Divine by Blood

“Rhiannon, you must listen to me!” He shook her. “If you die bound to Pryderi your spirit will never know the presence of your goddess again. You will never know light or joy again. You will spend eternity blanketed in the night of the dark god and the despair that taints all he touches.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I am finished fighting. It seems all I’ve done for as long as I can remember is fight. I’ve been too selfish, caused too much pain. Done too much harm. Perhaps it is time for me to pay for that.”

“Perhaps it is, but should your daughter pay for your mistakes, too?”

His words jolted her, and she blinked back the encroaching darkness in her eyes. “Of course she shouldn’t. What are you saying, old man?”

“You did not pledge her to him, but Pryderi desires a priestess with the blood of Epona’s Chosen in her veins. With you dead, who do you think will be his next victim?”

“No!” But she knew he was right.

THE GODDESS OF PARTHOLON series New York Times bestselling author

P.C. CAST

DIVINE BY MISTAKE

DIVINE BY CHOICE

DIVINE BY BLOOD

And coming in 2010from MIRA Books:

ELPHAME’S CHOICE

BRIGHID’S QUEST

Find out more at www.mirabooks.co.uk

Divine by Blood
P.C. Cast

Book Three of the Goddess of Partholon series

www.mirabooks.co.uk

For my stepmom and dad, Mama Cast and the Old Coach, aka Mama Parker and Richard Parker. With much love from Bugs.

Dear Lovely Reader,

Divine by Blood may very well be the most difficult book I’ve ever written. And that’s not because I had to complete Shannon’s story—explain about Rhiannon—and tell the daughters’ stories, too. All in one book!

The reason this book was tough for me was that in finishing it I felt as if I was saying goodbye to my family. It’s no secret (sometimes much to my embarrassment) that I peopled the Divine books with characters based on friends and family. One character in particular is so close to the living man that it makes me smile just thinking about him. Unquestionably, Richard Parker was fashioned after my dad. And while he and/or his ghost show up in all the Partholon books, it is in Divine by Blood that his character’s words and actions hold particularly true to my dad, Dick Cast. So while I poured a lot of love, and maybe even a piece of my heart, into the Divine trilogy, this last book will always be special to me—so special that it was difficult to see it end. I hope the spirit of it touches you, as it did me.

And who knows—Partholon is a big world. Perhaps there are more stories there just waiting for me to tell…

Wishing you happy reading and the brightest of blessings.

P.C. Cast

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you to my publishing team, Mary-Theresa Hussey and Adam Wilson, for being so great to work with—as usual!

As always, I am thankful for my agent and friend, Meredith Bernstein.

Thanks, Dad, for the ecosystem information, finding a feline basis for my lovely fictional species of cave cats, and for making the research trip to Oklahoma’s fabulous Alabaster Caverns and Great Salt Plains so much fun (Mama Cast and Lainee Ann, too!).

I’d like to acknowledge the Alabaster Caverns State Park and thank the people there for being so gracious and helping with my research. The Alabaster Caverns State Park is located in northwestern Oklahoma and is well worth the trip. The Oklahoma Great Salt Plains of north central Oklahoma is also an amazing place. Yes, there are selenite crystals on the plains, but you have to dig for them, versus how I fictionalised them. What I didn’t fictionalise is the magic I found in both places. For more information you can contact Alabastercaverns@OklahomaParks.com, and the Salt Plains National Wildlife Refuge at 580-626-4794. Explore Oklahoma and see for yourself!

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Other Books By

Title Page

Dedication

Dear Lovely Reader

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Part II

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Part III

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue I

Epilogue II

Preview

Copyright

PROLOGUE

She wasn’t dead.

She wasn’t alive, either.

In truth, she might have passed countless years simply dwelling in the outlands of existence. Not dying—not living. Just being. If it hadn’t been for the life that stirred within her womb, and the anger that stirred within her breast. Before she remembered who she was, she remembered that she had been betrayed.

Yes, anger is good…

The voice in her mind was not her own, but it felt familiar, and she grasped it as she sought to find herself again. Who was she? Where was she? How had this happened to her?

She opened her eyes. Blackness surrounded her. Blackness and weight, as if she had been submerged in a warm pool. For a moment panic overwhelmed her. If she was underwater how could she breathe? Surley she must be dead. Dead and entombed an eternity for crimes she couldn’t remember committing.

Then the child within her fluttered again.

The dead did not bring forth life.

She commanded her panic to recede, and it obeyed. Panic never helped. Cold, logical thought. Meticulous planning and precise execution of those plans. That was the way to triumph. That was the way she had always triumphed.

Until now.

But she had been betrayed. By whom? Her anger built and she fed it, channeling her frustration and fear.

Yes…allow anger to purify you…

Her self-awareness increased. Her mind was less sluggish. Her body tingled. Her anger continued to build until she could actually feel its warmth surrounding her. It energized her.

She had been betrayed…she had been betrayed…she had been betrayed…

The words circled through her mind, causing memories to leak from the dark barriers behind which they had been hidden.

A castle at the edge of the sea.

Dreams that were glimpses of reality.

A marble-walled temple of exquisite beauty and strength.

The call of a goddess.

That was it! She was divine! She was the Chosen of a Great Goddess!

Rhiannon…

The name burst through her mind, and with that knowledge the dams that blocked her memory broke, and the past shattered through her.

She had been betrayed by her goddess!

Rhiannon remembered everything. The willful choices she’d made during her life that constantly had her at odds with the Great Goddess Epona. The rape that had been her ascension ritual. The fact that Epona had never been content with her. The realization that no one in Partholon truly loved her—that they only worshipped her as an extension of the Goddess. The Magic Sleep vision wherein she had glimpsed the Fomorian demons infiltrating Guardian Castle and plotting the destruction of Partholon. The whisperings from the darkness that told her there was another way…another world…another choice. The vision of that other world she had been given through the power of that dark voice. And her decision to exchange herself for Shannon Parker, the mundane woman from that world whose physical appearance was so like hers that they could have been born from the same womb.

