Thirty-eight – 01

Posted on August 10, 2016 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Phelan’s point of view.]

Sweat beaded on his brow, his heart pounding, missing beats as it battered his ribs from the inside. He knew that with the sudden infusion of power from the earth beneath his feet, he would be lit up like a beacon to anything sensitive beyond the wards, to whatever was coming along with those drums in the distance.

That was almost the point, though. He knew that they were coming for them. There was nothing else they could be marching on, not out here.

Whatever the hell it is, whoever the hell it is, let them bloody well come. Phelan smiled a grim smile, opening his eyes and looking out toward the trees that clung to the walls of the ravine. Let them come and see what price they pay.

He should have felt sick to his stomach, worried, perhaps even afraid. In truth, he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t.

Sick of being afraid, maybe. Sick of running. Sick of a lot of things.

He sent one last surge of power through the wards, the hairs on his arms standing on end, body tingling with the power he’d drawn. His smile faded as he slowly stood, dusting his hands off on the seat of his jeans.

Let them come. They won’t like what they get.

Phelan took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. The drums were louder now, no longer a faint echo in the distance. They were coming from the west somehow, from near the lake’s swollen shore.

Don’t know who. Don’t know how. Won’t matter once we’re arrayed. Just have to hold the wall, hold the gate. We’ll have the advantage of the high ground.

Why the hell am I so bloody calm?

He shook his head slowly. Either way, it didn’t matter.

There was work to be done.

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Thirty-seven – 06

Posted on August 8, 2016 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]

I walked, at first, then broke into an uncomfortable jog toward the tents, the cookfires—anywhere I could hope to find our friends. It would only be Thordin up at the forge this time of day. My best chance at a concentration of people would be by the cookfires.

I don’t even know what’s out there. I haven’t a bloody clue.

What the hell was I doing?

Dammit, Phelan.

It was too late to turn back now.

Hand against my swollen belly, I resumed my jog toward the cookfires, cursing him under my breath even as his care made my heart ache.

Shoving me out of harms’ way. A shame I never stay completely out of it.

I was breathing hard by the time I made it to the fire, where Tala was tending a cauldron of stew for dinner and Jac was boiling bandages. Both of them looked up curiously, though Jac’s curiosity morphed quickly into alarm.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

I gulped in a few breaths of air before I said, “Drums in the distance. Something out there.”

My friend swore softly under her breath, glancing at Tala. “Make her sit down and drink something,” she ordered, then looked back at me. “Stay here. I’ll get the others.”

Still catching my breath, I nodded. Tala took me by the arm and sat me down on a log.

“What do you think it is?” she asked as she turned away to get me a drink.

I shook my head. “I have no idea,” I said between breaths. “But I’m damned worried we’re going to find out.”

“I’m not sure there’s any doubt of that now.” She poured something steaming out of a kettle and then pressed the mug into my hands. “Here. Drink it slow.”

“What is it?” I lifted the mug, the scent of its contents familiar and soothing.

“Something Phelan gave me. Tea of some kind, I think.”

I nodded slowly and took a slight sip. “Tala, if you need to go make sure your kids—”

“I will, but not until someone else gets here first.” She smiled weakly. “It’s going to be okay.”

I nodded, staring down into the mug. I wished that I still had her optimism.

After losing Matt, I didn’t anymore.

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Thirty-seven – 05

Posted on August 5, 2016 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]

Phelan wrapped his arm around my shoulders and squeezed me closer. “But those of us who are still here—we’re lucky ones. We are. We’re lucky to have known each other, to have been together. Whatever time we’ve had is a gift.”

My heart gave a strange double-beat. “Are you sure you’re all right, Phelan?”

He gave me a wry smile and nodded. “As I ever am, leannan.”

I managed to smile back, nodding slightly. “Duly noted.”

Then I leaned into his embrace, taking what comfort I could. My son settled, going quiet inside. For a second, I closed my eyes and felt an overwhelming sense of peace.

Then I heard the drums in the distance.

Phelan must have felt me stiffen because he let go. His voice was strange. “You hear it, too.”

“Drums,” I whispered, opening my eyes. There was fear in his face as he stared at the trees of the ravine, his complexion suddenly ashen.

“Drums,” he confirmed. He nudged me gently. “Go back,” he said, his voice quiet. “Go back to the tents, tell them there’s something coming, and have someone rally the Hunt. Whatever felt wrong is about to get worse.”

“Story of our lives,” I said quietly, then swallowed hard. “What are you going to do?”

“Finish what you started out here,” he said, slowly crouching. “Tell Jac I’ll be there in a few minutes, that she should stay where she is.”

“Are you really going to be there in a few minutes?”

A bitter laugh answered my question. “I’ll at least try,” he said softly, then waved a hand. “Go, leannan. Go.”

