Blue Keltic Moon (Children of the Keltic Triad) (4 page)

He touched the large center circle with a long, square-tipped finger. “This is the human world, as we know it at this point.” His hand slid over the circle and Bree shivered. He moved to indicate a neighboring circle. “And this is our Faerie Otherworld. The other circles represent the worlds we’ve identified. Korin’s fairy kingdom, Bard’s world, the conjoined worlds of the Alfar, a few others.”

“I would have expected the all worlds to touch at some point. It’s so easy to pass from the human world to Faerie.”

His lip tightened and a flat, haunted expression filled his eyes. Realizing what she’d said, and the implications for him, she bit at her lower lip. As a child she’d known how he, and others, felt when she’d witnessed their aura. She realized as a teenager purposefully sensing auras was an invasion of privacy. So she’d trained herself to not see unless she made a conscious effort. Especially with Gowthaman’s sensitivity to anything barely hinting at an invasion of his personal space or his mind.

Yet, without flipping her mental switch on, she saw his golden aura flare around him. Immediately the brightness dulled to a dim reflection tinged with brown.

“I’m—”

“Do not say anything, Breanna.”

“But...”

“Please.” His deep, nearly black eyes glistened and she ached to touch him. Even if he wouldn’t allow her to heal him, touching him would ease
her
discomfort. More than he realized, she did understand the depths of his agony.

As a child, she had only known that he hurt. She’d taken hurts from him and others and in innocence had diffused the pains without effort. But as she’d gotten older it had become difficult to simply let go. Now, except for common physical wounds or illness, she needed time alone afterward. An agonizing time to shove the remnants of pain from herself, then find and return to her own centered calm.

Because she had no idea how her process worked, she’d never told another how she affected healing. Nor would she ever let anyone see the straining release of those hurts she took into herself. Ever. Once it was understood the way healing affected her, no one would ask her help again. She would not allow her talent to waste away, no matter the occasional cost to her.

Gowthaman took a deep breath and stated in a flat voice, “The world between worlds.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“I believe if worlds that are separate now actually touched another world, grand chaos would erupt. The worlds might be totally destroyed. Perhaps the worlds would merge or one world would overtake the other. Timelines could be skewed. There are innumerable possibilities. This...” He swept his hand over the blank space between the circles. “This distance acts as a cushion to protect the worlds from colliding, keeping each world separate, yet accessible.”

“But, when we pass from Faerie to the human world, there is no hint of an empty space. There’s got to be a direct connection.”

Staring at the wall, he spread his hands. “This I do not yet know,” he said and turned back to the worktable.

Breanna stood a few moments longer staring at the chart. Each world was labeled in Gowthaman’s precise calligraphy. Squinting, she imagined lines connecting the worlds. She only knew of two others who had spent time in the world between worlds. Bard had been sent there with Gowthaman. Searlait, the mate of her second in command, had been held there for long years. There were interesting possibilities here.

She whipped around to Gowthaman but the words she prepared to speak died on her lips. With his back to her and both hands planted flat against the wooden table, he leaned heavily, his head hanging.

“Gowtham?”

He shook his head. “I am...” He angled his face to her. “You were thinking about Searlait, were you not?”

“Yes.” He often knew her thoughts about matters that didn’t concern the two of them. Those personal thoughts, dreams, and hopes, she kept tucked away tightly. Moving to his side, she hesitated then rested one of her hands over his. “I was. The concept and then the truth of the world between worlds surprised many in Faerie. For so long no one considered the existence of such a place. Yet, when Searlait was punished the Faerie queen sent her there.”

Gowthaman shook his head. “Since we, as a people, have seldom needed places of punishment, it was believed she had been incarcerated in a world similar, yet separate to our own. In our arrogance, we believed in only three worlds.” He lifted his free hand and ticked them off on his fingers. “Faerie, the human world and the world of banishment. I do not know if Searlait reached the place of punishment then somehow found her way to the world between worlds, or if the Queen mistakenly placed her there. It is not a question I am willing to ask Searlait or the Queen.”

