First Of Her Kind (Book 1) (2 page)

He turned, his eyes bright. "We can go now."

CHAPTER TWO

"The Goddess be damned!"

Ciara swiped the tears from her cheeks, and resumed brushing Fane’s already over-brushed mahogany hide. The gelding flicked a black-tipped ear at her rant but otherwise showed little interest. The fact her aunt Meriol would be dead by the time the moon reached its height meant nothing to him.

The will of the Goddess meant nothing to him so long as he had a full manger and a spot out of the rain. To Ciara, the will of the Goddess made for a damn stupid excuse for anything. Yet Meriol had used it to explain the death of Ciara’s mother seven years ago, and she used it now to explain her own impending death.

"As if we’ve no wills of our own."

A sob caught in her chest, and Ciara stilled the brush. She rested her forehead against Fane’s side, inhaling the sun-warmed , musky horse scent. The gelding swung his head around to nuzzle her shoulder, blowing strands of hair across her face, escapees from the haphazard braid that hung half-way down her back. She pushed his velvety nose away and resumed brushing. She didn’t want his consoling because holding onto the anger kept the pain away.

"I'm sure Fane would appreciate keeping at least some of his hide."

Ciara jumped and half turned before the voice behind her, with its lilting northern accent, registered as Bolin’s. Unexplainable relief flooded over her but she hid it behind an irritated scowl, and narrowed her eyes at him. He stood leaning against the corner of the barn, arms folded across his chest, his dark hair wind blown. In the three years since he'd wandered to their doorstep half-dead, he'd come and gone at his leisure. Though Ciara hated to admit it, especially now, she looked forward to his visits even if he'd never treated her as anything more than a child.

"I didn’t know you would be here." Ciara tried to keep her voice cool and aloof.

"Your aunt sent for me." His cheeks had a ruddy, wind-burned look above his neatly trimmed beard. "I would've wanted to be here either way."

"I didn't think she wanted anyone here," Ciara said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

"I'm sure she'll explain in her own time."

"In her own time?" Ciara raised her brows. Her throat constricted around the words as her eyes blurred with tears. "My aunt doesn’t have any time, Bolin."

She turned back to Fane. It would help if Bolin took her side. Between the two of them, maybe they could talk sense into Meriol -- convince her to abandon the Goddess's plans. Ciara would even swear to honor the object of her aunt's devotion if it would give them more time together.

"Ciara-"

But Bolin, more often than not, took Meriol's side.

"Did my aunt send you to lecture me on how this is all the will of the Goddess, and I should just accept it?" Fane twitched as the brush landed with renewed vengeance. "If so, you needn't bother, she's already done so. Repeatedly."

"Then for her sake perhaps you should listen."

Ciara squeezed her eyes shut. "What business is it of yours anyhow?"

"Your aunt saved my life," he said. "I owe her a debt."

"Well, you'll soon be free of that burden, won't you?"

She felt him come up behind her and tensed. Goddess's light, she didn't want his sympathy any more than Fane's consoling. The gelding swung his head around and Bolin reached past Ciara to stroke his nose.

"Being relieved of that debt gives me no pleasure," he said. "Don't you think your aunt has enough worries this day without you adding to them?"

"What do you know of it?" Ciara snapped. She turned to face him, but stopped short of throwing the brush at his head.

"I know there are some things we can't change, no matter how badly we'd like to."

Ciara drew in a deep breath. Strengthening words with earth magic -- a healers’ trick to help patients focus on something besides the pain, or to find sleep -- had been an early lesson that had come easily to her.

"Leave. Me. Alone," she said, with a subtle mental push for Bolin to go. Apparently too subtle since he didn't leave. Ciara fought to keep her anger from crumbling. "Why must the Goddess take her now?"

Bolin shook his head. "The Goddess's plans are beyond my ken."

"And you don't question them, I suppose?"

"I do," he said. "Frequently. It gets me nowhere."

Ciara looked at him in shock. She hadn't expected that answer, not from Bolin.

"I know it's hard to accept-" he began.

Ciara gathered Fane's lead rope. "You know nothing of it."

She shouldered past Bolin, blinking tears from her eyes as she tugged Fane towards the pasture gate. Of course he didn't understand. How could he? He probably adored the Goddess as much as her aunt did.

In the same, equal measure that Ciara despised her.

* * *

Bolin watched Ciara march away, her shoulders back and her boot heels grinding into the dirt with each step. She nearly ran down Findley as the horse master rounded the corner. Ciara muttered what might have been an apology, but never slowed her pace, the hapless Fane plodding along behind her as Findley flattened against the barn to get out of their way.

The horse master’s frown faded when he turned and caught site of Bolin. "Ha!  I thought I saw Sandeen round back. He's a fine horse, that one." Findley winked. "Maybe one day you'll let me use him on my mares, hmm?"

Bolin hardly heard him. Even after Ciara turned Fane loose in the pasture and went into the barn, the strength of her mood hung heavy in the air like a storm building in the distance. It raised the hairs on Bolin’s arms.

Findley’s thick brows met in a sharp ‘V’ above his eyes. "You shouldn’t look too harsh on her. She's having a hard go of it these days. Don't say as I blame her. It's hard for all of us."

"She needs to learn to control her emotions," Bolin said, half to himself. He looked at Findley. "Have there been any more mishaps?"

The ‘V’ deepened and Findley rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. "No," he drew the word out as he thought. "Not since last fall, if I remember right."

Bolin hadn’t witnessed the outburst, but a huge oak down near the creek bore a blackened scar where a large limb had once been. No amount of earth magic could do that, though Ciara possessed almost as much of the Goddess’s gift as her aunt. No, something far stronger and much more dangerous caused the damage to that tree -- uncontrolled and fueled by a fit of temper.