“I don’t want to leave you out here.”

His lips barely moved as he spoke, his voice so quiet I had to strain to hear the words. “We’re the only ones who’ve heard them, I’m sure of it. Go, Marin. Go before they catch us completely unawares.”

A quiet curse escaped me. I turned and went.

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Thirty-seven – 04

Posted on August 3, 2016 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]

Phelan touched my cheek and smiled sadly. “I wish I could say you were wrong about that,” he said quietly, then glanced toward the ravine, toward the trees. His hand fell away, dropping back to his side as he stared out there at nothing—at nothing I could see, anyway.

Who the hell knows what he’s seeing sometimes.

“Has it ever been like this before?” I asked.

He was quiet for a long moment, tilting his head slightly before asking, “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Active, I guess. Dangerous?”

“Ah.” Phelan crossed his arms, seeming to huddle in on himself for a few heartbeats before his spine straightened. A slow nod followed a few seconds later. “A couple times, for better or worse. It’s never…” his voice trailed away and he hesitated, taking a deep breath and exhaling it in a sigh before continuing. “I was going to say that the feeling hasn’t ever been this heavy, this ominous, but even that’s not quite right. It’s certainly been as bad.”

“During the big war,” I said softly. “The one that Teague and Neve’s father tried to avoid by leaving.”

“Something like that,” Phelan said, then shook his head. “That was unavoidable and we were here for at least the first half of it. It’s just that it didn’t really end for centuries. Burned hot, went cold, then a spark would catch and it would start all over again. Wasn’t until after Rome fell that it really ended. Maybe not really even then.” He closed his eyes. “And now it’s back again.”

“The wars?”

He nodded. “The old feuds, the old conflicts. All of it’s come back to haunt us again, to hurt us again. Doesn’t matter who won back then—what happened last August cleared those boards. What happens now is up to us—up to the ones who lived.” He opened his eyes and smiled crookedly at me. “The ones too stubborn or unlucky to die.”

I smiled back, taking his hand and squeezing. “It’s not a bad thing. Being too unlucky or stubborn.”

His smile grew and he nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The smile faded as he turned back toward the ravine, though. “There’s something building out there, Marin. I can’t put my finger on what it is or why it is, but there’s something building out there.”

“If it comes against us, it’ll get more than it’s bargained for—whatever it is.” The words came out with more confidence and conviction than I actually felt. The look on Phelan’s face told me that he knew I was full of shit, but he didn’t call me on it—not directly, anyway.

“Keep talking that way and everyone’s going to believe you,” he murmured. His eyes were sad as he looked at me again. “This world doesn’t deserve people like you, leannan. You realize that, right?”

“Then I guess the world is lucky even if I’m not.” I smiled slightly and wrapped my arm around his waist. “There’s a reason for everything, right?”

He nodded slowly. “Even if we don’t understand what it is or why, there is. There always is. Sometimes we just never see it.” He exhaled noisily. “And sometimes, we don’t want to see it.”

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Thirty-seven – 03

Posted on August 1, 2016 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]

It’s not nothing.

“Phelan.”

He stopped, turned back toward me, brows knitting. I took a deep breath.

“You came out here for a reason,” I said slowly. “Now talk to me.”

“I’m probably just being paranoid,” he muttered. “Really, it’s fine.”

“You felt it, too.”

Phelan stiffened even as his expression went slack. “In the distance?”

I nodded. “I picked up on it while I was strengthening the wards. It’s pretty far out and I can’t—I don’t know what it was. Do you?”

He grimaced and shook his head. “I’m not sure. It’s a little familiar, but I can’t quiet tease out what it really is. There’s so much diffuse…mess…lately that it’s getting harder and harder.”

Part of me wondered if that was the whole of it, if he was actually telling me the truth of it—and then there was a part of me that was worried that he was telling me the whole of it and that it meant so much more than I realized. I swallowed against a sudden lump in my throat. “Should I ask what it could be?”

“It’d just scare you,” Phelan murmured. “It already scares me. Both of us don’t need that.”

I stepped forward to hug him, awkwardly, since my enormous stomach was in the way. My son was slowly settling down now, no longer doing gymnastics inside. It was a relief. Phelan wrapped his arms around my shoulders and squeezed me gently.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t do this to you, not at this point. Probably not at any point, really, but especially not right now.”

“It’s okay,” I said, arms tightening for a brief moment before I let go and stepped back. “I’m just—I’m glad I’m not going crazy. I thought for a second I was, that I was imagining things.”

“It’s been too quiet,” he admitted. “That’s enough to ramp up paranoia. Don’t apologize for it.”

“The calm before the storm,” I whispered.

After all, that’s what it was—the calm before whatever maelstrom was to come.

