Divine by Choice (18 page)

“That's possible?” he asked, his surprise overcoming his anger.

“Very,” I answered firmly.

“He totally changes his physical form from centaur to human?” he asked again, incredulous.

“Absolutely.”

“You could have told me that to begin with.”

“I know. I just, well, it's hard that you and he are so much alike,” I faltered.

“Are we?” His voice was intense.

“Yes,” I breathed the word in a rush.

His eyes met mine and his hand reached out to touch my cheek. For a moment I let my face rest against the warmth of his flesh.

Then the Hummer skidded to the side and Clint grunted as he fought to get it back to the middle of the path.

“Is that the road?” I asked, ignoring the shaking of my hand as I pointed at the charcoal-colored ribbon that glistened in our headlights.

“Yes,” he said, and downshifted so we could slow without sliding into the ditch.

“My God! Look at that!” I exclaimed.

Clint stopped the Hummer and we stared. In front of us a small blacktop road stretched to the left and right, but it wasn't covered with snow like the surrounding land; instead, its smooth, untouched surface seemed to have captured the ethereal non-light of the fading moon. It glowed. As we watched, ghostly vapors lifted from its glinting surface like spirits escaping from blacktop graves. They rose to hover around us in gossamer curtains before the snow scattered them and they dissipated into the night.

I suddenly felt incredibly lonely, like I had been abandoned or lost. Without conscious thought, my hand reached for Clint's. He linked his fingers with mine.

“What are they?” I whispered reverently.

“The spirits of forgotten warriors,” he answered without hesitation.

“You mean American Indian warriors?”

He nodded. “There is magic and mystery in this land. Some of it was conceived in tears.”

“How do you know?”

“They tell me.” He shrugged his shoulders at my startled expression, but his attention stayed focused on the ghostly happenings in front of us. “I have an affinity for the spirit world.”

I thought about my Shaman husband, and how firmly connected to the spirit world he was—and added another item to the long list of “similarities between ClanFintan and Clint.”

“There…” He motioned back to the road. “They're finished for tonight.”

Sure enough, the spectral show was over. As I watched, the fat flakes began covering the now-empty blacktop surface.

“What did they want?” My melancholy had disappeared with the spirits, and curiosity was left in its wake.

“Acknowledgment. They wish they weren't forgotten.”

I thought of the ceremonies I had been performing over the past six months. Many of them were dedicated to honoring fallen warriors. “I'll remember them,” I said automatically. “Partholon's priestesses do not forget heroes.”

“Even if they're from another world?”

“I don't think the world is what's important. I think it's the remembering.” I probably imagined it, but as I spoke I thought I glimpsed a sudden shimmer pass through the surrounding night.

Clint squeezed my hand. Putting the Hummer in gear he pulled onto the deceptively normal-looking road and turned to the left. We drove on in silence, my thoughts circling around and around Oklahoma's magic, and the man who sat next to me. I could feel the lingering warmth of his touch cooling on my hand.

I sniffled and realized my cheeks were wet. Jeesh—hormones.

“Kleenexes are in the glove box.” His deep voice was so gentle it made my throat ache.

“Thanks,” I said, grabbing a Kleenex and giving my nose a very unromantic blow.

“Where are we?” I asked, stuffing the damp tissue into my/his sweatpants pocket.

“This blacktop doesn't really have a name. Locals call it Nagi Road.”

“Nagi—that's a weird nickname for a country road.”

“According to the old-timers around here it means ghost of the dead.”

I looked appreciatively at the eerie stretch of road. Sounded appropriate to me.

“Nagi Road eventually runs into old State Road 259. From there the roads get more and more modern until we hit the Muskogee Turnpike, which, as you know, will take us right into Broken Arrow.”

“How long will it take?”

“Normally, about three and a half or four hours.” He gave the sky a pointed look. “Today I would sit back and relax. I'll be surprised if we get there within eight.”

I looked at the snow that was falling quickly and steadily.
“If
we get there.”

“We'll get there, Shannon my girl,” he reassured me.

I sighed and stared out the window at the bizarre landscape. I had never been this far southeast in Oklahoma, and I was surprised by the wild look of the thickly forested land and the hilly terrain. The snow added to the surreal aspect of the landscape. As the sun rose, giving the morning a weak, pearlized glow, it was easy to believe that Clint and I had been transported to an alien winter world, and were no longer in Oklahoma at all. A thought that, in light of where I'd spent the last six months, didn't seem too damn far-fetched. I was just starting to really worry, when we came to the outskirts of a small town, the name of which was too snow obscured to read. On the right side of
the road a huge neon sign proclaimed in bright pink blinking letters that we were passing Concrete World Factory Outlet. I let my face break into a relieved smile at the snow-covered lumps of concrete geese. They probably had seasonally correct little outfits for sale separately. Yes, we were certainly in Oklahoma.