Rhiannon’s body trembled as she remembered the rest of it. How Clint, the Shaman she had found in this world, the mirror image of Partholon’s High Shaman ClanFintan, had refused to help her harness the power in this odd world where technology was magic and magic was an almost entirely untapped resource. So she had been forced to use dark powers to call forth a servant to aid her.

But something had gone terribly wrong. Clint had summoned Shannon from Partholon, and the two of them had joined to use their powers to defeat her.

The trees had named Shannon, not Rhiannon, as Epona’s Chosen, Beloved of the Goddess.

Epona no longer spoke Rhiannon’s name. The Goddess did not acknowledge her as Chosen. When Rhiannon had realized this, something within her had broken. Rhiannon felt sick remembering how lost and afraid she had felt. But the wound was not so fresh now.

Epona had betrayed her and allowed her to be entombed, while the usurper, Shannon, returned triumphant to Partholon and the life that should have been hers. And her child’s. You haven’t been betrayed by everyone… She now knew to whom the voice in her head belonged. The Triple-Faced God, Pryderi.

Pryderi…

The name moved through her mind, not as the explosion her own naming had been. Instead it was an alluring whisper.

I am still here with you. It is, after all, women who have always betrayed you. Your mother died and left you. Shannon stole what was yours by right. Epona turned from you simply because you would not be her puppet.

The dark god was right. Women had always betrayed her.

If you give yourself and your daughter to me I will never betray you. In return for your obedience, I will give you Partholon.

Rhiannon wanted to close her mind to the small voice within her that warned against allying herself with darkness. She wanted to give in and accept Pryderi’s offer instantly, but she could not ignore the sense of desolation the thought of embracing another god gave her. Logically, she knew that Epona’s favor had left her—that the Goddess had turned from her forever. But even though Rhiannon had looked to other gods…other powers…she had never taken that final step. The irretraceable step of rejecting Epona and giving herself completely to another god.

If she did that she would never be able to stand before Epona again. And what if the Goddess decided she’d made a mistake? If Rhiannon could free herself from this horrid imprisonment and return to Partholon, was there not a chance that Epona might, once again, recognize her as Chosen? Especially after she gave birth to her daughter, whose blood would be rich with the legacy of generation after generation of Partholon’s priestesses?

What say you, Rhiannon? Will you pledge yourself to me?

Rhiannon could feel the edge in the god’s voice. She had left him waiting for an answer too long. Hastily, she collected herself and sent her thoughts out to him.

You are wise, Pryderi. I am well and truly tired of being betrayed. Rhiannon formed her response carefully. But how can I pledge myself to any god while I am still imprisoned?You know a priestess must be free to perform the ascension ritual that will bind her to a god as Chosen.

Pryderi remained silent for so long that Rhiannon began to fear she had pushed too hard. She should have just pledged herself to him! What if he left her now? She might be trapped for eternity.

It is true that a priestess must freely give herself to a god. Then we shall simply free you so that you can pledge yourself and your daughter to my service. The tree that was her living tomb shuddered, and Rhiannon’s heartbeat quickened. She’d gambled and won! Pryderi was going to free her! She strained against the weight that pressed all around her…trapping her…suffocating her.

That is not the way to freedom. You must be patient, my Precious One.

Rhiannon bit back an automatic retort. No. She must learn from the past. Confronting a god openly was not wise…

What shall I do? She sent the thought out, tempering her frustration and making sure her question felt obedient and eager.

Use your earth affinity. Not even Epona can take that gift away from you. It is a part of your soul—of the very blood that runs in your veins. Only this time you will not bother with the Goddess’s trees. Seek the dark places. Sense the shadows within shadow. Call their power to you, Precious One. The time of your child’s birth draws near. With her birth, you will be reborn to the earth. And to a new era in the service of a god.

I understand. Rhiannon centered herself. She was no novice priestess. She knew how to wield great power and channel the magic of the earth. Looking to the darkness was no different from tapping into the hidden power of the trees. She refused to think about what Shannon had said—that the trees willingly aided her and called her Epona’s Chosen. Instead she concentrated on the darkness—on night and shadow and the cloak of blackness that monthly covers the new moon.

She felt the power. It wasn’t the heady rush she’d known in Partholon when Epona’s blessing had touched her, but power was there and it was drawn to her.

Like a vessel slowly being filled, Rhiannon waited and the child within her grew.

PART I

1

Oklahoma

“A storm comes.” John Peace Eagle squinted into the southwest sky.

His grandson barely glanced up from his portable Playstation. “Grandpa, if you’d get cable out here you wouldn’t have to do all that sky watching. You could check out the Weather Channel instead, or watch it on the news like everyone else.”

“This storm could not be predicted by mundane means.” The old Choctaw Wisdom Keeper spoke without turning from his study of the sky. “Go now. Take the truck and return to your mother’s house.”

This did make the teenager look. “Really? I can take your truck?”

Peace Eagle nodded. “I’ll get a ride into town sometime this week and pick it up.”

“Cool!” The boy grabbed his backpack and gave his grandpa a quick hug. “See ya, Grandpa.”

It was only after Peace Eagle heard the engine roar and then fade as the boy drove down the dirt road that led to the two-lane highway to town that he began to prepare.

Rhythmically the Wisdom Keeper beat the drum. It did not take long. Soon shapes began stirring between the trees. They entered the clearing beside the cabin as if they had been carried there by the growing violence of the wind. In the fading daylight they looked like ancient ghosts. John Peace Eagle knew better. He knew the difference between spirit and flesh. When all six of them had joined him he spoke.

“It is good you have answered my call. The storm that comes tonight is not only of this world.”

