He’d smelt it before, exactly six and a half months ago on this very mountain.
But no. It couldn’t be. Because that scent—that powerful, fresh scent hadn’t been associated with an ethereal beauty; it had been associated with an old crone, crooked and bent, and a face so hideous it would cause a child to live a thousand nightmares.
But as he questioned what he looked upon, a memory seared his mind’s eye. A comment that Tritus had made. He’d told the goddess Cailleach—the old crone they’d all looked upon—that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Talorgan had been incredulous at the man’s comment. He thought Tritus had insulted the Winter Goddess and would pay a reckoning that wouldn’t find him alive within the next moment.
But Cailleach had surprised him, for she hadn’t punished Tritus for his gross insult. Rather, she’d frozen, a predatory curiosity overcoming her instincts. The goddess had questioned him instead, asking him why he wasn’t like the others. The pieces of the puzzle began to assemble, and shock hit Talorgan then as he recognized the truth; that this was the Goddess of Winter’s true form. A form she’d been hiding all along.
Why had the Gaul seen her true form first? But as soon as the question sprang into his mind, Talorgan had pushed it aside. He would digest that at a later time. Right now, he had a visual feast before him.
As Talorgan watched Cailleach, he felt desire stir, strong and powerful. He wanted her; there was no denying it. And the longer he watched her, a little kernel of hope began to build. Was it really by chance that they had met? Or had the stars aligned to serve the gods’ purpose by arranging for that fateful hunt? And what of the actions he had irreversibly taken after returning to the village six and a half months ago? The lessons he’d learned in the time since? The power that now grew daily in his veins, so powerful that he almost rivaled the Wise Ones, and knew that when he fully came into his own, he would.
There would be no one more powerful than him at the village. No mate that he could call an equal. Power bred power. Had the fates aligned to bring him to her? Was the sentence another way to draw them together? For how else would he have had the opportunity to see her true form outside of winter?
And the longer he’d dwelled on these questions as he secretly watched her bathe, the more he came to understand that what he believed was the truth—Cailleach was meant to be his. Talorgan recognized that if he were to stand a chance, he would need to be even more powerful, worthy of a goddess’s attention.
He dwelled on it during his time there, coming back to this same spot every day at high noon. He endlessly schemed as he watched Cailleach bathe, assessing the merits of various avenues, weighing which path would help him attain his one desire.
But the only path that offered him such power was a path that no other had dared tread—that of the Dark Arts.
He’d dabbled in them once before, secretly playing at what it involved—as all other initiates did—but taking that final plunge and aligning oneself with the Dark God was a different story altogether. It was forsaking one’s vows to serve the light, going against everything in the Druidic Code.
Talorgan wouldn’t be the first to stray from the path. Many other Druids had tried before. But they hadn’t been powerful enough to withstand the Dark God’s visage. They’d been sundered, their powers raped, their minds addled simply by being within his presence.
But he’d withstood Cailleach and could now stand within her presence undetected. And these last three months had shown him that he was stronger, much stronger than all the other apprentices, stronger than other practicing Druids, and almost an equal among the Wise Ones—almost as strong as his own Master, Girom. In a year, maybe two, when he grew into his prime, he knew he would be the strongest in the village.
Such strength had to mean something. But the question was, would it be enough to maintain control in a relationship with the Dark God?
It had to be, for he needed to win Cailleach.
Talorgan’s musings were interrupted as the water’s smooth surface was suddenly shattered. Cailleach’s head broke through the water. He watched as she stood up and ran her fingers through her long hair, disbanding the snarls. The water sparkled like a thousand diamonds on her bone-white skin. She wrung out her hair before wading to the large, flat stone. However, today she didn’t lie down on it. Instead, she turned to pick up her discarded white dress and pulled it over her head.
Talorgan frowned at the disturbance in her usual pattern. Never once had she digressed in the last twenty days. Every time she emerged from the frigid waters, she would move to the carlin stone. There, naked, she would lie on her back and close her eyes. Her body would then come alight, power emanating from her exposed form as if she was drawing in its ancient power, replenishing her own. Ofttimes she would lie there only for a few minutes, sometimes an hour, but never once had she bypassed it.
Why was today different?
Where it rubbed against her damp flesh, the dress stuck to her skin, hinting at the curves underneath. He watched as she hurriedly pulled her hair back and tied it in a knot; again, not her usual braid. Then, not hesitating further, Cailleach raced off into the bush to the east, a small smile teasing her lips.
Talorgan followed her form with his eyes until it disappeared into the shadow of the forest canopy.
For a moment, he stayed there, bewildered, wondering at what had caused a change in her routine. But there was nothing he could guess without asking the goddess himself. And that he would never do, not until he had come into his own—when he could meet her as an equal.
14
Brydie
I stood in the shower as the hot water beat down on my back, easing tired muscles and chasing the tension headache away.
It had been another week of no progress. I wasn’t any closer to scaling my inner wall and tapping into my spark. The wall was impenetrable, with no weak points or an exit. The days to control and utilize its power were slipping away. I knew without being told that Gage had envisioned the prophecy delivering my spark within a few days of arriving at the Estate. It hadn’t, and every day lost to trying to overcome the wall was another day when I wasn’t learning how to wield my power and control it. And if I couldn’t learn how to control it, I wouldn’t be an effective weapon in the ultimate end game.
Gage hadn’t said a word, but he didn’t have to. His face said it all. It was clear he’d gone past the stage of frustration and was now on the edge of full-blown anger.
Today’s session had put me in a crappy mindset, and I needed to get out of my funk. I willed the last few hours to roll away, allowing my thoughts to drift to Chloe. I missed her desperately. In the last month, I’d called her cell phone two more times. She hadn’t picked up or returned any of my calls. By now, I was certain she had lost her phone during a late-night bender.
Sighing, I reached out and turned off the showerhead, drying myself on autopilot.
Looping the towel around my damp hair, I exited the bathroom and changed into my only pair of jeans, a tee, and a sweater. The room was cool, the castle modern, but due to its cavernous size, still ill-equipped to deal with a Scottish winter. My bedroom didn’t have a fireplace installed, but I knew where one would be ablaze and who would be sitting next to it. I definitely needed his company tonight.