Awakenings

“She didn’t love him the way that you—”

She held up a hand and I went quiet, staring at her. She smiled again and shook her head. “I know he cared for her and she for him. I know it’s not the same as he and I have been. But he still remembered her fondly, spoke of her with a kind of…I don’t know…softness to his voice that I didn’t often get to hear. I liked it, really. I owe her a debt.” Leinth stared at me for a long moment. “I owe you a debt, Marin.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” I whispered.

She laughed, a sound like winter wind making the icicles sing. “She taught him to be an attentive lover, Marin, and then you convinced your brethren to allow the Wild Hunt to remain here in exchange for Seamus’s freedom from them. I owe you—and her—more than I could ever hope to repay.” There was genuine warmth in her smile as she looked at me. “Though I’ll admit that won’t keep me from trying a little.”

I laughed, too, then got up to pour her a mug of tea. “Well, I’m glad that you’re glad. I was worried for a moment there.”

“My fearsome reputation—such as it is—must have gotten the better of you.” Her smile faded as she took the mug I handed her. “When I gave you that warning, Marin, all I wanted to do was make sure that his bloodline was safe. It was a warning, that’s all.”

“I know.” I sat back down and hugged a knee against my chest. “I forgave you for scaring us a long time ago.”

“After I helped save Phelan?”

“About then.” I took a deep swallow from my mug. “If you can’t thank me enough for Seamus, then I don’t think I can thank you enough for Phelan. We haven’t known him in this life for very long, but I can’t imagine life without him anymore.”

Leinth gave me a sympathetic look and a wry, lopsided smile. “He has that effect on people. Remind him to apologize sometime.”

I laughed, really laughed, and for the first time that day, I felt something close to normal again—and like maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right somehow.

I sat by the fire hours later, a mug of tea cradled between my palms as I kept the mid-watch, the watch between post-dinner and the graveyard shift. Thom wasn’t happy about it, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep despite the excitement of the day, so he went to bed and I lingered, keeping the fire going and listening to the sounds of our village by night. That’s what it was now, really—a village. Our village.

Home.

“You could have taken him to task, you know. For the way he was behaving.”

I startled at the sound of Leinth’s voice, twisting to look at her as she came into the light of the fire. She looked pale and drawn, dark circles beneath her eyes. I frowned.

“You look like hell,” I told her.

“Only tired,” she said, settling on the ground an arms’ length from me. “He’s still sleeping the sleep of the dead. No change.”

I nodded slowly. “You want some tea?” I asked, gesturing to the pot over the flames.

“I can get it,” she said, sitting cross-legged and arranging her sleeveless robe around her. Her attire was caught somewhere between early Roman chic, hippy flower child, and 90s grunge, but somehow she made it work. “I mean it, though. You could have reamed him out for the way he was acting. He deserved it.”

“Who?”

“Seamus,” she said. “He would have listened to you and you’d have been utterly right to say something.”

I shook my head. “He didn’t do anything to deserve my chewing him out. We’re all a little overwrought and what little he’s said about this whole mess have been far less alarming and far more kind than some of what the rest of us have been thinking. Trust me on that.”

She stared at me for a long moment before nodding slightly. “If you say so. Still, should it ever come up…you can do it and he’ll listen.”

“I doubt that.”

“I don’t.” She offered me a faint smile. “He used to speak of her fondly, you know.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stirred. “Of who?”

“Brighíd of the Imbolg.”

My blood went cold.

Seamus emptied the bucket he’d been using to wash his hands and refilled it. He deposited it in front of Cameron. “Wash your hands,” he said, his voice gruff. He carefully avoided eye contact and turned away as Cameron looked up. The former pilot’s expression was bleak, pain clearly visible in his eyes.

I reached down and squeezed his shoulder, suppressing a sigh. “Listen to him,” I said quietly. “Staring at the blood isn’t going to make anything better.”

Cameron winced and nodded, plunging his hands into the bucket. Neve made eye contact with me and mouthed a silent thank you. I nodded slightly and crossed my arms, chewing the inside of my lower lip and trying to think.