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Thirty-seven – 02

Posted on July 29, 2016 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]

Thunder grumbled in the distance as I knelt near the edge of the ravine, my palm pressed against the bare earth around the base of one of the holly bushes we’d planted months ago. The bushes were coming in full and thick, already crowding out some of the old brush that rimmed the ravine. I could feel Phelan’s magic laced through those hedges, but I could also feel Greg Doyle’s touch there, too, fainter but just as potent—just in a different way from Phelan’s magic.

Sometimes I wondered if he wouldn’t turn out to be the strongest of us all.

In the distance, something felt wrong.

I pulled back from strengthening the wards when I sensed it, sitting back against my heels. “What the hell is that?” I whispered.

Thunder growled again. My lips thinned.

You’re finally losing it, I decided. Probably just over-tired. Time to take a break.

I swallowed bile, looking around as I stood slowly, dusting grass and dirt from my knees and the butt of my capris.

Just paranoid.

“Marin?”

I must have jumped three feet in the air, my heart going at twice its normal speed. “God damn it, Phelan.”

His brow furrowed and he tilted his head slightly, staring at me. “What the hell was that about?”

“You startled me half to death,” I said, resting one hand against my belly. My son was reacting to my own state, moving and kicking inside me. I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, trying to calm down.

Everything’s okay. Everything’s fine.

Phelan put his hand on my arm, his frown deepening. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” I said, then swallowed hard. My heart started to slow down, but my son wasn’t getting any less active. “I know, it’s fine. What did you need?”

He looked like he was about to say something, but instead he shook his head. “Nothing,” he said quietly. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”

I just stared at him as he turned to walk away.

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Thirty-seven – 01

Posted on July 27, 2016 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]

The closer I got to term, the worse the nightmares started to get—except I didn’t realize I was having them at first. Everyone else noticed how much more tired I seemed to be, but we really just chalked it up to my advancing pregnancy.

Thom was the one who realized that it was nightmares.

He’d come in from taking a late watch on the wall and found me twisting and trashing, talking in my sleep. I’d settled as soon as he touched my arm, finding deeper sleep quickly, but when I woke the next morning, I was exhausted—and didn’t remember dreaming at all.

The next night it happened again, but he woke me and I knew that I’d been dreaming and that it hadn’t been good.

Something about all of it scared me half to death, truth be known.

At least it was quiet—for now, anyway. Thom and the others had wasted no time now that the weather had broken in building anything and everything they could. With luck, by the time we faced another winter, our home would be far stronger and more substantial.

We’d come a long way since that awful summer day.

Somehow—visions, instinct, whatever it was—I knew we still had thousands of miles to go.

But at least we had a start.

Despite my exhaustion, despite the nightmares I didn’t remember having, despite my advancing pregnancy, no one could keep me from walking the words, from working on them. No one really said anything but I also knew no one was really comfortable with what I was doing.

I decided I didn’t have a choice.

Thom’s mark on our home was everywhere. Mine was the one you couldn’t see, but you could sure as hell feel.

I’d keep working on those wards until I couldn’t anymore, nightmares, pregnancy, illness notwithstanding—come what may, I’d be working on those wards.

No one was going to stop me.

No one could.

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Thirty-six – 06

Posted on July 25, 2016 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Matt’s point of view.]

“He’ll threaten you,” Hecate said softly. “We both know that he will.”

“We both know why that’s a bad idea.”

She choked on a laugh. “It certainly won’t end well for him.”

There was no certainty in her voice to back up the quip, though, not the way Matt felt like there might have been, should have been before that morning. He stared at her as she leaned against the casement of the bedroom window, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Rain had begun to fall outside, a storm sweeping in from across the lake. He could hear the rumbles of thunder in the distance.

Appropriate, that, he’d thought.

He sat on the edge of the bed, heart feeling like lead in his chest. Her fear was a huge, hulking thing, dark and real and larger than the two of them, so powerful he could feel it pressing down on him, could almost taste it. And yet, for all of his efforts, for how powerful and real it was, he couldn’t seem to touch it.

I just want her to be okay.

“I’m just worried about what he’ll do to you,” Matt said, then stood up to light a lamp as the room started to grow almost too dark to see. “I’m already worried by what I’m seeing.”

She tensed, glaring at him. He met her gaze steadily and her jaw went slack. She looked away again, staring out the window at the approaching storm.

“I love you,” she said simply, resting her head against the glass. “He was like the ones that broke you, once. I won’t watch that happen again.”

“And I won’t let him twist you into something you don’t want to be.” He went to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him, eyes squeezing shut.

“I’m not even sure what that is anymore, Matt.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” he said, then kissed her ear. She sighed.

“How can you care about me so much?” she whispered.

Matt just shook his head, his arms tightening slightly. “I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “I just do. I stopped trying to figure it out because it doesn’t matter.” He rested his cheek against her hair. “Maybe there really is a such thing as soul-mates, two halves of a whole that could search forever without finding each other—unless they do.” He tilted his head and she opened her eyes, looking up at him for a moment.

