Kat Bastion - Forged in Dreams and Magick

“Uilleam’s the woodcutter. He stocks the kitchen every few days in the late morning,” he said.

“Thank you,” I shouted over my shoulder as I dashed off.

I rushed up the hill, hoping to catch Uilleam if he hadn’t yet stocked for the week. When I arrived in the kitchen, midday meal preparations were in full swing. Rowena, a generously curved woman with ruddy cheeks, oversaw the kitchen staff of a half dozen while they cut meat, added herbs to stews, and pulled out small bread loaves from a stack.

I stood there long enough to get Rowena’s attention. She began to cross the room. Rich scents of a brewing stew wafted into my nose, and my gut clenched. I rushed out of the kitchen and into the hall, my hand flying to my mouth.

My entire skin dampened as I struggled with a wave of nausea. I took several slow, deep breaths until the intensity of the attack subsided. I laughed dryly, musing that Agnes might not be the only one pregnant. During that fleeting thought, the smile fell from my face, complicated reality sobering my mood. How stupid of me not to think about what unprotected sex with two men would produce.

Burying the ramifications of my actions into the sand along with my head, I dragged my body up the stairs, pressing my cheek against the cool stones of the wall as I went. The clan seemed to be doing fine without me, and I needed to lie down and rest a while. Later, I would calculate my cycles to determine if I was pregnant, who the father might be.

With a shoulder into the heavy door, I stumbled into our room and collapsed onto the bed. Layers of blankets cushioned my fall as a dizzy spell spiraled me out of consciousness.

A new day brought our Highland mountains gray skies with a steady drizzle. I’d found and met with the woodcutter. Brigid had been kind enough to fetch the seamstress up to the castle so that we could both select fabrics for new gowns. Dress patterns and jewel-toned cloth squares were spread in a mosaic across the wooden surface of a long table in the great hall.

I perused the length of the table, sucking in slow breaths, feeling a little green from what seemed like morning sickness. I’d put thought to the matter, realizing I hadn’t had any flow since my time-jumping—and bed-hopping—adventure had begun. The calculations meant, if the symptom rang true, that I was likely about nine weeks pregnant with Iain’s child.

I sat down, rubbing soft pink satin between my fingers. The color made me wonder if the babe would be a boy or a girl. Brigid and Donalda chattered on about the best fabrics to suit Agnes while two men came up from the cellar and transported a large wooden barrel across the room toward the larder.

Surrounded by the commotion of a normal day, I wondered if I should tell Brigid her possible aunt status. I discarded the notion, deciding a quiet time would be better. Based on recent experience, her people expected their secrets to gain a proper amount of age anyway.

All of a sudden, the main door flew open, hitting the stone wall behind it with splintering force. I spun at the startling noise. Brigid shrieked, and I gasped as Gawain stood there covered in crimson blood.

Brigid ran toward him, but he held his arm up, pegging her with a commanding stare. She stopped, crossing her arms. “’Tis not my blood. Robert sent me.”

He looked squarely at me. “Isa, shroud the castle. The battle was a distraction. They’ve advanced in great numbers in our surroundin’ forest.”

“Won’t they see us disappear?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I doona know. It matters not at this point. Our men are a day’s ride away and in the thick of battle. Our enemies laid a well-planned trap.”

“What about Iain? He was to have joined you; he left a day ago.”

“If he came through that forest, they have him. I spent all mornin’ skirtin’ the perimeter to make it through to you.”

My hand flew to my mouth. The idea of the enemy capturing Iain skyrocketed my nausea.

Brigid tugged on my arm as I sat there dumbfounded. She said, “Gawain, go to the apothecary. Have him attend to your wounds.”

He nodded once and left, pulling shut the oak door with a thud.

“Not his blood, my arse,” she grumbled as she continued to tug at me. “Isobel. Come. The wall ,” she implored.

Her focus was commendable. Three siblings pulled apart by their past, united in a heartbeat to protect their clan. They were right. We had no time to worry about any one of us; we needed to guarantee the safety of everyone. I jumped to my feet, and the two of us rushed to the study.

Brigid closed the door behind us, and I stepped to the far left side of the wall, glancing back at my friend through the streams of light. She nodded toward me in encouragement.

“Okay. Here goes everything.” I took a deep breath, willing positivity out, as I placed my hand on the shimmering surface of the wall.

Even in its fluid state, the cool membrane held firm in its upper-corner section. A power exchange occurred, flowing into and through me, surging back out again at our point of contact. An immediate reaction began: a low hum grew in volume; the lights flashed, then dimmed.

The floor swayed, and I swallowed hard. As I stood there with a hand on the key to our camouflage, the room spun like a cheap carnival ride. I tried to brace my feet wider but lost my balance. To avoid lifting my left hand from the wall and severing the connection, I took the only other option: I dropped my right hand onto the surface, landing it squarely on a cluster of lights.

“Isobel!” Brigid screamed.

By the time I whipped my head around to look at her, my friend had disappeared. Suddenly, a blinding flash of light surrounded me, and the world went dark.

Lying flat on the ground had become a familiar state of being each time I jumped through time without warning. A faint noise crackled in the distance, and a glow off to one side penetrated the darkness of wherever I’d landed. I sat up, propping my hands behind me in dirt. The box sat upon the pedestal housed in the room designed for it . . . in Velloc’s time.

I shot to my feet and threw my hands onto the box, desperate to return to the castle. The metal sat cold, completely inert. For the first time, no energy whatsoever transmitted from its surface.

Even with the resounding clue that something had changed, denial fueled an attempt to gather more power from the environment around me. I scrunched my face and took a deep breath, concentrating hard. But my effort came up empty. A growl of frustration rumbled from my throat.

The only other times the artifact had transported me with a one-sided connection had been with the wall’s power boost and with the sun’s radiant heat. There had to be a way to find more energy. I whirled around, frantic to get back, needing to make sure I’d gotten the clan to safety.

Flames danced in my sightline from the long fire pit. Perfect. I strode over to the blaze, rolling up the sleeves of my dress, and I held my hands out to the warmth. With focus born of my desperation, I drew in energy from the kinetic orange flames. More than heat infused into my body; a conduit for pure power had been opened. On a cellular level, every molecule in my body vibrated.

I looked up as I waited until I’d gathered enough, my urgency dancing the edge of madness. The ends of my hair fanned around my face from a strong wind behind me. A few members of Drust’s tribe walked by, casting silent, curious glances my way. Their expressions made me wonder if I glowed in the dark.

Without a word to any of the passersby, I returned to the box, placing my hands upon the top. I pressed them onto the cool metal, opening my mind wide, sending a prayer to my God and their god to send me back.