Awakenings

“What do you mean?”  Neve asked, brows knitting, hooding bright blue eyes.  “How do you—did you—?”

“See something?”  Marin gave her a weak, wry smile.  “Both Thom and I have and I suspect that your cousin knows exactly what we’ve both seen.  I think there’s a reason he’s staying here instead of moving on and it’s not because your broher asked him to.”

“Fucking Taliesin,” Neve muttered, then shivered.  Don’t be so hard on him.  It’s a heavy burden, right?  He’s shouldering it alone—more alone than Seamus or any of his predecessors ever did.  She sighed.  “So you and Thom aren’t staying?”

“We’ll be here for a long time,” Marin said quietly.  “I’m just not sure how long.  Not forever.”

Limping along next to her, Neve frowned and shook her head slightly.  “I’m sorry, Marin.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Marin said.  “Think about who else you want to teach to do this besides me—or if you’ll be here for a long time, who you’ll teach after you teach me.”  Marin glanced at her sidelong.  “I’d suggest Angie, eventually—when she’s older.”

“She’s the little one, right?”

Marin nodded.  “A druid born, if you listen to your cousin.  I don’t think he’s wrong, either.”

If he says that, I doubt he’s wrong.

She could hear the laughter of a dozen others as they drew closer to the cookfire, their voices carrying down the corridor.  Despite everything they’d been through, the others were merry.  Maybe Phelan was right.  Maybe reminding them that we’re all still alive is exactly what everyone needed.  She could hear Cameron’s voice among them—he was telling some story from when they were on the road.  Neve smiled faintly.  Marin squeezed her shoulder gently.

“I hope you’ll stay a while, Neve,” she said quietly.  “You and Cameron…you’re already part of us.  You could be safe here.”

Could we?  I don’t know.  Neve nodded slowly.  “It’s something that we’ll have to think about—talk about.”  It’d be hard to travel with a child, but we could do it if we had to.

But do we have to?  Do I have to?  It would be hard to let Cameron take to the road and leave her behind.  But you knew that eventually that might be what had to happen.  Especially in light of everything.

Everything.  One hand strayed to her belly and she closed her eyes for a moment.  Marin’s arm slid across her shoulders.

“It wouldn’t be that bad,” Marin said softly.  “He’d never be gone for that long, right?”

It was as if the younger woman could read her thoughts.  Neve laughed weakly.   I wonder if it’s written all over my face.  “I hope not,” she said softly, eyes sliding shut for a moment.

Then she straightened her spine and smiled again, eyes blinking open.  “But that’s a worry for another night, isn’t it??  Tonight’s the night for celebrating life and teaching you to sing the dead home on the longest night of the year.”

Marin grinned.  “Let the teaching begin.”

Together, they headed for the warmth of the fire and the laughter of family and friends.

“I need your help,” Neve said as she stared into the mirror, more at the reflection of Marin in it than her own.  It was easier to look at the other woman’s reflection—Marin didn’t look like death warmed over twice.

Her companion very carefully set down the brush she’d been using to tame Neve’s dark hair and met her gaze in that mirror.  “With what?”

“Everything,” Neve said, momentarily giving in to despair.  “Hell, it shouldn’t be me doing this tonight.  It should be one of you.”

“The last time we tried, I’m not so sure how well it worked.”  Marin frowned a little.  “The ghosts are still here and everything seemed to start going sideways after we did it anyhow.”

So they really did try to do it once before.  That wasn’t just Phelan making up stories.  Neve blew out a quiet breath and shook her head a little.  “I’m not sure how well it’s going to work this time, to be honest.  I haven’t…I haven’t done this in so many years…”  It’s something you never forget, I suppose, but that doesn’t make it any easier to face this.

Gods and monsters, I don’t want to do this.  It would bring back too many painful memories of times long ago and people dead or otherwise lost.

It was just going to hurt too much, injuries nonwithstanding.

“You wish he hadn’t asked you to do it.”

“He told me to do it,” she said quietly.  “He didn’t give me a choice in the matter, Marin.  I have to do it.”

