Elphame's Choice (Partholon #4)

Elphame's Choice (Partholon #4) Page 38

The night passed slowly. Lochlan spoke very little as she and Danann finished tending his wounds. He drank the second mug of broth and then, wrapped in Meara's blanket, he settled back against the mighty column and appeared to sleep.

Elphame did not want to leave her lover, but she could feel her clan's need of her, and so while Lochlan rested she walked among them where they gathered in the Great Hall, stopping to talk here and there, but mostly being seen and letting them feel her presence. Her tears were gone and she had combed her hair and changed into a clean plaid, with the ancestral brooch of The MacCallan displayed clearly on her bodice. The clan's talk focused on the castle and the work yet ahead of them. No one mentioned the winged man chained in the next room, nor did they speak of Cuchulainn's mission, but there was a tangible sense of waiting, and many glances were cast surreptitiously toward the castle's entrance at the least sound of the wind brushing against the thick, expectant walls. No one left to sleep in the comfort of their tents, instead heads bobbed and then revived occasionally as the night aged, and Wynne and her cooks busied themselves keeping mugs filled with strong, black coffee and stomachs filled with thick stew.

The black of the night's sky was being replaced by the soft gray of predawn when Elphame crossed the Main Courtyard to check on Lochlan. Someone had brought chairs for Brendan and Duncan, who had refused to allow any of the other men to relieve them of their charge to guard the winged prisoner. Both men were sitting close to Lochlan and Elphame felt a jolt of surprise when she realized that the men were deep in conversation with him. Purposefully, she stepped lightly so that they would not notice her approach.

"One hundred and twenty-five years." Brendan shook his head. His expression was wary, but curiosity was thick in his voice. "I cannot imagine living so long. You don't even look as old as Danann."

Elphame's smile mirrored the one she heard in Lochlan's voice.

"I would not want to pit my wisdom against the centaur's. My years might outnumber his, but experience weights heavily in his favor. I would not want to cross wits with him."

Duncan snorted. "None of us would." He paused, as if carefully considering his next words. "I watched what happened when The MacCallan asked the spirit of the column to tell her the truth of you. If you had been guilty of the little Healer's death, our Lady would have known it then."

"I did not kill Brenna, but I tell you honestly that I will carry the guilt of her death to my grave. I should have found a way to prevent it," Lochlan said.

"Fate - she can be cruel," Brendan said.

Duncan grunted in agreement.

"Gentlemen, morning is near. Wynne has hot food and drink for you. I temporarily relieve you of your watch," Elphame said, stepping into the torchlight that illuminated the little group.

This time, instead of hesitating the two men rose to their feet, bowed to their Chieftain and walked silently from the courtyard. Alone with Lochlan, Elphame suddenly found that she didn't know what to say. She rearranged a pile of discarded bandages and placed the lid on a jar of balm.

"Sit here beside me for a little while, my heart."

Elphame's hands stilled and she looked into his eyes. His face was pale, and there were dark circles ringing his expressive eyes. The blanket that covered him had slipped from his wounded shoulder, and a pink tinge of blood seeped through to stain the white linen bandages. He was sitting more upright than he had been before when she had thought him sleeping, but he still leaned against the sturdy column, as if he, too, gained strength from its touch.

With a sigh, she sat on the cold marble near him.

"It's so hard to know what to do, Lochlan," she said miserably. "How do I balance who I am with what I feel?"

The chains rattled as he took her hand in his. "You are doing well. They are loyal to you, Elphame. You need not worry about losing your clan."

"And you? Should I not worry about losing you?"

"You cannot lose me, my heart."

"What if Cuchulainn doesn't find your people, or, worse yet, kills them and does not allow their story to be told? Or what will happen if he brings them here alive, and they lie - they say that you were in on the killing of Brenna? None of the clan can Feel the truth through the spirits of the stone. I can keep Cuchulainn from killing you, but 1 may have to banish you, Lochlan. Do you understand that?"