“Has the Chosen of the Goddess returned?” one of the Elders asked.

“No. This is a dark storm. An evil one stirs.”

“What is it you would have us do?”

“We must go to the sacred grove and contain what is struggling to be free,” Peace Eagle said.

“But we defeated evil there not long ago,” said the youngest of the tribal Elders.

Peace Eagle’s smile was grim. “Evil can never be truly defeated. As long as the gods give world dwellers freedom of choice, there will be those who choose evil.”

“The Great Balance,” the youngest Elder said thoughtfully.

Peace Eagle nodded. “The Great Balance. Without light there would not be dark. Without evil, good would have no balance.”

The Elders grunted wordless agreement.

“Now let us work on the side of good.”

Rhiannon welcomed the pain. It meant that it was time for her to live again. Time for her to return to Partholon and take back what was hers by right. She used the pain to focus. She thought of it as purification. Ascending to Epona’s service had not been a painless ritual. She expected no less from what Pryderi must have planned for her.

The labor was long and difficult. For a body she’d been detached from for so long, it was a shock to suddenly be aware of muscles and nerves and the cascade of cramping pain that radiated like drowning waves from her core.

Rhiannon tried not to dwell on thoughts of how this birth should have been. She should have been surrounded by her handmaidens and servants. She should have been bathed and cosseted and pampered—given ancient herbal infusions that would dull her pain and fear. Her women would never have left her alone to face the birth by herself. And her daughter’s entry into Partholon would have been met by joyous celebrations, as well as a sign from Epona that the Goddess was pleased by the birth of her Chosen’s daughter.

No, she couldn’t dwell on those thoughts, even though she secretly hoped that when this child was finally born Epona would return to her and show her some sign—any sign, even though she wasn’t in Partholon and this child wasn’t her first. Somewhere in the blackness between the seemingly endless surges of pain Rhiannon had time to think about that other child. The infant she had aborted. Did she regret what she had done? What good did regret ever do? It had been a choice she had made in her youth. A choice she could not undo.

She must focus on the daughter she was giving birth to now, not mistakes in her past.

When the next spasm of contractions seized her she opened her mouth to scream, even though she knew that entombed as she was, her pain and aloneness would be given no voice.

You are wrong, Precious One. You are not alone. Behold the power of your new god!

With a deafening crack, her living tomb was suddenly split open, and in a rush of fluid, Rhiannon was expelled from the womb of the ancient tree. She lay gasping and shivering on the carpet of grass. Wrenching coughs shook her. She blinked her eyes wildly, trying to clear her blurry vision. Her first thought was of the man whose sacrifice had entombed her. With a shudder, she looked over her shoulder at the gaping hole in the tree, expecting to see Clint’s body. She braced herself for the horror of it, but all she saw was a faint sapphire glow that faded slowly, like it was being absorbed into the bowels of the wounded tree.

Yes, her memory was intact, as was her mind. She knew where she was—the sacred grove, in the modern state of Oklahoma. And, as expected, she had been expelled from her prison inside one of the twin oaks. The other stood, unchanged, beside the shallow stream that ran between the trees. It was twilight. The wind whined fretfully around her. The bruised sky rumbled dangerously with thunder, and was answered by shards of lightning.

Lightning…that must have been what freed her.

I am what freed you.

The voice was no longer in her head, but it still had a disembodied, otherworldly tone. It was coming from under the twin tree to her oak, where the shadows were the deepest.

“Pryderi?” Rhiannon’s voice sounded too raspy and weak to be her own.

Of course, Precious One, whom did you expect? The Goddess who betrayed you? His laughter brushed against her skin, and Rhiannon wondered how anything that sounded so beautiful could also feel so cruel.

“I—I cannot see you,” she gasped as another contraction engulfed her.

The god waited until the pain receded again, and then the shadows under the tree stirred. A form moved slightly, so that it could be more easily seen in the fading daylight. Rhiannon felt her breath catch at his beauty. Though his body was not fully materialized in this world and had the transparent look of a spirit, letting her see through it to the shadows beyond, the sight of him made her forget that she was swollen with impending birth. Tall and strongly built, he was imposing even in spirit form. His mane of dark hair framed a face that should have inspired poets and artists, and not the terrible stories whispered about him in Partholon. His eyes smiled at her and his face was suffused with love and warmth.

I greet you, my priestess, my Precious One. Can you see me now?

“Yes,” she whispered in awe. “Yes, I see you, but only as a spirit.” Rhiannon felt dizzied by such an obvious show of the god’s favor. He was absolutely magnificent—everything a god should be. And suddenly she could not believe she had wasted all her life worshipping Epona, when she should have been kneeling in supplication at this wondrous god’s feet.

It is difficult for me to hold corporeal form. In order for me to truly exist in the flesh, I must be worshipped. There must be sacrifices made in my name. I must be loved and obeyed. That is what you and your daughter will do for me—you will lead the people to find me again, and then I will return you to your rightful place in Partholon.

“I understand,” she said, ashamed that her voice was so weak between her panting breaths. “I will—”

But before she could finish her words, two things happened simultaneously, both effectively silencing her. The night was suddenly filled with the sonorous sound of drumbeats. Rhythmically, like a heart pulsing blood through a body, the glade was wrapped in a deep, vibrating pulse. At the same moment Rhiannon was gripped by the overwhelming need to push.

Her back bowed and her legs automatically came up. She gripped the gnarled roots, trying to find something, anything that would anchor her straining body. Her wild eyes searched the shadows where Pryderi had materialized. Faintly, she could see his spectral form.

“Help me,” she moaned.

The beating drums were getting louder. Within the resonant sound, she could now hear chanting, though she could not make out the words. Pryderi’s form flickered and, with a horror that mirrored the pain that threatened to tear apart her body, she watched his beautiful face ripple and re-form. His sensuous mouth was seared shut. His nose became a grotesque hole. His eyes were no longer smiling and kind. They glowed with an inhuman yellow light. Then, before she could take another sobbing breath, the apparition changed again. The eyes became dark, empty caverns and the mouth ripped open to show bloody fangs and a slavering maw.