“We’re sure it was just one?” I asked finally, looking at Phelan. “There aren’t going to be any more?”

“I was mildly surprised there was this one,” he answered. “I wish I had a definitive answer to the question, but I’m hoping we won’t have to deal with that again—and I’m hoping the one we just killed didn’t have any offspring because otherwise I’d have start worrying.”

“We’d all have to start worrying,” Thom said, sliding an arm around my shoulders. “Matt, Marin, Sif, and I all had pieces of that kill, too.”

Phelan grimaced and nodded. “Right on that. Either way, we’ll have to hope that another one’s not coming. I can’t imagine there would be. Lindworms, in my experience, are fairly rare.”

Seamus snorted. “I believe fairly is an understatement.”

“Incredibly rare is probably more accurate,” Neve said, looking up at Thom and I. “We’ll probably be fine. Probably never have to face one again.”

“It’s a lot of probably going on there,” Cameron said, staring at the water. “How about something we’re sure about?”

“We’re still riding out in a few days,” Thom said. “How’s that?”

Cameron jerked upright. “Who says?”

“I do,” Thom said. “You guys were right. We need allies and to build a trade network with other settlements if we can. As long as the weather holds, we’ll ride out. We can’t afford to wait.”

I looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I’m sure. The only question mark now is who’s going to come with us and who’s going to stay here and make sure you’re safe.”

I smiled wryly. “Because we’re wholly incapable of taking care of ourselves.” I kissed his cheek. “Your protective streak is adorable.”

“Remember that the next time we’re having a shouting match because I want you safe,” Thom said, smiling fondly back at me. His thumb brushed against my cheek. “Because at the end of the day, that’s the only thing I want.”

“I know,” I whispered before I kissed him again.

“Is this what we’re going to be dealing with for the rest of our lives?” Cameron asked, staring at his still-bloody hands. “Monsters coming out of nowhere with grudges against all of you—or one of us—for some real or imagined offense from god knows how long ago?”

I winced but stayed quiet. I couldn’t blame him for being angry. I was a little angry myself.

A little bit of warning might have been nice.

At the same time, I couldn’t be too upset—who knew how many enemies they’d made over the years, myself included? Who knew what might come?

We’d be jumping at shadows for the rest of our lives, seeing danger where none existed, and would end up raising our children to be as paranoid and neurotic as we’d made ourselves. That was no way for any of us to live and I knew that.

Phelan, Seamus, and Neve were all silent as they sat with us by the fire. Phelan and Neve looked like they were both in pain; Seamus concentrated on washing Thordin’s blood from his hands. He’d joined J.T. and Jacqueline in their work as it became increasingly clear that his skills would be needed, weakened though they were after centuries with the Wild Hunt.

“Is one of you going to say something?” Cameron asked, his voice practically a growl. Thom nudged him with a boot, earning a sharp glare. “They need to answer us, Thom.”

“No, they don’t,” Thom said, crossing his arms. “We’d like them to, but they don’t have to. None of us have to do anything at this point except for deal with the consequences of what’s happened. Nothing else.”

“Déithe agus arrachtaigh, I sure as hell hope it’s not what we’ll be dealing with for the rest of our lives,” Phelan finally rasped. He looked as tired as I’d ever seen him, eyes sunken into dark hollows above cheekbones that suddenly seemed too sharp, too prominent in his face. “If everything we’ve pissed off could just bloody well forget that we existed, I think we’d all be happy.” He looked at me, pain in his gaze. “I know I would be.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “How likely do you think that is, Phelan?”

His laugh came out strangled, but it was still a laugh. “Let me have my hope, leánnan, will you? A man’s got to have something left.”

“Something,” Cameron echoed, then shook his head. “How are we supposed to raise our children when things like this happen all the freaking time?”

Neve looked at him hard. “We’ll find a way, Cam. You know we will. Nothing’s going to touch them. I swear it.”

