Stone Guardian (12 page)

Glancing around the small damp cave, Torin broke the silence with a satisfied chuckle. He’d done what she’d instructed. Found somewhere else to stay. Albeit briefly. He’d have to leave before the tide returned. As he stretched his hands over the warmth of the fire, he drew in a heavy breath. Now what? He sensed Emma needed him but she just didn’t realize it. The meddling
Cailleach
had shoved him into her life and now neither one of them would know any peace until they took the path the old spirit woman wished. Wariness stirred deep in his gut as he stared into the flames. The last woman he’d gotten close to had torn his heart from his chest. Scrubbing his hands together, he ground his teeth until his jaw nearly cracked. Perhaps, if he returned to his blessed stones, he could breach the portal and leave this god-awful place to the likes of Arach.

“Now, ye know damn good and well the old woman will ne’er allow ye to pass through to the next realm until ye’ve done her bidding. Did ye no’ learn a thing when ye failed at ending your life?”

Torin didn’t bother lifting his gaze from the mesmerizing flames, just stretched closer to the drying warmth. “What are ye doing out of your loch, Seonaidh? Have your mortals no’ offered ye suitable ale to slake yer unquenchable thirst?”

The blue tinged form of a spritely youth wavered just outside the mouth of the cave, standing with both arms outspread to the blowing rain. “Nah. The offering they made was suitable enough. Why do ye think they’re receivin’ all this blessed rain?”

Torin snorted, snapped a branch of wood across one knee and tossed it into the fire. “I figured this
blessed rain
came from the
Cailleach
herself to force the woman to give me shelter.”

“Aye well, there is that. So, pray tell, oh damp stone guardian, why is your stubborn arse shivering in this cave instead of sitting in front of her lovely peat fire?” Seonaidh lifted his chin and released an ecstatic sigh as he closed his eyes to the blowing water pelting down his face.

“‘Twould seem our present day stone guardian has a bit of a problem accepting the magic. She only believes what she can see or touch and doubts even that if it doesna agree with her learned rules for reality.” Torin blew out a heavy breath as Emma’s reaction to the cup of mulled wine filled his thoughts. He could only imagine how she’d react if she witnessed all his powers.

“The magic’s been hidden from her consciousness up until now and she’s also shaped by her history. Surely, ye understand how the past molds the pliable beings of this time?” Seonaidh
opened one eye and arched a pale blue brow in Torin’s direction. “The poor woman’s been scarred by her past, Torin. Have ye no’ even bothered to look?” The water spirit
lowered his arms and hooked his long graceful fingers into the straps of his flowing tunic. Tightening his mouth into a disapproving line, he tucked his chin to his chest with a sad, sympathetic shake of his head. “The kelpies told me they sent her birth mother and her adoptive parents to the other side. They’re still hissing about how the wily female guardian snatched her step-sister from their grasp.”

Torin glared into the crackling flames. So that was why Emma denied the magic. No wonder she turned her eyes from the proof staring her in the face. “Damn kelpies. Do they no’ understand what damage their actions do to those left behind by their mischief?”

“They dinna care. Ye know ye canna tell a kelpie anything.”

Torin paced away from the fire, circling the small circumference of the cave. “How long since her parents died? How bad was it when she saved her sister?”

“Damn, Torin, have ye grown so lazy and inept with your centuries of sleep? Scry it, man. Ye need to see it for yourself so ye might learn what the old woman has placed within yer grasp.” Seonaidh
jerked a thin blue hand toward a shimmering puddle just outside the entrance of the cave.

The surface of the puddle immediately stilled and shimmered with a blue-white aura. The rains parted around the circumference of the glowing pool as though it were protected by an invisible barrier. The center of the glowing circle of water darkened as images formed across the surface. A strange shaped boat appeared, orange in color with swollen sides as though the thing was made of some sort of inflated bladder. Inside the boat, with puffy bright vests lashed around their bodies, sat an older man, a gray-haired woman, a young woman, and a spindly-armed little girl. Torin edged closer to the revealing puddle. He crouched down and touched the tip of his finger to the water’s edge. The vision immediately sprang into motion and the out-of-focus picture sharpened.

