The Silent Goddess: The Otherworld Series Book 1 (3 page)

He thought forward to tomorrow.  He would have to arrange a chance meeting.  He would have to be charming to put her at ease.  Butterflies danced a lively jig in his stomach as his anticipation heightened.  He hoped the wise woman was wrong.  He hoped desperately she would remember him, even a small spark of recognition would give him something to believe in.  He sighed and poured himself a cup of wakening brew.

Since when did he become so hopeful?

There would be no sleep for him tonight, and with his thoughts as scattered as they were he began to fear the rising sun.  He settled himself on his chair and began the long and tedious job of sentry duty.

He could see her silhouette moving around her apartment as lights began turning out behind her as she made her way through to what he guessed was her sleeping chambers.  She was so close.  For the first time in ages she was so close.  Now he could feel her essence and realized it was from her that he received hope.  It was what made her, her. As he digested that thought the last light in the house went dark.

“Sleep well
moi-rah
and dream better,” he said toasting her with a steaming cup of brew.

Chapter Three

Fog and Fear

As the sun rose over the ocean it pushed the fog away from the tiny harbor at the end of the street.  An unsettling feeling over took Duncan.  This fog reminded him too much of the mist in his vision.  Fear began to grip its icy fingers around his middle.  He had never had a foretelling vision before.  Each seer gifted with foresight spoke of the cryptic and double meaning of visions as if it were a puzzle to be solved.  From what little he knew of visions they rarely tended to be literal.  What would the fog give life to? The answer to his unspoken question was quickly answered.

A large dark hooded figure emerged from the thickening fog.  The cloaked figure paused; his arms bent in front of him his palms facing the sky, his head bowed.  It looked as though he were saying a blessing, or a curse.  Duncan jumped to his feet and raced for the door that led out onto a small balcony.  He stood outside watching, listening and feeling, his eyes never leaving the solitary dark figure.  The cloaked man began to walk again, seemingly pulling the fog in his wake.  The fog swirled around the man’s legs moving as if it were alive. The man pushed his arms out and the fog raced quickly towards her house.  Duncan opened his mouth to scream out a protective counter spell but stopped himself quickly.  He recognized the magick as it flew away from the man.  It was of druid making; and its intention was not evil but protective.

The fog slowly evolved, thinning and stretching itself into the shape of a dome.  It then settled silently over her house creating a protective opaque barrier around it like a bubble.  The cloaked man raised his head to the sky as if giving thanks then turned and disappeared around the corner and out of sight.  Duncan’s eyes returned to her house which now shimmered slightly with the silvery magick of the mysterious druid. 

“So there is a druid protecting her,” he mused silently to himself.  That was not something he had anticipated and it raised questions that he did not have answers to, yet.

The next few hours passed quickly and quietly, as the people and the city awoke the fog seemed to recoil and return to the sea.  School busses picked up sullen looking children on the corner eager to have the last days of school over with.  The traffic on nearby Essex Street became increasingly louder as early morning commuters raced towards their destinations.  The doors on Orange Street opened and shut as men and women ventured out to work.  A flock of wrens flew from one side of the street to the other dodging people taking their dogs out for an early morning walk.  Seagulls circled the nearby harbor screeching and diving into the sea for their breakfast.  But the little gray house nestled between two tiny streets remained quiet.  The anticipation was driving him mad.

What if he was wrong? 

What if he was right?

“Ye were right Duncan, even I ken feel she’s near,” came a voice from behind him.

Duncan did not need to turn; he knew that voice all too well. A small firm hand rested reassuringly on his shoulder.  Duncan inhaled deeply accepting the friendly comfort.  As he closed his eyes he was torn between relief and fear.  Relief at having finally found her; and fear of being shunned by her.  Dark thoughts crept into his mind including images of her standing before him beautiful and radiant laughing at his stupidity.  She mocked him and the years he had wasted searching for her when it was from him she had been running.  The fear was real and foreign to him.  He had faced many adversaries, battled enemies and friends, and had never known fear.  He had seen how it could paralyze even the strongest man.  Even then he did not understand it.  How could he understand something he had never felt?  He understood it now; and he recognized the power it held.  For the first time he knew fear and he shook with the icy grip it had on him.

“Courage now lad; we’re at the end o’ a long road do no’ be stumblin’ now,” Knackers said.

“What if-,” he could not finish, could not give voice to the doubt in his mind that might make it all too real and true.

The warm, comforting hand on his shoulder gave him a reassuring squeeze.  “Are ye forgettin’ who she called for then?”

“No,” he replied his voice barely louder than a whisper, “but the fear-“

“Every mon comes ta know fear.  It is what he does when he faces it that defines him.”

Duncan turned in his seat to face his small companion that had seen him through every step of his long life.  Bright green cat-like eyes that shone with wisdom, love and mirth gazed at him.  His gray-black mustache twitched a he fought against a smile.

“Who’d ken I had wisdom in me?” He said finally breaking into laughter. ”Well,” Knackers said with a cough to curb his laughter.  “I guess there be a first time for everthin’. Now off with ye.  Git yerself pretty, ye look like hell.”

             A short while later he found himself standing on his front steps staring across the street.  He could not seem to move any further and barely remembered how he had gotten there.  He vaguely remembered Knackers telling him to change, a glamour to fix his appearance, but then…Poof! Nothing!

