Highland Shift (Highland Destiny: 1) Read online

  When Elena came back to herself, she was hungry and very thirsty, but she was also exhausted. She knew she’d reacted foolishly. It was imperative that she conserve her strength. She needed some rest before she tried anything new. Pulling the two chairs from either side of the altar, she pushed them together so they were facing each other and lay down.

  It felt as though she’d been in the chamber for many hours. Faolan would look for her. Right, and where would he look? She fought against the rising panic that threatened to overtake her, once again. With deep, slow breaths, she forced herself to calm down and eventually she slept.

  While she slept, she had nightmares. She was four, and her mother left her; she was thirteen, and her Grandda died. She’d been teen on the cusp on woman, and her foster father kept her locked in the closet for tempting him. The panic she felt became part of the fabric of the dream.

  Then, in the disjointed way of dreams, women in long flowing robes of the softest white surrounded her, soothing her, calming her fears. They chanted quietly, a melodic, haunting sound that left her comforted.

  When Elena woke, disoriented and sore, she had no idea how long she’d been asleep or how long she’d been in the room. This morning, she was the calm, analytical Elena. She knew she was in danger of shock and dehydration, and keeping her panic controlled was crucial.

  She examined the door. The hinges were on the outside, so she couldn’t get at them. The lock was like nothing she’d ever seen before. Picking locks wasn’t in her skill set, but maybe if she could remove the doorplate, she could access the locking mechanism.

  She looked for a useful tool; no stones were loose. The chairs were too heavy to lift, and too sturdy to break pieces off. She couldn’t use the gold candelabrum because the gold would be too soft. Damn! The dagger! Why hadn’t she thought of using the dagger sooner?

  With eight inches of blade and a jeweled handle, the dagger should be sturdy enough to dig at the wood surrounding the iron plate. If she loosened it enough she could knock the locking mechanism out or shift it so it would release. She worked on it for a long time, and managed to carve a groove into the wood around two sides of the doorplate. It didn’t look as though she was making much progress, but what else was she going to do?

  Her arms and hands hurt from the exertion, and no amount of shifting her hold on the knife was providing any relief. With a flutter of yesterday’s panic she realized the light was growing dim. Crap, the batteries in the lantern are wearing out. Just how much time has passed? Conserving batteries and strength were top priorities. Switching from lantern to flashlight, Elena climbed back onto her impromptu bed again, and in a very few minutes was sound asleep.

  The chanting started shortly after she dozed off. When she opened her eyes, the room glowed softly, bathed in candlelight, and again the white-robed women surrounded her. Elena knew she was safe as long as they were with her, so she closed her eyes to wait for the end of their ceremony.

  The women were gone when she next woke, but Elena knew they’d be back later. She must have slept well; her limbs were heavy and relaxed. She turned the lantern back on and went back to work on the door. Her muscles ached from all the pushing and cutting she’d done on it yesterday. Yesterday, all my troubles… Something about that seemed familiar. She was beginning to lose track of what was happening, of when she was awake and when she was asleep.

  This must be a very magic room, she thought. Oh, wait… magick. Faolan told her it was spelled m-a-g-i-c-k, so you could tell the difference between real magick and a magic trick. What was I talking about?

  “Elena? You stay right here. I just need to run to the store for some more medicine. I’ll be right back. I’m locking the door. Don’t open it.” Her mother’s voice was soft and blurry, like it always was when she drank her medicine. Elena sat up straight on the couch, hoping Mommy wouldn’t notice she wasn’t in her room.

  Okay, this isn’t right. Her mother had been dead for twenty years. In a lucid moment, Elena realized she must be hallucinating and started pacing the room, trying to keep the blood circulating. Surprised that images of her mother had come to haunt her, Elena used thoughts of her family to stay focused and went back to work on the lock.

  Elena was four when her mother went out one night, never to return. She remembered telling her Grandda about Mommy’s blurry voice, and Grandda sighed and shook his head. When she was older, she realized a blurry voice was what a four-year-old might think a voice sounded like when someone had been drinking. Her mother was usually drinking.

