Chapter Two #2
“Perhaps it would help if I gave you my theory on the difference between non-existence and forgetting-to-remember?” he asked.
She eyed him warily. “Okay.”
“The ancient gods and goddesses have faded into Time because people have gradually forgotten about them. Many of those religions, like the Celts, were based on worship of the divine feminine—the goddess in her three forms: maiden, mother, crone.” He paused, but Sophie seemed to be still listening.
“In the fourth century, when the Romans decided it would further their needs to foist a single religion on the world they were conquering, they chose to adopt the new religion as their own. But the warrior legions would be thought weak to worship the Great Mother. They kept the holy trinity but made it a god instead: father, son, spirit.”
Sophie’s brows creased and Michael could see she was processing the information.
Her breathing had slowed to a normal, deeper rate too.
He tried not to notice how her breasts lifted with each inhalation or think about how good they would feel pressed against his chest as he held her, massaging her back and making her feel better.
Then he chided himself for letting his mind run amok again.
“You are talking about the spread of Christianity?” she asked.
Michael nodded, forcing himself to refocus.
It had been decades, if not centuries, since a woman had distracted him this much.
“Constantine was no fool. He knew the conquered tribes had deep roots in goddess worship, so he didn’t even try to take away their sacred festivals.
He merely incorporated them into his own calendar.
Samhain became the Hallowed Eve of All Saints.
Yule was the time to celebrate the Christ’s Mass and birth.
Ostara’s celebration became Easter, and Beltane was called Whitsun.
Over time, people forgot the origins of the holy days.
That doesn’t mean those goddesses didn’t exist.”
Sophie stared at him now, her sapphire eyes appraising. “But they are gone now.” She hesitated a moment. “Aren’t they?”
How many times had he summoned the old gods—Tanio of Fire, Awyr of Air, Dwfr of Water, and Pridd of Earth—when he called the quarters at the full-moon meetings of the coven of witches that he worked with?
The balance of their magic gave the Circle its power.
But Michael was pretty sure Sophie wasn’t ready to hear any of that just yet or even accept what he was. Maybe especially not what he was.
He shrugged slightly. “Perhaps they only slumber.”
“Like the legend of King Arthur and his knights sleeping until the world needs them again?” Sophie asked with more than a trace of sarcasm in her voice.
Michael smiled at her. If only she knew… “Something like that,” he said. “Is it so hard to believe that deities live—some good, some evil—beyond our recognition?” He tilted his head a bit. “You saw a dragon earlier.”
Sophie’s face paled. Her mouth opened and then closed. She blinked her eyes and then sagged back into the armchair in defeat. “I really wasn’t hallucinating?”
“No. What you saw was real.”
She shook her head. “Dragons aren’t real.”
Michael opened his mind and sent a strand of magic toward her forehead to link with her third-eye chakra. Hopefully, it would help her accept what seemed impossible. “He left those scorch marks so that you would not doubt.”
Her eyes widened slightly as his wisp of magic touched her. “Who is he?” she whispered.
Michael took a deep breath, hoping he could keep the flickering magical connection with her mind for a bit longer. He had seldom met someone with such a protective shield of logic as she had. “He is the Pendragon. Defender of Britain.”
She stared at him. “Like in ‘King Arthur Pendragon’?”
“Not exactly. The term is a title, meaning “Mightiest Dragon.” Even after dragon-kind retreated to the safety of the mists, the gods assigned a Dragon Protector to each land. Britain was prophesied to one day rule the world.” He smiled.
“The Pendragon stopped the Romans. They never were able to conquer Wales, Scotland, or Ireland.”
“But the Britons lost to the Saxons eventually,” Sophie said. “That is a fact in all the history books.”
“Partially true. Vortigern, the betrayer, allowed the white dragon of the North on to Britain’s soil. They didn’t conquer all of it, though.”
Sophie eyed him skeptically. “Just for the sake of argument—however illogical this is—does the white dragon still live too?”
“I don’t know,” Michael answered. “Most of what was written about dragons exists only in metaphysical references. As the new religion became stronger, the old gods’ power grew weaker.
The dragons eventually withdrew from activities on Earth.
” What he didn’t add was that the white dragon had been Balor’s pet.
“So why is the red dragon back now? It makes no sense.”
Sophie spoke the word triumphantly, as though she had just won their little argument. Her chin lifted and she gave him a determined look as if to challenge his response to her logic. He wondered if she were part Vulcan. She didn’t have pointy ears. Then he bit back a grin.
His experience with women had been that the harder they tried to remain logical, the hotter their physical response was once he found the key to unlock all those repressed emotions.
He wanted very much to be the man who opened her to the pleasures of unleashed, lustful passion.
His groin tightened in response and he pulled his thoughts back.
Someday—but first, there was the matter of finding the Sword.
“Do you remember that research project I told you about earlier?” When she nodded, he continued. “I am looking for a very old Sword that was once a holy relic of the old Celtic religion. It has magical powers that could be deadly if it fell into the wrong hands.”
Sophie was staring at him again, this time total disbelief evident on her face. “A magical sword? Give me a break. Next you’ll be telling me it’s stuck in a stone someplace and you have to pull it out!”
“That was a different sword,” Michael replied. “This one was made from a fiery stone that fell to earth more than two thousand years ago. The red dragon found the meteor and forged the Sword with his own breath. I think he’s returned to help me find it.”
“Uh-huh. Well, you weave quite an incredible faerie tale,” Sophie said, “but how gullible do you think I am? Tell me, how did you rig the hologram to appear right over my clinic?”
Michael studied her for a silent moment. She began to squirm in her chair. “I had no idea of where your clinic was,” he finally said and waited for that truth to sink in.
Sophie stilled. “Then how—?” When he didn’t answer, her face paled. “Even if what you say is true, what…what would the dragon want with me?”
“That I truly do not know,” he answered, “but somehow I think you are to assist me in finding the Sword. And there is someone else who is looking for it. We must find it before he does.”
“Of course. Let’s add to the mystery here. Maybe a twenty-first-century version of Romancing the Stone?”
“This isn’t a movie, Sophie. I’ve told you the truth. I know it sounds strange.”