Excerpts

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0 height="100%"><tr> <td valign="top" width=195 BGCOLOR="#663366" TEXT="#080000" background="03cc6172dkcfuy.png"> <div> <B><IMG SRC="0b0b0b40.jpg" border=0 width="176" height="180" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> </td> <td valign="top" BGCOLOR="#CC99CC" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#663366" FACE="Arial" >Mary Gillgannon</FONT><FONT SIZE="1" COLOR="#663399" FACE="Times New Roman" >    </FONT> |    <B> </B><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#6633CC" FACE="Times New Roman" ><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Mary Gillgannon"><U><B>home</B></U></A></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="id2.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Biography"><U>Biography</U></A>   |   <B>Excerpts</B>   |   <A HREF="id15.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Bibliography"><U>Bibliography</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id4.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="In the Works"><U>In the Works</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id16.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Images"><U>Images</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id6.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Contact Me"><U>Contact Me</U></A></div> <div> <IMG SRC="042f0030.png" border=0 width="496" height="3" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <div> Excerpts</div> <bR> <div> Beyond the Seamist</div> <bR> <div> Chapter 1</div> <div>       The dragon-headed ship glided up the River Liffey, its red striped sail like a bloody clawmark slashing across the mist.  The brawny men at the oars rowed with a steady, even rhythm.  Despite the vessel's fierce appearance, the men's blue eyes weren't agleam with battlelust, nor were their muscles tight with anticipation of armed conflict. They hadn't come to raid and kill, but to trade.  Here at the longphort of Dublin, named for the dark waters swirling around the ship's timber hull, they would exchange their cargo of furs, soapstone and amber for other valuable commodities.</div> <div>         Magnus Gunnarson, the first rower at the starboard side, stared hard at the fog-blurred shoreline and wondered if the tales he'd heard of Eire were really true.  Was the land here as rich and fertile as it was said?  The women as fair and lissome?   Could gold really be found lying in the bottom of the rivers and streams?  </div> <div>         Part of the reason he'd joined the crew of the <U>Waverunner</U> was the opportunity to see new places, and this island, seemingly set at the end of the world, intrigued him as did few other destinations.  It was said to be a bountiful land, with pastures full of fat cattle and coastal waters rich with sealife.  Of gentle rains, rainbows and glistening mists, so different from his homeland with its long, dark winters of snow and ice. </div> <div>          He reminded himself he would probably see little of the countryside.  This was a trading expedition, and Dublin was probably much like most Norse longphorts-crowded, dirty and violent--the very reason Sigurd Rolfsson had hired him and the other fifteen men now rowing the vessel to shore.  They were responsible not only for manning the ship on the sea voyage but also guarding Sigurd and his merchandise at the various settlements where he traded.</div> <div>         Magnus could not help dreaming of the day when he would no longer be a hired swordsman, but possess his own swift, beautiful ship.  He would decide where they sailed and what cargo they carried, and command his own crew.  It might take years to save up enough hacksilver to purchase a worthy vessel.  In the meantime, he intended to learn all he could about navigating the harsh, unpredictable northern seas and negotiating with sly foreign merchants. </div> <div>         As they neared land, Magnus saw that the wooden dock was crowded with men unloading two ships already anchored.  They were shallow drafted crafts, meant for navigating rivers and hugging coastlines rather than traveling long distances at sea.  They were probably bringing in products from other parts of Eire.  Magnus saw rows of barrels, straw-filled wooden boxes and piles of hides.  On one side of the dock stood several young women in brightly colored cloaks.  He was surprised to see females in such a place and wondered if they were the wives of some of the men who had just arrived.    </div> <div>         The steerman gave the order to cease rowing, and the crew of the <U>Waverunner</U> dropped anchor and set the mooring lines, then readied themselves to disembark.  Magnus was putting on his swordbelt when Sigurd made his way along the crowded deck.  "You, you and you."  The captain pointed to Magnus and two other men, Orm and Skuli. "The three of you will stay and guard the ship."</div> <div>          Orm, a skinny red-haired man of less than twenty winters, frowned at Sigurd and asked, "Aren't we allowed to go ashore and stretch our legs?"  </div> <div>         "You may stretch your legs all you wish as long as you remain on the dock," Sigurd answered. "Stay close to the ship and see that no one goes near it."  After a steely glance at the three men, Sigurd made his way to the side of the vessel and jumped down onto the quay.  </div> <div>          Orm let out a sigh.  "We come all this way and then aren't even allowed to go into the longphort.  I was looking forward to finding an alehouse and a comely Irish wench to warm the chill from my bones."</div> <div>          Skuli, a much older man with a weathered face and several missing teeth, gave a snort of disgust.  "And what did you think to use to pay for your pleasure?  The wages Sigurd paid us for this part of the journey will only buy a few horns of ale and a meal or two."</div> <div>        Orm's narrow face fell.  "I hadn't thought of that."</div> <div>        Magnus marked the distance to the quay with an easy jump, then called up to the two men still on the boat, "I'm certain we'll be allowed a turn to visit the settlement.  Sigurd knows he can't keep a good crew unless he makes it worth our while."</div> <div>        "That's true," Skuli agreed as he leapt to shore.  "And Sigurd is usually a fair man, if a stingy one."  </div> <div>        "How long have you sailed with him?" Magnus asked.  </div> <div>        "Ten years."  Skuli grimaced.  "And I have little enough to show for it.  