language I didn’t know into one I did. “It’s like with Cernunnos. Remember how you only understood him when he wanted you to? There’s magic afoot.”
The half-spooked expression faded from Gary’s face. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
I grinned. “That’s why I said it. All right, let me listen.” Why I thought me listening would do any more good than Gary listening, I didn’t know. Of course, if he was quiet then we could both listen, which was probably twice as good as just me listening. Which I couldn’t do when I was running on at the brain, again. In the past, my brain babbling at such length had meant there was something it either didn’t want to think about—which things numbered in the dozens right now—or it was working out some extreme cleverness that would at any moment leap out and surprise me.
Much to my dismay, nothing leapt out. The whispers, though, became clearer: men, all of them men, which in a hall called of Kings probably made sense. Some were bitter, claiming unrighteous loss of kingship; others were pure and joyful with their duties. Hints of decay spread through all of them like a warning that their histories and legends, that those stories were being lost to time.
Less lost than some, though. At least Tara remained and was recognized as an important site. There were so many places in the world completely lost, or barely rediscovered, that for a moment, standing in the heart of memory broke my heart.
Ice touched the back of my neck and I turned without thinking. A tall and slender man, almond-eyed and pale-skinned, stood behind me. He wore leather and wool and metal, and a crown of silver over fair hair, and there was nothing even remotely human about him.
I wasn’t sure how I knew that. He had none of the telltale marks that non-human people in legend had: his ears were round, his eyes, while not Western-European-shaped, were hardly so tilted as to be inhuman, and his build was no more slender than that of a slim mortal man. But he wasn’t human, and with my usual flair, I said, “What are you?” only realizing afterward that that was probably unforgivably rude.
“The ard rí,” he said in a tone which suggested I’d been unforgivably rude. “What are you?”
“Gwyld.” I was a bit startled the word came out of my mouth, but Cernunnos—and a woman who had died hours after I’d met her—had both used the word for me. It was, as best I could tell, an old Irish word for shaman or magic-maker, and it apparently meant something to this high king, because surprise filtered through his gaze.
“I thought I knew all the connected at Tara.”
Delighted, I chewed on connected as a new term for magic users. I liked it more than adepts, and wondered why it had fallen out of use. Then again, maybe it hadn’t in Ireland. It wasn’t like I’d grilled my mother on the subject.
While I chewed, the high king looked me over, his expression growing incrementally more dour. “What,” he finally asked, “are you wearing, gwyld?”
I said, “The fashion of my century,” then kicked myself in the ankle for setting up a question that had to be answered.
Except instead of looking like he needed answers, his shoulders relaxed and he let out a soft sigh. “And which of us is displaced? The Tara I see before me wavers and trembles in my sight. Have you called me forward, gwyld, or have I called you back?”
I scrunched my face. “Joanne. My name’s Joanne, not ‘gwyld.’ And I think I’m the one displaced. Who…when…are you?”
“My name is Lugh,” he said, “and today is the day I die.”
Chapter Four
“Gosh,” I said brightly, “good thing I didn’t show up tomorrow.” Then I wanted to kick myself, but I’d done that once already during this conversation. I didn’t want Lugh to think I had a nervous twitch.
Much better he should think I was an unbelievable idiot with a terrible sense of humor and no manners instead. I puffed my cheeks and stared at the wavering walls a moment before trying for a more human and humane response. “I mean, how awful, are you sure?”
Judging from his expression, I had not much improved my original comment. “The dark of winter is upon us, gwyld. My wife and mistress must be assuaged to bring back the light.”
“Has anybody suggested marriage counseling?” There was something wrong with me. I was usually mouthy, but not this much of a jackass. I took a moment for introspection and determined the cause of my behavior was probably the unmitigated terror sluicing through my veins. I’d meant to give Gary the Sight, not throw myself back through time. I had no clue how I’d done it or, more important, how to get home again. Lugh was attractive, but not worth staying displaced in time for. Especially since he was going to die soon. I held up a finger, asking for his patience, and knelt to curl myself up in a little ball, forehead against the grass.
Grass and stone: once upon a time there’d been a floor in this hall. In my time it was gone, but whenever we were now, it was present, but had modern-day grass growing up through it. That suggested I was still tethered in some fashion to my own era, which was reassuring. Some of the impulse to lash out faded, and I took a deep cleansing breath of green-scented air.
My leather coat creaked as I sat back on my heels. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to step out of time and it’s making me act like a jerk. I’m not usually quite this bad.”
“The connected are often unusual.” The way he said the last word implied he really meant “unforgivable assholes,” but he was offering rope to hang myself with.
I took it, though I stayed kneeling. One knelt before royalty, after all. Also, equilibrium restoring itself or not, my legs felt shaky and I didn’t want to test them. “Who’s your wife? I thought stories about druids doing human sacrifices were just that. Stories. Also, dark of winter? Really? It’s the spring equinox when I am. Or just past. Close enough, anyway.”
He opened his mouth to answer two times while I rambled on, then stood there with a moderately patient glare until I fell silent. “I am wed to the Morrígan, and dark of winter or a balance of light, the quartered sun days are powerful. They do not have to be the same to draw us together. How is it that I, only a king, knows what a gwyld does not?”
“My training’s been spotty.” I got to my feet, feeling no need to add that the spottiness was entirely my own doing. “Wait, the Morrígan? The death goddess? That Morrígan?”
“The one and same,” Gary said at my elbow.
I nearly jumped out of my skin, having sort of forgotten about him. Lugh, though, exhaled unmistakable relief, and nodded to the big guy standing behind me. “I see from your garb you are with the gwyld. Her teacher, perhaps?”
Gary said “No” and I said “Yes” at the same time, leaving the high king to look as though he’d rather be having teeth pulled than this conversation. I said, “You are, too,” over my shoulder, and pleasure ran through Gary’s aura.
Auras. I looked back at Lugh.
His was all wrong. Not like a human aura and not much like the blaze of light and power that was a god, either. He was more connected to the earth than that, his aura reflecting the health of the land around him. That was what had triggered the assumption he wasn’t human. At the moment his aura lay sallow against his skin, dark of winter indeed. I could See the same quietness, even exhaustion, spreading through Tara to the countryside beyond. “Does this happen every year? I mean, no offense, but she must go through a lot of high kings this way.”
“She comes and goes as the years call her,” Lugh said patiently. “We kings rule in her name and with her blessing until the land hungers for us, and then she returns to claim us for it. Gwyld, why have you come here?”
My mouth, as it all too often did, skipped over consulting with my brain and blurted, “Maybe to save your life.”
Hope flashed across Lugh’s face and