"I understand that you will do what you must do. But neither banishment nor death can destroy my love for you. And do not forget that Epona's hand is in this, Elphame. I have decided to trust the Goddess as my mother before me did."

Elphame shook her head. "I don't think I have your faith."

Lochlan smiled knowingly. "Don't you, my heart? You have been touched by the Goddess since before your birth. Perhaps you just need to trust yourself enough to listen for Her voice."

Elphame raised his hand so that she could press her cheek against the warmth of his palm. "Are you sure you're not as wise as Danann?"

"Quite sure."

He caressed the side of her face and she leaned forward to kiss him gently. Involuntarily, his wings stirred and he could not suppress a moan of pain. Elphame pulled away from him quickly, her face clouded with concern. She reached to touch his wounded wing, but stopped the gesture short, afraid to cause him more pain.

"The wing will heal," Lochlan said, trying to comfort her even though his voice sounded ragged. "I would not have survived in the Wastelands if I was fragile and easily broken."

"But it's your wing," she said.

"It will heal," he repeated. "Do not be afraid to touch me.

She was leaning carefully into him when the clatter of many hooves entering the castle caused her to jerk back. Heart pounding, she stood to face Cuchulainn and the dark news he brought with him.

When her brother rode into the courtyard she almost didn't recognize him. He was spattered with blood and filth, as was the golden Brighid who entered the room beside him. But it wasn't simply that Cuchulainn's visage had been changed by battle and exhaustion; his face had hardened into the mask of a stranger. Behind the warrior and the Huntress, men and centaurs crowded into the castle. Elphame recognized several of the men as having come from Loth Tor. Someone shouted from within the Great Hall, and the waiting clan surged into the courtyard.

Just within the torchlight, Cuchulainn reined his horse to a halt and dismounted stiffly. Then he unwound a thick length of rope from around the pommel of his saddle. Elphame held her breath as her brother's massive arm muscles bulged while he walked steadily toward her, pulling whatever was tethered to the rope with him. Elphame's sharp release of breath was lost in the collective gasp that filled the courtyard when the winged figures stumbled into the light. She heard Lochlan struggle to his feet behind her, but she could not take her eyes from her brother's captives.

There were four of them, three males and a female. Their hands were tied in front of them, and the rope that bound their wrists ran up to loop around each of their necks before it connected to the next prisoner, so that if one had fallen and been dragged by Cuchulainn's horse, he or she would have caused the others to be choked. They bled from multiple lacerations and were covered with dirt and blood, but their most terrible wounds were not on their bodies. The wounds that made Elphame's stomach wrench and her breath catch were the bloody shreds that their proud wings had become. Only the skeleton of their pinions remained. What used to be evidence of the strength gifted to them through their dark blood, were now only ribbons of mangled flesh.

They would not heal, Elphame realized with an understanding that sickened her.

"The creatures were where he said they would be," Cuchulainn said in the voice of a stranger. "They were not captured easily, but criminals seldom are." He gave another cruel tug on the rope and the male closest to him, who was obviously twin to the prisoner to whom he was bound, tripped and fell to his knees, causing the others to be wrenched together painfully.

Lochlan's chain clattered as he stepped forward to the end of his metal tether. "They are already defeated. There is no need for you to torture them."

Cuchulainn turned on him, eyes filled with fury. "They murdered Brenna!"

"They did not murder her, I did."

All eyes were drawn to the winged female. Her body showed the fewest signs of wounds; even her wings hadn't been as ravaged as the males. As she spoke she straightened her spine and attempted to hold her damaged wings tightly against her body. She tossed her silver hair back and her ice-colored eyes looked contemptuously around the gathering. Elphame thought she had a terrible beauty that burned from within her like a dangerous pale flame.

"Do not speak, Fallon," the tall blond male tied beside her hissed.

She ignored him and met Lochlan's eyes. "The time for silence is past, is it not, Lochlan?"