As soon as my money pouch is filled with silver, I find ways to empty it."</div> <div>         <U>I'll not do that</U>, Magnus thought.  <U>I'll save every bit of silver I lay my hands on</U>.  </div> <div>         Skuli cocked his head and squinted at Magnus.  "If I were a young man again, I'd do things differently.  The way to obtain real wealth is raiding.  Attack a settlement of those womanish Christian brothers.  They keep all sorts of gold treasure dedicated to their god.  And they don't fight at all, simply fall to their knees and whimper, asking their holy Christ to save them even as you cleave their fool skulls with an axe." </div> <div>          Skuli's words troubled Magnus, yet he knew they were true.  He'd heard tales of warriors who went aviking for only one season and returned with sacks full of precious metal and other riches.  On the other hand, some men didn't return at all.  Instead of meek monks and terrified villagers, they were met by bands of stout warriors determined to kill the invaders.   Raiding wasn't a certain route to wealth and independence.</div> <div>        Orm finally made the leap to shore.  Nearly falling as he landed, he bumped into Magnus.  The man's pale blue eyes met Magnus's and he grinned sheepishly.  "Sorry."  He gave Magnus's shoulder a playful shove.  "Thor's hammer, but you're a solid fellow.  Near big as a mountain and hard as granite, too."</div> <div>        Magnus shrugged.  "My sire was a giant of a man, and my brothers are all tall as well."</div> <div>         Orm grunted.  "Have several brothers, do you?  I'd wager a fortnight's wages that most of the crew of the <U>Waverunner</U> are younger sons.  There's nothing for us in our homeland, so we go to sea to seek our fortunes."</div> <div>        Magnus nodded.  The old country was crowded, with scarce enough land left to grow grain and feed cattle.  While he could have stayed and served his older brother, the opportunities of foreign places enticed him.  When Magnus was a boy, the skald Hrold had fired his blood with sagas of great heroes and legends of sea monsters and other fantastic beasts that lived in the unknown realms beyond the places marked on the trader's maps.  Even though he knew his people had been coming to Eire for several generations and had built numerous settlements here, this island retained some of the allure of Hrold's magical tales. </div> <div>       Yet there was nothing particularly appealing about his first glimpse of Eire.  The wooden quay smelled of rotted fish and garbage and most of the people he saw were slaves with filthy bare feet, tattered coarse brown garments covering their thin bodies and iron thrall rings around their necks.  </div> <div>        There was a crash as a barrel of salted fish fell onto the dock and its contents spilled out onto dock in a reeking mass.  A huge, red-faced Norseman immediately appeared and attacked the slave who had dropped the barrel.  The man wielded a thick wooden stick in a rapid, brutal rhythm that left the groaning slave lying in a heap next to the mess of fish.</div> <div>        Magnus's jaw clenched with disgust.  The slavemaster was clearly a brute, one of those men who enjoyed inflicting pain.  The Norseman approached the group of women and shouted something at them.  Magnus had thought at first that the women were wives of the seamen and traders, but now he realized they were captives. </div> <div>        The slavemaster reached out and cupped the chin of one of the women, holding her jaw rigid as he spoke what were undoubtedly words of threat and intimidation.  A memory from Magnus's childhood filled his mind:  The slender, fair-haired slavewoman spilling the ale.  Jarl Hareksson rising up and striking her with his fist.  The slave falling, her head striking the table behind her.  The slave lying motionless on the straw-covered floor with the crimson blood seeping from her ear and staining her long golden hair.</div> <div>        Magnus thoughts returned to the present, and he watched as the slavemaster released the woman.  She staggered backwards but didn't fall.  Magnus let out the breath he'd been holding.  </div> <div>         The woman raised her head high and met the slavemaster's gaze.  Even from across the dock, Magnus could sense her hatred and loathing.   She was obviously from a prosperous background.   Her green and yellow checked cloak was of good quality wool and fastened with a large brooch of ornate design.  </div> <div>        <U>This isn't right!  One such as her should not be at that gutter scum's mercy!</U>  Magnus gripped his sword tightly, his whole body rigid. </div> <div>        "Magnus, what's wrong?" Orm asked, coming up beside him. </div> <div>        Magnus shook his head and told himself there was nothing he could do for the woman. The red mist of anger that rose up before his eyes faded, but didn't vanish altogether.  "You see that woman over there?"  He pointed.  "She wasn't born a slave."</div> <div>        "She is comely," Skulli said, joining them.  "But hardly worth dying over."  He jerked his head toward the slavemaster, who was now shouting at the slaves unloading the other ship.  "That's Croa Ottersson.  He commands not only these two vessels but several others.  And don't be fooled by his girth.  He's deadly with a war axe."  </div> <div>         Magnus felt a chill of dread for the woman.  She'd survived this last encounter, but that didn't mean she wouldn't eventually meet a brutal end.  </div> <div>        "As for the woman," Skulli continued.  "He probably captured her in a raid.  While it's pity that such an obviously well-born maid should end up as a thrall, there's naught you can do about it.  As long as Croa pays his tribute to the king of Dublin, you have no right to interfere with his property."</div> <div>         Skulli had made much of the woman's beauty, and now that Magnus really looked at her, he could see she was uncommonly fair.  Silky red gold hair framed a delicate oval face set with large eyes of a pale color he could not determine from this distance.  Her nose and chin were dainty, her lips full and coral-colored.  She reminded him of a fine-boned mountain doe, and her vibrant coloring was like the rainbow they had seen as they first passed the northern shores of Eire, luminous and breathstealing.</div> <div>          Her loveliness made his sense of outrage even more keen.   She was a rare jewel tossed among the muck and dung of the quay.  </div> <div>         But it has not been her looks that had first drawn him.  It was her helplessness. </div> <div>        <U>You're a fool, Magnus.</U>  His brother Hafthor's voice sounded in his head.  <U>You can't keep the bird alive if it's meant to die.</U>  As a boy, he frequently came upon sick and injured animals and tried to help them.  His family teased him for his soft-heartedness, and he thought he'd outgrown it.  Obviously, he hadn't.  His every sense screamed that he must try to help this woman.  </div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> * * *</div> <div>       "Lady, I don't think you should provoke him," Brina whispered to Ailinn after the slavemaster had left them.</div> <div>       "Why not?" Ailinn demanded, every muscle in her body rigid with loathing.  "You heard what he told his men right after we were taken.  Not a hair upon my head is to be harmed.  As a high-born virgin, I'm worth near my weight in silver."</div> <div>        "Even so."   Brina shook her mass of auburn curls.  "He's a cruel, violent man.  I don't think you should arouse his temper."</div> <div>       "What have I to lose?" Ailinn asked bitterly.  "He can kill me now or I can live to endure a life of degradation and shame."</div> <div>       "You mustn't say such things.  It's blasphemous to seek death.  And cowardly.  You're the last of the line of Donovan.  Think of your family."</div> <div>       Her family.  How hard she'd struggled these past few days <U>not</U> to think of them.  Images of fire, blood and brutalized bodies filled her mind and she shuddered.  The Norsemen had spared only her and a few other women of the household--her maid, Brina, two kitchen girls and the daughter of one her father's client farmers who had the misfortune to be visiting the ringfort that day.  </div> <div>        Ailinn swiped at the tears that filled her eyes, then shot a glance in the direction of the slavemaster.  <U>God in heaven, she would not let that Norse pig see her weep!</U>   </div> <div>         "Perhaps it won't be as awful as you fear," Brina soothed.  "There's every reason to believe you'll be sold to a nobleman, perhaps even a king.   Not all Norsemen are hideous beasts.  Look at those men over there.  The two younger fellows are almost comely."</div> <div>        Ailinn turned her gaze to three men standing by the dragonship that had recently docked.  After one glance at the weapons they wore on their belts, she looked away.   "I see no difference between them and the savages who slaughtered my brothers in their beds and cleaved my father's head open with an axe!"  As soon as she said the words, she regretted it.  She drew a sharp steadying breath as unwelcome tears stung her eyes.</div> <div>        "It's not fair to say all Norsemen are evil," Brina insisted.  "Think of all the years your father was allied with Rognvald of Limerick."</div> <div>        "Though they might have been allies, my father never really trusted Rognvald."</div> <div>        "Did Conlach ever trust any man?" Brina asked.</div> <div>        Nay, and with good reason, Ailinn thought bitterly.  Men who were allies one day could be enemies the next.   Shared blood was also meaningless.  Her father's death had been arranged by one of his own countrymen.    </div> <div>       "Look!" Brina whispered loudly.  "One of the Norsemen is coming over here!" </div> <div>       With a start, Ailinn realized her maid was right.  The warrior walking toward them was very tall and broad-shouldered, although not so massively built as the repulsive Croa.  His long light brown hair was streaked with gold and his skin very tan.  She shot a glance at the huge sword hanging from his belt.  Although he made no move to draw the weapon, her heart beat faster as he drew near.  </div> <div>         She returned her gaze to his face.  His mouth was a hard line of determination. His bright blue eyes burned as fierce as flames.   <U>Saints in heaven, what did he want with her?</U></div> <div>        He halted a few feet away and made a slight movement with his head.  It seemed to be a gesture of courtesy, although Ailinn couldn't imagine this Norse giant trying to be polite.   His hesitant manner when he spoke confounded her even more. "Lady …I wanted to see…I wished to make certain you were unharmed."</div> <div>          Although Ailinn understood the Norse language, it still took her a few moments to decipher his words.  It wasn't his foreign inflection she struggled with, but the words themselves.  What he asked made no sense to her.  Why should he care if she were unharmed?  Could he be contemplating stealing her from Croa?   Did he wish to ascertain her value so he could decide if she was worth risking his life over?</div> <div>          She stared at him, perplexed as to how to answer.  He frowned back at her, then jerked his head in the direction of Croa, who was still shouting at the slaves unloading the other boat.   "I saw him lay hands on you.  Did he hurt you?" </div> <div>         "Nay."  Her voice came out as a husky whisper, then she recovered and spoke in icy tones.  "Nor will he.  I'm far too valuable a prize."</div> <div>          "Prize?"  </div> <div>          "He counts me among the plunder he stole from my father…after he murdered him.   He then killed my brothers, burned my home and took me, my maid and the other young women of the household as his prisoners."  </div> <div>         <U>Her eyes were blue.  Nay, they were green.  Or perhaps it was some shade of gray.  </U>Magnus couldn't tell.  Their hue seemed to alter moment by moment, reminding him of the shifting colors of the sea under the open sky.  </div> <div>         He realized he was concentrating on her eyes so he wouldn't have to focus on the utter bleakness of her expression.  What cruel circumstances this young woman had endured.  To lose her family, her home and then be taken prisoner.   He thought of his own brothers and the steading where he'd grown up.  If someone had come and destroyed all he cared about, he would have lost his wits.  Nay, that wasn't true.  He would never have lived through such an experience, but died fighting his attackers.  But she was a woman.   She wouldn't have had any way to resist.</div> <div>         As if she guessed the direction of his thoughts, she said, "If you're wondering why I stand here meekly awaiting my fate, it's because my future is entwined with others.  If I should try to escape, Croa has assured me that my companions will suffer."