Enslaved by Fear Page 10

  The first true feeling Brigid had experienced since she’d come to conscious awareness here, settled heavily around her. Sorrow bowed her head. Regret bent her shoulders. She could understand Fintan’s unwillingness to intervene with Drandar. For that matter, she understood why every one of her siblings, save Taran had turned their backs. But her own mother? Had she really allowed fear of Drandar to rule her so completely that Nyamah wanted nothing to do with her, even now, in death?

  How had she ever let things go so far?

  Micah had been the only one to stay. To trust. To take a risk on her.

  And she’d wounded him deeply.

  At once, the need to know if Micah survived possessed her. Panic set in, pushing sorrow to a far corner of her awareness. Was he all right? Would he be okay? Or was he up here somewhere, stumbling through this nothingness like she was?

  She broke into a run, desperate to find some way of verifying for herself that Micah lived. If he hadn’t, she’d never forgive herself. If she could see him once more…

  “Brigid.”

  Her name rang out like an echo through a deep canyon. She froze, rooted in place by the chorus of tones that blended into a singular voice.

  The ancestors.

  Slowly, she lifted her gaze to the overhanging stars, seeing them for what they were. Not pinpoints of light that marked distant galactic masses. But the tangible evidence of all those who had walked before her. All the souls who comprised her past, present, and future.

  As she gazed in wonder, three orbs sank closer, their light intensifying as they neared. She flinched away from the penetrating sheen.

  “Do you know where you are, Brigid?”

  Of course she did—did they think she was stupid? Better not to ask. All things considered, she was a prime candidate for yes. She’d done some pretty foolish things throughout her long life. “I do.”

  “Then you understand we represent the collective body of life in all its forms.”

  “Yes.” She scanned the lights that hung higher in the sky. “Where is my mother?”

  The trio pulsed as one synchronized unit, and in a voice that lacked emotion answered, “Nyamah is forbidden to attend this evaluation.”

  “Forbidden?” Though it was unwise to question those who held her fate in their hands, Brigid couldn’t help herself. “Why is she forbidden? She’s one of you.”

  “No, she is not. She serves us. And she has been forbidden from you for many years now.”

  Surprise made Brigid draw back.

  The lights rotated in a rapid circle that slowed after one rotation. The point that had been positioned on the far right drifted to the center. When the voices spoke again, their pitch and frequency altered to a higher decibel, the lower tones a monochrome compliment. “Your…journey…has always been one you must decide. To allow Nyamah contact with you could have influenced your decisions, as well as your choices. And she is kept from you now, until your final judgment has been decreed.”

  “I don’t understand. She wanted us all to stand against Drandar. Why would you keep her from encouraging me?”

  “Greater things are involved, Brigid. As is the way of all things. When one aspect is influenced, another is compromised. And so it has been since the dawn of time, and so it shall remain.”

  The balance—exactly why Brigid stood here now. Her life represented imbalance, a skewed slant to the negative energies that made Drandar what he was. With the exception of the garden, and a cat she rescued out of a tree seven months ago, she couldn’t think of one genuinely good thing she’d done in the last year.

  Surely there must be something.

  As she searched her memories, the bright pinpricks shifted once more. Moving in a vertical pattern, they chased one another on an elongated figure-8. When they stopped, they formed a straight line. The centermost light pulsed with faint lavender color, and when the eerie chorus of words began again, it rang lower, more masculine in tone.

  “Are you ready to confront the final judgment of your soul, Brigid?”

  Ready? Not in another hundred millennia. But no matter how much time passed, she couldn’t erase the centuries of trying to appease her sire. She’d known this when she’d accepted that she had no other choice than to carry out the ritual. Brigid answered solemnly, “I am.”

  “You have led a selfish path, one riddled with poor decisions guaranteed to wound those you encountered.”

  Brigid winced at the stark truth of her life. Nothing like having it stated in black and white.

  “You have indulged in death, fear, and you have deliberately set out to hinder the lives of those who share your blood. Most notably, you left your brother to Drandar’s mercy, uncaring whether he lived or died.”

  “I cared,” she protested feebly. But Drandar had been there. Standing at her side. Within striking distance, or worse, capturing distance, if she’d helped Fintan during the Imbolc ritual.

  “You did not care enough.”

  Shame burned through her, and Brigid bowed her head once more, wishing she could cry. But though the emotion festered, her eyes refused to water.

  “During your imprisonment, you used cunning and deceit to gain your way over one who only sought to protect you.”

  Micah.

  “Please, tell me he’s alive,” she whispered.

  “He was employed to guard you. Tasked to a duty he did not believe in, and you sought to manipulate him at every opportunity.”

  Pride reared its head at their observation of her involvement with Micah. She’d toyed with him, but she hadn’t done anything deliberately malicious. “You’re wrong. I teased him, but he was strong enough. He gave as good as he got.”

  Her argument fell on deaf ears. The voice continued as if she’d said nothing at all. “Your life has been less than remarkable. Your faults are pride, arrogance, deceit, and a sincere lack of courage. All of which predicts that should you return to your mortal form, you will continue down the same path. It is our desire that this cycle stop here. Your soul may cycle as others, and you will return to learn the lessons again.”