Recognition rippled through his body. The young woman was a much younger Emma. Her green eyes were wide in her pale, panic-stricken face as she wrapped her arms around the tiny, tow-headed girl beside her. The boat lurched and dove between froth-covered rocks jutting up through the surface along the center of the treacherous stream. Angry water poured into the boat, drenching the passengers clutching at the ropes. The girls screamed as the boat slid halfway up an out-cropping of sinister black peaks. The thrashing inhabitants flipped out of the orange bladder into the churning stream. Torin leaned closer to the disturbing image, flexing his hands as Emma clenched a flailing hand through the straps fluttering loose in chaotic abandon down the side of the raft. She thrashed against the rushing water while maintaining her hold on her sister by the strap wrapped around the glowing orange vest. The boat burst free of the cluster of stones; the current rushed them down the swollen river. Emma yanked her young sister close, arching back against the rushing water to keep the child’s head protected against her chest. Torin watched. He held his breath in mounting dread while the girls bobbed along like two small chunks of river debris lost to the mercy of the water. The river finally released its hold and tossed them into a gently whirling eddy. With her arms wrapped around her sister’s limp body, Emma staggered to the muddy shore. Collapsing with the child on the unforgiving strand of rock and mud, Emma raised her head. Her hand shaking, she shoved matted hair out of her face as tears spilled down her cheeks. She looked around the remote wilderness with frantic, jerking motions. Her body froze and she eased back on her heels when her gaze landed on what she sought.

Torin grimaced. A sudden feeling of helplessness flowed through him as Emma paled even further then collapsed into a huddled mound of violent shudders after she’d spotted the mangled forms of her parents. Their broken bodies dangled from the branches of a downed tree wedged between boulders in the center of the stream. Their arms trailed atop the water as the current tugged at their lifeless limbs. Rage choked him as Emma’s sobs echoed out of the vision. She cradled her sister in her arms and rocked the unconscious child against her breast.

Raising his head, Torin scrubbed the image from his eyes, the memory of the pain etched on Emma’s face forever burned into his mind. “And what of her birth mother? Does she bear the trauma of that loved one’s death as well?”

With a quiet sigh, Seonaidh
shook his head. “No. She was just a wee babe when her mother walked into the sea and gave herself to the kelpies.”

“Foolish woman. Why would she do such a thing when she’d been chosen as mother to a stone guardian?”

“Did ye no’ try to take
your
own life, when ye felt things had no’ gone your way?”

Torin flinched. He glared at Seonaidh with a go-to-hell look he hoped would dry the water sprite in his tracks. “Enough. Ye obviously sought me out for a reason. What is it?”

Rippling his fingers through his silvery hair, Seonaidh’s image started fading from view. “The
Cailleach
bade me come and show ye the woman’s past since ye didna have the sense to seek the knowledge on your own. The old woman of the moors has great plans for the two of ye. Ye’d best accept it and get on wi’ your fate.”

“To hell with ye both,” Torin retorted as Seonaidh
disappeared into the blowing rain.

Chapter Sixteen

A different scent tinged the air. One he’d not enjoyed in centuries. Arach raised his snout a bit higher into the wind and sucked in a great lungful of the delightful aroma flavoring the brine-scented breeze.
Stone guardians
. His mouth watered as the delicious fragrance of their elemental magic wafted across his senses. He hadn’t dined on the bones of a juicy stone guardian in well over nine hundred years.

Excellent!
The old woman hadn’t been foolish enough to attempt a weak bluff. She’d truly brought Chieftain Torin into this century for his own hunting pleasure. Well. Perhaps not for that
specific
reason but the fact remained that the chieftain was here. Arach chuckled as he swiped his tongue out, wet his bulging lips, and sniffed the air again.
Yes.
He’d know that particular stench anywhere. A shiver of excitement rippled down the shimmering scales folded against the ridge of his spine. And what was that?
Yes
. From the scent of it, a younger guardian accompanied Torin. A satisfied purr escaped Arach’s throat. He could hardly wait. New magic held its own special sweetness.

Stretching his winding body out of the cave, Arach scrabbled across bits of bones and loose rocks to his favorite sunning spot on the tip of the ledge. Crossing his scaly forearms on the sun-warmed rocks protruding over the water, he settled his girth comfortably on the jutting shelf. He lifted his twitching nose again and sucked in another tantalizing taste of the rising wind.
Yes.
He was certain of it now. His belly rumbled in excited anticipation. Stone guardian flesh tasted especially sweet when slow roasted just enough to bring their blood to almost boiling. His mouth over-flowed with bubbling saliva, globs of steaming spittle rolled down his chin. The rare magic seasoning a guardian’s veins was intoxicating as wine.