</div> <div>         Magnus's gaze took in the young women gathered around her.  Two had reddish hair, one was tall with near-black hair and the fourth was tiny with golden hair.  But they were all young and well-favored.  The thought of what Croa and his crew might do to them turned Magnus's blood to ice water.  </div> <div>          The chill of revulsion was quickly replaced by a white-hot fury.  This well-born woman shouldn't remain in the clutches of a beast like Croa Ottarsson.   Someone had to help her.  "Have you any kinsman left living who might aid you?" </div> <div>          "Nay, they're all dead."</div> <div>          "No allies of your father?  No neighboring chieftain who might fear that this same thing could happen to his own family?"</div> <div>          She gave a mirthless laugh, a jarring contrast to the soft lilting tone of her voice.  "It was the neighboring chieftain who arranged the attack, in order to lay claim to my father's lands.  As for my father's other allies, they're all dead." </div> <div>          She was alone, except for the young women gathered round her, and they appeared even more vulnerable and helpless than she was.  Magnus's body grew tight with frustration.   He yearned desperately to aid this woman, but how could he?  Croa was a man of wealth and power, while he was but a hired swordsman.  It seemed hopeless, but surely it wasn't.  He needed time to think of a plan. "What will Croa do now that you've arrived in Dublin?" </div> <div>          "We'll probably be taken to slavemarket and sold to whoever offers to pay the most."</div> <div>           "Do you go there now, or must Croa make arrangements for his other trade goods first?"</div> <div>           "I don't know," the woman answered.  "What does it matter to you?"</div> <div>           "Because I mean to help you, if I can."</div> <div>           Her sea-colored eyes glittered with contempt.  "How?  Do you have sacks of jewels and booty stored away on your ship?"   She jerked her head toward the <U>Waverunner</U>.  "For that matter, is it even your vessel?  You appear far too young to own such a craft.  I think you're a hireling, paid in silver to help row the ship to shore and protect its captain and cargo.  If that's true, then you have as much hope of purchasing me as they do."   She gestured to the slaves unloading Croa's other loot.  </div> <div>         Magnus felt a surge of anger.  He was trying to help this woman.  She need not act so disdainful.  Although she might be some petty king's daughter and a princess of sorts, she didn't have to behave as if he were unworthy of her company.  </div> <div>         Between his growing irritation and his lack of a reasonable plan to save her, Magnus decided it was time to retreat.   He inclined his head to her.  "Farewell then, lady.  I hope all goes well for you at the slavemarket."</div> <div>          A cruel thing to say, he thought as he walked back to Orm and Skulli.  But no more harsh than the way she'd treated him.  Perhaps she didn't need to be rescued after all.  Her sharp tongue was a formidable weapon, capable of cutting most men to shreds.</div> <div>          But not one like Croa, he realized.  Men like that were immune to insults and sharp words.   The only thing that could hurt them was cold, hard steel.  Instinctively, his hand went to his sword hilt and he imagined driving the weapon deep into Croa's huge belly.    </div> <div>           If he did such a thing, Croa's men would kill him, and only a fool would throw his life away in such a fashion.  If he died fighting, he would go to Valhalla, but the pure truth was that he wasn't yet ready to leave this realm.   Life was too sweet, and he had far too much left to accomplish.    </div> <div>          "So?" Orm demanded as soon as Magnus was within earshot.  </div> <div>          "It's exactly as I thought.  The woman and her companions were taken captive and forced into slavery."  </div> <div>          "And all her kinsman were killed," Skulli put in, nodding.  "It's a common tale.  With all the chieftains fighting among themselves and the Norse trying to carve out territories here, the Irish people are in constant danger of being enslaved.  They say hundreds of prisoners pass through the slavemarket of Dublin each year."</div> <div>         "Where's the slavemarket?" Magnus asked.</div> <div>         "Farther along the quay."  Skulli pointed.</div> <div>          What if he could convince Sigurd to purchase the Irishwoman?  At least that way she'd be out of the clutches of the foul Croa.   But what inducement could he offer his captain to do such a thing? And why should he trouble himself to help her?   She was haughty, vinegar-tongued creature and deserved whatever fate befell her.  </div> <div>           He told himself this over and over, but couldn't make himself believe it.      </div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> * * *</div> <div>        "What did he say to you?"  asked Brina asked after the Norseman had left.       </div> <div>        Ailinn's insides twisted with regret.  Why had she coldly rejected the man's offer?  How could she have been so stupid?   Her quick temper had caused her to speak harshly.  It was difficult not to view any Norseman as the enemy, but she shouldn't have let her fury at Croa affect her dealings with the young warrior.  </div> <div>         She sighed and responded to Brina's question.   "He offered to help me, and I--like a lackwit--threw his offer back into his face."   She grimaced.  "I told him that since he was obviously a hireling, I didn't see how he could aid me."</div> <div>        "But why did he make the offer in the first place?" Brina asked.  "Do you know him?"</div> <div>        "Nay.  I've never laid eyes upon him before."  Perhaps she was right to send him away.  There was no reason on earth for the Norseman to be concerned about her welfare …unless he hoped to enslave her himself.  But he'd seemed so sincere.  And it hadn't been lust she'd observed in his dazzling blue eyes, but pity.  </div> <div>         Perhaps that's what had galled her so much.  He'd reminded her how utterly helpless she was, how weak.   <U>If only I were a man.  If only had I'd been trained to wield a sword.  I wouldn't be in this situation.  I would have died defending my home, my family.</U>   As the unbearable anguish threatened, she pushed it back into the darkest corner of her mind.       </div> <div>        "If you don't know him, then it's odd he made such an offer," Brina mused.  "Perhaps he's simply a kindhearted man."</div> <div>        Ailinn snorted.   "A kindhearted Viking!  Brina, the miserable journey here must have muddled your wits."</div> <div>       "But what other explanation is there?"  </div> <div>       "He obviously hopes to steal me from Croa so he can have me for himself."</div> <div>       "And would that be so bad?"  Brina cocked an auburn brow and smiled, showing her dimples.  "You must admit he's much better looking than Croa."</div> <div>        "I don't want to be the slave of any man…no matter how comely!"  The fury and resentment rose up inside Ailinn, softened a bit by the thought that Brina was right.  The Norse warrior was fine to look upon.  If she had to submit, it would be much less distasteful to do so with a young, well-made warrior.  "Anyway," she told Brina, "it won't be Croa who takes my maidenhead, but the rich chieftain or king he sells me to." </div> <div>        As she spoke the words, she imagined the sort of man she would be sold to.  He would be probably be old, with bad teeth and a greasy beard.  She shuddered.  If only she'd been more courteous when the warrior made his offer.  She should at least have listened to what he'd had to say.      </div> <div>        Her regret intensified as she glanced down the quay and saw the warrior pacing next to the ship.  He didn't so much as glance in her direction.   </div> <div>         A pang went through her as she admired his muscular form.  He moved with surprising grace for such a big man.  With his long, gold-tinged brown hair, he reminded her of an enormous cat prowling the wharf.  She could sense the coiled tension that radiated from him, as if he were ready to draw his sword and spring upon an enemy at any moment.  Perhaps he could have helped her.  He might not have Croa's wealth and a crew of lackeys, but he seemed bold and fearless enough to take on any adversary.</div> <div>         "Ailinn!" </div> <div>         She turned at Brina's frantic whisper, and her heart sank as she saw Croa striding toward her, a mocking grin on his vile face.             </div> <div>         Magnus watched in dismay as Croa approached the woman.   His turmoil deepened as a wooden oxcart was drawn beside the prisoners and the slavemaster began to lift the women into the wicker pen on the back of the cart.  His actions were brisk and efficient, as if he were loading barrels of fish.   Until he got to the princess.  Then he paused and leaned down to speak to her.   Her fine features contorted with hatred and she spat in his face.  He laughed and grabbed her around the waist, then dropped her, flailing and cursing, into the wicker pen with the other women.    </div> <div>        Magnus clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth.  <U>You can't intervene</U>.  <U>If you do, you'll be throwing your life away…and over a sharp-tongued, ungrateful little shrew who thinks she's far too good for you.</U> </div> <div>        As the slave drove the cart full of women away, Magnus focused his gaze on the <U>Waverunner</U>.  His insides felt tied in knots and his jaw ached.   <U>With luck you'll never see her again.  With luck…</U></div> <bR> <div> Reluctant Goddess</div> <bR> <div> Ireland, 2006</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> Chapter 1</div> <div>         Dani O'Donovan released a sigh of contentment as she gazed around at the lush Irish countryside.   The silvery luminescence of the sky, the startling green of the vegetation, the glimmer of pale stones scattered everywhere--it felt as if she'd been transported to fairyland.  The thought made her smile.  Then another thought forced her to get moving.  The rental car was due back tomorrow.  Then she'd have to rejoin the tour group from hell.  What an utterly un-magical way to travel.  Her tour companions were the worst.  Which was why she'd spent almost all extra the money she had to a rent a car to go off by herself.  Tomorrow she'd rejoin the group in the next town, but today was hers, and hers alone.</div> <div>        She exhaled another long, satisfied breath.  Did everyone feel this way upon arriving in Ireland, as if they had come home after a long journey?  Maybe it was some sort of genetic memory.  Her father had been Irish on both sides, so she must have lot of that blood in her.  That was part of the reason to come here--to explore her heritage.  Her other goal was to get illustration ideas for her friend Rowan's next fantasy novel.  If all went well and she got the contract, she might finally be able to go free lance and leave her tedious job at the ad agency.  What a thrill it would be to illustrate books instead of designing corporate logos!  </div> <div>       But she'd better get busy.  One day on her own wasn't nearly enough time to get all her sketching done.  She stopped and dug in the fanny pack at her waist, looking for the brochure she'd picked up at a nearby tourist site.  According to the pamphlet, there was a circle of stones in the area.  Hmmm.  No brochure.  It must have been with the other things she'd stuffed into the glove compartment of the rental car.  </div> <div>        Most of the other tourist sites had been fairly well-marked, so there would probably be some signage.  And even if she didn't locate the circle, the scenery here was incredible--the myriad shades of green, the soft, magical light, the soul-filling appeal of a landscape made up of grass, wildflowers, rocks and bushes.   It was a huge change from the noisy, busy environment of her home turf in downtown Chicago.  </div> <div>        Following the little pathway she'd discovered after leaving the car, Dani passed a thicket of hazel.  Imagining fairies frolicking among the twisting, moss-covered branches, she considered sitting down and sketching out the scene that filled her mind.  She started to open her portfolio, which contained her sketch pad and pencils.  Then she noticed the dainty footprints of a deer crossing the pathway.  Amazing.  She hadn't expected to encounter wildlife.  Then again, maybe it wasn't a flesh-and-blood animal, but an enchanted one.  She recalled the legend of Finn MacCool's wife being turned into a deer.  He'd loved his wife so much that he stayed with her anyway.  Now, that was true love!   </div> <div>       Bemused, she decided to follow the deer's tracks.  Seeing a real deer in its native environment-that would be even cooler than finding the circle of stones.  </div> <div>      As soon as she left the pathway, the ground grew soft and muddy.  