“Neve doesn’t have the enemies the rest of us do,” Phelan said, his expression growing more grim by the moment. “And we’ll be making sure the ones that she does have stay the hell away.”

“How?” Cameron asked.

“I haven’t quite figured that part out yet,” Phelan admitted. “But I’ll figure it out. Somehow, I always do.”

“You don’t have to do that alone,” I said softly.

He smiled weakly and nodded. “I know. Just like this one wasn’t my fault. The next one might be, though.” He looked at Cameron. “You’ve got every right to be upset. All of you do. I’m just glad that this wasn’t worse. It could have been. It could have been a lot worse.”

“But it wasn’t,” I said, forcing every ounce of conviction inside me into those words. “It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. We’re all still here.”

“For the moment,” Seamus said softly. “He might not make it, Marin.”

I exhaled with a shiver. “I know,” I whispered. “But we’ve got to hope. We have to hope. We can’t give up on him. You—the three of you—know him better than we do. You know he’s a fighter.”

“But he’s tired,” Neve said, hugging a knee to her chest. “He’s so tired, Mar. He’s ready to rest.”

“So am I,” Phelan said to his cousin, his voice impossibly gentle. “But I’m still here because living is preferable to whatever comes next. At least, that’s what I think. I’ve never been dead before.”

“Leinth and Ériu are keeping watch,” Thom said. “It’ll be okay.”

Seamus nodded, drying his hands. “Maybe this time, it will be, but the next time? Or the time after that?”

“We’ll deal with it as it comes,” I said. “Just like we always do. We don’t have a choice.”

We never seemed to have a choice.

“Sif.”

She tried to ignore the voice as she sat, shivering in the wind and perched on the wall that protected their little village from the rest of the world. She didn’t want to talk. Words weren’t going to help—they were meaningless right now. The man she loved beyond logic, beyond death, beyond time itself was dying again and it was her doing.

I never should have implied he was unworthy. I should have known that something would come for him. I should have warned him.

I should have protected him.

Instead, he would die thinking she hated him, never confronting all the issues that lay between them—their love being the most important thing of all.

We’re such fools.

“Sif, please.”

She swore and twisted, glaring down at Matt, who stood below her in the shadows. “Go away,” she rasped. “I want to be alone.”

“You may want it, but you sure as hell don’t need it.” His eyes glinted in the dim and for a moment, she saw the Ridden Druid standing beneath her rather than Matthew Astoris. Her lips thinned as she stared down at him, her heart starting to beat a little faster.

“I’m poor company right now,” she said, trying to argue him down, to make him leave her to her grief and guilt. Her rage had ebbed. Now she was just tired and her heart hurt so much she could hardly stand it. “Just go. I’ll be fine.”

“You won’t be,” he said quietly, staring up at her. “Not until you know he’ll be fine.”

“He’s dying,” she said, her voice shaking. “We both know that.”

“We don’t,” Matt said. “Sif, trust them. Trust me. You may think all hope’s lost, but when it comes to this group of people, it never is. They’ll save him. Watch. You’ll see.”

She looked away. “Just leave me alone, Matthew,” she said. “Just go.”

When she turned back, he was gone, but he’d left something in his place.

Hope.

There was too much blood, far too much blood. More than there should be. Where was it coming from? Tears blurred her vision as she stared down at him, only seeing him, not the two healers who worked feverishly to save him.

This was as much her doing as it was the worm’s, and she knew it.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she startled, badly enough that she nearly pulled steel on Phelan, who looked at her and murmured, “Get a grip, shield maiden. Fretting won’t help him.”

Jacqueline’s head jerked up and she focused on Phelan for a bare moment, her hands soaked with Thordin’s blood. “Are you in one piece?”

“No physical injuries worth mentioning,” Phelan said. “He needs your help. Do what you can.”

“Already doing it,” Jacqueline said, refocusing on Thordin. Marin dropped to her knees next to her.

“What can I do?”