  Grandda had taken her into his house, but he’d also been blurry. The social workers came and said they would take her away if he didn’t stop drinking. He had been a widower and a drunk for nearly ten years before Elena came to live with him, but to his credit, he pulled himself most of the way out of the bottle so he could care for Elena.

  Although Grandda had given up the booze, it hadn’t given up on him, and he died of liver failure when she was thirteen. All the money went to pay for his medical bills. The state buried him for free and placed his granddaughter in foster care.

  Why in the world was she thinking about this?

  Elena was very tired again, and a dim part of her mind acknowledged that she must be dangerously dehydrated. She was no longer hungry, and beyond thirsty. She just felt tired all the time; maybe she had iron-poor blood. Stop, stay strong.

  The women returned, and they brought Brigid with them. “Lass, these are the sisterhood. They are here to take you on a journey now. They will keep you safe, but this journey ‘tis important. There are things you will need to know. Some you willna remember until you need to, others you will remember for Faolan. May the gods and goddess smile upon your light.”

  The robed figures stood around a circle drawn on the floor, and Elena was in the center. The women took turns reciting lines and Elena wondered if she was supposed to have something to say.

  “Oh Earth beneath us, you are the sustainer of all life.”

  “Air surrounding us, lifting us, you inspire all life.”

  “Stars of Fire above us, you empower our lives.”

  “Water within us, you refresh our lives.”

  The women of the Sisterhood gently bathed Elena’s face and trickled water from the gold chalice into her parched mouth.

  A voice that could have belonged to an angel said, “Elena, on this journey, the water will be your guide and will give you life at journey’s end.”

  Then Elena stepped onto a small boat, and they sailed to the western coast of Scotland where a small island emerged from the clouds, which confused Elena for a minute because she thought they were in the ocean. A wren appeared from the clouds and lighted on the branch of a nearby tree.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening,” Elena told the wren, which in her dream seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

  “Reflect. You will be seen and you will see. Then without hesitation, you must follow the path of learning, ‘tis important to our world. You will be sought as one who is wise, so begin your journey. There is a time coming, all your skills and all the true disciples may still not be enough. It is coming.”

  When Elena stepped from the boat, she was back in the chamber, and the robed women were waiting to care for her as though she were their precious child. They laid her back on her makeshift bed, brushed her hair from her forehead, and dribbled more water between her dry lips.

  “Faolan is looking for you; he will find you,” Brigid whispered. “You must give him the mirror so all can be saved. Faolan will find you on the morrow. Rest now, Elena, Light of Faolan.”

  Elena slept.

  Chapter Sixteen

  For three long nights and two full days, Faolan searched every part of the farm. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Elena. She has to be here somewhere, he thought. Was it possible Elena had shifted time, even now trapped in a century that wasna her own? Faolan didn’t know much about time shift, but he knew that many believed the ancient Dr
uids had that ability.

  The MacGailtry land had an ancient stone circle hidden deep in the woods that was nearly 10,000 years old. It was protected by strong wards, and as far as he knew, Elena wouldna be able to see it because of the spells hiding it from view. Faolan had spent nearly half his life researching Druid use of the stones to no avail. Yesterday, he’d examined every inch of the circle and found nothing to indicate anyone had been near the area recently.

  Could Elena have found the circle? Had she been ensorcelled? There was one person he knew who could read the signs. Why had he not thought of going to Brigid sooner? He ran through the kitchen yelling at Lilly that he was going to get the old seer.

  Even though he’d not called ahead, he wasn’t surprised to find Brigid waiting by the street, a large carpetbag in her hands. Faolan started to ask her a question, but she cut him off.

  “Go. Och, you left it late, lad.” Brigid climbed into the truck and said again, more urgently, “Go, go fast.”

  Faolan peppered her with questions, but Brigid sat still, her eyes closed, listening to something only she could hear. When they arrived at the farm, Brigid climbed out of the truck and went straight to Elena’s bedroom to look around. She stopped near the fireplace and sighed, “Ah, ‘tis true.”