“Uh, hello?”

“Did someone say something?”
His mind inquired of his ears.

“Hello?”  Again someone seemed to be speaking to him.  “Um, are you okay?”  Called a voice that seemed to emanate from his right.

He shook his head and slowly turned towards the voice.  He saw a woman standing behind a metal fence, a large white, floppy hat covered her head and dark sun glasses covered her eyes.  Was she the one speaking to him?  He slowly pointed a finger at his chest and looked around him.

“Yes you,” she said giggling.

Duncan stole a quick glance up to his window.  Knackers stood staring down at him; hand on his forehead as he shook his head in disbelief.  Duncan took a deep breath; well Knackers would never let him live this one down.

“Sorry,” he finally replied to the stranger.  “My mind was elsewhere.”

She laughed again.  “Happens to me all the time,” she said with a smile and a shrug.

Suddenly time seemed to slow.  He watched as her arm moved and slowly rose towards her face.  Her fingers expanded then contracted around the glasses that hid her eyes.  Her other arm moved, her head turned to the side away from him as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead.  Finally she turned back to him, a smile on her beautiful face and her eyes looking into his.  Her eyes were the color of a cloudless sky on a warm summer’s day.  His feet began moving, pulling his body close to her.

“
A chuisle mo chroi
,” he whispered hoarsely in her native tongue.

He watched her pupil’s dilate for a fraction of a second before her brows scrunched in confusion.  “What?” she asked confused.

He shook his head.  The moment was gone and time returned to its normal pace.  He found himself standing a few feet away from her.  He tried to think quickly and ended up saying the first thing that fell into his mind.

“It’s an old Gaelic greeting used when meeting a beautiful woman
.”  Well where had that come from?
  Maye he did have a silver tongue.  He was tempted to stick it out and check to see if it had indeed changed colors.

“Oh,” she said as a slight blush spread across her cheeks.  “I can’t think of any pretty American greeting.  How you doin’?” she said, placing special emphasis on the word “doin’”.  “Is all that comes to mind,” she said laughing again.

His feet continued to pull him closer.  He squinted slightly studying her face. 
It is her
, he thought.  She is dimmer somehow, like a flower beginning to fade in the vase.  The shimmer of magick surrounding her, encasing her and hiding her became visible to him.  Even with the heavy glamour magick upon her she was radiant and beautiful.  What he could see of her hair shone under the sun a shade hoovering between gold and copper.  Her skin was smooth as cream, a light flush resting upon her cheeks.

“Um, my name is Annie, Annie Locke.  Did you just move in?”  She asked pointing her dirt smudged hand at the door behind him.

“Aye, the name’s Duncan.  Honored to meet you Annie,” he replied careful to use the name she had given him and not her true name.

“Say it,”
whispered a voice in his head.

“Well,” she said with a bright smile.  “Welcome to Salem and the neighborhood, Duncan.  Are you from Scotland?”

He nodded in response as the whispered voice still echoed in his head. 
Wakeup, say something, anything!
His own internal voice screamed.

“And what are you doing out here on this fine morning that’s got your hands all smudged with dirt?”  “
Really?”
he thought mentally slapping himself.  No need to check for a silver tongue.  He inhaled, forcing his mind to think of something clever to say.  “Meadowsweet?” came out instead.

He had gone from pointing out that she was dirty to just plain babbling.  Her smile never left her face but instead seemed to grow.  A warm, lovely heat radiated off of her spiraling out towards him.  It settled in his chest and began warming him on the inside.  He allowed it in and held it close reveling in the familiar feeling.  He had to resist the urge to reach out and grab her and just run.  Maybe the queen was right not to trust him, he was not even sure he trusted himself.  Honor struggled with desire; want with duty.  In the end his ingrained sense of duty beat his soul’s desire and his hands stayed safely in his pockets.

She noticed he had gone quiet.  “You don’t like meadowsweet?  My father didn’t either, allergies.”

She took a step back, a step away from him.  It was something he did not want to happen ever again.

“No, no,” he said reaching out his hands.  Whether to make his point or draw her back even he wasn’t sure.  He quickly shoved his hands back into his pockets as they seemed to have their own dangerous motives.  “It reminds me of home,” he replied honestly.

“You sound homesick.”

“Aye,” he replied.  “I guess I am.”  He remembered the green that stretched for miles.  The soft rounded hills and dark waters of the lochs, he did miss it.

“Duncan,” she said softly.  His heart thudded in is chest at the sound of her voice saying his name.  He didn’t answer for moment, he couldn’t, his voice failing him.  “Would you like to come over tonight?  I mean, I know its short notice and you’re probably still settling in and all…”  She was speaking rapidly, nervously now; each word coming out of her mouth quicker than the one before.  “Some friends are coming too,” she added quickly.

“I would enjoy that,” he replied finally finding his voice.  “It is not every day I meet a bhanphrionsa.  How could I refuse?”  He said with a slight bow.

She sighed, in apparent relief.  “Say, around six?  If I don’t get these guys in the ground soon I’m afraid they might wilt,” she said pointing to the small group of plants at her feet.

“Somehow I don’t think so,” he replied with a knowing smirk, “Until tonight!”