ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One (18 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He had made good time out of London.  Bishop had provided him with a horse, a map and very specific instructions on how to not only approach the King of Celtica but, what information to pass on to his majesty.  He had a great curiosity to meet the man that so much rested upon.  He also felt a certain satisfaction.  Things were truly happening now, with a purpose and an end in sight.   

They had done the best they could to prepare the rebels back in the kingdom before leaving.  Only the handful of resistance leaders knew the king was alive.  The rest would know soon enough.  Ciara, her ship’s crew and only the King’s own small band of men knew within Celtica that he had traveled to England. Ciara had been passed the knowledge of the king’s survival and his location before her father was executed.  It was a sacred inheritance, to protect and defend.  He knew they could trust her to handle the news of his return from the ‘dead’ and start quietly organizing the rebellions forces.

The sun was barely reaching noon as he turned down a tree lined lane.  The trees were so tall and old they made deep green canopy overhead, their leaves reaching for each other and sheltering him from the light rain that had kept him damp the entire ride.  It reminded him of the Old Roads in Celtica.  One almost felt the trees watching and that the air rustling the leaves was the breath of old, rooted green giants.  He knew the Vikings found the Old Roads a place of unease, often clutching the little stone or wooden talismans they wore around their necks if they had to travel those paths.  The Gooar, interestingly enough, would not take those roads and therefore they were a perfect way for the rebels to move about the island.

The light faded suddenly and too quickly under the trees, much too abruptly and he felt his heart accelerate.  A shiver ran over his skin, electric and alive.  It was the oncoming rush of power.  He had felt it too many times to not recognize what it meant.  Something magical was coming.

He slowed his horse who snorted and pulled against the bit, nervous as he sensed the same change as his rider.  Sebastian scanned the woods, tense and with one hand reached for the long slim Cauldron blade in the sheath on his leg.  It was unlikely that whatever was coming his knife would be protection against.  The feel of the blade was more a comfort.  He had other resources at his command but also strict orders not to use them unless there was no other choice.  He knew this feeling but it was impossible to know yet whether it was caused by friend or foe…

A movement through the trees caught his eye and his grip tightened on the blade. A pale, gleaming shadow leaped along through the forest to his left and then stepped delicately through the trees and into the road before him, blocking his path.  A tall graceful doe that seemed made of silver and shadow, with a garland of mistletoe about its throat pawed the dirt of the lane and then stepped toward him.  His breath slowed and his grip on the blade relaxed.  

Only one being could take this form.  As a symbol of the goddess it could not be taken by any other.

As the doe moved closer the shape seemed to unfold like a twisting fall of water, shifting liquidly from the animal to the tall form of a woman.  Sebastian felt the woods turn completely silent around him, as if everything held its breath.  He had learned through his years of living on Celtica that messages did not always arrive on paper.  But when they came in this form, they were usually not good, but requiring urgency and necessitating the risk.

“My Lady!” he bowed from the saddle.  She raised a hand and pushed back the hood that hid her face.  It was a face of strikingly unusual beauty, serenity and a frightening power.  It radiated from her in an aura he could feel, but not see.  She lifted one hand, held before her as if making an offering.  An apple, perfect and deep red appeared in her hand and she offered it to the horse who took it gently and ate it with relish as she stroked its muzzle. 

“Now you are just showing off!” he smiled.  She smiled in return with a little shrug of her shoulders.  The smile was lovely and had a sweet impishness that somehow did not dim the fierce intelligence and power that illuminated her face.  Olav was justifiably worried by this woman and had yet to ever try and force a confrontation.  

“There is danger on this road for you Rook,” she spoke simply as she continued to stroke his horse. He had the sense she did not mean just the road he was upon at this minute.