Rhiannon screamed in fear and rage and pain.

The drumbeat and chanting got louder and closer.

Pryderi’s image shifted and he was, once more, the inhumanly beautiful god, only this time he was barely visible.

I cannot always be beautiful, even for you, Precious One.

“Are you leaving me?” she cried as the terrible pushing urge abated for a moment. Though his changing visage terrified her, she was even more afraid to face birth alone.

Those who approach are forcing me to leave. I cannot battle them tonight. I do not have the strength in this world. Then his eyes blazed into hers and his body almost solidified. Rhiannon MacCallan, I have sought you for decades. I have watched your unhappiness multiply as you were shackled to Epona. You must make your choice now, Rhiannon! You have seen all of my forms. Will you renounce the Goddess and give yourself to me as my priestess, my Chosen and Incarnate?

Rhiannon felt light-headed with pain and fear. Her eyes flicked wildly around the grove, searching for some sign of Epona, but she saw nothing of her divine light. She had been abandoned to the darkness—a darkness that had been pursuing her for years. What choice did she have? She could not imagine existing were she not the Chosen of a deity. How would she live if she did not have the power such status afforded her? But even as she made her decision, Rhiannon could not bring herself to openly renounce Epona. She would accept Pryderi. That would have to be enough for the god.

“Yes. I will still give myself to you,” she said faintly.

And your daughter? Do you pledge your daughter to me, as well?

Rhiannon rejected the warning that whispered through her soul.

“I give—”

Her words were broken off by the high-pitched battle cry of seven tribal Elders as the men entered the grove, tightening a circle around the two oaks. With a roar that made Rhiannon’s heart tremble, Pryderi’s spirit dissolved into the shadows.

Pain bowed her body again and all Rhiannon knew was that she must push. Then strong hands were supporting her. She gasped and opened her eyes. The man was ancient. His face was deeply furrowed and his long hair was white. There was an eagle feather tied within its length. His eyes…Rhiannon focused on the kindness in his brown eyes.

“Help me,” she whispered.

“We are here. The darkness is gone. It is safe for your child to enter the world now.”

Rhiannon gripped the stranger’s hands. She pushed with everything within her pain-racked body. Then to the beat of the ancient drums her daughter slid from her womb.

And as she was born, it was Epona and not Pryderi to whom Rhiannon cried.

2

The old man used his knife to cut the cord that linked daughter to mother. Then he wrapped the infant in a home-woven blanket and gave her to Rhiannon. When she looked into her daughter’s eyes, it seemed to Rhiannon that the world shifted irrevocably. Deep within her soul she felt the change. She had never seen anything so miraculous. She hadn’t felt like this ever before in her life. Not when she’d first heard Epona’s voice—not when she’d experienced for the first time the power of being a Goddess’s Chosen—and not when she’d seen Pryderi’s terrible beauty.

This, Rhiannon thought with wonder, touching her daughter’s impossibly soft cheek, is true magic.

Another round of contractions wracked her, and Rhiannon gasped. She held her child close to her breast and tried to concentrate on nothing but her while she expelled the afterbirth. Somewhere Rhiannon heard the old man calling orders to another, and understood the urgency in his voice. But the drums continued to beat their ancient rhythm, and her daughter felt so right in her arms…

Rhiannon couldn’t stop staring at her. The child gazed back with wide, dark eyes that continued to touch her mother’s soul.

“I have been so very wrong.”

“Yes,” the old man murmured. “Yes, Rhiannon, you have been wrong.”

Rhiannon looked up from her daughter. With a strangely detached observation she realized that he had knelt beside her and was holding a bundle of cloth firmly between her legs. How odd that she hadn’t felt him do that. Actually, she could feel very little of her body, and was relieved that the pain had stopped. Then her thoughts focused on what he had said.

“You know my name.”

He nodded. “I was here the day the White Shaman sacrificed his life to entomb you within the sacred tree.”

With a jolt Rhiannon recognized him as the leader of the Natives who had vanquished the demonic Nuada.

“Why are you helping me now?”

“It is never too late for an earth dweller to change their chosen path.” He paused, studying her silently before continuing. “You were broken then, but I believe this child has healed your spirit.” He smiled kindly. “She must be a great force for good if her birth was able to mend so much.”

Rhiannon cradled her daughter, keeping her close to her breast. “Morrigan. Her name is Morrigan, granddaughter of The MacCallan.”

“Morrigan, granddaughter of The MacCallan. I will remember her name and speak it truly.” His eyes held hers and Rhiannon felt a chill of foreboding, even before she heard his next words. “Something within your body is torn. There is too much bleeding, and it does not stop. I have sent someone for my truck, but it will be hours before we can reach a doctor.”

She met his eyes and read the truth there. “I’m dying.”

He nodded. “I believe you are. Your spirit has been healed, but your body is broken beyond repair.”

Rhiannon didn’t feel fear or panic, and she certainly experienced no pain. She only knew a terrible sense of loss. She looked down at her newborn daughter who gazed back at her with such trust, and traced the soft face with her fingertip. She would not see Morrigan grow. She would not be there to watch over her and be sure she was safe and…“Oh, Goddess! What have I done?”

The old man did not attempt to placate her. His eyes were sharp and wise. “Tell me, Rhiannon.”

“I pledged myself to Pryderi. He also wanted me to pledge my daughter to his service, but your presence drove him away before I could give her to him.”

“Pryderi is an evil one? A god of darkness?” he said quickly.

“Yes!”

“You must renounce him. For yourself and for Morrigan.”