To the left of the 2-lane “highway” was Billy Bob's B-B-Q (really, I'm not making it up). Right next door was Hillview Funeral Parlor. The B-B-Q place looked like it was in better shape than the funeral parlor. I breathed another sigh of relief. This couldn't be anywhere
but
Oklahoma.

It didn't take long to get through the mini-town, (which was, appropriately, flanked by a lovely trailer park whose peeling sign read, Camelot Villa—Units Available). I was considering cracking a
you know you're white trash when…
joke, but I remembered I was an unemployed public schoolteacher with no money, and decided instead that I should probably take note of the location of the trailer parks. That thought depressed me into keeping my mouth shut.

There was no idle chatter as we drove relentlessly into the north. Clint's attention was focused on keeping us on the road, and the changing scenery outside the window held my attention. The whitened land passed by, exchanging the forested wilderness and hills for the gentle roll of pastureland. I knew this part of Oklahoma better because it was spotted with quarter-horse ranches, which I'd visited with my father as we dropped off mares to be bred.

There was very little traffic. Snow tends to freak out the Okie populace. Little wonder they were hiding. This kind of storm was definitely an aberration for Oklahoma. As a matter of fact, the more I studied it, the more I realized that I couldn't remember anything like this deluge of snow.

“How long have you lived in Oklahoma?” I asked Clint.

He divided his attention between the snow-packed, deserted road and me. “My job took me out of state for training and travel some, but except for that, all of my life.”

“And how long would that be?”

“Forty-five years.”

Hmm—ten years older than me. I smiled smugly—after you reach your mid-thirties it's nice to feel like you're the
younger
one.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked.

“Besides college in Illinois and my six-month foray into another world—” I grinned at him “—all of my life.”

He raised his eyebrows questioningly at me.

“That would be twenty-five years.” I said mischievously. He crinkled his brow at me, but he was obviously too much of a gentleman to contradict the lapse in my math ability. I smiled and corrected myself, “Did I say twenty-five? I meant
thirty-
five.” He returned my smile. “My point in asking wasn't really to find out your age. I was wondering, do you remember there ever being a storm like this before?” I pointed at the fat, Colorado-friendly flakes that continued to fall steadily.

“No. Never.”

“Me, neither.” I studied the passing scenery. “It's not normal, Clint.”

“No, it's not. But the land knew it was coming.”

“You said that before. What exactly do you mean?”

“I felt it in the trees. At first it was the same as every year. They gather energy and keep it for the fall and winter, but it didn't take long for me to understand this time there was a distinct difference.” He struggled to put it into words. “It was like the forest was closing in on itself—swallowing energy and hoarding it deep within. The animals became scarce. Even the deer, which are usually so thick you can't take a walk without seeing several, were absent. I took my cue from them. I stock
piled supplies and firewood, and thought I'd just wait out whatever ice storm was coming.”

I nodded and returned his knowing look. That's usually what happened in Oklahoma. Lots of snow was rare. Blizzards were virtually unheard of, but ice storms, the kind that topple power lines and trees and make driving impossible, they happened about once every 2.5 years, whether we needed them or not (mostly not).

“No, I've never seen anything like this. It'll be a total whiteout by tonight. Shannon, this is not going to be six or eight or ten inches—this snow will cover cars if it doesn't stop.”

“Something wrong has happened,” I thought aloud.

“Nuada,” we said the name together.

“And I would bet Rhiannon isn't totally innocent in this whole situation,” Clint said.

“Rhiannon hasn't been totally innocent of anything since she hit puberty,” I muttered. Thinking back, I remembered Nuada saying that I had called to him—and I sure as hell knew I hadn't done any such thing. Taking a deep breath, I said words I fervently wished I didn't have to say. “We need to talk to Rhiannon.”

“U
nfortunately, I've been thinking the same thing.” He sounded resigned.

“Where is she?”

He shook his head. “I don't know. That phone call yesterday was the first I've heard from her in weeks.”

“Doesn't she live in Tulsa?” I was pretty sure the Late Mr. Oil Tycoon had left her a fabulous home in which she could nest.

“As far as I know, she only comes to Tulsa periodically.” He grimaced. “Usually she contacts me to remind me I should be worshipping her. I know she bought a lakefront condo in Chicago, and she's spent time in New York City and L.A.”

“Good God, she's only been here six months!”

“Time is irrelevant to Rhiannon's wishes.”

“Well, it's not irrelevant to mine. I want to figure out how to send Nuada back to hell or wherever, and get myself back to Partholon.”
Before
I have a baby who belongs in another world. I don't even know if anyone can cross over the divide with me. It had been a difficult enough experience for me—what would it do to an infant? I closed my eyes and sighed, fighting hormone-induced tears of frustration.