Good thing she'd worn her hiking boots.  Although the high-tech, water-resistant footwear seemed rather out of place in this mystical world, they would keep her feet dry.  She'd dressed for practicality today, in sturdy canvas pants and a tee shirt, with a waterproof jacket tied at her waist.  Although a part of her longed to explore the Irish countryside barefoot, in a long, flowing gown like one of her ancient ancestors might have worn, she'd ultimately decided that romance must give way to comfort.  </div> <div>      Besides, with her short-cropped hair she probably looked more like an elf than an Irish maiden anyway.  She would pretend that the fabric of the pants was really doeskin, her t-shirt woven out of spider webs, her tough footwear fashioned of some magical substance that protected her feet and made her as fleet of foot as the deer she was following.</div> <div>      Even as she entertained these fanciful thoughts, a mist rose up in front of her, obscuring her view.  For a moment, she was startled, then she laughed aloud.  Of course.  Ireland was famous for its sudden mists.  She moved into the veil of water, feeling the soft moisture caress her face.  The way cleared, then there was another patch of mist ahead, dangling down like a curtain.  She passed through it and back into clear air.  Taking a few more steps, she encountered a third film of mist.  An eerie feeling came over her.  According to what she'd read, three was considered a sacred number by the Celts who'd settled Ireland.  </div> <div>        Then she saw the grass-covered hillock ahead and excitement quickly banished any lingering unease.   This must surely be the overgrown remains of a passage grave.  A fairy mound!  How appropriate she'd had to travel through the mists to find it. </div> <div>       She approached eagerly.  Although she knew it was really a prehistoric grave, it was fun to imagine the mound as the home of the little people, with a tiny doorway just the right size for a brownie or elf.    She walked around the little knoll.  It looked untouched, pristine.  Except for the very top, where there was a break in the smooth curving line of the mound, as if there was an opening.  </div> <div>         She put down her portfolio and began to climb the mound.  It felt solid beneath her feet, and she remembered the pictures she'd seen of the interiors of such structures.  The centers were made up huge stones that formed the burial chamber and thousands and thousands of smaller stones that shaped the top and sides of the mound.  Over the millennia, the stones were gradually covered with earth and vegetation until the mound formed a grassy hillock that appeared almost as a part of the natural landscape. </div> <div>       She reached the top and cried out in excitement.  There was a hole here!  Fumbling in her fanny pack, she found her trusty keychain penlight, then lay down on the top of the mound and held the penlight near the opening.  All at once, the ground beneath her began to give way.  She tried to move back from the opening, but it was too late.   As she fell, she closed her eyes and braced her body for the impact.</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> * * *</div> <div>       When she regained consciousness, she was lying on a hard, scratchy surface and the opening in the mound was a good distance above her.  Gingerly, she sat up.  It didn't feel like anything was broken.  She examined her scalp.  Her short hair was mussed and dirty, but she couldn't detect any lumps or abrasions.  Yet she had the definite sense she'd been out for awhile.  </div> <div>       The inside of the mound was much bigger than she would have expected.  As she shifted position to look around, her hand encountered what felt like a piece of metal.  She moved to examine it, and in the light filtering down through the opening, saw what looked like a round gold amulet.  She tried to pick it up and realized there was more, buried in the dirt.  Digging with her fingers, she uncovered a necklace.  It was twenty inches long and consisted of a long piece of twisted metal wires attached to seven solid gold disks, each about an inch in diameter.  Her heart began to pound.  If this were real, it was worth a fortune! </div> <div>         She held the necklace directly in the light.  Every disk had intricate markings on its surface, spirals and swirls. This is too weird, she thought.   She gazed around again, the skin on the back of her neck prickling.   She shut her eyes tight and opened them again.  Nothing changed.  She was still in the same place, the necklace dangling from her fingers.  Her unease grew.  Finding the necklace was very cool, but if she couldn't get out of here, no one would ever know what she'd discovered. </div> <div>        She stood up, still clutching the necklace, and regarded the hole in the top of the mound.  Standing on tip-toe, she stretched her arms upwards, straining.  Her fingers still fell short of the opening.  Damn!  Being 5'2" really sucked! </div> <div>       She relaxed her arms and grimly contemplated her situation.  Even if she could reach the opening, how would she climb out?   It would be next to impossible without a rope and help from someone outside the mound.  But no one knew where she was or where to look for her.  <U>You've really done it now.  You could end up dying here, all alone.</U>  Her heart began to race and her breathing grew shallow. The next moment she spoke firmly to herself.  "Stop it.  Don't panic.  Use your brain.  Think."</div> <div>         It wasn't like she was off in the wilds of Alaska.  Ireland was a pretty densely populated country.  Someone would find the rental car and come searching for her.  Unfortunately, she'd seen no people in this area, nor any sign of them.   It had seemed a little strange when she hadn't encountered any litter or other evidence of previous visitors in the area.  Now it worried her.  "Stay calm, stay calm," she muttered.  "They'll find you.  It just might take awhile."  </div> <div>        Digging in her fanny pack, she took stock of her situation.   She had a bottle of water, a power bar, a lipstick, a compact with a mirror, her penlight and…four condoms.  The sight of the condoms almost made her laugh hysterically.  What <U>had</U> she been thinking?   That she'd encounter not just one hot Irish hunk, but four?   Or, maybe one guy who'd want to spend a couple of days with her.  Well, a girl could hope.   