Chapter Eight
There was nothing here but silence and rest, until she came to him in his dreams. Faelan wasn’t sure if they were dreams, or real, if he was alive or dead. But he could feel her, feel her skin, her hair, taste her breath, and he remembered all the times she had come to him before. His dream lass.
It took him some time—how long he didn’t know because time didn’t seem measurable here—but slowly, other faces came to him, and he started to remember pieces of his life; the family he had left behind. He found that if he focused his thoughts on a particular person, sometimes he could see them. They couldn’t see him, so it was a bittersweet thing. He saw his mother on a sunny day. She was weeding her garden. She had grown older. Still bonny, but her face looked haunted now and had more lines. He visited Alana in the stables and watched her feeding apples to Nandor. She couldn’t see him either, but Nandor gave a soft whinny and looked right at him.
He tried to find his father and brothers, but only succeeded in finding Ian. His father and Tavis must be hunting. Ian sat in the library studying some papers. He looked puzzled. Ian loved mysteries. Faelan moved closer to look over Ian’s shoulder, and smiled thinking how Ian hated someone reading over his shoulder. A name was written on one of the papers. Nigel Ellwood. Faelan recognized the name, but it held no urgency for him. Nothing held any great urgency in this place.
Until he heard her crying.
The noise was foreign. Sound was foreign in this place. There was nothing here. Not even a heartbeat. Only quiet and rest. His visits to his family seemed like dreams, like those with his lass, but this crying sounded real. A lass, he thought. Alana? But it couldn’t be. He tried to go to her, but he couldn’t move his legs. He couldn’t feel his legs. He couldn’t feel any part of his body. Feeling was as absent as sound. He saw a pinprick of light moving closer, penetrating his darkness. It grew brighter until the light formed into a man. From the quiet of his mind, Faelan pulled out a name. Michael. The archangel.
“You must wake, Faelan. I have a task for you.”
“What must I do?”
“He comes for her. You must protect her.”
Immediately, the light faded, and the crying sounded closer. Terrified sobs and scratching sounds. “Let me out! Please, someone. Let me out!”
It was a child. He focused on his feet, trying to get them to move, with no luck. “Alana? Is that you?”
The crying and scratching stopped. He heard a man whispering and a child’s soft sniffles. Michael must be talking to her. Forgetting about his body, Faelan focused his senses instead, his hearing, his mind, his thoughts, and suddenly he was inside a small room, a burial chamber of some sort.
Michael stood in the corner, his head almost touching the ceiling, and instead of the brilliant light, a soft glow emanated from him like moonlight. A young, dark-haired lass stood in front of the burial vault with her hands outstretched. Her fingernails were bloody.
“Why do you cry?” Faelan asked her. Was she grieving for someone?
She continued to look at the burial vault, and he decided she couldn’t hear him. She slowly lowered her hands and backed away. She sat in front of the door and pulled her legs up to her chest. Her gown was unusual, colorful, with big pink dots, and her eyes were nearly as red from crying. Before she laid her head on her knees, she looked in his direction, and he saw that her eyes were green.
He felt himself moving toward her, though he didn’t walk. He crouched next to her and whispered softly as he did when Alana had bad dreams.
The lass shivered. He put his arm around her to keep her warm and discovered that he had no arms. He didn’t have a body at all. What was this? No wonder he couldn’t feel anything. But still he sat next to her until the hiccupping quieted and she fell asleep. He stayed until they came for her.
A woman reached for her as soon as the door opened. She must be her grandmother. She looked too old to be her mother. But she loved the lass, that much was plain. She wrapped her arms around her and kissed her head while she cursed someone named Reggie under her breath. He wouldn’t have heard it except for his strong sense of hearing. Apparently having no body hadn’t affected his senses. This Reggie, it seemed, must have been the perpetrator of a prank. Faelan had played many pranks, but on his brothers, not on little girls. As they took her away, the young lass turned back and looked at the spot where he stood. Or where he would have stood if he had legs.
He returned to his resting place, the silence and the dark. It wasn’t a bad place. It was peaceful and soothing. He stayed there until Michael called him again, and he heard the girl. This time she was talking to someone. It took him a few moments to focus his senses enough to move, then he found himself back inside the burial chamber. He reached for the handle with what should have been his fingers, but they went through the door. He stuck his hand through, and thinking that none of this made sense, and that it must be a dream, he put his body through.
Then he was outside, moving through a graveyard. He’d seen this graveyard before, and the chapel nearby. The lass sat in front of a grave holding a toy panda bear, like one he’d seen in China. Above, the sun was bright, a perfect day for a little lass to play, and he wished he could feel it on his skin. He sat a few feet away and watched, wondering why Michael had called.