“That doesn’t sound like Phelan.”

“You don’t know him as well as I do.”  Or for as long.  You’re still learning what he’s capable of doing when he feels like he has to.  It’s not all noble sacrifice—sometimes, it’s well-applied force and leverage.  He learned from Seamus and Father far too well when it comes to that.

“Maybe, maybe not.”  She smiled wryly, putting away the brush and the smattering of makeup she’d use to help lighten the circles under Neve’s eyes.  “What’s he told you?”

“What should he have told me?” Neve asked softly, half twisting with a wince toward her companion.  What does she think she knows that I don’t?

Marin shook her head, not quite anwering the question.  “Just that I know more than you think I do—about how he is, how he could be.”

“Maybe,” Neve said softly, reaching for her crutches.  I can dig more later.  More than enough time for that, since we’re staying here for a while, at least.  “But maybe you don’t know everything yet.”

“Being his cousin, I’m guessing you do.”

“I like to think I do, anyway,” Neve said as she rose awkwardly from the chair.  “I want to teach you what I’m doing tonight, Marin.”

“To sing the dead home to their rest?”

Neve nodded slowly.  “You’ve as much right to learning as anyone.  I should’ve tried to teach Kira, but I never quite thought about it and now it’s too late.”  She smiled wryly.  “You seem to be the next best thing.”  Especially if Phelan’s right, if Teague’s right, if my flipping gut is right.

“Am I?”  Marin moved to help her, apparently aware of how awkward it was for Neve to try to maneuver with the crutches in her borrowed dress.  It was blue, dark and heavy, trimmed in black and silver—someone’s festival dress, Marin had said, though she hadn’t mentioned whose.  “You could teach one of the others—one that’ll be around for the long haul.”

Neve blinked and looked at her.  What’s that supposed to mean?  “You don’t think you’re going to be?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Marin just sighed and shook her head.

“No.  No, I don’t.”

“You asked us to help you that day when your brother and your cousin and all of them were in danger,” Gray reminded her, his breath warm against her hair.  “And we rose to the challenge.  We’re a part of this now, Aoife.  We’re absolutely a part of this now.”

His nose was close enough to her ear that she could feel the heat from his skin through her hair.

“Don’t push us away in a vain effort to protect us.”

“This conversation feels way too familiar,” she whispered, resting her chin on her knees.  “Haven’t we talked about this before?”

“Maybe once,” he said, tugging her gently toward his chest.  She fell against him with a sigh, her eyes falling shut.  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she sighed again, curling against him.

“You don’t really want to leave,” he murmured.  “You don’t want to leave us.”

“No,” she admitted in a whisper.  “But the road is calling.  I can’t deny it forever.”  Lady of Sighs, Maiden of the Gray Towers, your feet will carry you hither and yon unto the very breaking of the world.

“The very breaking of the world,” she whispered.

Gray’s arms tightened.  “What is this if not the breaking of the world, Aoife?”

Her heart gave a painful squeeze and she swallowed.  He’s right, isn’t he?  The world is broken.

Let it be born anew.  That’s what Seamus used to say.  The world will break, will die, so it might be born again.  A tear squeezed out of one eye to run down her face.  She missed him, her kind-hearted cousin.

“I have to find them, Gray,” she said softly.  “When the weather breaks, I have to go find them.”

“Who?  Your brother and your cousins?”

“No,” she said.  “No, not them.  I…Seamus.
My cousin Seamus, the oldest of us, the one we…we lost.  He had children.”  She swallowed hard, the long-kept secret bubbling out as she pressed herself more firmly into Gray’s arms, feeling safer now than she had in a long, long time.  “None of our family knew except for me.  I carried the secrets, I kept them.  I need to find those children—his descendants.  I need to find them, Gray.  Someone has to find them.  Protect them.”  She swallowed again.  “They don’t know who they are, what potential they have—what power they hold.  There are so many out there in the world that will be trying to use them—to ensnare them somehow.  I can’t just let it happen.”