“Do you really believe that?” she asked.

“I don’t see why else losing Cíar would have hurt you so much, why you would have spent all the centuries after that trying to fill that hole in your soul.”

Hecate stayed quiet for a few long moments before a faint smile crossed her face. “You’re amazing, Matthew Astoris.”

One corner of his mouth curled upward. “I think you bring that out in me.”

She nestled her head in the crook between his shoulder and neck. “Maybe we really can do it. Maybe we can…can outsmart him or just tell him to go screw himself.”

“At the very least, we can try.”

Joining him sure as hell isn’t an option—but we’ll do what we have to do.

It’s about surviving and protecting the people we love.

Matt pressed another kiss to her temple. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he promised her quietly. “I promise.”

It was a promise he meant to keep.

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Thirty-six – 05

Posted on July 22, 2016 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Cameron’s point of view.]

“The stories say that he arose from an Otherworld that got closed off pretty early—the stories don’t say why, but they’re very clear that he and his brethren were cut off from wherever the hell they came from. Their territory was pretty small all those centuries ago, when most of them still walked the lands. Leviathan—Yam Leviathan, to be proper—claimed the waters for his own back then, the rivers and the seas of the Levant.

“He ruled them with an iron fist. A power that controls water in a desert isn’t one to be trifled with, either.”

Cameron’s brows knit. “But someone must have.”

“As they always do,” Lara said. She gulped down some tea and leaned back, closing her eyes. “He was not without either rivals or ambition and we both know the ruin that can lead to.” She exhaled. “But he was supposed to be dead. They did manage to kill him back then—Yaweh’s followers, Elohim’s brood.”

“Thordin was supposed to be dead, too,” Cameron said quietly. “But he’s as alive as you and I are.”

Lara’s eyes snapped open. “Odinson?”

“The same,” he said, then smiled faintly. “I think everyone’s starting to wonder if death isn’t actually permanent anymore.”

A shiver wracked Lara. “I pray that it still is in most cases,” she admitted. “There are too many things out there that once were dead that I think we’d all like to see stay gone.”

Cameron shot her a crooked smile. “I’m going to take your word on that one.”

A little laugh escaped her and she nodded. “That’s probably wise.” She stared into her mug for a few moments before she sighed. “Do you think we’ll escape his notice?”

“You’ve escaped everyone else so far, right?”

“More or less,” Lara said. “I’m waiting for the day that the Hecate shows up. Gods and powers know that she probably will at some point, given our relationship with your group and your connection to the Taliesin and the Aes Dana.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Cameron rubbed at his temple. Was it his imagination, or did he feel a headache coming on? “She hit us a few weeks back.” A few weeks? More than a month now, closer to two. “She took Thom’s brother-in-law and no one’s seen or heard from her since.”

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Thirty-six – 04

Posted on July 20, 2016 by Erin M. Klitzke

[This post is from Cameron’s point of view.]

They sat in silence for a few long moments. Lara set down her mug with a sigh, leaning back. Cameron watched her, then said, “You said he’s powerful—well, you at least implied he’s powerful.”

“I did,” she said softly. “And he is, if all the tales I’ve ever heard are true and if it really was him that I—” She broke off, blinking and staring at nothing for the space of a few seconds—long enough for Cameron to start worrying.

“Lara?”

She shook herself, suddenly present again as she met his gaze. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I was just…something…” her voice trailed away and she shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, then said, “Leviathan.”

Cameron nodded. “Powerful, apparently gifted with power over water and ghosts?”

Based on what they told me, anyway, his talents lie there. Ghosts of the lost or drowned souls of the lakes… A shiver crept down his spine at the thought. That was a very, very large number of souls that Leviathan could hope to call.

Maybe that’s where the legends about the lakes giving up their dead comes from.

“Both, for better or worse, could be in his wheelhouse, though the dead…that should not be easy for him. Ghosts have minds and wills of their own—they have to be convinced to do something. Very few are mindless and even those that are often aren’t very easily controlled are usually more dangerous to the one trying to wield them as a weapon than to those they’re being arrayed against. No. His power has always been water—usually rivers, to be honest.”

“According to what I’ve been told, he’s been slumbering in Lake Michigan for the last god-knows-how-long.”

Lara’s brows knit. “They’re certain of who it was?”

Cameron nodded. “Seemed to be.”

“Odd,” Lara said softly, then reached for her mug again. “It doesn’t feel right, but then again, I’m perhaps not as knowledgeable as they are—my personal experience isn’t what theirs is.”

“I’ll take anything you’ve got,” Cameron murmured. “They’re not infaliable.”

No one is.

Lara stared at him for a long moment before she nodded.

Then she began to talk.

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