Rhiannon looked down at Morrigan. If she renounced Pryderi for both of them, in all probability her daughter would be trapped in this world. She might even be unable to tap into the small threads of power Rhiannon had discovered. Morrigan would never return to Partholon.

But if she did not renounce Pryderi, her daughter would be destined to serve the same darkness Rhiannon now recognized had been shadowing her entire life, whispering discontent, echoing anger and selfishness and hatred, and, most destructive of all, twisting love into something unrecognizable.

Rhiannon could not bear the thought that her daughter’s life might be as tainted as her own had become. If Morrigan was trapped in this world, then so be it. At least she would not be trapped by the lies of evil, too.

“I renounce Pryderi, the Triple-Faced God, and I reject his hold on me—and my daughter, Morrigan MacCallan,” Rhiannon said. Then she waited. She had been the priestess and Chosen of a powerful goddess since she was a girl. She knew how serious it was to renounce a deity. There should be a sign, be it internal or external, that would show Destiny had been altered. Gods did not bear rejection well, especially not dark gods.

“The dark one knows you are near death and very close to the realm of spirits. His hold on you is tight. He is not releasing you.”

The old man’s words were softly spoken, but Rhiannon felt them as if he had sliced into her heart. Even though she was growing weaker, she forced her arms to tighten around her daughter’s tiny body.

“I did not pledge Morrigan to him. Pryderi has no hold over her.”

“But you are still bound to him,” the old man said gravely.

Rhiannon was finding it difficult to fight against the exhaustion that was graying the edges of her vision. She was cold. She wished the old shaman would leave her alone and let her stare at her daughter until…

“Rhiannon, you must listen to me!” He shook her. “If you die bound to Pryderi your spirit will never know the presence of your goddess again. You will never know light or joy again. You will spend eternity blanketed in the night of the dark god and the despair that taints all he touches.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I am finished fighting. It seems all I’ve done for as long as I can remember is fight. I’ve been too selfish, caused too much pain. Done too much harm. Perhaps it is time for me to pay for that.”

“Perhaps it is, but should your daughter pay for your mistakes, too?”

His words jolted her, and she blinked back the encroaching darkness in her eyes. “Of course she shouldn’t. What are you saying, old man?”

“You did not pledge her to him, but Pryderi desires a priestess with the blood of Epona’s Chosen in her veins. With you dead, who do you think will be his next victim?”

“No!” But she knew he was right. Pryderi had admitted to shadowing her for decades. He wouldn’t do any less to her daughter. Rhiannon shuddered. Morrigan would not be haunted by the darkness she had allowed to whisper and beguile her—and twist her love for her goddess into something ugly. “No,” she repeated. “Morrigan will not be his next choice.”

“Then you must call upon your goddess to force Pryderi to relinquish his hold on you.”

Rhiannon felt a surge of despair. “Epona has turned her face from me.”

“But have you renounced your bond to her?”

“I have done things abhorrent to her.” And for the first time in her life Rhiannon admitted that it had been she who had betrayed her goddess’s faith long before Epona had stopped speaking to her. “She no longer hears me.”

“Perhaps the Goddess has been waiting to hear the right words from you.”

Rhiannon stared into the shaman’s eyes. If there was just the slightest possibility that he might be right she would try. She would call upon Epona. She was close to death—perhaps her goddess would take pity on her. She could feel the misty veil already shrouding her body and numbing her to this world. Surely even from Partholon Epona knew what had befallen her. Rhiannon closed her eyes and centered herself.

“Epona, Great Goddess of Partholon—goddess of my youth—goddess of my heart. Please hear me one last time. Forgive me for my selfish mistakes. Forgive me for allowing darkness to taint your light. Forgive me for the pain I caused you and others.” Rhiannon paused, struggling to focus her thoughts and to stave off the cloying numbness that was traveling throughout her body. “I know I do not deserve your favor, but I ask that you stop Pryderi from claiming my soul and my daughter’s.”

The wind picked up her words and rattled and shook them until they sounded like rain sloughing through autumn leaves. Rhiannon opened her eyes. The shadows beneath the giant sacred oak, the twin to the destroyed tree under which she lay, began to stir and her heart fluttered in panic. Had Pryderi returned to claim her, despite the presence of the shaman and the power of their ancient drums? Then a ball of light burst into being, chasing away the darkness. From the center of the light a figure began to form. Rhiannon’s breath caught and tears filled her eyes. The old shaman bowed his head respectfully.

“Welcome, Great Goddess,” he said.

Epona smiled at the old man. John Peace Eagle, know that for your actions tonight you have my gratitude and my blessing.

“Thank you, Goddess,” he said solemnly.

Then Epona turned her gaze to Rhiannon. With a trem-bling hand, she wiped the tears from her eyes so that she could see the Goddess more clearly. In her childhood Epona had materialized for her several times, but as she had entered her rebellious teenage years, and then become a selfish, indulged adult, the Goddess had quit visiting her, quit speaking to her, and eventually, had quit hearing her. Now Rhiannon felt her soul quicken at the sight of her goddess.

“Forgive me, Epona!” she cried.

I forgive you, Rhiannon. I forgave you before you asked it of me. I, too, have been at fault. I saw your weakness and knew your soul was being courted by darkness. My love for you blinded me to the level of your self-destruction.

Rhiannon bit back the excuses that always so readily came to her tongue. “I was wrong,” was all she said. Then she drew a deep breath, fighting against the numbness that sought to steal away her words. “Epona, I ask that you break the bonds Pryderi has on me. I have renounced him, but as you know, I am near death. His hold on my soul is strong.”

Epona studied her fallen priestess carefully before asking, Why do you ask such a thing of me, Rhiannon? Is it because you fear what will happen to your spirit after death?