“You're still feeling the effects of the crossover.” Clint's
deep voice was soothing. “Rest for a while. I'll wake you in time for you to give me directions to your father's house.”

I could hear the rustling of fabric as he shifted around in his seat.

“Use this as a pillow.”

I glanced up at him as he handed me his coat. “Thanks.” I squished it into a vaguely pillow-shaped lump and plopped it against the Hummer's door before resting my head on it. The fabric was soft, and it was still warm from his body. Breathing deeply, I inhaled the scent of him—clean, strong man, with a faint residue of some kind of aftershave. In that place between awake and asleep, I recognized the scent. Stetson cologne. The man in the white hat. That figures. I felt my lips curve into a begrudging smile as sleep claimed me completely.

Hugh Jackman and I were flying cross-country through violet-colored puffy clouds. He had his arms wrapped around me and was nibbling on my neck while he described the opulent beachside suite he had reserved for us at the Hyatt in the Cayman Islands…

…
And I was sucked out of the dream and through a tunnel of fire. I knew I was no longer physically attached to my body, but it still felt as if my heart was literally being squeezed within my chest. I couldn't breathe. In a total state of panic, I opened my mouth to scream, and my spirit form exploded through the tunnel. Disorientation and nausea engulfed me. I gulped huge breaths of cool air, wondering how a spirit body could be so close to projectile vomiting. But soon the familiar hovering sensation calmed me and I felt my vertigo fade. A noise below caused my attention to turn downward.

The sight of the enormous temple brought a rush of emotions. Home! Epona's Temple. My body floated gently as I absorbed the wonderfully familiar view. It was late afternoon, and the sky had already begun to be tinted with the delicate watercolors of a Partholonian sunset. The smooth cream-colored walls that surrounded the temple
caught the changing light and refracted it with a magical, pearlized glow. Below me I could see that the temple guards were beginning to light the many torches and sconces that kept Epona's Temple illuminated throughout the night.

I recognized several of my nymphets as they moved from courtyard to courtyard, busy arms filled with everything from fine linens to baskets laden with fragrant herbs.

At first the scene looked endearingly normal through my tear-clouded eyes, but as I watched with fond interest, something nagged at my mind. Something was wrong—or at the very least, different. When I saw two of my most youthful maids meet in silent passing, I realized what it was. They weren't talking. No, it was more than that. I drifted closer. It wasn't some bizarre spell of silence that had somehow been cast over the temple. I could hear their little slippered feet pattering on the marble floor. One of the guards (a thick, fur-lined cape only partially obscured his muscular form, I noted appreciatively) spoke a muffled curse as he burnt his hand lighting a torch that was too quick to flame. It wasn't that they couldn't speak. It was that they were choosing not to speak to one another. The atmosphere in the temple was depressed. The air itself felt thick and smothering.

What the hell had happened?

As if my thoughts were directions for my body to follow, my spirit form began to drift toward the center of the temple. I sank through the domed ceiling as the sun dipped beneath the western horizon.

My bathing chamber was unusually dim and had the deserted feel of a house that had stood empty long enough that it was no longer a home. It made me overwhelmingly sad to see the room that had been at the heart of so much happiness and laughter reduced to being an abandoned shell.

A cowl-shrouded figure was meticulously lighting the candles that nestled in the golden skull holders centered within niches in the otherwise smooth walls. Her slender hands shook while she moved from candle to candle. The air of despair that hung about the woman was
almost palpable. Her methodical movements were interrupted when the slender stick she was using as a match burned too low. She gasped, dropping the smoldering brand to the marble floor. Moving quickly to extinguish the still-glowing tip, the edge of her hood slid back, revealing the soft curves of Alanna's face.

“Oh, girlfriend,” I breathed as I noticed tiny lines around her eyes that had not been there the last time I had seen her. She showed no response to my spirit voice. She sighed deeply, fished down into the pockets of her mantle until she found another lighting brand, then continued mechanically with her duties.

I felt my body rising through the layers of warm, steamy vapor. “No! Let me talk to her!” I pleaded with my Goddess.

Patience, Beloved.

The words drifted through my mind and were gone like the specters I had witnessed rising from the blacktop road. I moved swiftly through the ceiling and began floating purposefully in a northerly direction. I had experienced enough dream excursions to know that my Goddess was in control. She had something she needed me to see. It was best to just sit back and wait for her will to be done. Not that familiarity made it any easier.

I noticed that night had come quickly and totally. This was not the gradual darkening of the land, as I had come to know was typical for Partholon. It was as if, in the absence of the sun, darkness reigned uncontested. For some reason that analogy made me shiver. And my body came to a halt.