  “What is it? Do you know where she is, has she shifted time?” Faolan asked desperately.

  “Nay, lad, she is near, but you must find her.”

  Faolan ran his hand through his hair, dark circles under his eyes, looking half-mad. “How? How do I find her?”

  “Is there something you and she have both touched, something personal?”

  Faolan’s eyes scanned Elena’s room, “Her hair brush,’” he said.

  “Get it, lad, bring it along,” demanded Brigid, already heading for the kitchen.

  Red and Lilly were hovering, desperate to help, but unsure where to start.

  “Where does the lass go when she is by herself?” Brigid asked.

  Red answered right away, “The north steading. She is always mucking about in there, messing with her stacks.”

  “I looked there,” insisted Faolan.

  “Och, of course you did, but which eyes did you use, lad?” Brigid issued orders, “Red, go build up the fire in Elena’s room. We will bring her there. Lilly, make tea, add sugar, and let it begin to cool. Start a broth as well. Faolan, come, we will bring her home.”

  They went directly to the north wing of the steading where Brigid grabbed Faolan’s hands, looking ridiculously small next to his giant frame. “Faolan, ‘tis time for you to draw on your magick. It sleeps deep within you. We must draw it forward and call on the gods and goddesses to awaken it in you. ‘Tis time,” she repeated.

  “Tell me what to do, Brigid,” Faolan pleaded.

  Brigid drew a candle, bottle of water, a bowl, incense, and four stones from her bag. She handed the stones to Faolan. “Place them one each on the points of the compass.” She put the unlit candle in the center of his circle and put the bowl filled with water next to it. She lit the incense, then turned to Faolan.

  “This must be your magick, not mine,” she said. “I will guide you as best I can, but beware. This all depends on you. I canna do it. When it comes time to close your mind to all but the spirits, you must let nothing intrude. You will receive your answer only if you let nothing else intrude.”

  Faolan entered the circle from the East and lit the candle, clutching Elena’s hairbrush. Following the path of the sun, he offered a greeting of peace to each of the four points. He sat near the center of the circle and focused on opening himself. It filled him with awe to know after all these years he was saying the words of his father, his ancestors. He felt the mantle of his ancestry settle onto his shoulders, filling him with a sense of destiny.

  At first, Elena’s name entered his brain every few seconds, but he pushed thoughts of her back and closed his eyes, straining to hear. The sound began as a distant whisper, the chanting soon filled him. In his mind’s eye, he watched as the flame left the candle, made a sun-wise circle around the room testing his resolve, and then beckoned him to follow. Faolan floated behind the flame as it passed through a pile of furniture stacked against the wall, through the wall, and into a long, dark passageway. At the end of the passageway were two large doors, and Faolan floated after the candle’s flame, through the door on the right.

  He entered a chamber that was very cool, the only light from his flame. White-robed figures lined the room, yet disappeared as soon as he was fully through the door. Two chairs faced each other against the far wall, and he could see Elena cradled between the arms. He could not see her breathing.

  The scent of freshly turned earth signaled a renewal of the seasons. Then the roar in his head reached a crescendo and filled Faolan with sounds of nature: wind rushing through the trees, water tumbling over river rock, the roar of fire wiping a landscape clean. A voice, ringing clear and pure as a bell, spoke from within his soul, “Welcome home, Faolan of Gailtry, Faolan of the Light.”

  He came slowly back to himself as if returning from a long journey. Brigid was there, but silent, anxious not to intrude too soon. When he was ready, he looked up at her, his eyes full of uncertainty.

  Brigid said, “Hurry, lad. There’s not much time left.”

  He stood a bit unsteadily, shook his head, and asked Brigid, “What do I do now?”

  “Did they not show you?” she asked her voice pitched higher than usual, filled with tension.

