Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) (16 page)

John went to Mary, never taking his eyes from Dallan’s crumpled form until he reached him. Dallan would have to answer the Muiraran’s Call if he wanted to survive, but how could he when he had no idea what was happening to him?

“Dallan?” John whispered putting a hand on the Scot’s shoulder.

Dallan, the battle over, raised his head to look at John. “I… I dinna want to answer any more questions to… day… Jo
hn.” His head dropped to the fl
oor with a dull thud.

John gave Mary a look of grave concern. “Will he be all right?”

Mary put her arms protectively around Dallan, resting her head against his trembling back. “He
needs rest, Lord Councilor. Th
is one took a lot
more out of him than the last.” She sat up and began massaging Dallan’s tender right shoulder.

John’s mouth dropped open. “The last?”

Mary nodded
and gave him her full attention
. "The first
I know
of
came but a few days ago, the day after he injured his shoulder.  It was much smal
ler than this one.  I went to fetch the washing
and found him
like this in his cottage. Time Master Kwaku
was already there watching
through the
window
.
I wasn't sure if the boy's
state was
from
th
e Muiraran, or
his injuries and you upsetting him with all your questions
.
" Mary's lower lip trembled as she massaged Dallan's shoulder again. "
But there's no question now."

John's jaw
tight
ened
.  He
would have
Kwaku
Awahnee’s
hide fl
ogged off for not telling him Dallan had received the Call before. He bent to survey the damage. “Can you stand, Dallan?”

Dallan groaned. “John?”

John placed a hand on Dallan’s still trembling back. “I’m here. Can you make it back to your cottage?”

The Scot raised his head a notch. “I’ll settle for yon table
there
if… if ye please.”

J
ohn took one arm, Mary the other. “Easy now, lad, I’m no longer a young woman,” she grunted as they helped Dallan to his feet. John groaned almost as much as Mary as they guided their load to the nearest table, got him to a bench and helped him ease onto it. John feared for Dallan’s injured shoulder, which he was sure took a beating during the Call.

“Mary… some water…
please
.” Dallan breathed heavily.

“Anything you want!” She exclaimed, charging toward the kitchen.

John sat next to Dallan, supporting him as
he still trembled from the eff
ects of the Call. “So, this, uh, this has happened before?” John asked, attempting to sound cheerful.

Dallan
lifted his head,
with great eff
ort, gave him a look of stricken disbelief, and tried a small chuckle. It hurt. “Aye…” he sighed, before exhaustion forced his head down again.

“How many times, Dallan?” John continued, dead serious now.

Dallan sucked in a shaky breath and tried to raise his head again. His face lifted slowly to John’s, still ablaze with a look so agonized it threatened to tear the Councilor’s heart out. “I reckon this would be… the third?” he answered, almost falling off the bench as he turned.

Joh
n propped Dallan
up,
the eff
ort caused his arms to ache and his anger to renew. The
third time!
Great Burning Bells!
When had the first come?

“Whoa there, lad!” Mary came running from the kitchen, a cup of water in one hand, and quickly helped John to steady him. “T
h
ere now, you’ll
be all right. Here, drink this.”

She off
ered Dallan the cup and he took it with a shaky hand, unable to hold it himself. She helped him sip the contents, biting her lower lip to keep her tears in. She’
d seen him through the last Call
, but this one had been by far the worst. And they would only come stronger, closer together, grinding him to dust.

Mary took the cup from Dallan, set it behind him on the table, and faced him again as her tears escaped. The mighty Weapons Master looked
at her as a terrifi
ed child looks to his mother for comfort. She immediately responded, taking his arms and helping him to wrap them around her waist.

She moved directly in front of him, allowing him to bury his face in her bosom, and looked urgently at John, mouthing the words, “here it comes again.” John quickly put an arm around the Scot’s shoulders, bracing him. He could feel an odd tingling race through Dallan’s body and into his own.

Dallan groaned, deep and throaty. “No… please… no more, no more!”

John looked to Mary, horrifi
ed.

“You can feel it too, eh?” she whispered.

“By the Creator,” John choked out as the rus
h of emotion Dallan received fl
owed into him in small intervals.
Bone-searing, heart-breaking pain.
A swirling mix of loneliness, longing, and a strange sense of being horribly incomplete.
It made John want to die, and he received only a fraction of what the Scot could feel. “It’ll kill him!” He glanced frantically around, as if looking for someone.

“No. It wants him to follow, to come,” Mary explained, tears running freely down her face, as she absently rubbed a plump hand over Dallan’s back.

“How
c
an
he?” John managed to ask, fi
ghting the sensations as best he could.

“He can’t.”

“But if he can’t follow, if he can’t answer the Call…”

“It will just keep coming, stronger, more often, until he does. When he can’t resist any more, he’l
l answer. Right now…” she sniff
ed back a sob, “he doesn’t believe. It would be so easy if he’d only believe.”

John suddenly understood. If Dallan would only believe! Believe in all Kwaku had been telling him all along.

“
Nooooo
,” Dallan’s body shook
weakly, his tearful sobs muffl
ed by Mary’s chest. John held him tighter.