“Goddess, I find now that death is near many things in my life have become clear.” She glanced down at the child she still held in her weakening arms. “Or perhaps it is the presence of my daughter that has allowed the scales to fall from my eyes.” She looked up at the Goddess. “The truth is that, yes, I am afraid to spend eternity in despair and darkness, but I would not have called upon you to save me from the fate I know I deserve.” Rhiannon choked, coughed, and took several gasping breaths before she could continue. “I called upon you because I could not bear the thought that my daughter would be claimed by the same darkness that has poisoned so much of my life. If you break the bonds Pryderi has upon my soul I do not ask that I be allowed to enter your meadows. I ask that you allow me to exist in the Otherworld, where I can keep watch on her and try to whisper good when the dark god whispers evil.”

Eternity in the Otherworld is not an easy fate. There is no rest to be found there—no meadows of light and laughter to succor your world-weary soul.

“I do not wish to rest while my daughter is in danger. I do not want her to follow my path.”

The years of your daughter’s life will be only a tiny ripple in the pond of eternity. Do you truly ask an interminable fate for something that is in essence so transient?

Rhiannon leaned her pale cheek against her daughter’s soft head. “I do, Epona.”

The Goddess smiled and, even so near death, Rhiannon was filled with a rush of indescribable joy.

Finally, my Beloved, you have conquered the selfishness in your spirit and followed your heart. The Goddess stretched her arms over her head. Pryderi, god of darkness and lies, I do not relinquish my rightful hold on this priestess! You shall not claim her soul without first vanquishing me! Light shot from the Goddess’s palms, splintering the shadows that had skittered to the edges of the clearing. With a terrible shriek, the unnatural darkness dissipated completely, leaving what Rhiannon now recognized as only the normal and comforting darkness that twilight foretold.

“My spirit feels light,” she whispered to her daughter. That is because for the first time since you were a child your spirit is free of the influence of darkness.

“I should have taken this path long ago,” Rhiannon said faintly.

Epona’s smile was, once again, filled with limitless kindness. It is not too late, my Beloved.

Rhiannon closed her eyes against a wash of emotions that drained her of the last of her waning strength. “Epona, I know this isn’t Partholon, and I am no longer your Chosen One, but would you greet my daughter?” Her voice was almost inaudible.

Yes, Beloved. For the sake of my love for you, I greet Morrigan, granddaughter of The MacCallan, and I bestow upon her my blessing.

Rhiannon opened her eyes at the sound of the whir of wings. Epona had disappeared, but the sacred grove had been filled with thousands upon thousands of fireflies that dipped and dived and soared all around her and the infant who rested in her arms. In the fading light they illuminated the air around them as if the stars had temporarily taken leave of the night sky just to dance about the glade in celebration of the birth of her child.

“The Goddess heard your plea,” the old man said reverently. “She did not forget you. She will not forget your child.”

Rhiannon glanced at him, and had to blink hard to focus on his face. “Shaman, you must take me home.”

His eyes met hers. “I do not have the power to return you to the Otherworld, Rhiannon.”

“I know that,” she said weakly. “Take me back to the only home I have known in this world—to Richard Parker, who is the mirror image of my father, The MacCallan.” Rhiannon grimaced and pushed back the memory of Shannon Parker’s voice telling her that in Partholon her father was dead. “Take my body there and present Morrigan to him as his granddaughter. Tell him…” She hesitated, trying to speak through the numbness that was quickly enclosing her. “Tell him…that I believe in his love and know he will do the right thing.”

The shaman nodded solemnly. “How do I find Richard Parker?”

Rhiannon managed to gasp simple directions to Richard Parker’s small ranch outside Broken Arrow. Thankfully, the old man questioned her little and seemed to understand the words she whispered between gasps.

“I will do this for you, Rhiannon. I will also offer prayers for your spirit in the Otherworld. May you watch over your child and keep her safe.”

“My child…Morrigan MacCallan…blessed by Epona…” Rhiannon whispered. She found that she could not fight against the numbness any longer. Still holding her daughter to her breast, she allowed her head to fall back so that it rested on a gnarled root. And while firefly lights played all around them to the tune of ancient drums, Rhiannon, Priestess of Epona, died.

3

Partholon

“Okay, so here’s the absolute friggin truth. If it was fun, they wouldn’t call it labor.” I grimaced and tried to find a more comfortable position on the huge down-filled mattress I’d dubbed the marshmallow, but I was so damn tired and my body was sore in so many intimate places that I gave up and settled for sipping more of the mulled wine a helpful nymphet offered me. “They’d call it something like party,” I continued. “Women would say, ‘Oh, boy! I’m going into party now and having a baby. Yippie!’ Nope. It’s definitely not called party.”

Alanna and her husband, Carolan (who had just delivered my daughter), glanced over their shoulders at me. Both of them laughed, as did several of the nymphlike handmaidens who were clustered around the room, tidying, fussing, basically doing the handmaiden stuff they loved to do (and, quite frankly, I adored their abject adoration).

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at. In a couple months you’re going to know exactly what I’m talking about,” I reminded Alanna.

“And I will count on you to hold my hand through every moment of it,” Alanna told me happily, and then kissed her husband’s cheek.

“That’s fine with me. I’ll look forward to being on the hand-holding end of the childbirth thing.”

“I thought women quickly forgot the pain of the birth.”

I looked up at my husband, the centaur High Shaman ClanFintan, whose strength and stamina surpassed a man’s, but who at that moment appeared uncharacteristically worn and bedraggled, as if he had fought his way through hell and back instead of standing by his wife’s side as she labored (for a friggin day) and gave birth to their daughter.

“Are you going to forget it soon?” I asked him with a knowing smile.

“Not likely,” he said solemnly, and for the seemingly thousandth time in the past day he bent to brush the sweat-damp hair from my face and kiss me softly on the forehead.

“Yeah, me neither. I think that whole ‘women don’t remember the pain of childbirth’ thing is a big lie started by freaked-out husbands.”

