Tritus shook his head. “No, my love, it will be too dangerous. Besides, your place is here. You have a duty to fulfill. The land needs you.”
It was true that her biggest role was the mantle of winter, but whatever the season, she also harnessed the weather over the mountain ranges. Bringing rain when it was most needed, sun to warm and nurture, and storms when called for. Tritus also knew that she had to expend her power regularly in order to take the edge off its smoldering pressure.
Tritus had witnessed her playing with her power as if the elements she called forth were child’s toys that were hers alone to possess. At those times, he’d felt not only awe but a touch of fear. Another reminder that this goddess—his lover—was a powerful weapon in herself, winter’s mantle or not.
Cailleach stirred, shifting her gaze to her hands, which twisted together in her lap. “I don’t like it,” she burst out suddenly. “What if you don’t come back?”
His chest tightened at her show of vulnerability, but he steeled himself for the task ahead. He had no choice in the matter. “You know I don’t want to leave you, Cal, but this could be the last time I see my family. They must be wondering why I didn’t return to the village last year, when I knew they’d follow me to this new land soon after. I owe it to them to show that I am safe”—he lowered his voice and added—“and incredibly happy, with you.”
It had quickly become obvious to him that his place was beside this woman, forever and always. Even if it meant not ever seeing his family again.
Her now-familiar silver eyes scanned his features. She must have seen something that appeased whatever had held her strung so tight. “All right,” she conceded softly. “You may go, but you must promise you will come back to me.”
Tritus raised his hands to cup her face in his. “Never fear that I will ever leave you,” he breathed in a hard voice. “You are mine, and I am yours.”
She stared at him, testing the strength of his words, the emotion in his eyes. Satisfied at the truth she saw there, she said, “Then you may go, but only on one condition—you must show me my gift!”
Tritus huffed a laugh before drawing her tight and kissing the top of her head. Keeping one arm around her, he reached out with his other for the cloth on his workbench and unwrapped the treasure within.
The gemstone sparkled in the glow of the torches, a smoky amber that refracted the light around them onto the cave walls. Tritus had carved the gemstone into a rectangular shape, smoothing the sharp edges. Beside the stone was the bronze metalwork that he’d fashioned into a Celtic cross, taking pains to ensure it reflected their peoples’ customs—now also his. He was finalizing the inset for the gemstone when she arrived.
Cailleach shrieked as she spied the pieces. “It’s a pendant, isn’t it?”
He smiled. “Yes. Give me a moment to put it together.”
She nodded eagerly, jiggling in his lap. Moving her gently to the side, he quickly set to work, fastening the gemstone in its clawed setting, mounting it upon the Celtic cross. He then looped the long chain through the eyelet and secured it at the back. Finally, the piece finished, he held it aloft in front of her as it spun in the light.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“Take it,” he encouraged.
She lifted her hand, and as her fingers made contact with the gemstone’s smooth surface, the stone burst with raw energy that sent a thousand fragments of amber light dancing all around the cave. Cailleach cried out, dropping the pendant and scrambling backward. The light vanished as if it had never been.
Tritus couldn’t help the laugh that burst forth. “Well, now I know it works.”
She turned a dark gaze on him and hissed, “What works? What did you do to it?”
“Nothing that will harm you,” he assured her quickly. “It’s not a weapon. I made it to protect you.”
“Protect me? How?” she demanded, looking between him and the stone. Then her eyes narrowed on the gemstone. “I haven’t seen that stone before. What is it?”
“I found it ten nights past beneath the mountain in an underground mine to the south. It was buried within the earth.”
Tritus couldn’t properly explain how he’d come across it, or why he’d gone out that day armed with a pickaxe and a supply of water and rations. Especially when he hadn’t been planning to take that trip. Just as he couldn’t explain the overwhelming urge to head south down the mountain that day. Tritus also didn’t understand why he had stopped outside a random cave, its small opening almost nondescript, well hidden by the foliage growing around.
For some reason beyond his control, he entered. The water at the bottom of the cave had been freezing, halfway up his shins. His leggings and leather shoes were soaked within moments. He’d been frozen, ill-prepared for the ice-cold temperature.
He’d taken nearly thirty paces into the cave when he turned unerringly to the left, where there was a small vertical opening. It was a tight squeeze, and he took a deep breath. As his breath had released, he’d been able to move one half of his ribcage into the gap—stuck at halfway—before repeating the process and releasing the other half of his body to slither through the gap.
On the other side, he’d come across a small cavern about five feet by five feet. But it was the wonder of nature that made him pause. For a suite of sharp daggers, or what looked like bone forged arrows, grew from the floor and ceiling of the cavern. And in the center, there was a shallow pool of water, the bottom a muddy brown. To the left of this small space was a high shelf, and it was to here that his senses were attuned.
He’d been cognizant of a small prickle at the back of his neck since he first awoke that morning, and it had only grown in intensity with the more steps he’d taken. And when he looked upon this shelf, that prickle at the back of his neck became a livid burn.
Dig! A voice inside his head had intoned. Dig!
Without questioning it further, Tritus had struck his pickaxe against the hardened clay. All other thoughts were eradicated until there was a sharp clink of sound. He’d lifted his pickaxe and struck again. There was a sharp explosion of noise, and then he’d been blown backward into the cold, muddy pool behind him.
Tritus had shaken his head, dazed. In the dim lamplight, he couldn’t see what he’d struck, but he knew it was something phenomenal, something that had called him. A tendril of excitement licked inside his chest as he slowly crawled toward it, the cold water awakening his senses. As he approached, he finally saw what his pickaxe had struck—a gemstone. It wasn’t rough or half-hidden in another substance; no, this gemstone had already been hewn.
As soon as his hand touched its surface, Tritus was assaulted with images, one after the other in a parody of events. He didn’t know how long he sat there, half-frozen in place, eyes wide open as the images rolled through his mind one after the other. Nor did he understand them, but long after the images had faded and his mind had once again become his own, one, in particular, had stayed with him—a large bird with plumage of red and gold. With wings spread aloft, its features sharp and cynical, it had speared him with its all-seeing eyes, squawking a demanding cry before bursting into flames.
When the images had died, he’d been brought back to the present, the stone still under his hand. Tritus understood without question that he’d been led there, just like he’d been led to Cailleach. He was meant to find the stone, meant to take only a part of it back with him. So, keeping one hand on the stone, he’d lifted the pickaxe and struck the edge of it experimentally. The connection sparked, but not like before. Satisfied he wouldn’t be obliterated, Tritus had struck again, this time harder. Nothing happened. He struck once more, a third time, with forceful intent. In response, a small section of the stone pried loose, misshapen and rough. Again, without questioning why, he pocketed the treasure and tried again. But no matter how many times he struck that gemstone, no other shards broke off, nor did his pickaxe mark the stone.