"Fallon, why - "

Elphame touched Lochlan's arm, breaking off his response, and Fallon's beautiful face twisted into an ugly sneer.

"That's right, Lochlan. Do not speak unless she allows it. As always, you are the hoofed goddess's puppet."

Elphame felt anger flare within her, and the ice in her voice matched the coldness in the female's eyes.

"Take care how you address me. I am The MacCallan, Chieftain of Clan MacCallan, and your fate rests in my hands."

The winged woman's laughter was cruel and humorless, and Elphame knew without any doubt that she was looking into the eyes of madness.

"My long dead human mother would be pleased that I have finally grasped the concept of irony. My fate does indeed rest in your hands, Goddess, except that until today it was you who were to have been sacrificed to fulfill that fate."

"Enough, Fallon!"

Lochlan had to roar over the sound of the clan's angry voices. No one came into MacCallan Castle and threatened its Chieftain without answering to the wrath of the clan.

Elphame raised her hand for silence. She walked toward Fallon and Cuchulainn moved so that he stood beside her. As they approached the winged female the male tied beside her stirred. Elphame ignored the jangle of Lochlan's chains as he strained against them, as well as the raw anger that radiated from her brother; her entire focus was on Fallon.

"Explain yourself," Elphame demanded.

Fallon lifted her chin. "Ask your lover the real reason he stole into Partholon alone and searched you out.

It wasn't just that he had dreamed of you since your birth. It was more, much more." Her eyes turned sly. "But perhaps some part of you already knows that."

Elphame's clan murmured angrily and she had to lift her hand again for silence.

"By your own admission the blood of an innocent woman is on your hands, and now you stand within the heart of my castle and spew half-truths and riddles." Anger pulsed through Elphame's body, and as it filled her it shifted and changed into a righteous fury that tingled along her skin and make her thick hair swirl and crackle around her shoulders. In a voice magically magnified she repeated her command.

"Explain yourself!"

Fallon's eyes widened at the clear evidence of the indwelling of a goddess's power, but instead of being humbled, it only seemed to fuel her madness. She turned her heated gaze on Lochlan.

"Look at how your lies find you out! There is no denying that you recognized her as a goddess, yet in your obsession with her you thought to keep her to yourself. When you drained her blood and the curse was lifted from you, what then did you think to do with us? Or did you care so little for your own people that you did not think of us at all?"

"You have killed and embraced madness, Fallon. Your words are meaningless," Lochlan said.

But Elphame had been watching her lover carefully while Fallon had been speaking, and she had seen the guilt that flickered through his eyes before he schooled his expression.

"For once I will agree with the winged creature. These words are meaningless. The female killed Brenna, the female must die." Cuchulainn's voice was so devoid of emotion that it made Elphame's heart ache.

"No!" The male beside her growled through bloodied lips. "What she did, she did only to save our people. Lochlan abdicated the responsibility that was his as our leader. When he betrayed us and refused to sacrifice the hoofed goddess, Fallon believed she had no other choice."

Cuchulainn's angry roar was echoed by Clan MacCallan and several of the men drew their deadly claymores and moved forward as if they would strike the winged beings down.

"Silence!" Elphame's voice sizzled through the room, lifting the hair on forearms and causing prickles of power to move over skin. Silence fell like a snuffed torch.

Fallon's sarcastic laughter filled the power-thickened air with hatred. "I was wrong about you, Goddess.

For all of your power, you really did not know. You had no idea that Lochlan sought you out to fulfill the Prophecy. You believed his cloyingly sweet words of love."

Lochlan's chains rattled as he pulled against them. "You know nothing of what you speak!"

"I know that it is your fault that the human female died!" Fallon spewed her poison. "If you had fulfilled the Prophecy I would not have had to kill her to lure your lover from her stronghold," Again her maniacal laughter echoed throughout the courtyard. Then her crazed expression fell, like tallow melting from a candle, and her colorless eyes filled with tears. "But I was not prepared for your ultimate betrayal." Her long, slender hand touched the ragged edge of her torn wing, as if it did not truly belong to her. "Oh, Keir, look at what he did to us." She broke into sobs as the male beside her took her into his arms.