Carolan’s deep chuckle rolled across the chamber. “I would have to agree with your theory, Rhea,” he said.

I frowned at his back. “Great. My doctor didn’t think to mention that to me before I went into labor?”

“No, my Lady.” I could hear the thinly veiled humor in his voice. “Little good it would have done then. If I would have mentioned it, it should have been before you bedded the centaur.”

“Hrumph!” I said, purposefully sounding like my husband, which caused Carolan to chuckle again.

“Ah, but Rhea, wasn’t it all worth it?” Finally finished swaddling my newborn daughter, Alanna, smiling like she was Santa Claus, brought the baby back to my waiting arms. I took her eagerly from my best friend and all-around girl Friday, executive assistant and expert on everything-Partholon-that-I-didn’t-know.

“Yes.” I breathed the word, overwhelmed by the not-yet-familiar rush of love and tenderness holding my daughter evoked. “Yes, she is worth every bit.”

ClanFintan knelt beside our mattress with the fluid grace with which centaurs moved. “There is nothing she is not worth,” he said reverently. Then he touched the down of curly auburn hair that capped her perfect head. “What shall we call her, my love?”

I didn’t hesitate. I’d had months to think about this, and during that time only one name kept circling around and around in my mind. I’d asked Alanna about it when I first heard it echoing through my head, and when she told me its meaning, I knew it had to be my daughter’s name.

“Myrna. Her name is Myrna.”

ClanFintan smiled and circled us with his strong arms. “Myrna, the word in the old language for beloved. It is as it should be, for she is truly our beloved.” Then he leaned closer to me and for my ears alone murmured, “I love you, Shannon Parker. Thank you for the gift of our daughter.”

I nestled against him and kissed the strong line of his jaw, holding our sleeping daughter close to us. He rarely used the name I’d been born with—and never when he could be overheard by the general populace. There were only three people who knew I was not Rhiannon, daughter of The MacCallan—ClanFintan, Alanna and Carolan. The rest of Partholon had no idea that almost one year ago I had been “accidentally” exchanged for the real Rhiannon, with whom I looked almost identical. But our physical likeness is where our similarities ended. Rhiannon had been a selfish, hateful bitch who’d abandoned her world. I liked to think that I was just mildly selfish, and only a bitch when absolutely necessary. I knew I would never abandon Partholon, or the people and goddess I had come to love there. I’d fought to stay—and stay I would.

There was no doubt that I belonged in Partholon. Epona had made it clear to me that I had become her Chosen, and that it had never been an accident or a mistake that I’d been exchanged for Rhiannon. Epona chose me, and therefore I belonged to this world.

Sublimely happy, I nuzzled the top of my daughter’s soft head, “Happy birthday, Mama’s precious.”

ClanFintan’s arm was warm and strong around me. He squeezed gently, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Happy birthday to both of my girls.”

I blinked in surprise and laughed. “That’s right! Today’s April thirtieth. It is my birthday. I’d totally forgotten.”

“You’ve been busy,” ClanFintan said.

“I definitely have.” I smiled up at the amazing centaur with whom I was so completely in love. “I think that we should thank Epona for our magical daughter who was born on her mother’s birthday.”

He kissed me gently. “Epona has my eternal thanks for Myrna and for you.” He drew a deep breath, and then in his resonant voice with which he called ancient shamanistic magic to him so that he could shape-shift into human form and make love to me, he shouted, “Hail, Epona!”

“Hail, Epona!” His cry was gladly taken up by Alanna and my handmaidens.

Suddenly the gauzy drapes that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall of my chamber began to billow up like rolling clouds, and on the fragrant breeze into the room floated hundreds of rose petals. The handmaidens made happy little exclamations and began twirling around with the petals. Then the voice that I had been waiting to hear filled the room as my goddess, Epona, spoke.

My Beloved has given birth to her beloved. It is with great gladness that I welcome Myrna, daughter of my Chosen One, to Partholon. Let us greet her with joy, magic, laughter and the blessings of her goddess!

With a pop and sizzle that reminded me of Fourth of July sparklers, the rose petals exploded into little balls of glitter and became hundreds of butterflies. Then there was another popping sound and the butterflies became jewel-colored hummingbirds that swooped and dived and circled my laughing, dancing maidens.

My eyes filled with tears of happiness and relief. My daughter had been born safely, and my goddess had attended her birth. I relaxed in the warmth of my husband’s arms, thoroughly and utterly content, and gazed down at the miracle that was our daughter, Myrna…

“This is true magic,” I whispered.

A mother’s love is the most sacred magic of all. Epona’s familiar voice drifted through my mind. In the future remember that, Beloved. A mother’s love has the power to heal and to redeem.

I was suddenly chilled. What did Epona mean? Was something going to harm Myrna?

Rest easy, Beloved. Your child is safe.

I felt a wash of relief so strong that it made my body tremble. And then I felt something else and the trembling became a shudder.

“Rhea? Are you well?” ClanFintan asked, instantly sensing the change in me.

“I’m tired,” I prevaricated, surprised at how weak my voice sounded.

“You should rest.” He kissed our daughter’s forehead and then mine before he caught Alanna’s eye. She quit dancing with the hummingbirds and handmaidens, and hurried to our side. “Rhea must rest,” he told her.

“Of course she must,” Alanna said a little breathlessly, her hand rubbing her protruding abdomen. Then she clapped her hands and the frolicking handmaidens looked her way. But before she could announce that it was time for them to depart, the hummingbirds, as a group, circled the air above where I lay and then, in a flurry of wings and glittering colors, they exploded and were once more rose petals, which rained on the floor of my chamber so that the rich marble was carpeted in Epona’s magic. “The Goddess knows her Beloved must now sleep,” Alanna said, smiling in delight at Epona’s show of favor.

“Thank you for being here. Thank you for singing my child into the world.” I somehow made my voice sound normal even though normal was far from what I was feeling.