“You don’t have to,” Gray said.  “You’re not in this alone.  I’ll help.  We’ll all help.”  His gaze drifted away from the fire, up toward the stairs to the loft above.  “Any of us will hep you.”

“You’ll help me?”

“Without a doubt.”  He tucked his knuckle beneath her chin, tilting her face up toward his.  “Never doubt that when the chips are down, when it’s all said and done and everything’s coming apart, I will be there for you doing whatever you need me to do when you need me to do it.”

Her gaze met his and she sucked in a weak, ragged breath.

“I love you,” she whispered.  “I think I do, anyway.”  She’d never been given to the hard and fast fall into or out of love that seemed to plague her cousin Teague, nor the inability to find someone to love that her brother had.  Uncertainty, though—that had been her curse for as long as she could remember.

Never sure of how you feel, what to do—not unless someone’s told you what needs to be done, pointed you in the right direction.

“Good,” Gray whispered.

Then, when he kissed her, she felt for just one moment that all would be right with the world—somehow, someday.

Somehow, someday, everything would be all right.

“Now,” Kira said as she gently brushed hair back from his face, “tell me about these dreams. What do you see?”

Teague’s lips thinned and he glanced away again, exhaling in a heavy sigh.  “I am not the seer,” he murmured, knowing the words were a lie—and knowing full well that she knew the words were a lie as well.

“Tell me anyway,” she said softly.  “Getting it off your chest may help.”

Or it could make it real.  He closed his eyes.  Inside the cabin, there was no sound, no sign of their son stirring from his sleep.  No rescue there, unfortunately.  He exhaled again.

“I saw their sons,” he said quietly.  “I saw their sons and ours on horseback, riding into a mist along a river.  Then I saw a girl, older, with the markings of a druid and Phelan’s staff riding after them.  I saw Neve and Marin, huddled together in darkness, heavy with child.”  I saw you, hair gone to white but face still so young, standing on a cliff and staring at the water as the boats sail toward you.  “The war is coming,” he whispered softly.  “A war is here.”

“We knew that,” Kira said.  “You told me that a long time ago, before this began—before you even told me that the world was about to end.  You told me about the war.”

“It’s worse than I imagined,” he whispered, eyes sliding shut.  “Déithe agus arrachtaigh, oh, Kira.  It’s so much worse than I imagined.  I knew that some would return, but I didn’t realize.”

“Didn’t realize what?”

“That they’d all return,” he breathed.  “I didn’t realize that they’d all return.  They’re all coming, Kira—all of them, all of them that still walk the Otherworlds, all of them that have ever walked this world.  They’re coming and it’s going to be worse than I ever could have imagined, even in my darkest nightmares.”

“What’s coming?” she asked.

“The others,” he said.  “The others are coming.”

•          •          •

Aoife stared into the crackling fire, arms wrapped tightly around her knees.  Her side still ached where she’d been shot, the wound that had nearly killed her.  The wound had healed, but the pain was still there.

Is that ever going to stop?

“You’ve been staring at the fire for hours,” Gray said softly.  “What’s the matter, Aoife?”

“I have to leave,” she whispered.  “I can’t stay, Gray.  Even if I want to stay, I can’t.  There’s a war to be fought and I’m a part of it.”

“I told you before that you didn’t have to do it alone.”  He sat down next to her, on the rug in front of the fire.  The lodge was quiet, though a storm howled outside.  “I’m not going to let you go alone.”

“I’m not going to give you a vote,” Aoife breathed.  “One night I’ll just—”

“You won’t,” he said softly.  “Because I won’t let you.”

“I can’t let you get wrapped up in this,” she said.  You’re already too involved.  I’m not going to drag someone else down along with me—not like all of them did in the past.  Not me.  Not this time.  She rubbed her side.  Even if the idea is nice—of not being alone.

I’ve been alone a long time.

Gray’s arm settled around her shoulders.  Her eyes stung.