The Call touched him.

A serene feeling, intermingled with the pain, weaved its way in and around John in greeting. The Call was alive, an extension of the Muiraran.

He felt it pleading, causing his heart to lurch with an odd need.
A need to be complete, to be one.
To be made whole.

Make him come, please make him come.

Dallan screamed, and nearly fl
ung himself out of Mary and John’s grasp as the full force of the Call hit. He looked desperately at Mary, gripping her with his arms. “Please,
please… I canna take much more!
” His face fell back to her chest, while heart-wrenching sobs racked his big body as he clung to her for dear life.

The Call continued, coming in waves. John could feel it lessen, allowing Dallan time to decide whether or not to let it in. It knew how much the Scot could take, pounding him hard, at the same time protecting him, giving him a chance to answer on his own. Giving him the choice.

“Mary…” Dallan whispered, his voice weak.

John and Mary held him tighter.

Another arm came around the Scot and John looked up, into the face of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was tall even sitting, taller
than
John with a willowy, graceful build barely concealed beneath long white and purple silk robes. Her thick black hair was held in place with a band of gold encircling her head. In its center, rising from her forehea
d, was
the symbol of her office.  A
n ancient Celtic like knot with what looke
d like a letter T atop a letter M in
the
center
alone by itself
.
Nothing seemed to make the symbol within the knot stationary.  It appeared as if the letters were
floating on air.

John was so caught up in the Call he
belatedly recognized
who the
woman was. Mary, on the other hand, gaped at the creature
on the other side of Dall
an, her arm around his shoulder.  S
he looked gently at John, then Mary who stared at her in fearful awe.

Mary Wren, for the fi
rst time in her life, was looking straight into the eyes of a Muiraran—and not just any Muiraran. Skin the color of rich, dark mahogany, midnight-black silky hair, large eb
ony eyes… even with her camoufl
age instinct making her appear human, she was breathtaking. Mary could not even imagine the woman’s beauty should her features turn true.

This
was Zara Awahnee,
Mui
rar
an mate of the Time Master.
C
urrently, the most powerful creature on earth.

The Call came again.

“God, no, please! No! Mary!” Dallan moaned as he shook.

Mary tore her attention away from the Muiraran and back to Dallan, stroking his back, trying to comfort him as she spoke in soothing tones.

Zara held the Scot gently and quietly watched Mary’s actions a moment, then closed her eyes and began to softly sing, her hu
man features fl
uxing into Muiraran. Energy and power from
her inner heart surged forth in the form of yellow light as
she directed it into a song of healing.

John, breathless, watched in fascination at what took place before him, while Mary thought she might faint at the sight of a Muiraran in true form.

Dallan, oblivious to Zara’s presence, began to hear the words that went to the music of the Call. They were faint, fading in and out, two words
more dominant and clearer than the rest.

Follow me…

Dallan felt a rush of calm enter him as the words and music wrapped themselves around his body, his heart,
his
soul.

The Call came again, sweeter, softer.

He suddenly felt her, could smell her scent, and knew she was near. If only he could lift his head, he might see her. But, try as he might, his body sat paralyzed while his heart moved. He panicked at the familiar tugging, yet was comforted by its gentleness. The music didn’t hurt him like it always
did. Mayhaps this was how it was suppose to be. Hadn’t Kwaku told him? Why hadn’t he listened to the heathen? By God, what if the man was right for once?

The more Dallan
gave up, the gentler it became. If only he could lift his
head,
he knew he would see her. She would hold it out to him, and he could take th
e gift she was ready to give
. If only he could lift his head, could see her. If only he could answer…

Dallan suddenly found himself in the soft grass behind his grandfather’s house, the hounds of the manor jumping around the wee lass in excitement. He realized he was six years old again, as on the day he gave her his heart in a dream. Or was it? He couldn’t remember anymore. All that mattered was how she looked at him with the same longing he felt, holding her arms outstretched to him, beckoning him to fol
low.

He heard his man’s voice from far away, screaming in the pain of total helplessness. His boy’s mouth barely managed a weak smile
, the only comfort he could off
er the wee lass as her song died away, leaving her to stand and look at him with the same wretched longing he possessed. Dallan shuddered, their hearts breaking as one—he could do nothing about it except cry and felt the hot sting of tears descend down his cheeks.

The lass too was crying, crying and leaning toward him as far as she could before hitting some invisible barrier separating them. Dallan knew what she felt and more than anything wanted to spare her the pain, to protect her.

H
is man’s voice cried out again.

Dallan looked at her as he tried to stop his tears. He wanted her to see him as a protector, not a mere child. He was a man, a warrior! He wanted her to know he could save her from the pain, spare her heart from breaking, keep the longing and loneliness away at night, comfort her…
hold
her!
But how?

The lass fell to her knees, swallowed by the pain running rampant through her body.

“
Noooo
!” he heard his man’s voice scream as he watched the lass clutch her self around the middle as if her insides were being torn out. Dallan knew the feeling well.

The faint sound of a man’s crying reached him. He knew it was his own, could hear the voices trying to comfort him. But they couldn’t stop the waves from coming, couldn’t help him answer.