Elphame deliberately turned her back on Fallon. With a growing sense of numbness, she met Lochlan's gaze.

"Tell me about the Prophecy."

Lochlan drew a deep breath. Even though he was chained and wounded he stood tall and proud, looking more like a winged godling than a prisoner. When he spoke, his deep voice carried clearly throughout the castle, mesmerizing the gathered clan, but his eyes saw only Elphame.

"You already know that my mother was Morrigan, youngest sister to The MacCallan who was the last Chieftain of this clan. As many of the MacCallan women have been, my mother was touched by Epona.

She passed on to me her deep faith, as well as a prophecy she swore Epona whispered to her in a dream. The Prophecy foretold that through the blood of a dying goddess our people will be saved."

He paused. His words seemed to hover in the air around him, reminding Elphame suddenly of the way his name magically became tangible when she called to him. She shivered, feeling foreboding caress the length of her spine.

"My mother said that the Goddess promised her that it was me who was destined to fulfill the Prophecy.

Even on her deathbed her faith never wavered. She died believing that I would someday find a way to make Epona's promise come true. Twenty-five years ago when I began dreaming of an infant touched by the Goddess, born of a centaur and a human, I knew her prayer had been answered."

Lochlan's smile warmed his face, and for an instant it was as if the listening crowd faded away and the two of them were alone.

"I think I began loving you when you were a child, and then I fell in love with you as you matured into a beautiful young woman. But it was when I watched you speak to your people before the ruined gates of MacCallan Castle that I realized that there was nothing I wouldn't sacrifice to keep you safe - not even if I was dooming my people to banishment and madness."

"It was you," Brighid said suddenly. "You saved Elphame the night of her accident."

"Yes," Elphame said, her eyes never leaving Lochlan. "The boar would have killed me had Lochlan not killed it first."

"I don't understand." Brighid's voice broke into the gasps of surprise that came from the gathered clan.

"What purpose does the Prophecy serve? If you aren't enemies bent on reliving the past of your fathers and rekindling the war, why did you not simply come into Partholon peaceably? Why did you think you needed the sacrifice of Elphame's life?"

"They're going mad," Elphame said with sudden understanding. "The darkness they carry in their blood calls to them. The more they fight it, the more painful it becomes for them." She gestured sadly at Fallon, who was still clinging to her mate. "Eventually the madness wins." Her eyes swept her people as she spoke calmly to them. "And there are children who carry the blood of their human ancestors - blood many of us share with them. It is worse for them. They have had no human mothers to nurture their humanity."

"So you believe that Epona wishes Elphame to be sacrificed so that her blood can somehow wash the madness from your people?" Cuchulainn sneered. "The Prophecy itself sounds mad."

"You may be partially right, Cuchulainn. I have discovered that all these decades we have misinterpreted the Prophecy," Lochlan said.

Fallon's torn wings rustled as she jerked painfully away from her mate. "You lie!" She spit the words.

"No," Lochlan said simply. "I have tasted her blood. I read the truth within it."

In the stunned silence that greeted his words, Elphame could not keep her hand from touching the two small scabs on her neck.

"What is he saying?" The words were low and angry and sounded as if someone had torn them from Cuchulainn.

Elphame did not turn away from her brother's rage. "Lochlan is my lifemate. He and I have handfasted and our marriage has been consummated. He tasted my blood as part of that mating ritual."

Cuchulainn stared at his sister as if he didn't recognize her. Elphame made herself look away from him before her veneer of courage cracked.

"What is it my blood told you?" she asked Lochlan, amazed that her voice betrayed none of the tumult that was taking place within her.

