Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(77)
The wind kicked up. Dark, churning storm clouds flashed spider-webbed lightning across a black backdrop above the ocean. A sudden downdraft extinguished the fire at his feet, and murmurs erupted around us with the sudden darkness.
The air had a cold bite that even my thick fur didn’t banish, and a violent shiver racked my body. Velloc leaned closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, and I nestled into his side for warmth.
A blinding, fiery bolt struck from ground to sky directly from the fire pit, lighting it with renewed fury. The charge lasted only a few seconds, but in that brief time, I saw everything.
A second dark figure shimmered into existence. My eyes had difficulty focusing on its form. What appeared to be a black hooded cloak on its back lifted and stretched wider, like the wings of a bird. Its head turned, and a mane of midnight hair flew about the beautiful face of a man. He looked straight at me, his sparkling, iridescent eyes piercing my soul for the merest second. While I was captivated by those mesmerizing eyes, the man handed Drust a box . . . the box.
Had Drust known all along that the box would come back to him?
As the lightning flashed its last and brightest pulse, the apparition vanished along with the charge into the atmosphere. The collective gasp from Drust’s people gave good indication that storytime had never been so unique.
Blown didn’t even begin to describe my state of mind.
Modern-day scientists gave no literal credence to the gods of ancient mythology. Cultures spanning the globe—Greek, Roman, Scottish, Japanese, and Native American to name a few—paid homage to deities. Our analytical minds downgraded visits from their gods as spiritual representations rather than actual occurrences.
Shocked numb by my thoughts, I stared at the box Drust held in utter disbelief. There’d been no trap doors or hidden panels in the—now two—instances that I’d witnessed the guardian of the box disappear into thin air—David Copperfield had nothing on the phenomenon. Unless another explanation presented itself, the being flashing in and out of our world was either extraterrestrial, interdimensional, or a time traveler who’d already mastered his craft.
Drust recited their lineage beginning with how the box found a mate for their first leader. When that chieftain’s son came of age, a perfect match had been obtained for the son. On down the family tree he went, detailing battle successes and major events along the way. In the span of less than thirty minutes, I’d been given an auditory history lesson on their tribe.
He lifted the newly reclaimed artifact high into the air, bellowing deeply as his voice carried over the wind. “I am Drust, son of Bruide, born into this world from a woman whom our god had deemed worthy, and matched to a woman whose sons and daughters will bring our tribe great prosperity.” He lowered his arms, tucking the box into his side. “May tonight remind you all of our noble history, fill you with pride of our past, and grant you hope for our future.”
Shouts, whistles, and animal cries marked the end of his talk. The animated crowd dispersed into the darkness, chatting about the miracle they’d witnessed.
I stood and raced down toward Drust, drawn to the artifact. Velloc rushed to my side as I crossed the twenty or so yards in a few seconds.
Drust held the box in his two hands as he met my bewildered gaze. He smirked and turned, calling back. “Follow. See where our box is housed.” He paused midgait, glancing over his shoulder. “I trust you’ll leave it to remain there in its rightful home.”
Well, that presented a problem, didn’t it? For me to fly from Velloc’s world, I’d have to commute from our village to the nearest airport—a full day’s ride by horseback. And I’d have to stay in the good graces of the air traffic controller. No FAA existed in Drust’s world to which I could vent my grievances.
One challenge at a time, Isobel.
In appreciation of having a gateway back to Iain, I decided to worry about logistics another time. Drust wanted information about the enemy encroaching on their lands. I would share what little information the Roman accountings and my memory could provide.
Drust went into the heart of his village, past the line of fires, and stepped into a circular, stacked-stone dwelling that was so small, only three people could comfortably stand inside without the necessity of a group hug. My claustrophobic nature had me watch from outside while Drust stepped through the uncovered doorway. He placed the box atop a gray stone pedestal carved into the shape of a raven. The gleaming box adorned the depicted god’s head like an ornate crown.
I stared at the box after Drust left the structure. Only Velloc’s tug on my arm pulled me away from my visual trance. I accompanied both men with my thoughts jumbled. Right when I believed I’d gotten a solid grasp on my transformed reality, one more surprise demonstrated I understood nothing at all, testing the boundaries of my already split-wide-open mind.
“I’ve shown you all I know about the box.” Drust stopped, turning to me. “Now you reveal all you know about our enemy.”
Unable to worry about divulging too much and altering future events, I inhaled deeply and dove off the cliff. I trusted that the forces orchestrating my masterpiece would allow me to soar after the plunge and cast my gaze unto a world as it should be . . . ordained by powers beyond my control.
“You already know the number of men they claimed to have brought against your people. That number was their entire army—including their reserves—but the total was estimated, not confirmed. Agricola, the Roman governor, claimed they were outnumbered by your people, whom they called Caledonians, but were only able to engage you in open battle after threatening your granaries, which had been recently filled from a bountiful harvest.”