“I’d like to know how she was able to make frequent contact with the human world. It’s still hard to believe she was Mom’s imaginary friend when she was a little girl.”

“Perhaps it is time for such questions.”

“I think so. Especially with your research into ways to bring Lucidea’s uncle back from... there.”

He slipped his hand from under hers as he straightened. Bree bit back the sound of dismay that echoed through her mind. He continued to refuse her. If he couldn’t love her, at least he could take the comfort she offered freely with... “No strings.”

“Pardon?”

Bree ducked her head to hide her guilty expression. She’d spoken out loud. How much of her thoughts had escaped into reality? “Uh...”

“What do you mean by no strings?” Gowthaman’s tone was soft and curious.

Relief washed through her. That was all she’d said? Thank goodness. She lifted her head and scrubbed her palms against her hips. “Oh, just a stray thought. They slip in and out occasionally.” It was a flippant statement and an even more lame excuse. Hopefully he wouldn’t press, although the odd, almost speculative expression on his face made her wonder if she’d somehow exposed more of her thoughts.

“Now, you have seen some of what I wished to show you in the hope you will assist in explaining these concepts. There is a wealth of information we must convey to lord Jaysson and his lady.”

Breanna grimaced.

A half-smile eased the strain around his mouth. “Yes, I know Jayse dislikes being called lord, but he is who he is. There are times when respect is necessary.”

“This is one of those times?”

His smile deepened though the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps not. But the information
is
important. Will you assist me in determining the best way to present my findings?” He hesitated then held out his hand to her.

It wasn’t often he offered physical contact and she happily let him wrap the warmth of his hand around hers and lead her from his workroom.

––––––––

T
he crackle of ancient, brittle pages roused the fire elemental from the oblivion of his gray temple. With a negligent wave of his hand, Brandr Ur ignored the call. Too long had passed, too many countless eons had crawled like unseen creatures through the nothing for him to again find interest in the dim doings of another world. Another rustle intruded on the silence and despite his disinterest, he cocked his head to listen.

A memory was hidden in the sound. No. He shook his head. Not in the sound, but in the direction from which the soft rustling traveled. The sound teased, tempted, begged him not to return to the ennui that had been his frequent companion since failing to reach the adjoining world. Even the crazed ranting of his enemy, trapped as well within the gray of the world between worlds had interested him only a short while.

The unmistakable sound of a turning page. Rising from his hard, stone bed, he paced forward. Gray mist swirled through the ruins, parting then closing behind him as though he’d never passed. He reached out one hand as he walked, fingers spread—to feel, to grasp, to discover... Nothing. Nothing but the sound.

Brandr Ur moved forward, his feet sure on the uneven landscape beyond his temple ruins. For too many millennia he had trod over this ground and dared not count how many times his had soles touched the stone. He knew every pebble, every inch of dry, cracked soil as well as he knew his own skin. As he walked he searched his mind. If he were to count the time in the short spans the humans of one world called years, how long had it been since the grand confrontation?

Frozen mid-step, he sighed, taking in the oppressive air then expelling with a long breath. The allure of vengeance, paled to gray in this prison, returned to glow faintly around him.

A rustle. The faint scratch of quill upon parchment? The sounds echoed, the clear tones vastly different from the usual muffled movements around him. So rare, he couldn’t help the sparks of interest burning to life around him.

Brandr Ur moved quickly, renewing the nearly forgotten incantations used to reach acceptable, open minds in other worlds. Spells that alone did not release him, but brought him knowledge, sacrifice and the power to control the fates of less worthy beings.

The glowing promise of revenge burned rapidly through him, filling his mind with recent communications he’d set aside as unimportant, those touches of denial and acceptance. As he increased his pace he drew residual power from the gray landscape and gathered the tiny sparks into him. The reserve of power swelled and he stopped to inhale deeply.

