees as his arms closed around Elphame’s unresisting body.

“The sword! Give me the sword!” he roared. The reddened handle was thrust into his hand. With a blindingly swift motion, Lochlan slashed the tip of the blade into the bare skin above his heart. Then he threw the sword from him as if it was a loathsome insect. He cradled Elphame’s head in his hands and pressed her cold lips to his wound.

“Drink, my heart,” he pleaded.

Her eyes were closed and she did not respond.

“Drink, Elphame,” he cried, his voice breaking. “I have done as you asked—the only chance at life you have now is to fulfill the Prophecy. Drink!”

Slowly, her lips moved against his skin, and with a choking sound she swallowed. Her eyes snapped opened and red-tinged tears spilled from them as her mouth tightened against his chest and the blood of demons rushed into her body. At first she knew nothing and felt nothing except the metallic taste of Lochlan’s blood. Then the heat began. She was drinking from a volcanic river, but she could not pull away, and soon she no longer wished to. The heat seduced her. It filled her body and
caressed her soul with the hypnotic power of darkness as the madness of an entire race flowed into her. The bleeding wounds on her arms dried and then sealed themselves. Alien thoughts began to coil within her mind.