  “There was a candle,” he said, walking to the junk pile. “I followed it through walls. It started over here.” When he walked around the pile, he saw what he had missed before. There was an opening in the far corner, not visible unless you squeezed around the back. He pushed boxes and a dresser aside to make a clear pathway. He put a hand on the metal plates; they felt warm to his touch. He wanted to scream with frustration. How was he supposed to know what to do?

  He looked over his shoulder at Brigid, who nodded encouragement. Faolan placed one hand on each plate. The doors glowed, and he pushed in his aggravation. They opened easily.

  Faolan entered a vestibule that he recognized. It was the room from his vision. He raced through the opening, heedless of any danger ahead, desperate to find Elena. Brigid followed behind whispering strange phrases.

  The small candle flame flickered in the breeze he created in his haste as he ran down the long passageway. He was dimly aware of the unlit torches hanging on the wall, and that he was heading downhill as he raced toward the doors. He must be deep inside the land. He was relieved to see the oak door on the right had a key in the lock. Brigid took the candle from him as he turned the key, his hands shaking.

  He flung the door open, calling, “Elena?” As soon as stepped into the room, something white fluttered just beyond his peripheral vision. He raced across the room and found Elena, asleep or unconscious, looking peaceful. “Elena,” he cried, his voice breaking. He tried waking her, shaking her gently, calling, “Elena, love, wake up, I am here. Wake, Elena.”

  Brigid’s voice was tight, full of tension as she said, “Pick her up. We must get water into her and get her warm. Hurry, ‘tis near too late.” She picked up Elena’s backpack and held the door open.

  Faolan picked Elena up and ran back up the long passageway. His heart thundered but not from the exertion. Nay, his heart was pounding too hard from the thought that she might even now be lost to him. How could life be so cruel to show him his true heart, the light of his life, only to steal her away? Elena must be all right; she must live. “Please wake up, Elena.”

  Faolan pleaded to any god that might listen with favor upon his request. “I canna live without her. If you must take a life today, take my life for hers.” He’d no sooner completed that thought, than the entire passageway rocked, the walls seemed to shift, and Faolan struggled to maintain his footing. The world righted itself, and Faolan ran faster.

  As soon as they entered the house, Faolan carried Elena to her bed, and Brigid barked
out orders. “Faolan, remove her boots, socks, and pants. Rub her legs. Get the blood circulating. Lilly, bring the sweetened tea. Make sure ‘tis warm but not hot.”

  Brigid reached into her bag and pulled out incense and a jar of paste. She unbuttoned Elena’s shirt and started slathering the paste on her chest, and Faolan inhaled deeply of the warm, earthy smell. “Rub faster, lad.”

  Lilly returned with a mug, lifted Elena’s head, and spooned the tea into Elena’s unresponsive mouth. Brigid would not let Lilly stop until the whole cup was gone. “Give it another fifteen minutes, and do it again.”

  Brigid felt Elena’s legs and ordered Faolan to take off his shoes and pants and to climb under the covers with Elena. “Press every bit of skin agin hers. We must make her warm.” Faolan undressed and pressed his legs tightly against Elena and wrapped her in his arms. Elena was completely unresponsive, cold and limp to his touch.

  “Should we take her to hospital?” he asked Brigid, fear making his voice harsh.

  “Nay, lad, she wouldna make the trip. There’s no time to lose. You must use your magick to heal her. ‘Tis the only way. Close your eyes and call to fire to warm her and to water to restore her. ‘Tis not supposed to be her time. Heal her with me.”

  Brigid laid one hand on the center of Elena’s chest and the other on her forehead, and began whispering under her breath. Faolan, still holding her close and pressing his warmth against her, closed his eyes. He blocked everything from his mind, spoke with his heart, and called upon the spirits to feed his light, fire to heat her, and water to her veins.

  A sensation of fullness took him. The roar of an internal wind howled, battering him with its intensity. Then, as the wind began to still, he heard a very faint and thready heartbeat. He willed his heartbeat to match it, to strengthen it, to carry it on wings until Elena was strong enough to sustain it herself. The beating grew stronger, and Elena’s breath came more evenly. He slowly opened his eyes to meet Brigid’s steady gaze.