"The Prophecy says that it is through the blood of a dying goddess that we will be saved, but it wasn't speaking of a physical death, just as it wasn't literally your blood that must be sacrificed. What the Prophecy really meant was that you must take the dark blood of our fathers within your body, so that it would mingle with, and ultimately replace your own blood. When that happens - because you have been touched by the Goddess - you will take on the madness of our fathers. The battles my people fight daily to maintain their humanity will be transferred to you." He paused, the horror of what he was saying reflected on his face. "The madness would be washed from us, but for you it would be worse than your physical death. It would be the death of your humanity."

"That's impossible," Cuchulainn scoffed. Angry shouts of agreement erupted from Clan MacCallan.

Elphame's eyes remained locked with her lover's. In her mind she again saw his horrified expression as he fled from her bed after drinking her blood. With a surety that echoed throughout her soul, she knew her husband had spoken the truth. The veracity of it resonated within her as she finally understood, and then accepted, the choice she must make. She looked hastily away from Lochlan before he could read the decision within her eyes.

Her raised hand called for silence.

"My judgment is complete." At that moment she was neither a sister nor a wife; she was The MacCallan, and her words rang against the listening walls of her castle. "Cuchulainn, your loss as well as the clan's loss has been great. Reparation must be made." She turned from her brother to Fallon. "You took an innocent life. Your life is forfeit in return."

Cuchulainn moved toward the winged woman, his sword drawn and ready.

"No!" Keir shrieked.

"You cannot save her, but you can die with her." Death filled Cuchulainn's voice.

Fallon ignored her mate and stepped forward, as if she was eager to meet the warrior's sword.

"Then kill me and show your barbarism, human," she said haughtily. With a single motion, she ripped away the ragged clothing that covered her nakedness and exposed her pale body. One hand swept down to caress the bulge that was her abdomen. "But know that when you kill me, you also murder my unborn child."

Elphame did not have to command her brother to stop. Cuchulainn's sword, which was raised for a killing stroke, faltered. Slowly, he lowered its tip to the marble floor. With pain-filled eyes, he looked at his sister.

"Brenna would call it vengeance and not justice if an innocent child was killed to atone for her death, though I would almost commit such an act if I thought her spirit would haunt me as a result."

"I agree, Cuchulainn. It would not be just to take the life of an innocent." Elphame's voice was steel. "But someone must pay the price of Brenna's murder."

"Fallon is my mate. The child is mine. I will pay the price," Keir said. Grimacing against the pain, he bent to retrieve Fallon's clothing, which he handed to her without looking at her. Fallon did not speak, but Elphame thought she saw a flicker of emotion within the winged woman's eyes that was not hatred or madness.

"Did you know Fallon planned to kill Brenna?" Elphame asked Keir.

"No, Goddess." He did not flinch from Elphame's gaze, but his voice was filled with bitterness. "We came only to see the Prophecy fulfilled, not to slaughter innocents. No matter what your people think of us, our ways are not our fathers'."

"Keir, it was through no fault of yours that Fallon fell into madness. You are not guilty of Brenna's death," she said.

Slowly and distinctly, Elphame turned to face Lochlan. The mutterings and whispered conversations ceased. In the silence that framed them, Lochlan's words were clear and strong.

"Keir is not guilty of Brenna's death, but I am. I am the leader of my people. I am also their betrayer."

"Your words are wise, husband." In the preternatural silence husband was a brittle echo, as if when she said it the word crystallized and then shattered.

Her hand was steady as she held it out, palm open, for Cuchulainn's sword. Without speaking, her brother placed the pommel in her hand. Then with slow, methodical steps she walked toward Lochlan.

He stood very still, watching her approach. Closer to him, but still beyond his chained reach, she stopped.

Lochlan ignored the watching crowd and spoke only for her. "When we handfasted I told you that I would follow you, even if it led to my death. I do not regret that pledge, just as I do not regret our love.

When I answered your call and brought you Brenna's body, I knew what my end would be. I accepted it then, I accept it now." His smile held no bitterness and his voice reflected the depth of his love for her.