He licked his lips, reveling in the rare fragrance. Rubbing his claws together in anticipation, another excited shiver rippled through Arach’s scales. He’d have to remember to thank the old witch. Such generosity. Gifting him with not one delicious morsel—but two. Arach combed his claws through the writhing tentacles sprouting down his chin. Who could the young one be and where had that particular guardian hidden all this time? He distinctly remembered feasting on the last of Torin’s clan well over an eon ago.

Arach extended a talon and wound a slippery tentacle around the base of the scaly appendage until the writhing mess formed a neatly stacked coil at the base of his jaw. Stone guardians. Finally. A rare prey worthy of stalking. And from the heightened scent of Torin’s aura on the wind, the chieftain’s body pulsed with adrenaline and something else? Arach released the coiled tentacle to wriggle down the front of his chest and stretched to turn his face full into the wind. What was it? Desire for a mate, perhaps?

Arach closed his eyes and angled back his great, scaled head to better catch the fleeting warmth of the sun. He flipped his multi-spined tail with a lazy rhythm back and forth across the ledge, smacking his lips as the memory of the last guardian he’d eaten blossomed across his tongue.
Chieftain Torin
. What delightful torments could he come up with for the reunion with his special friend?

Arach searched his memories, recalling the excitement of the hunt when he’d first broken through the portal and ravaged through the magical clans. Another throaty purr rumbled up through his gullet at the memories stirred.
Ah yes.
A wondrous time of blood-letting and destruction. He returned his claws to his tentacled beard, stroking the undulating strands. Arach barely opened his eyes. The swirling colors of the murky green waves through his slightly parted eye-slits reminded him a great deal of his victims’ eyes when they opened wide with fear.

Arach frowned as he sorted through the memories. Torin had been absent those many years ago. No chieftain had been among the people. There had been none to guide the clan. He remembered it clearly now. The people had panicked, become lost and scattered because they had no one to focus their power or direct their magic.

Rolling over, Arach exposed his belly scales to the setting sun and stretched his forearms above his head. Where could Torin have been? What could’ve possibly tempted the man away from the adoration of his people? Arach’s ancestors had warned him to watch for the stone guardian chieftain. They’d spoken of the man’s fearlessness and his ability to wield a sword. Arach frowned as he scraped a broken horn against the stony side of the cliff. He’d discovered firsthand in the briefest of encounters with the chieftain that his ancestors hadn’t lied. Torin’s swordplay had cost him centuries of ravaging worlds while waiting for a damaged wing to heal. Arach smiled as another chuckle tickled up from his gullet. He’d repaid the chieftain in kind and then some. Sight would never return to the man’s right eye.

But when Arach had pushed his way through the gateway, the infamous man was nowhere among his clan. Arach hadn’t troubled himself about it at the time. He smiled as he remembered the ease of decimating the clan. But now the chieftain had somehow surfaced. Arach sucked in a deep, satisfied breath.
Finally.
He was ready for a little excitement.

Arach nestled his horns more comfortably on his folded arms and exhaled a relaxing sigh. A confrontation with Torin would be more than welcome. He no longer feared the threat of such a man since evolving from a lower level beast into a high-level demon. Arach stretched again and ran a claw beneath the scales along his belly, scratching the tender flesh beneath. Much had happened over the centuries. Maturity had honed his powers. The thicker scales at the base of his wings chinked with a series of metallic thuds as his body shook with deep satisfied laughter. He had no reason to fear the chieftain now.

Arach closed his eyes and anchored the tip of his tail around a boulder jutting out of the edge of the cliff.
There. Perfect.
Now if he relaxed a bit too much while he slept, he wouldn’t slide off into the water. He loathed the sting of salt water beneath his slime-encrusted scales. With a jaw-cracking yawn, he settled more contentedly among the rocks. With the prospect of an exciting hunt on the horizon, perhaps he’d dream of the thrilling past and relive the wondrous terror that had flowed red across the land with the blood wine of his victims. When he finished his afternoon nap, maybe he’d search out the stone guardian chieftain. After all, ’twas only good manners that he seek out his old friend and give Torin a proper hello.