“I wish they would bury Daddy here,” the lass said to the bear. “I like this graveyard, and the shiny man is here.” She looked at the bear and scrunched up her nose. “I’m too old to be talking to a silly bear, but I’m scared, Emmy. I’m afraid the monster will come back.” She pulled the bear to her chest, and looked at Faelan. No, she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the crypt behind him. Was this death? Was he a ghost? Being invisible would take getting used to. “We can’t tell anyone about the shiny man. They’ll think we’re crazy.”
A voice called from the house. “Bree, hurry now, you have to pack.”
Bree. That was her name. He thought the name again, and was sure he must know it. The lass got up and hurried off with her bear. Faelan heard a hissing sound outside the graveyard and jumped up in alarm. If you could call his movements jumping, as he still didn’t have an actual body. He felt the evil gathering outside the fence, but she hadn’t noticed. She was walking toward the gate, leaving the safety of the graveyard.
“No,” he yelled, but she couldn’t hear his warning.
Protect her, Michael had said.
Faelan moved outside the graveyard, putting himself between the girl and the force of evil. He stayed there until she was safely in the house, until the evil was gone. Then he felt himself pulled back to his silence. He rested there until Michael called again, and he felt the next prickle of alarm. Danger. He pulled himself together, quicker this time, and moved from the crypt, through the graveyard, and into the house. He hadn’t gone there before. He passed a room where the grandmother was whispering to herself. Then he saw that she had an object pressed to her ear, and her eyes were red as if she had been crying.
“We’re leaving in the morning. We’ll be there in time for the funeral.”
“It’s best that she’s not here,” another woman said. Her voice was younger. Faelan looked around the room but didn’t see anyone else there. “She loved her father so much. Is she holding up well?”
“I’m worried about her, Orla. She didn’t even react when I told her. She just nodded as if she already knew. And of all things, today I found her sitting in the graveyard talking to Emmy bear. You know how she avoids the graveyard. It’s just shock, I’m sure. Poor thing. Losing her father on top of getting locked in that crypt. I’ll throttle Reggie next time I see him.”
“Let’s hope this doesn’t make her nightmares worse,” the younger woman said.
Faelan still couldn’t see her, and he wondered if this Orla was invisible like him. He continued through the house and found the lass in a bedroom.
She wasn’t alone.
A demon sat by her bed. Faelan felt an immediate sense of revulsion, and strangely, recognition. He reached for his talisman, but it wasn’t there, any more than his body was. He couldn’t have used it anyway with the lass in the room. She was hiding underneath the bedcovers, whispering to herself, and Faelan could see her trembling. Anger and fear for the girl rolled over him, giving feeling to a body that wasn’t there. A soft glow filled the room, and he was relieved that Michael had come. Then he saw the faint light came from him. He had a form.
The demon looked up at Faelan and his face started to shift, hinting at a human shell. His yellow eyes narrowed. “No. It can’t be.”
Faelan began to speak the words that were used with his talisman to destroy a demon. Even without the talisman, the chant had power.
The covers moved and the lass’s head emerged. Clutching the bear to her chest, she gripped a silver cross that hung around her neck. She looked at the demon, gave a startled cry, then she turned and saw Faelan. She watched him for a moment, then raised the cross toward the demon and yelled for him to get out and never come back.
The demon jerked once and vanished.
“Just like on Scooby Doo,” the lass said, staring at the spot where the demon had sat. Faelan stepped back into the shadows, puzzling over what had happened. His form had vanished just like the demon’s, but there was still a soft glow in the room. The lass lay down and pulled her bear close. Faelan waited there all night to make sure the demon didn’t come back. As he watched her sleep—Bree—he wondered why he felt such a connection to her. This strange pull. He had always loved children. He adored his sister, but the feeling he had toward this lass was perplexing. She wasn’t his, but he felt as if she were. When the morning light found the window, he went back to his silence.
He wasn’t called to her for a while, and soon he felt the ache of loneliness. He missed her. It took him some time—how long he didn’t know because time didn’t seem measurable to him now—but he learned how to travel without being summoned by Michael. He was distressed when he didn’t see the girl, but he found solace in the chapel and often went there to sit in the quiet. It was a different quiet. Here, he could hear the chirp of birds and the calls of animals in the woods, and it reminded him of hunting with his brothers. He missed that sound, like he missed his brothers and his sister and parents.