Instead of moving to strike him, she returned his smile. "Remember when you told me that I needed to trust myself enough to listen for Epona's voice? You were right, Lochlan. I have finally found that trust, and with it I have heard the voice of the Goddess. Now you must trust me as well."

"I trust you, my heart," he said, extending his hands open and away from his sides so that she could easily deliver a killing stroke.

"Good, I will soon have need of that trust." She glanced over her shoulder at her brother. "Forgive me, Cuchulainn "she said.

As she drew a deep cleansing breath, her brother's eyes widened and sudden understanding of what she intended flashed through him.

"Stop her!" he screamed, lunging forward.

His cry was echoed by Lochlan and the winged man tore wildly against the chain that held him, trying to reach his lover as Elphame quickly drew the razorlike edge of the sword along her own flesh from wrist to elbow in a long, deadly deep slice. Afraid Cuchulainn would reach her too soon, she tried to hurry and shift the sword to her other hand so that she could finish what she had begun, but strength was already leaving her body and she fumbled her grip on the claymore. Silently, her soul cried for more time - and the stone on which she stood heard her unspoken plea.

Through a scarlet haze, Elphame watched the spirit of The MacCallan materialize at her side.

"I am here, lassie."

He raised his glowing hand and the instant before her brother reached her she was enclosed in a translucent circle of power. Cuchulainn's body stopped as if he had run into an invisible wall.

"Nay, Cuchulainn." Like the knell of a death bell the spirit's eerie voice split the shouting that had erupted around them. "Ye canna change the fate of The MacCallan. It is for her to choose, not you"

"No, Elphame!" Cuchulainn cried, as he pounded his fists impotently against the invisible barrier of spiritual power.

Moving awkwardly, Elphame transferred the sword to her left hand and fought against a tide of dizziness to maintain her hold on it. Blood poured from the long slash in her arm in a jutting scarlet river. Setting her teeth she ignored the pain and pressed the blade against the unbroken skin of her right wrist, following the path of her vein down to her elbow. Only then did she let the sword clatter to the marble floor. She felt the warmth of the liquid that rushed from her body bathing her arms and legs. As if she was moving in a dream, she looked through the circle of power the spirit of her ancestor had invoked, to Lochlan. Tears coursed down his face as he strained against his chains to reach her.

Through the blood pounding in her head, she could barely hear the sound of her own voice. "Save me, and in return I will save you." The effort it took to form the words was too much, and the world began to gray at the edges as she fell in slow motion to her knees.

"Ye know what you must do, nephew"

At The MacCallan's words, the circle of power dissipated along with the spirit, and with an anguished cry, Cuchulainn pulled Elphame into his arms.

"Bring her to me before she loses consciousness!" Lochlan shouted.

Cuchulainn's frenzied eyes searched the winged man's face.

"Trust me," Lochlan said.

The warrior did not hesitate an instant longer, but began dragging his sister to Lochlan. He was joined by other strong hands, as the clan tracked through the ever-widening trail of blood to reach their Chieftain.

Lochlan dropped to his knees as his arms closed around Elphame's unresisting body.

"The sword! Give me the sword!" he roared. The reddened handle was thrust into his hand. With a blindingly swift motion, Lochlan slashed the tip of the blade into the bare skin above his heart. Then he threw the sword from him as if it was a loathsome insect. He cradled Elphame's head in his hands and pressed her cold lips to his wound.

"Drink, my heart," he pleaded.

Her eyes were closed and she did not respond.

"Drink, Elphame," he cried, his voice breaking. "I have done as you asked - the only chance at life you have now is to fulfill the Prophecy. Drink!"

Slowly, her lips moved against his skin, and with a choking sound she swallowed. Her eyes snapped opened and red-tinged tears spilled from them as her mouth tightened against his chest and the blood of demons rushed into her body. At first she knew nothing and felt nothing except the metallic taste of Lochlan's blood. Then the heat began. She was drinking from a volcanic river, but she could not pull away, and soon she no longer wished to. The heat seduced her. It filled her body and caressed her soul with the hypnotic power of darkness as the madness of an entire race flowed into her. The bleeding wounds on her arms dried and then sealed themselves. Alien thoughts began to coil within her mind.