“There is always danger my lady.  You must have more to tell me to have taken this risk and use so much of your gift.  It is dangerous for you too,” he said with concern in his eyes.  He had come to respect the courage and power of this woman above all others.  If they worked and risked for the cause she truly lived for it and dedicated every moment to protecting the Celtic Kingdom.  While appearing to be only about his own age, near thirty, she was the head of the priestesses and had undergone the ritual of transfer like every Lady before her.  She held not only her own power and knowledge but, in the last moments of life, each passed on to the chosen successor all her knowledge as well, and maybe something more.  He had heard rumors.

“Always,” she sighed. “You think too often you are not a good man Rook but here you are worrying about my safety and less of your own,” she smiled at him with real warmth. “A vision came to me.”

“Llyr himself spoke,” she touched her forehead briefly and her eyes looked troubled. “No lady in the last thousand years has heard the voice of Llyr.  Rhiannon I could expect, but when the sea god himself speaks, it is more than unusual. You must take ever greater care my friend.  The Gooar grow more powerful than we ever imagined. It is never as clear as we would like, hearing the voice of the gods, but hear well the words I was given.” She looked up at him and met his eyes.  He found himself drowning in pools of silver that flooded his vision and the world around him slid away like a receding tide he was powerless to resist.

He no longer sensed the woods, the path, or even awareness of his own body. Her words took on a new cadence, winding around him like wind and water filling his head with the sound of her voice.  He could smell incense and sense the sudden presence of other forms, a press of beings of enormous power as if to witness her words.

“The blood of the sea and the promise waits, but so does the chosen of the raven.  Beware the children of the raven! Two paths become one and danger increases.  Llyr’s hand is always upon you, you and yours are our most precious defenders. From you, feather, stone and water shall be united.  The Rook shall throw down the raven if hearts are true and courage does not falter.”

Her voice faded and he shook his head as if waking from sleep to find the lady’s silvery image gone and the road quite empty.  Only the slight echo of power whispered through the trees.

“She never says goodbye,” he laughed shakily.  He didn’t know whether to be terrified or comforted that the sea god himself, whose hand had raised Celtica from the sea, had placed so much faith in him.  He wasn’t blind either and could see in the Lady’s eyes that such communication had taken a toll on her.  He couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like to hear the voice of a god.  He wondered if a normal person would even survive such an experience.

It still begged the question, why him? And why were magical and supernatural warnings, clues and prophecies never in good plain English?  He supposed he wouldn’t be able to decipher this one until the moments were upon him.  Well, other than the fact that the Gooar already had someone in place.  His mission to find the Gooar’s agent had just taken on even more importance.

He could only hope that the Lady had conjured a spell that would have hidden her presence and their conversation from the Gooar.  He had met the leader of the Gooar, Olav, on several occasions.  Each one had been a moment of sweating terror that the man would penetrate the secrets he held.  Olav had seemed more interested in grilling him on the upbringing his mother had provided and that he had “proper” Viking values.  The upbringing part he had passed with flying colors.  His need to remove himself from the Gooar’s plans to find an heir for Ulrich had not always seemed to satisfy Olav.  He had occasionally seen that black eye following him, full of speculation.  In fact, he often worried that Olav had plans for him that no amount of his supposed drinking, whoring and general uselessness had dissuaded.  He hoped he was wrong.

In fact, he mused, he and Bishop had often discussed their coinciding thoughts that the Gooar was up to something they could not put their finger on.  Even the Ladies had not been able to penetrate more than a thin outer layer of the thoughts of the priests.  It was strange that Olav and Ulrich had yet to announce an heir for Ulrich when it was clear he would not produce any offspring.  They were leaving the succession of the throne in doubt and that did not make any sense.

Just remembering the first time he had been brought before Olav still gave him nightmares.  In his obedience and a show of dedication to Odin the man had gouged out one of his own eyes so that he too had only one eye like his god.  Did it give him greater knowledge like the All Father? Who knew? But he was without doubt a man of incredible power and no conscience in pursuit of his own ends. 