  Pain seared through Brigid as the finality of her actions hit her. She’d lost Micah. She would never again see his aggravating lopsided smirk, never hear the taunt of his laughter. He would go on; those arms that offered her such protection would embrace another.

  She had never told him she loved him.

  Brigid sank to her knees, her legs no longer able to hold her weight. In the corner of her vision, the lights swirled again, but she couldn’t track which one moved where. She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to hear whatever they would say next. She couldn’t stomach the truth of what she’d done with her life. She’d brought this on herself; she had no one else to blame. Not even her sire, and the fear that had controlled her for centuries. She could have been stronger. Could have leaned on Fintan, or Isolde, the two who carried the majority of Nyamah’s strength.

  And yet…she hadn’t. She had acted on her own and taken the easy road.

  Worse, now and then she had even enjoyed it.

  “Are you aware that the only failed judgment Micah Nelson experienced was the moment he chose to set you free?”

  Brigid groaned inwardly. Now she was responsible for Micah’s fall as well.

  “Much as we would will it otherwise, in all things there must be balance. To punish the one who has taken no misstep of consequence, who has honored our teachings, creates asymmetry with nature. Though it displeases us to admit such, we find irony in the fact that you, who have no symmetry at all, create the balance for him.”

  Blinking, Brigid looked up. She was hearing things. Certainly they didn’t mean…

  “And so we are placed in the awkward position of having to restore you to a mortal form. A decision that displeases us greatly.”

  Though she hadn’t been aware of her pulse before, it raced to her throat and clogged it shut. Disbelief and excitement sent a wave of nervous heat washing over her skin. They were sending her back!
She could see Micah again. Touch him. Become lost in his devastating kiss.

  “Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed on a rush of airy breath. “Thank you, thank you.”

  “Do not be so quick to thank us. You have much to overcome, Brigid. When you take your first breath again, Drandar will know. Your betrayal has fueled his rage. It is the natural order of things, and while we will leave your powers intact, we send you with no other gift. If you die, it is the natural order of things.”

  Fear shimmied down her spine. But for the first time in Brigid’s existence, it didn’t overpower her. She had stood against her sire, damaged him with the magic she’d spent hundreds of years fine-tuning. She would stand against him again, if she must, and she refused to let terror control her life. Greater things were at stake. Micah. Happiness.

  Family.

  Not just her potential children, but the unity of siblings that she’d neglected for far too long. With Micah at her side, she could face those battles and survive whatever outcome.

  “To this end, until such a time that Drandar may no longer exist, Nyamah will remain forbidden to you.”

  She nodded. Her mother hadn’t aided her in hundreds of years. She didn’t need her mother’s presence. She possessed Nyamah’s strength inside. It would guide her.

  The trio of light drew in on one another, forming a tight triangle. At the corners, where the residue of their bright glow remained, small spirals delved into the deeper oblivion that held their companions. With one push of their timeless energy, they burned white-blue, becoming larger, drifting toward Brigid’s face. She closed eyes to block the blinding light, and heat seared her forehead. Her nose filled with the scent of sulfur.

  “Go,” they insisted in unison, the odd tones forming a fourth, completely unique voice. “You are no longer something we wish to concern ourselves with.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Micah sat against one of the skyward reaching monoliths, knees pulled up, elbows resting on them, and staring at the ground, oblivious to the light of dawn that broke across the sky. There were no more tears to shed. They’d dried up some time ago. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the henge. Brigid lay within it, laid out across the ancient altar as Fintan had arranged her. Tonight the fires would burn again, and those flames would take her body as the curse had stolen her soul.

  “Micah?” Beth’s voice reached him distantly.

  He lifted his head, dragged himself out of his thoughts, and focused on her. To his surprise, she stood less than four feet away. Her green eyes filled with concern.

  “I know…” She huffed out a breath, shook her head as if she decided against what she’d intended to say. Then, she crossed the short distance between them and sat down at his side. Linking her elbow through his, she leaned against his shoulder. “There’s nothing I can say that will make this any easier. I know you’re angry with us.”

  He clenched his teeth. In truth, he wasn’t upset with Beth. Just Fintan, the brother who should have taken more time to understand instead of locking his sister away. If he’d connected with Brigid, things might have turned out differently. She might have made different decisions if she believed her family would keep her safe from Drandar.

  “Fintan’s been up all night. He’s taking this hard, despite what you might think.” Beth paused, took a deep breath, then continued more somberly. “He’s reached everyone but Taran. They’re all flying in on the family jet this afternoon.”

  Micah nodded, uncertain how else to react. Part of him wanted nothing more to do with this family. The other part demanded he stay if only to defend Brigid’s memory.

  Quiet spanned between him and Beth. She stared over the treetops at the brightening sky. Micah picked at the tiny rocks on the ground. He didn’t know what to say, what anyone expected of him right now. All he understood was the never-ending ache behind his ribs and the utter sense of emptiness that engulfed him. He’d been through one devastating breakup in his life. Screwed up and destroyed a damn good thing. But there was no fixing this. He couldn’t beg Brigid to take him back, couldn’t prove himself, couldn’t do a goddamned thing. Fate had ripped his choices out of his hands.