"She’s a good lass, Bolin," Findley said.

Bolin cocked his head. "I’ve not said otherwise."

"No." The horse master averted his eyes and shifted from one foot to the other. "But you’re hard on her more often than not. Now’s a time she needs a softer hand, maybe, given the circumstances."

"Given the circumstances and her inability to manage her temper, perhaps now's a time she needs a stronger hand."

"This isn't an easy thing for her." Findley’s voice took on a sharpness not usually present. His eyes flashed as he locked gazes with Bolin, but he quickly looked away again. "You know she lost her mum when she was a child, and now her aunt. She’s no family left after that. Not blood, leastwise."

"Codling's not the answer." And Findley wouldn’t understand the answer, or the reason for it, if Bolin gave them to him.

How could you explain something as rare as someone possessing two forms of magic, each as powerful as the other, and one more deadly than anyone knew? No one alive could claim as much.

No one except Ciara.

* * *

Bolin found Meriol in the garden behind the house. He watched as she moved among the plants, snipping off herbs and dropping them into the basket slung over her arm. Strands of long, silver hair, pulled loose by the breeze, danced around her face as though in rhythm with the light tune she hummed. Bolin had no fear of death, but he’d never seen anyone accept it with the kind of nonchalance Meriol did. No wonder Ciara found it hard to understand. For Bolin's sake, the Goddess’s plans would forever remain a mystery but perhaps Meriol had a better grasp of them.

She glanced up as though she felt him watching, a sparkle in her grey eyes when they landed on him. "Bolin!" She crossed the small garden, and embraced him warmly. "I’m glad my message reached you."

"You’ve not told Ciara," he said, bluntly.

Meriol’s smile faded. "No."

"Meriol-"

"It would be easier for me if you were there," she said. "She’s not going to like it."

"I’ll not question your reasons."

"But?"

"It would help if I understood them."

Meriol sighed. She hooked her arm through Bolin’s, and turned him toward a low bench beneath a flowering apple tree. "Come, sit with me."

She put her basket on the ground beside the bench as she sat. Bolin settled next to her, and waited while she worked through what she wanted to say, folding and unfolding her hands in her lap.

"I’m an old woman, Bolin," she said at last.

"Not so old as some."

"You’re being kind." She smiled, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes. "I was old seven years ago when Ciara came to me. The Goddess saw fit to give me those years, but now my body is failing, and there is nothing can be done. I’ve prayed to the Goddess, and she has accepted my offering."

Bolin’s gaze followed hers to the basket and her collection of herbs.

"I go willingly into her embrace."

He laid his hand over hers, and squeezed her fingers gently. "Then what is it that troubles you?"

"I’ve taught Ciara all I can. This other magic she possesses -- this wilding -- I touched upon it once, thinking I could learn its essence and help her control it." Meriol shuddered, and her eyes clouded at the memory. "It terrifies me. I’ve never felt such anger and darkness, and the older Ciara gets, the stronger the wilding seems to become. I’ve warded it the best I can, and forbade her to call on it, but that will only suffice for so long. Ciara can't control this magic."

"Do you know its origins?" Bolin asked.

"I can only guess," Meriol replied. "It didn’t come through our lines, I’m sure of that. Our magic is of the Goddess, passed down from mother to daughter through all the generations back. I’m not as versed in other magic as I should be, perhaps. I don’t know if such a thing can happen naturally. If not, then I can only assume it came through her father."

Bolin tensed and hoped Meriol didn't notice. "Did you know him?"

"No." Meriol's mouth twisted. "My sister was quite a bit younger than I, and not as sedate in her younger days. Sad to say, even she may not have known who Ciara’s father was."

"Be certain he knows of her," Bolin muttered.

"What’s that?" Meriol cocked her head at him.

For an old woman at the end of her days, her hearing remained sharp. Bolin chose his words carefully. "If Ciara's father is the source of the wilding, then he must be a man of substantial power himself. As such, I would think he would have felt her -- awakening -- when her mother died. You did say that's when this magic first manifested itself?"

"Yes." Meriol peered at Bolin, her brow furrowed. "She nearly killed that poor healer. Not on purpose, mind you. Ciara would never hurt anyone. She was just beside herself with grief and lashed out without thinking."

"That’s not changed much."

Meriol let the comment pass. "Why would her birth father care in any case? His time of claiming was long past."

"True. But he may not have known she existed until then."

Meriol's expression hardened. "And he would be interested in her?"

Bolin hesitated. "Aye."

"Is he still?"

"It’s possible."

Her eyes locked on his and for a long moment she said nothing. Then she sighed, and looked suddenly as old as her years. "Am I doing the right thing, Bolin?"

"As far as Ciara's future is concerned, yes," he said. He rubbed her hands. "In regard to your own fate, only you can decide that."

"I've never questioned your comings and goings. You've been a help when you’re here and we miss you when you're not. Why you've chosen the path you take is your concern alone and I'll not pry. You owe me nothing." She held up her hand when Bolin would have objected. "But I need to ask, will you care for Ciara?" Her voice took on a note of desperation, and Bolin realized she meant more than look out for Ciara and keep her safe. "I know I'm just a foolish old woman, but Ciara is like a daughter to me, and every mother wishes her child well matched. Besides, she's fond of you, I can tell."

Bolin frowned. "She'd do better to save her fondness for someone closer to her own years."

"Age means little where the heart's concerned," Meriol said. "Tell me you don't feel a similar fondness for her."

"My life is not my own, Meriol," he said, and tried to keep the bitterness from the confession. "I'll protect Ciara to the death. I can't promise you more than that."

"Then I'll not ask you to." Meriol retrieved her basket and stood slowly, wavering a bit as she gained her feet. "I think I'll take some rest before dinner."