“Put your hands there and press down as hard as you can,” Jacqueline said, shifting as Marin got into position. Jacqueline grabbed a needle and thread and moved to another wound, checking it before she started sewing it closed, blood welling around her fingers even as she set to work.

Sif sucked in a rasping breath. Phelan squeezed her arm. “They’re good at what they do,” he said, watching his lover and J.T. work. Sif leaned into the touch despite herself, biting down hard on her lower lip.

“This is my fault,” she whispered.

“It’s not,” Phelan said.

“It is,” she hissed, tears stinging her eyes again. “I shouldn’t have pushed him away. I should have apologized. I should have reconciled.”

Now I’m never going to have a chance to do it. Damnation!

Sif spun on her heel and stalked away, burying her face in her blood-soaked hands as she went

Phelan could feel the unrest even before they came back into sight of the walls. A faint pounding rose behind his eyes as they rode, possibly due to whatever he’d managed to wrest free of Lake Michigan’s frigid depths or because of something else. He wasn’t sure of either, nor was he entirely certain that it mattered.

Matt waited for them at the gates, tired and spattered with Thordin’s blood—more blood than Phelan thought. He grimaced and shivered.

“Is he–?” Phelan stopped, the words sticking in his throat. He couldn’t be dead. It wasn’t possible.

“You better hurry,” Matt said. “Jay can’t afford for Jac to be distracted worrying about you while they’re trying to save him.”

Phelan swore softly and swung down from his mount’s ack, tossing the reins to Matt and breaking into a jog toward s back, tossing the reins to Matt. “It’s as bad as I thought, then.”

“Probably worse,” Matt answered, jerking his head toward the tents. “Go, and hurry. Neve and Seamus are there. Sif’s beside herself. I—she’s crying, Phelan.”

Far worse than any of us dared to think it might be, then. He broke into a run despite his lingering dizziness, knowing that Marin and Thom would both be on his heels.

Part of him thought that Matt should be there as well, btu something kept him from saying it. The man whose soul had once been the Ridden Druid’s had good instincts. Phelan knew that he needed to trust them as much as he trusted Marin’s or Thom’s.

He sucked in a sharp breath. You can’t die on us now, Thordin. You can’t. Your part in this story isn’t over yet.

It was what he wanted to believe. If Marin or Thom had seen something to prove it, they hadn’t told him outright, but he wanted to believe that it was true.

It’s what I have to believe. Otherwise, there’s nothing else left to hope for.

Gods help us all.

Phelan jerked awake as someone—Thom—heaved him up onto his horse’s back. He flailed for a moment, limbs feeling like jelly as he looked around blearily. “How long–?”

“Only a few minutes,” Marin said from near his horse’s head. “Sif and Matt headed back with Thordin as soon as she was sure that thing was dead. You killed it.”

“We killed it,” Phelan said, sliding back down from his horse’s back, leaning against its flank for a moment. The world spun slowly, then righted itself. “II just happened to hit it hard enough for the rest of you to finish the job.”

“More like we distracted it so you could make the kill shot,” Thom said, glancing back toward the cooling carcass stretched out on the ice. “What the hell did you do?”

“I’m more worried about what I might have awakened,” Phelan muttered. He grasped his saddle with both hands and hoisted himself up into it, wavering as he settled himself and Marin passed him the reins. “I reached deep, fear fiach. Maybe too deep. I’m not sure what sort of spirits lurk in the depths of that lake, but I’m afraid I woke every single one of them.”

Marin shivered. “I don’t think I like the sound of that, Phelan.”

“Trust me, I don’t like saying it.” He sighed, staring at the broken snow that marked their passage from their settlement to the shore. “Especially knowing that I’m the one that did it.”

“We’ll be fine,” Thom said, moving to give his wife a leg up into the saddle. “We’ve dealt with worse consequences, haven’t we? I’m sure whatever you woke won’t be terrifying.”

“The odds don’t tend to work in that direction, Thom,” Phelan said with a wry smile. He felt vaguely ill, though that could be the aftereffects of the magic he’d drawn, not necessarily because the words tasted like a lie. After all, maybe Thom was right this time. Maybe they wouldn’t reap a terrible harvest from what he’d done.