“It was our honor, Beloved of the Goddess!” several of the handmaidens said together. Then, laughing, clapping and calling blessings to us, they scampered merrily out of my chamber.

I could feel ClanFintan’s gaze and knew better than to try to hide what was going on from him. I looked into his dark, almond-shaped eyes.

“Rhiannon is dead,” I said.

Alanna gasped, but ClanFintan grew very still. His jaw clenched and his classically handsome face seemed to turn to stone. To an outsider, his voice would sound calm, almost gentle. But I knew it for what it was—it was the way he cleared his mind and readied himself for battle.

“How do you know this, Rhea?” he asked.

I tightened my grip on Myrna’s small, perfect body. “I felt her die.”

“But I thought she was killed months ago, when the shaman from your old world entombed her in the sacred tree,” Carolan said.

I swallowed. My lips felt cold and numb. “I thought she was, too. She should have died then, but all this time she hasn’t been dead. All this time she’s been trapped inside the tree…alive.” I shuddered. Rhiannon was a hateful bitch. She’d caused me countless problems. Hell, she’d even tried to kill me. But I’d come to understand that she was just a broken version of myself, and I couldn’t help pitying her. Thinking about her being entombed alive made me feel sick and sad.

Two hard, quick knocks sounded against the door.

“Come!” ClanFintan ordered.

One of my palace guards entered the chamber and saluted me briskly.

“What is it…” I paused, trying to remember which guard he was. I mean, they all looked so much alike. Muscular. Tall. Scantily dressed. Muscular. Something about this one’s very blue eyes jogged my memory. “…Gillean?” I expected he’d come to pay homage to Myrna, but the grim set of his face had my heart beating faster.

“It is the tree in the Sacred Grove, my Lady. The one around which you pour libations every full moon. It has been destroyed.”

My gut wrenched with a pain that had nothing to do with childbirth. “What do you mean destroyed? How?”

“It appears to have been struck by lightning, but the evening is clear. There is no hint of storm in the sky.”

The bitterness of fear filled the back of my throat, making my voice sound rough. “Did anything come out of the tree?”

The guard didn’t as much as blink at my weird question. This was Partholon, where magic was as real as the Goddess who reigned here. Weird was this world’s normal.

“Nothing came out of the tree, my Lady.”

“There were no bodies?” I made myself ask, trying to push away the mental image of Clint’s decomposing corpse.

“No, my Lady. There were no bodies.”

“Are you sure? Did you see for yourself?” ClanFintan fired the questions.

“I am positive, my Lord. And, yes, I examined the tree for myself. I had just been relieved from the northern watch outside the temple grounds. I was returning when I heard a great cracking noise coming from the grove. I wasn’t far from it, and I know the Sacred Grove is important to Lady Rhiannon, so I went there immediately. The tree was still smoldering when I came upon it.”

“You have to go look,” I said to ClanFintan.

His nod was a tense jerk. “Get Dougal,” he told the guard. “Tell him to meet me at the north gate.”

“Yes, my Lord. My Lady.” He bowed formally to me and then hurried out.

“I will come with you,” Carolan said grimly. Then he and Alanna moved across the chamber, obviously allowing me some privacy with ClanFintan.

“If she’s here, she’s dead,” I said, sounding much calmer than I felt.

“Yes, but I wish to be sure that if she brought anything into Partholon with her reentry, it is dead, too.”

I nodded and looked down at Myrna’s sleeping face. Vulnerable. I felt so damn uncharacteristically vulnerable knowing that I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to my daughter…

“I will never allow anything to harm either of you.” ClanFintan’s voice was low and dangerous.

I met his steady gaze. “I know.” But it was clear in both of our eyes that we were remembering a few months ago. I had been pulled through that very tree and taken to Oklahoma, along with a resurrected evil we had all believed we had vanquished forever. And that had happened while ClanFintan watched, powerless to save me. I had only been able to return to Partholon through the sacrifice of ClanFintan’s human mirror, Clint Freeman, and the power that was in the ancient trees. “Be careful,” I said.

“Always,” he said. He kissed me and then Myrna. “Rest. I will not be gone long.”

He and Carolan rushed out of the chamber. I could hear him calling orders for the guards to double their watch on me and on the palace, which should have made me feel safe, but all it did was send a terrible wash of cold fear through my body. Myrna began to make restless noises, and I whispered reassurance to her.

“She’s probably hungry, Rhea.”

Thankfully, Alanna was at my side helping to arrange my soft nightdress so that Myrna could find my breast. I tried to relax and concentrate on the sublimely intimate act of nursing my daughter, but my thoughts wouldn’t be still. I had known the exact moment of Rhiannon’s death. The sacred tree that had imprisoned her had been destroyed. And then there were the Goddess’s cryptic words about the power of a mother’s love to heal and redeem.

Rhiannon had been pregnant when she’d been entombed.

“All will be well, Rhea.” Alanna lifted the now full and sleeping Myrna from my arms and placed her in the small cradle within reaching distance of my bed.

“I’m scared, Alanna.”

Alanna took the wide soft brush from my vanity and knelt behind me. Gently, she began brushing my hair in long, slow strokes.

“Epona will not allow you or Myrna to come to harm. You are her Chosen One, her Beloved. The Goddess protects her own. Rest now. You are safe here in the heart of Partholon, protected by all of us who love you. You have nothing to fear, my friend…nothing to fear…”

Alanna kept up a steady murmur of reassurance. The sweet sound of her voice and the gentle strokes of the brush coupled with the exhaustion of twenty-four hours of laboring and childbirth worked on me like a sleeping pill. My body was aching for rest. And just before I slipped into the comforting darkness, my last thought was that if there were no bodies found in the Sacred Grove in Partholon, then they must be in the mirror version of that grove in Oklahoma. What the hell was going on over there…?

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