The time had come again. He would take this opportunity and all that was offered and return to the worlds that had denied and banished him. Holding one hand before his face, he exhaled and a flicker of flame burned at one fingertip. He closed his fist around the heat, strengthened the fire as it returned within and smiled.

He would be denied no longer.

At a loping run he crossed an expanse of dull landscape where the color of the stones merged with sky to create a solid gray prison. There were many here, most forced into the world between worlds as punishment. A few others had chosen the oblivion or had been trapped here.

Other than the rare worshiper or one he used for his own pleasure, Brandr Ur seldom encountered any of them. Now he felt a presence a short distance before him. One who moved in the same direction.

A scowl accompanied his narrowed eyes. There was only one who might hear what he had heard, and realize the possibilities. The spawn of his spawn. Blood of his blood. His enemy.

T
he portal opened at the end of the long drive leading to Lucidea’s stone manor house. Breanna paused to study the centuries old building. Arched windows, thick, ivy covered walls, a stone drive. Familiar. Maybe this house felt so welcoming, almost like a second home, because she’d spent so much time here as a child. First in hiding while the threat of fey evil hung over her family, then being home schooled. Her mouth twitched to a lopsided grin. Her folks had wanted to integrate her into the human school system, but she’d been more than a bit too precocious with her magical abilities. Chance had been even worse.

So when Jayse and Lucidea had begun fostering children from their differing fey races in an attempt to bring their worlds closer together, she and her brother had joined in the lessons. Coralie had been an excellent teacher, knowledgeable and tolerant of magical mischief.

Gowthaman started forward and she longed to take his hand as she had in the library. That had been just a momentary thrill, and she wasn’t even sure he had been aware of grasping her hand. Now, his arms were full of books and a canvas bag of scrolls hung at his hip. Even after she’d insisted, he wouldn’t allow her to carry anything but the thin journal crammed with his notes.

She clutched the book against her chest. “Do you really think all this information will be Lucidea’s miracle?”

Gowthaman paused and canted his head to look at her. “Do you have reason to believe my calculations are incorrect?”

“No, of course not. But—”

“We approach a time of great magic. A time that is similar enough to when Morghan was taken into the world between worlds, the possibility for his rescue increases.” Gowthaman continued toward the house.

Focusing on Gowthaman’s back, she frowned. It had cost him dearly to research this problem. Knowledge she’d gained from healing his pain was limited. Part of that may have been her fault. When she’d healed his mind the first time, her five year old mind didn’t comprehend the extent of the damage done to him. So, she’d innocently reconstructed his mental shields, creating a thick wall to protect his deepest thoughts.

In those rare moments he allowed her to touch his mind now, he kept too many thoughts, and too much of his discomfort and pain behind that wall. Curious as she was, she’d never pressed beyond what he allowed her to see.

Shoulders stiff and tight, his jaw clenched, he showed signs of needing her healing. He needed
her
, though he would not yet admit to either need. Soon, as he had in the past, he would no longer be able to hold back the emptiness and agony and would come to her. Grateful, she would heal him. But this time, she would offer him more. Yet, only if he were willing.

She’d been doing research of her own on the soulfire that sparked between two people when they were destined to be together. Soulfires were strong and easily recognizable in her faerie clan. The colorful evidence of each couple’s love and devotion was unique. Rich and vibrant, Breanna saw them all.

Before he’d guarded his emotions, when he believed she was too young to understand such things, she’d seen the soulfire between them. Her adult aura had deepened to a bright red, Gowthaman’s danced with gold. Yet the colorful connection with him, with her destined mate, had faded as she’d gotten older, not grown stronger. When they were together, she had often sensed her half of the fire reach out to him, only to be blocked and repelled. In those times, brief sorrow would flash in Gowthaman’s eyes or his sensual, full lips would tighten to a thin line. He deflected her love consciously.

She glanced at him when he paused to rebalance his stack of books. “Sure you don’t want me to carry some of those?”

“No. We are nearly to the doorway.”

“It might have been nice if Jayse would have positioned the portal a little closer to the door instead of at the end of the drive.”