For all her rebelliousness in some ways, she had a practical streak.  If she did meet someone she wanted to go to bed with, she intended to be prepared.</div> <div>        She let out a sigh.  If she was so practical, why hadn't she told anyone where she was going?  A pretty stupid lapse in judgement.  But she'd been around people so much the last few days she'd been lulled into complacency.  And who could have foreseen this turn of events?  It was just plain freaky.  Like something out of a book-Alice falling down the rabbit hole.  Again, she experienced that funny feeling along her spine.  Was this spooky sense a premonition?  Or a primitive response to danger? </div> <div>        With effort, she forced herself back to a rational frame of mind.  She had water and a bit of food.  Enough sustenance to survive several days.   Surely someone would come looking for her by then, if only because of the rental car. </div> <div>       <U>Yell--that's what you've got to do!</U>  As the thought came to her, she stood up and began to shout.  "Hello!  Can anyone hear me?  Hello!  Hello!"  She didn't have a very powerful voice, but it echoed loudly in the enclosed space.  She paused and listened, then shouted some more.</div> <div>       After awhile, she began to feel foolish, and she was growing hoarse. If she kept this up, she'd have to drink some of her precious water.  Besides, it would probably be at least another day before anyone came looking for her.  She might as well save her voice and her strength.     </div> <div>        She sat down on the ground and stared at the necklace.  The light from the hole above had grown much fainter.  Looking up, she realized the sky wasn't merely overcast but darkening with the onset of night.  How could that be?   Had she been unconscious for that long?  During summer in Ireland it stayed light until almost 11 o'clock.  But eventually it would be night, and she would be alone in the dark…with spiders and insects just waiting to crawl all over her! </div> <div>       To distract herself, she glanced at the necklace again.  She might as well study these markings while she could still see.  God, the thing was beautiful.  The disks weren't perfectly round, but had just enough imperfections to make it clear they'd been made by hand.  By whom?  What long-ago craftsman had fashioned this thing?  </div> <div>       She'd come to Ireland for creative inspiration, as well as chance to see the land of her ancestors.  It seemed she'd hit the jackpot.  The object she held in her hand was exactly like something out of a fantasy novel.  Too bad her sketchpad and pencils were lying on the other side of the mound.  </div> <div>         Suddenly, she had this intense urge to put the necklace on.  As the urge became overwhelming, she raised the string of disks to her neck and inserted the hook on one end of the wire into the loop on the other.  The gold felt warm to the touch, as if it had absorbed heat from her body.  She looked down at the necklace, gleaming against her dark green t-shirt.  Even in the dim light, it was dazzling.  She got out her compact and admired herself, giggling with delight.  Awesome!  Although she'd eventually have to turn the necklace over the authorities, for a little while she could enjoy feeling like the queen of the fairies.                      </div> <div>         <U>You're an idiot.  You should be trying to get out of this place, not trying on jewelry</U>.   She glanced up at the hole above her and shivered.  It was growing cooler as night fell.  Time to put her jacket on.  She unwrapped the garment from her waist and shrugged into it.  Then she sat down in the center of the tomb chamber.  It looked like she was going to have to spend the night here.  A shudder of dread swept through her.  How would she ever sleep?   </div> <div>          She touched the necklace, telling herself it was a kind of talisman and would keep her safe.  A childish notion, but it did make her feel better.  She got out her water bottle and took a swallow.  Not too much.  It might have to last for several days.  <U>Days!</U>  Once again, panic threatened.</div> <div>         She touched the necklace again, then closed her eyes.  Even if she couldn't sleep, she might as well rest for awhile. </div> <div>       Despite everything, she must have fallen asleep.  As soon as she woke, she was aware of a glowing light filling the burial chamber.  She stood up and blinked, trying to clear her vision.  The glow intensified until it seemed to pierce her body.  She felt soothing heat, then a sublime weightlessness, as if she were floating in a haze of light.  It was wonderful.  She wanted to melt into the light, to disappear into its silvery aura.  </div> <div>        Gradually it faded but didn't disappear.  Instead of the light surrounding her, it coalesced into a bright shape at one end of the tomb.  As she watched, the shape took the form of a man.  She could see features on the long, pale face and discern slender arms and a torso.  Frozen in shock, she watched as the radiant outline of his body took solid shape.  He was wearing a kind of flowing robe, like a priest in an old movie.  <U>I'm dreaming.  He's not real.  He's not…</U>   </div> <div>        The man moved toward her.  The expression on his face was calm, almost tender.  "Don't be afraid," he said, although she wasn't certain he actually spoke the words.  She had no sense of his lips moving.  "I won't hurt you."</div> <div>         "Who are you?" she whispered.  "<U>What</U> are you?"    </div> <div>         Again, she heard that disembodied voice:  "Many of your people think of me as a god, and perhaps that's as good a description as any.  I come from somewhere else and am made up of energy.  Both those things blend well with the notion your kind have of a deity."</div> <div>        "From somewhere else?"  Dani whispered.   "Do you mean you're not of the earth?  You're an alien?"   </div> <div>       The man nodded.</div> <div>       Oh, great.  Now she was having hallucinations.  Maybe she had hit her head when she fell into the tomb and this was all some sort of bizarre dream. </div> <div>        "It's not a dream," the man answered.    "Dreams represent a kind of static in the brain, memories and images that the mind seeks to organize.  This is happening outside your consciousness, and the effect upon you will be very real.  I've been waiting for one such as you for a long while."