Olav had a faithful raven that acted as both spy and familiar.  Stories of the atrocities he committed and his experiments upon women of Celtic blood were the stuff of legend.  Sebastian had seen the bodies of the women taken by Olav and it was impossible to not imagine the suffering those poor women had endured.

The prophecies that guided both the Celts and Vikings of the kingdom had produced pure and total insanity if anyone where to ask his opinion.  No one would of course.  To the natives of Celtica a king would come, his arrival would herald the defeat of the Gooar of Odin and their followers. A new era of peace and strength for the kingdom would begin.  The whispers were so low he wondered if even the Gooar knew that many Celts believed the future king would be of King Arthur’s blood. 

To the Gooar, and no surprise, their prophecy was bloodier, a scion of

Harald’s blood would slaughter a child of Llyr and Harald as a sacrifice to Odin and Odin would purify Celtica of all Celtic blood. The House of Llyr would be destroyed forever.  Some ultra-purified descendent of Harald would assume the throne and his bloodline would rule for all time.  

He often thought of the Gooar’s “sacrificial” plan as Plan B.  Plan A, setting up a pure blood Viking upon the throne a thousand years ago had ended in abject failure.  It had resulted in a continued mania for maintaining and refining the line of Harald in the hope that one day they would bring the prophecy to fruition but so far they had, thankfully, failed. 

For the prophecy to come true the Gooar would need to find a child with the blood of Llyr and Harald.  So far that had been impossible, made impossible by the priestesses.  He feared that the mangled bodies Olav had started dumping were related to some experiment to try and combine the blood.

  He had only realized recently, and much to his shock, that his mother and the Gooar hadn’t minded his whoring about at all.  They were hoping that having been born and raised outside of Celtica he would be immune to the priestesses magic that made Viking seed unable to take root in a Celtic womb.  Fortunately, it seemed to have proven true with him as well. He had avoided women of Celtic blood like the plague once he had learned of the prophecy, just to be certain.  He had also taken precautions to not get any woman of Viking blood with child either.  He refused to take the chance of either being the instrument of a child being murdered or being forced to marry if he did get one of Viking blood pregnant.

The first problem was that as far as anyone knew there was no blood of Arthur anywhere to be found.  Arthur himself had killed his only ill begotten offspring Mordred.  The Lady at the time of the Viking prophecy had taken extreme measures and conjured a spell of such power she had died after the casting.  There had not been a child born of Viking and Celtic or Briton union in a thousand years; including from the Royal House of Llyr who had not lain, by law, with a Viking in all that time.  

Where the Gooar thought they were going to get a child who met those requirements was a mystery to him but he was sure this was the root of the horrific stories he had heard surrounding Olav.  He had even heard that Olav
was
a thousand years old and the Priest who had brought the Vikings to Celtica.  He didn’t know if it was just a tale, but he hoped so.  He didn’t want to know what Olav would be willing to do in order to live so long.

If the Ladies of Rhiannon knew of anyone who carried the blood of Arthur it was the best kept secret of their order.  They were like most religious and magical orders, dedicated unto death to protecting the skills and knowledge they possessed.  If they knew of some Arthurian bloodline out there he could only hope it would show up soon.  They could really use some help about now.  If not, then King Conal of the House of Llyr was the only answer they had and
Sebastian hoped the man was up to his task.  He’d know better once he met him.

He remembered what Bishop had told him of the last King, Niall’s, hopes.  He had thought he could bring the Gooar and their followers to see reason and share the kingdom peacefully after a millennium of hatred if a child of both his own house of Llyr and the bloodline of Harald could be combined.  The king had proposed reversing the spell and marrying his son Conal to Sebastian’s own mother if the Gooar would abandon their plot to kill any offspring.  He wanted to allow the kingdom to unite through fusing the blood of the enemies.  It was a strategy that often worked in Europe over the centuries to build alliances, but the Gooar would have no part of the proposal.