Divine by Blood

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…