  “Did she love you too?” Beth asked in a whisper.

  Micah sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and stiffened, unprepared for such directness. Brigid’s face flashed in his memory. He saw her in their last moments together, an instant before he’d kissed her goodbye. Her amber eyes glinted with emotion that reached in and fisted around his heart. His chest tightened the same way it had when she walked out of her bedroom. He swallowed hard. Brigid had never said the words, but somehow he’d known.

  “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business,” Beth apologized.

  “She did,” Micah answered hoarsely.

  Beth’s fingers squeezed his forearm. “I’m so sorry, Micah. I’d give my thumbs to fix this for you.”

  It took effort, but he managed to lift his gaze to Beth’s and give a short nod. “Thank you.”

  “Come inside? Tonight’s going to be even more difficult. You should try and rest.”

  Go to his room, the space he’d shared with Brigid, the place where she would still live and breathe, and rest? Not hardly. He’d take one step inside and suffocate.

  “I’ll be in after a while.”

  Beth stood, giving him a sad, understanding smile. She took two steps away and halted. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “I know it’s no help, but Brigid acted honorably. She dealt Drandar a critical blow. If she hadn’t, if she’d destroyed that spell, he’d be undefeatable.”

  Micah nodded. Frankly, at the moment, he didn’t give a damn about Drandar. He couldn’t let go of the keen awareness that if Brigid had just run and discarded her family’s desires, that she would still be here. He could have warded himself against her. They might have had some chance of surviving the curse, despite the odds.

  Beth’s footfalls drew further away, leaving Micah to his solitude. He leaned his head back against the hulking block of stone and closed his eyes. He had never felt so lost, so absolutely uncertain of himself or the world around him. In all he did, he tried to honor the ancestors, to live according to their designs and maintain the harmony of nature’s elements.

  In return, they abandoned him.

  The oh-so-saintly, Celt High Priestess, Nyamah had abandoned him as well.

  If he could find a means of locking his fingers around their necks, and squeezing the eternal light from them, he would do so unhesitatingly.

  “You should go inside. Though I disagree strongly with the idea of resting.”

  Micah groaned aloud. Good sweet elements of nature, he’d exhausted himself to the point that he was imagining things. But the sound of Brigid’s voice was so soothing, he couldn’t bring himself to push away from the rock. He kept his eyes shut, summoning her picture from memory, replaying her smile again and again.

  Soft fingertips touched his cheek. The faint scent of patchouli blended with a stronger aroma of campfires. Micah’s heart stuttered.

  “Do you think if I failed to show for my own funeral, it would be revenge enough on Fintan?”

  As Micah’s heartbeat skidded to a halt, he slowly opened his eyes. Brigid bent over him, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, her smile as bright as the North Star. And tender—sweet sacred elements, he could spend an eternity basking in the emotion that softened her exotic features.

  “No,” he whispered thickly. “They’ll just think I ran off with your body.”

  A hint of mischief glinted in her amber gaze. “I’d let you do that, you know.”

  “Brigid.” Every tight knot and kinked up muscle behind his ribs let go as he exhaled her name. He sat up, drew her into his arms. She tumbled into his lap, her lips latching on to his.

  Micah tangled his hands in her hair, curled his fingertips against her scalp, lost to the incredible heat of her mouth. By some miracle she’d returned. She was here. His at last. And nothing could ever make him le
t her go. Not the rising sun, not her family, not even the ancient spirits that had breathed life back into her lungs.

  Her kiss was just as desperate, every bit as needy. She clung to him as if she feared something might pull her away, and that too, Micah reveled in. He drank her in, knowing he would never get his fill, until his lungs burned with the need for air.

  Panting, he drew the kiss to a close and guided her head back far enough he could look into her eyes. “How?”

  She pursed her lips in false annoyance. “Gee. It’s nice to know what you really thought of me.”

  Despite himself, Micah chuckled. He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, playfully nipped her lower lip, and settled back against the monolith. Dropping his hands to her waist, he held her in place so he could take in the full-measure of the woman who owned his heart. The tattoo on her forehead caught his attention, and he lifted one hand to trace the triangular symbol that hadn’t been present before. “What’s this?”

  “What’s what?” Brigid squinted at him.

  He traced the pattern again, dipping into the corners to explore the spirals there. “Your tattoo is different.”

  “Oh.” Flat and monotone, Brigid’s voice held understanding she didn’t want to reveal. The way she rolled her eyes proved it. “That would be the ancestors. Unpleasant bunch.” She wrinkled her nose. “I assume it’s a reminder.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Reminder?”

  “That I’m not supposed to screw up and be selfish this time.” She huffed out a sigh. “Which I suppose answers the question about not showing up for my funeral.”

  “Oh no.” Micah shook his head. “I don’t care if your entire family is in town, you’re not leaving our rooms tonight.”

  “My family?” Her question held a touch of disbelief. “They’re coming here?”

  In that moment, Micah loved her even more. The wonder that widened her eyes, the surprised part to her lips—she’d never admit it, but the fact her sisters and brothers were traveling across an ocean for her supposed death touched her.