Blood...she could never get enough...she would drink him dry...she would drink them all dry...she could begin her own army...part-demon, part-goddess...first she must kill Lochlan ... kill the betrayer...

Kill Lochlan? Kill her lifemate?

Her own consciousness broke through the mist of demon whisperings and with a gasp she pulled her mouth from Lochlan's chest. On hands and knees she skittered away from him, feeling the panic within her rise as she realized that the crimson pool that covered the floor and coated her body was her own blood. No, that wasn't right her mind frantically corrected her. The blood that covered her was no longer hers because hers was now mixed irrevocably with that of demons.

Now she was a demon...her only choice was to accept and embrace it.

"Don't listen to the dark whisperings," Lochlan panted. He slumped against the floor looking pale and ill.

"Fight it, Elphame!"

The phantom sound of Fallon's mad laughter danced around her.

"Elphame?" Cuchulainn approached her slowly, hands extended. "Come to me." When she didn't respond to him, his voice broke. "You can't leave me too, sister-mine. I cannot bear it."

Still on her hands and knees, she shuddered at the familiar endearment. The darkness that she had accepted was responsible for Cuchulainn's loss. And now she was a part of it. Yes... She felt the voices stir and writhe within her as if thousands of dark insects fluttered under her skin. Yes.. feel us...hear us...we are you now.

"I'm not your sister anymore. You can't help me."

She didn't recognize the alien sound of her own voice. She didn't recognize the staring faces of the people who surrounded her. Her thoughts and memories fragmented - everything she was began slipping away, drowning in the dark tide that pulsed within her. Feeling trapped, she whirled around on the floor and was confronted by the ancient centaur who loomed above her.

"Call upon the spirit of the stones - they will aid you," he said.

She shook her head wildly. No, the spirits would no longer answer her call. She was alone, lost to the voice of madness in her blood that was silencing her world.

Be at peace, Beloved. I will never abandon you.

The cool words washed through her body. And Elphame clung to them as a dying soul to the breath of life. "Epona!" Elphame sobbed. As she spoke the Goddess's name she felt a quivering within her body, and a thought, less substantial than mist floated through her battered mind; she clung to it with all of the humanity left in her soul.

She must trust herself.

Struggling against fear and darkness, Elphame lurched to her feet. She stumbled forward and the crowd of stunned people and centaurs parted until she stood before the fountain in the middle of the great courtyard. She gazed into the face of the marble girl who was her ancestor, and the first shaft of morning light touched her. With a clean, caressing hand, the ray found the brooch of The MacCallan and it flashed with a brilliant light. Within that light, Elphame sought and found her heritage - a heritage of faith and fidelity and the strength of love triumphant that could not be usurped by the dark lure cast by evil. The new day broke over her like a beacon of hope, and Elphame remembered who she was, and with that knowing the alien darkness that had thought to steal from her the strength of a goddess's love, writhed and shrieked, but was forced to retreat from the blinding light of trust and courage. With a sound like the scurrying of spiders' feet, the evil whisperings retreated until they were no more than the memory of echoes.

As if she was awakening from a long sleep, she languidly held her blood-drenched arms under the stream of clean water and watched as the cool liquid washed the stain from her, swirling it around the basin, diluting and weakening it before draining it away. When her arms were free of stain, she threw back her head and bathed her face in the pure light of Epona's morning. A cry swelled within her like a burgeoning child and then burst from her to echo from the walls where it was taken up by the joyous voices, first of her brother, then of her husband and then her clan.

"Faith and Fidelity!"

"Faith and Fidelity!"

"Faith and Fidelity!"

Smiling triumphantly, Elphame collapsed to the marble floor and welcomed the peace of unconsciousness.