The next time Michael called Faelan found her sitting beside the crypt, running her fingers over a fallen leaf from the old tree. She wasn’t a child anymore. Her body had curved and she would soon be a woman. He was so happy to see her again that at first he didn’t notice the tears on her cheeks. Then he felt the darkness creeping in around the graveyard. It was strong this time, stronger than he’d felt it before. Reaching for her. Longing for her, in much the same way he did. He moved in front of her, planted himself there, and after a while, the darkness retreated.
“Stupid boys,” she muttered, throwing the leaf down. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the crypt. The protective feeling he had always had toward her was stronger now. He didn’t know how, but she belonged to him. A moment later, she stood, dusted off her odd clothing, trousers of all things, and walked right through him. He felt a tingling all over his body, the body that wasn’t really there, and he felt her shiver. She stopped and turned around, and for a moment her eyes connected with his. Not the crypt or the trees and graves behind him. But him. She stood so close he could see the flecks of black in her green eyes. She rubbed her arms and frowned, then she turned and walked from the graveyard.
Faelan felt a presence behind him and whirled. It was Michael, but this time the archangel wore dark clothing, battle dress, with armor covering his chest. At his side, hung a flaming sword. He towered over Faelan, and though he didn’t glow, he was still intimidating in his size and the brightness of his eyes.
“I go to battle. You must stay close. The demon is near.”
“Who is the demon? I’m sure I know him.”
“Do not trouble yourself over his identity now. Just keep him away from her.” And with that, Michael vanished.
Faelan continued to watch over her as Michael summoned him. At times Michael sent him to other places where she was. Faelan didn’t recognize the people or the dress, but always, the darkness was there, and he was there to push it back. He could protect her from evil, but he could do nothing about her clumsiness and frequent mishaps.
Sometimes he saw her with men, and it made his heart heavy, because she belonged to him. But she was at an age to be wed, and she couldn’t marry a spirit. The darkness was also watching, meddling, trying to keep her alone. It lusted for her, as if she belonged to it. The next man he saw her with was weak. His name was Russell. Faelan could feel the darkness luring him. It wanted to use him. Faelan stood between them and the evil, until it was gone, but he knew it would come again.
She stayed away for a long while. He would emerge from his silence and look for her, but she wasn’t there. It made his heart ache with loneliness. And then Michael started sending him to help warriors in the battlefield. The warriors never saw him, nor did the demons. He did this often, helping warriors push back the darkness. He hadn’t realized how powerful the chant was. Even without his body, a talisman, or a sword, he could still help battle the Underworld. One of his assignments was to help a warrior named Cody who was battling an ancient demon. Faelan stood beside Cody, helping to hold back the other demons, while the warrior destroyed the demon of old.
The next time Michael called Faelan, it wasn’t to help Bree. Her grandmother was talking to a man. He looked familiar, but something about him repulsed Faelan. The man was angry and threatening Bree’s grandmother. She backed away, frightened. “No. I can’t let you do it. Please leave.”
Then the man shifted, and he wasn’t a man anymore. He was a demon, tall, with gray skin and yellow eyes. The same demon who had sat in Bree’s bedroom. Faelan hurried to help her grandmother. The demon must have sensed him. He turned and ran, but it was too late for Bree’s grandmother. She lay on the floor, gasping for air, her hand on her chest. Faelan knelt beside her and focused as hard as he could to try to touch her, to help her. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get help.” He didn’t know how. No one could see him.
But she must have seen him, because she looked up at him. “Who are you?”
“Faelan.”
“Our Faelan? From the time vault? Am I dead?”
“You know me?”
“Our family protects the time vault. We gave an oath.” She clutched her chest. “My heart won’t last. You must protect Bree. She’s in danger. I tried to warn her. Help her…please.” Then she pulled in her last breath and died.
Abruptly, as if his own breath were being pulled from him, he was drawn back to his silence. Michael was there, filling the place with a glow.
“It’s almost time,” Michael said. “Rest now. The battle is coming, and you must be strong. The world will perish if you don’t succeed.” He moved closer, closer than he ever had. The light was so bright Faelan’s head ached. “Sleep...you have to forget.”
Faelan felt himself traveling, as if being pulled backwards through a cave. Her face flashed before him, as a woman, then a lass, each image growing fainter. “No! Don’t take her from me. I have to protect her.”
“You will. But I can’t let you remember where you’ve been. The time vault must also be protected.”
Faelan strained to hold on to her face, but blackness closed in on him.
She was gone.