Below me the dense forest had parted to expose a clearing, and the flickering glow from a large campfire drew my attention. I began drifting lower. At first I noticed only that this was the same clearing that was mirrored in both of my worlds, but before I could contemplate time travel and what the hell I was doing here, the huge campfire drew my eyes. It was an odd color, not the warm saffron and gold of friendly flames, instead it burned a startling red that looked ready to explode and destroy.

I didn't see him until I had descended to just a few feet above the fire. Then he moved, reaching into a leather pouch at his side to pull forth a handful of something that looked like sand. He flung it into the flames as he spoke the words “mo muirninn” over and over in a guttural voice that sounded strained and rough. ClanFintan's eyes were red-rimmed and fixed as he stood like a bronze statue of himself, staring into the wild scarlet fire. He was close to the blaze; so close that I was amazed that the ends of his thick, dark hair weren't smoldering. His human chest was bare and slick with sweat, likewise the equine part of him was flecked with white foam, like he had been running for days and days.

“ClanFintan!” I gasped his name with all the power of my longing.

His head snapped up and his attention was instantly focused in my direction.

“Rhea, love. Have you finally heard me?” His rough voice grated through the night between us.

“Yes,” I yelled, hoping that my Goddess would allow me to communicate with him, if even for just a little while.

Reassure him, Beloved.
The words drifted softly within my mind.

“I'm here! I'm trying to get home!” As I spoke, I felt the thrill of the sensation that was caused by my ethereal body becoming semi-visible. I saw my centaur husband's eyes widen in surprised pleasure. Looking down at my almost solid form I saw, much to my embarrassment, that I was totally naked.

“I see you.” His harsh voice had gone liquid and thick with longing.

“Epona doesn't ever seem to clothe me properly.” My spirit words drifted hauntingly through the air to my beloved.

“And I thank Epona for it.” The intensity in his words said he was talking about much more than my state of undress.

I smiled softly at him and spoke what my Goddess whispered through my mind. “And Epona will make sure I return home.”

“When!” His expression was tortured.

“I—I don't know,” I faltered.

“You must return,” he stated simply. “The absence of Epona's Beloved has taken a great toll upon our world.”

“No!” I cried. “I'm not gone forever. Tell the people Epona would not desert them.” As I spoke I felt the quiet surety within that said I was speaking the truth.

“When?” he repeated.

“Something has happened in my old world.” I took a breath. “Nuada has followed me here.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. He was far too wise in the ways of the spirit world to question the fact that our dead enemy had somehow reanimated.

“Your Goddess would not allow that creature to harm you!”

“No! It's not me I'm worried about.” I lifted my hands beseechingly. “He's after the people I love. I think I know how to get back to Partholon, but you have to understand that I cannot leave here until I've made sure the people I leave behind will be safe.”

A shadow passed over his handsome face, and I felt the tension behind his words as he spoke. “I saw the man in the clearing. The man with my face.”

“Yes.” I didn't know what else to say.

“He is my mirror image in your world?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Then you are protected and safe.” His jaw clenched as he ground the words through his teeth.

“Yes,” I repeated, feeling disloyal and inept and very, very guilty.

He kept his eyes locked on mine. “Our daughter—she is well?”

I smiled and felt my face relax. “She is still making me good and sick.”

“Then she is well.” He raised one arm so that his hand was stretched out, reaching over the fire for me. “Come back to me, Shannon.”

“I will, love.” I felt the sob burn in the back of my throat as my body began to drift up and dematerialize. “Tell Alanna I'm fine. Tell her not to lose hope…” My voice trailed off, evaporating into the night.

The tunnel of flames loomed before me and I braced myself for the return journey, but I couldn't stop the scream that slipped from my terrified soul…

…And I sat straight upright in the passenger's seat of the Hummer.

“Shannon!” Clint was shaking my shoulder. His expression bordered on panic. “My God, Shannon! Are you awake now?”

“I'm…I'm…fine,” I fumbled, feeling the horrible disorientation of moving between two worlds.

“First you cried out like someone was trying to strangle you, then you didn't move at all.” His face was white. “You hardly breathed.”

“It was just the Magic Sleep; the dream vision Epona sends me on sometimes,” I said, like I was explaining something as ordinary as how to butter bread. “It's different here—harder. It must be because this isn't Epona's world, even though I'm still her Chosen,” I reasoned aloud, feeling a huge sense of relief at more evidence that my Goddess hadn't deserted me.

He paused, as if he was struggling for words. I decided to just sit there and breathe deeply, because my stomach had begun turning itself inside out.

“Damnit, Shannon! Magic Sleep! What—”