“I have to protect you,” she whispered.  “The only way I can do that—”

“It’s not your decision to make.”  His arm tightened.  “We’re already involved, Aoife.  We’ve already been sucked in and that’s not changing.  Teca and me and Kes and Wat—we’re all in this with you.  You can’t push us away now.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.  But I have to.  I don’t have a choice.

“Are you all right?”

Teague twisted slightly toward the sound of Kira’s voice and smiled a faint, vague smile as she pressed a mug of something steaming into his hands.  “Well enough,” he murmured before turning his eyes back to the sky.  She slid her arms around his shoulders and hung on.

“What are you staring at?”

“Everything,” he said.  “Nothing.”  He smiled wryly at her and wrapped one hand around her forearm, squeezing gently.  “Is he sleeping?”

“Finally,” Kira said with a faint smile.  “Full tummy and clean bottom.  You need to do the wash tomorrow.”

Teague’s nose wrinkled, but he nodded.  “Of course.  Nothing better to get my head out of the clouds than washing diapers.”  His fingers tightened again, then loosened as he stared off into space again.  “Something happened today,” he murmured.  “Something happened to them.”

“To who?  To your sister and Phelan?”

He nodded slowly.  “To Phelan, I think.”

Kira squeezed him gently.  “I’m sure he’s fine, Teague,” she whispered, breath tickling his ear.  “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Teague made a soft noise in his throat and nodded.  “Of course.  You’re right.”  It’s too early for them to go.  Too early for all of that.  He glanced back toward Kira and smiled faintly.  “Why are you right all the time?”

“I’m not right all of the time,” she said, smiling back at him.  “Only about three quarters of the time.”  She kissed his ear and rested her cheek against his.  “What’s really eating at you?”

“Dreams,” he finally said after a long, silent moment.  “When I took that nap earlier, I had dreams.”

“Bad ones?”  She ran her hand gently up and down his arm, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Strange ones,” he said, staring at the sky again.  Another storm was coming, gathering on the horizon.  The bare tendrils of the wind that stirred their hair, worried their clothing, promised bitter cold coming.  He sighed softly.

“In a long-ago yesterday, tonight my sister would sing the dead home to their rest,” he said quietly.  “The fires would be blazing in the halls and my father would be laughing.  Seamus and I would tease Neve and Aoife and the women of my father’s court with sweets and little trinkets when we were younger.”

“Were you dreaming of long ago?”  Kira asked, her fingers lacing through his hair, now.  “Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can see those long-ago days,” she said softly.  “Not often, but sometimes.”  She smiled.  “I remember one Yule eve.  I remember your smile and Neve insisting that I dance with her and Aoife to celebrate the solstice.”

“I remember that night,” he said, wrapping his hands around the mug she’d brought him, letting the ceramic warm his chilled fingers.  I remember better what happened after.  Blankets in the hayloft, the smell of her hair and sweet straw.  The feel of her against me…  His eyes slid shut for a moment and he sighed softly.  “It was a good night,” he murmured.

“There were other good nights,” Kira said softly.

Teague nodded slowly.  “There were.”  There’ll be more, now.  His brow creased as he turned to her, lips brushing against hers tentatively at first, then more hungrily as he twisted toward her.  He set the mug on the porch rail and slid his arms around her, tugging her close to him.

Then her arms were around his neck and she was pressed against him, eyes closed as she kissed him back with all the hunger of thousands of years of separation, as if they hadn’t been together almost every waking moment for the past year.  He wanted to scream, to cry, to melt into her arms and never emerge.

They came up for air a moment later, foreheads resting against each other’s.  Kira reached up and held his face between her palms.

“Whatever it is,” she whispered, “whatever has you tied in knots, you don’t have to face it alone.  Never again.  I’m never leaving you again.”

“You’ve said that before,” Teague whispered.

“Yeah, well, this time there’s no one to stop me by standing between us.”  Her thumbs brushed his cheeks, caught the single tear that he couldn’t withhold.  “Forever, Teague.  I made the promise and I meant it.”

“Forever,” he echoed.

Then, he smiled.