Then, as if he watched from a great distance, he saw himself crouched behind a tree, waiting as the sound of horses thundered through the night. A horde of demons appeared with Druan riding in the middle. If Faelan didn’t destroy the demon, the world would end, but Druan was supposed to be alone. The demon rode closer, and Faelan noticed with shock that three other ancient demons rode with Druan. It was too late for Faelan. He couldn’t destroy them all, but he would kill as many as he could before he died. He started to attack, but something smashed against the back of his head. There was a moment of darkness, then a light flashed. A shadowy figure stood over him. Druan! He grabbed his dirk and struck for the shadow’s throat, seeing at the last second that it wasn’t Druan, but a woman.
A stranger with dark hair and terrified green eyes.
The End
Awaken the Highland Warrior
by Anita Clenney
Bree’s fingers tightened around the metal disk as she ran through the graveyard, zigzagging past leaning headstones. Her lantern swayed, throwing shadows on the crypt looming before her, its stone walls the color of bones. Thick vines crept over it, sealing in cracks left by time, while gnarled branches from the twisted oak hovered like outstretched arms. Protecting...
or threatening?
An owl screeched overhead as she scurried up the crumbling steps, wishing night hadn’t fallen, when shadows twisted into monsters and spirits came out to play. The burial vault lay open near the back of the crypt, waiting. Blood rushed past her ears, a sound like all the angels’ wings beating in unison. She moved closer and peered at the chest inside. It was ornate, made of metal and wood, with green gemstones embedded in each corner. It looked ancient, like it belonged in a museum or a pyramid, or perhaps Solomon’s Temple. The beauty of it struck her again, as it had when she’d first discovered it.
She set the lantern on the edge of the burial vault and studied the markings on the chest. Swirls and shapes like writing shifted in the amber glow. Stretching out a finger, she touched the surface. Warm? She yanked her hand back and hit the lantern. It crashed to the floor, throwing the top of the crypt into darkness. Dropping to her knees, she scrambled for the light. A sound cut through the silence, scraping, like fingernails against stone. She grabbed the lantern, not daring to blink, then remembered the wind outside and the claw-like branches of the old tree.
She placed the lantern securely on the vault cover she’d pushed onto the alcove and unfolded her hand. The metal disk she held was three inches in diameter and appeared to be made from the same metal as the chest, not silver, not gold. One side had deep grooves; the other was etched with symbols. With trembling fingers, she lined up the disk with the matching grooves on top of the chest and pushed. There was a series of clicks as the notched edges retracted.
A voice rushed through her head. What lies within cannot be, until time has passed with the key.
Bree whirled, but she was alone. Only stone walls stood watch, their secrets hidden for centuries. It was sleep deprivation, not ghosts.
She pulled in a slow, steadying breath and tried to turn the disk. Nothing. Again, this time counterclockwise, and it began to move under her hand. She jerked her fingers back. A loud pop sounded and colors flashed...blue, orange, and green, swirling for seconds, and then they were gone. Great, hallucinations to go with the voices in her head.
Her body trembled as she gripped the lid. This was it. All her dreams held on a single pinpoint of time. If this ended up another wild goose chase, she was done. No more treasure hunts, no more mysteries, no more playing Indiana Jones. She’d settle down to a nice, ordinary, boring life. She counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
She heaved open the chest.
Terror clawed its way to her throat, killing her scream.
The man inhaled one harsh breath and his eyes flew open, locking on Bree. A battle cry worthy of Braveheart echoed off the walls. Bree jumped back as metal flashed and a rush of air kissed her face. Petrified, she watched him crawl out of the burial vault, a wicked-looking dagger in his hand. Her scream tore loose as she turned and fled. Fingers grazed her shoulder, and she glanced back.
The last thing she saw before her feet tangled with the shovel was the dead man reaching for her.
About the Author
Photo by: Barbara Woodward
NY Times and USA Today bestselling author Anita Clenney grew up an avid reader, devouring Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books before moving on to mysteries and romance. After working as a secretary, a Realtor, teacher’s assistant, booking agent for Aztec Fire Dancers, and a brief stint in a pickle factory (picture Lucy and Ethel--lasted half a day)... she realized she'd missed the fork in the road that led to her destiny. Now she spends her days writing mysteries and paranormal romantic suspense about Secret Warriors, Ancient Evil and Destined Love. Anita lives in suburban Virginia, outside Washington DC, with her husband and two kids.
Fun Facts
- She once lived in a tree house.
- Stopped to rescue an unconscious chipmunk once, only to have him miraculously revive in my car and go into escape mode.
- Has been in love for as long as she can remember. It all started with Donny Osmond.
- Is a hopeless shopaholic (forget tennis elbow, she's discovered shopper’s elbow).
- Has over 29 mirrors in her house. Not because she wants to see herself, but because she uses them as artwork.
- Favorite outfit: jeans and a t-shirt. And diamonds. Always diamonds.