And maybe every day between that one and the previous August had been some sort of bizarre dream.

“We’d better hurry,” Marin said. “Jac may need help.”

“She probably will,” Phelan said. “If only to keep Sif out of her hair.”

Thom swung up into the saddle. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

They rode away from the setting sun, toward the gathering darkness in the east, leaving the corpse of their foe behind, silent and still on the shattered ice.

Time seemed to stop for the briefest of moments.

Phelan’s magic splashed against the lindworm’s chest, illuminating the scene in a strange, blue-white glow. Sif’s face was twisted into a fierce snarl, another of her arrows embedding itself in the lindworm’s jaw. Matt tumbled off the monster’s back and onto the ice even as Thom kept up his bloody work on the creature’s spine.

The fragile moment shattered a heartbeat later as the lindworm shrieked in pain. Blood blossomed against its chest even as it spat venom toward Phelan, Marin, and Thordin, the blast falling well short of the trio as it wavered under the onslaught of Phelan’s attack.

It crashed to the side, thrashing and screaming, sending Thom flying and Matt scrambling. As abruptly as Phelan’s magic had bloomed, it cut off. He wavered on his knees, trying to brace himself with one palm against the ice, his face as pale as the crust of snow on the shore. Darkness nibbled at the edge of his vision and suddenly the world felt far, far colder than it had a moment before. His teeth began to chatter as violent shivers gripped him. His staff slipped from suddenly numb fingers, clattering against the ice. He stared at the dying lindworm, breath rasping in his throat and tasting like frozen knives on his tongue.

What just happened?

The world spun slowly, seeming to shudder—or was that him?

Marin’s fingers closed around his arm. “Phelan? Phelan! Look at me.”

He did, maybe too sharply, his vision doubling. He gagged, choking. Marin reeled backwards as he pitched forward, emptying his stomach onto the ice. She edged around him, putting her hand on his shoulder as he wavered on his hands and knees.

“Don’t quit on me,” he heard her whisper. His head spun, his stomach still unsettled.

“Not going to,” he rasped, then spat. He closed his eyes, hoping it would make the dizziness go away. He swayed to one side. Marin caught him, pushed him upright again. “Déithe agus arrachtaigh. I might need a break, though.”

She swore softly even as he slumped into her waiting arms.   Unconsciousness came seconds later, swift in its merciful darkness, and for a time, he knew no more.

The man beneath his hands was too hot already, especially for someone flat on his back on the Lake Michigan ice. Phelan jerked his cloak back from where it covered Thordin’s still body, watching his friend’s chest rise and fall in a shallow, shuddering breath. Keep breathing, idiot. She’ll drag you back from the dead if you don’t.

The lindworm’s teeth had left deep punctures and gouges in Thordin’s flesh; all Phelan could hope to do was staunch the bleeding until the fighting was done and they could get him back home.

The lindworm roared. Marin’s bowstring sang and Phelan’s head jerked up and he twisted, looking toward her, toward the monster they fought. It had changed direction again, racing toward them.

“A little help?”

Phelan swore and snatched his staff up from the ground gritting his teeth as he pressed his bare hand hard against the ice. Spirits and powers, answer my call. Please, answer me. He drew on the chill of the water, on the power that slept deep beneath Lake Michigan, praying he wasn’t about to wake something far worse than what they already faced.

Power swept through him in a sudden rush and he gasped, every muscle suddenly taut as he wrestled with the unexpected strength of what he’d called. It felt like he’d suddenly been dropped through the ice into the water beneath, cold enough to freeze his very bones.

I can’t. I can’t.

Bloody hell, hang on.

“Move,” he said to Marin through gritted teeth. She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“What?”

“Move!”

She threw herself aside just as he lost his grip on the surging magic, a bolt of pure, ice-cold energy speared across the open expanse of ice and snow, heading unerringly at the lindworm as it charged toward them, eyes gleaming with hate and rage.