</div> <div>        At first his eyes had seemed dark and flat, as if there was no life or emotion behind them, but now they were bright with feeling--longing and eagerness.  Dani took a step back.  While she could almost get her mind around the thought of having contact with an alien, the notion he had been waiting for her was really disturbing.  "Why have you been waiting for me?" she asked.  "What do you mean?"  </div> <div>         She glanced around at the slanted stone walls of the tomb.  Maybe this place was some sort of trap…and she'd been caught in it like a fly in a spider web.  Her chest grew tight with fear.  Her body felt paralyzed.  How did one deal with something like this?</div> <div>        "I mean you no harm," he said.</div> <div>        <U>Could this guy read her mind?  It almost seemed like it</U>.  </div> <div>         The man nodded.  "It's true I can understand your thoughts.  That's how I am able to choose words you will understand."</div> <div>        "Then, please," she whispered, "tell me what you want."</div> <div>        The alien's expression became grave.  "To do that, I must begin at the beginning.  The truth may seem fantastic to you, but being from the time you are, I have hope you will understand some of it."</div> <div>        Dani nodded.  She wasn't quite as terrified anymore.  The alien reminded her a little of her grandfather.  But for all she knew, he was doing that on purpose, deliberately seeking out images in her mind that would have a calming effect. </div> <div>        "I'm what you believe I am," the alien said.  "My kind come from another world.  We first had contact with your planet several thousand years ago.  We're much more advanced than your species, both in terms of technology and our innate abilities. There were those of us who thought we should leave your kind in peace, to develop as you would naturally.  Others were determined to intervene in the destiny of your people.  They did so out of curiosity at first, to see what would happen.  Then they became enthralled with the power they possessed.</div> <div>          "They began by teaching your kind more advanced ways of survival:  How to grow crops and raise animals instead of hunting and gathering food.  How to make metal tools and implements.  They gave your species the means to develop an organized society, with specialized workers and a hierarchy of power.  In a few generations, several groups of humans in various locations around the planet went from the Stone Age to the Bronze Age.  Not a great leap in terms of how your kind lives now, but an extraordinary change nonetheless.  </div> <div>      "Other members of my kind chose to intervene even more dramatically in the future of your species.  They mixed their DNA with that of some humans.  The result was a small group of individuals who possess special powers, but lack the intellect to use those powers wisely.  The memory of those individuals still exists in your folklore and legends.  And there are still a few members of your species-like you--who retain a remnant of that special genetic heritage."</div> <div>         Dani knew that her mouth was hanging open in shock.  The things this man…alien…whatever…was telling her.   It was the stuff of science fiction novels…and also ancient myths. </div> <div>         That was the eerie part, that what he was saying meshed perfectly with the legends of some of the oldest cultures of the world.  She'd studied creation myths in an anthropology class in college and always been struck by the similar ways different peoples explained the beginning of the world:  how the gods had come down from the heavens and created humans and taught them the basic skills of civilization.  Those tales made one wonder about the so-called gods.  To hear that they were really aliens didn't exactly shock her.  </div> <div>        But this other part, the aliens breeding with humans and giving them special powers-she couldn't quite buy into it, especially in regards to herself.  She was about as ordinary as a person could be.   "What do you mean-my special genetic heritage?"</div> <div>        "You have abilities to do things most humans cannot.  But you're not aware of your powers yet because you've never been taught to use them."</div> <div>        Dani gave a hysterical laugh.  "But you're going to teach me how to use them--right?"</div> <div>        The man shook his head.   "Your abilities will awaken slowly.  The necklace will gradually arouse your powers, much as it brought forth my presence.  The necklace contains a code that will alter both you and your surroundings."</div> <div>        Dani raised her trembling hands to the necklace.  "What do you mean?  What's this thing doing to me?"  Although her initial reaction was to take the necklace off, once she touched it, she couldn't quite bear to do so.  The metal felt so warm and comforting.  Without the feel of it around her neck, she would really freak out. </div> <div>        "The necklace calls forth your destiny, and your ability to change the destiny of others.  I can't tell you much more than that."</div> <div>        "Why not?" Dani demanded.  "What are you keeping from me?"</div> <div>        The man's expression grew almost sad.  "Even I can't know all the possibilities of the future.  You will have to find your own way.   If I sought to explain your purpose here, you wouldn't believe me.  The knowledge must be revealed to you gradually, so that you can understand it and use it meaningfully."</div> <div>        The alien spoke in riddles.  But then, didn't his sort--seers and prophets--always do that?  He reminded her of stories where some white-robed ancient revealed wisdom to the young hero--or in her case, heroine.  Yoda teaching Luke Skywalker in "Star Wars".  Or Gandalf and Frodo in "Lord of the Rings."   Which made her wonder if she'd conjured this kindly, grandfather-like image out of her own imagination.   This was a dream.  Of course it was.</div> <div>         She closed her eyes, smiling at her own creativity and inventiveness.  She'd drawn on one of the classic archetypes to create a mentor for herself.   Someone to reassure her and give her advice to get her through this crisis.  She really hadn't thought she was that clever.   Although she was a graphic artist by trade, the actual stories and ideas usually came from someone else.   She simply supplied the images.  </div> <div>         With that thought in mind, she opened her eyes.  Her heart sank.  The alien was gone. </div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>