Kat Bastion - Forged in Dreams and Magick

I raised my hand and jabbed backward. The blade sank into my captor’s midsection, and his hold on me loosened. In fluid seconds, I twisted the hilt as I bent and grasped the ax at my ankle, arced it up, and buried it into the heart of his friend. Shocked eyes stared back at me as drops of blood trickled out of his gaping mouth. I yanked both weapons tightly into my chest, ready to defend myself, as my two victims fell to the ground.

More Romans poured in all around us. We were in over our head. The Picts needed to pull back; a continued presence would be mass suicide. Our warriors had no pride getting in the way of self-preservation, and neither did I.

I searched for Velloc. We locked gazes. He had blood spattered across his blue-tattooed face and chest, strands of his long, dark hair stuck to his neck, and I thought he’d never looked more beautiful—a brave warrior fighting to protect his homeland, his people . . . me.

He shoved through fighting men, making his way toward me. I took a path of least resistance, angling between pairs of combatants, running in Velloc’s direction.

Suddenly, terror spread across Velloc’s face. I followed his gaze, spinning around.

A Roman launched my own spear into the air. The weapon flew with straight precision, exactly as it had been designed. I froze as the spear sailed toward me, my brain failing to send messages fast enough to make my muscles move.

The world spun. I landed hard on the ground, my face hitting the dirt. A crushing heaviness lay across my back. Breath was impossible. I pushed, squirming, trying to escape the suffocating confinement. The weight lifted and a strong grip on either arm pulled me from the ground. Sennian held me.

Sennian’s lips pressed into a grim line as he glanced behind me. I panicked, whirling around. Another tribesman held a limp body in his arms.

Velloc!

Bright blood covered his chest.

My heart stopped.

I struggled in Sennian’s hold, but his impenetrable arms locked down around me. A burning ache flooded my chest, scorching a hole with every beat as I looked at the lifeless form of the man I loved. A sob escaped, and I gasped for oxygen.

Every Caereni warrior around us cleared a path, hacking through the enemy with a renewed force fueled from anger. A few of our tribe were injured, some had died, but none had impacted them like the loss of their leader.

Sennian maintained a protective hold on me, guiding me behind those that rushed Velloc off the battlefield. I clung to the hope that he’d only been injured. The fierceness of the battle on open ground allowed no time or shelter for first aid.

Two Romans stepped into our path. The tribesmen leading our escape slashed into them as if they’d sliced heated blades into soft butter. After a few hundred feet, we met no further resistance. The enemy had their wounds to lick; we had ours.

The moment we breached the protection of the forest, Sennian released me as Velloc’s body was gently laid upon the ground. Velloc didn’t move. Tears streamed down my face, and my fingers trembled uncontrollably as I approached him. Dark red covered the center of a chest that failed to rise. The spear must have pierced his heart from the back when he tackled me to save me. Its iron tip broke no skin on my body, yet had struck a deadly blow to my heart all the same.

I collapsed onto him, racked with sobs. My carelessness, my very presence on the battlefield, had cost the man I loved his life. Jumbled emotions—regret, anger, sadness—caused me such heart-wrenching pain, I wished I’d been the one to take the spear.

A heavy hand squeezed my shoulder, and I glanced up through bleary eyes.

Sennian.

He pulled me up into his arms and held me while I shook like a nearly drowned cat pulled from an icy lake. Finally, the tears ceased, a numb calm spreading into my veins like a morphine injection.

As my body settled down, I pushed away from protection I didn’t want. Sennian released his hold, and I turned around to face harsh reality. Everything felt foreign.

My state of shock lifted me out of my head, casting me aloft as an observer to the events going on around me. Two men carefully wrapped Velloc’s body in discarded furs and draped the bundle with reverent care over his horse.

With my head vacant of thoughts, I walked toward Malibu, but Sennian intercepted me.

I looked into pleading, darkened eyes. Onyx hair framed his dirty, blue-painted face. “Isobel, ride with me. I can protect you, and Velloc would want you safe.”

By default, Sennian had become tribal leader, even if no one formally acknowledged the fact yet. I sighed. Reason hadn’t returned to my traumatized mind, and I had no strength left to argue.

With no reply as answer enough, Sennian guided me to his stallion. He mounted the animal first then gripped my upper arms firmly, hoisting me up in front of him. The rest of our tribesmen quickly gathered the last of the belongings, preparing to leave.

A small group struck out ahead of us, heading back north. Sennian’s arms caged me protectively as he grabbed the reins, leading his horse to follow the others into the dense forest.

Enough moonlight broke through sparse cloud cover to illuminate several riders ahead. My unblinking eyes stared at the horse that carried its fur-wrapped burden. The slow pace and somber mood made it seem like the funeral procession had already begun.

Thankful I could see his body, rather than have it ominously behind us, I found small comfort in knowing that even in death, Velloc remained in good hands. I wondered if his soul had gone elsewhere. Surely, it had gone somewhere, his energy in life having connected so readily to the world and all its living creatures.

I growled. Feelings of loss and frustration at the beautiful facets of a vibrant man whose life had been cut short—who would never take another breath—threatened to overwhelm me again. I needed to get out of my heart and back into my head to make it through the journey.

“Talk to me, Sennian. What about the battle?”

I felt his chest inhale deeply and exhale slowly against my back.

“Tonight’s battle is over. Our attack wounded them severely in body and mind. Now we see if the enemy retreats and reconsiders a foolish claim on land they will never hold.”

“How will you know?” The tribes had all packed up and left, from what I’d seen.

“Scouts will remain. There’s no need to stay when we’re only a few days ride from home.”

Home.

A bright moment of clarity pierced through the heavy shroud of depression. “Sennian, we have to go to the Lugi first. We need to meet with Drust. Velloc would’ve insisted upon it.”

Sennian’s entire body moved, his chin brushing the top of my head as he nodded. “Very well, Isobel. The Lugi are on our way.”

The moment I visualized Brodie Castle, that strong, familiar tug of energy pulled at my core. In my darkest hour, I smiled. Something along the timeline had clicked a stuck tumbler into place, unlocking the passage out of Velloc’s world.

Like a silent boarding call for the only passenger on the plane that could ever hear it . . .

I’d been summoned . . . home.

A cold wind bit at my wet skin as I rose from the hot spring, but I ignored the discomfort. Linen towels warmed by a nearby fire were wrapped around me. Attendants led me over by the flames and sat me down on a stone bench.

Scota’s friendly face smiled as she knelt before me. She took a dampened cloth and wiped my face. With careful precision, she dipped a brush into a pot of woad paint and traced over the faint stain marks, darkening every symbol that Velloc had painted less than twenty-four hours ago.