Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
“We must speak the words and use the whitest fire to destroy Carman’s life medallion, given to her by the Morrigan.
” With iron tongs, Mairwen carefully held the evil black coin that her wicked sister had forged to protect the vile witch’s life against everything but the power of the wolfstone and Calia’s love.
While Mairwen’s spirits soared because those who had murdered her son had finally paid the ultimate price, she feared for Mathison and Calia’s survival.
The remainder of Carman’s demonic existence had to be erased before the chieftain and his lady love could heal completely.
The dragon Noirgarth eyed her with disdain, not troubling to hide his dislike of the Weavers. “Kannis and Giddrie shall add their fires to mine and Bresag’s as ye speak the words. Dinna trouble yerself, Weaver. We shall do our part.”
“The hatchlings wish to help as well,” Bresag said as the three shimmering younglings scurried around her to cluster at the forge beside their father. “They consider Calia their sister.”
Even though the dragons’ cold hostility filled the air, Mairwen couldn’t help but smile at the adoration and hope shining in the newly hatched dragons’ jewel-like eyes. “Their love for Calia will strengthen the spell wonderfully. We are honored to welcome them into the circle.”
“Oak, ash, elder, and thorn are piled there at the edge of the forge,” Giddrie said. “Place the medallion upon it and leave the tongs there too, since they are of iron.”
“And the earth?” Mairwen peered closer at the makeshift pyre meant to complete the undoing of the evil magic. “I see the moon-blessed and sun-blessed stones, but I dinna see any earth.”
“It is there at the base, along with the gold,” Noirgarth said with no small amount of contempt. “Proceed. As soon as ye speak the words, we shall unleash our white flames.”
“Very well.” Mairwen drew the rest of the Weavers in as close as they could get to the forge without crowding the dragons, who would soon incinerate Carman’s life amulet.
The Weavers of Spells, Dreams, Tranquility, and Love would strengthen her in destroying one of her sister’s most vile creations—the immortal witch known to terrorize humankind for ages.
She lifted her hands and focused on the medallion atop the pyre as her voice rang out clear and strong.
“By oak and ash, by thorn and flame,
By elder’s root and river’s name,
I call the law that older stands
Than crown or curse or mortal hands.
Iron weeps and shadow rends,
False power breaks, corruption ends.
What was bound in hunger born,
Be shattered now, be cleft, be torn.
By sun undone, by moon unmade,
By truth no wicked charm can evade,
I strip thee bare; I name thee naught—
A hollow thing of rot and thought.
Stone to dust and gold to grave,
No soul to claim, no will to enslave.
By breath of earth and fire’s decree,
Be undone, and cease to be.”
As soon as the last word fell from her lips, the dragons unleashed flames so white and purifying that no evil could withstand them. They kept the blast going until the heat became unbearable, backing the Weavers away from the forge.
Mairwen stood transfixed by the crackling flames, breathing easier as a piercing wail spiraled throughout the room, then faded away. It was done. The witch was no more, and any poisons or curses she had created during her existence were now rendered null.
The smallest of the hatchlings approached her, spreading its pale green wings and doing its best to appear fearsome. “Will our sister heal now?” it asked in a squeaky voice.
“That is our hope,” Mairwen said, careful not to promise anything too much. The poison had simmered entirely too long within Calia. Permanent damage may have been done. Only time would tell. “Yer love for her, and yer caring will help her greatly—and the healing of her mate at her side.”
Bresag stepped forward to shoo her young ones out of the room.
“I will join ye soon,” she promised them as she ushered them out into the hallway.
“Return to the nursery. Now.” Then she turned and leveled a stern gaze on Mairwen.
“We have the herbs to mix with the tears. Ye may go now. Return to yer tending of the Highland Veil.”
Mairwen expected no less from the dragons. It was miraculous enough that they had extended the hospitality that they had. She offered both Noirgarth and Bresag a regal nod. “The blessings of the goddesses be upon ye now and forevermore.” Then she turned to the other Weavers. “We go.”
* * *
Uncertain where he was or what danger might lurk around him, Mathison hesitantly reached out with his senses as soon as his weary consciousness became alert enough to heed his commands.
Whatever he lay upon was pillowy soft. Silence surrounded him.
No. Wait. What was that sound? He listened closer.
Breathing. He was not alone. And then the most precious scent in existence washed across him, relaxing every tensed, aching muscle. His Calia was near.
“Mo chridhe,” he tried to whisper, but the only sound he made was a raspy wheeze.
A salty sweetness wet his dry, cracked lips and trickled into his mouth. He gulped at the moisture like a man dying of thirst.
“Slowly, grand chieftain,” Bresag said. “It has been most difficult to administer that which ye needed to heal since this is the first time ye have awakened.”
The liquid eased the stiffness of his parched throat. “My Calia?” he managed to force out in a weak whisper.
“She is here beside ye.” The motherly dragon lifted his head and pressed a cup to his lips. “She has yet to awaken. Now drink these tears so ye can grow stronger and help us coax her back into the light.”
After a few more swallows of the healing elixir, he gathered his building strength and forced open his eyes. Slow to focus, he blinked several times to clear his vision. “I was dead,” he said, his husky voice cracking.
“Close.” Bresag lowered his head, then helped him turn it so he might look upon his sleeping mate.
“Yer lady pulled ye away from the crossing before ye fully passed to the other side. She and her wolf saved ye and yer wolf in the Dreaming. Yer Dubh and her Litress are healing themselves in the In-between. Much was asked of them, and they gave their all, but they live. Giddrie has assured us it is so.”
Mathison stared at Calia, drinking in the sight of her and wishing he had the strength to pull her into his arms and hold her.
She was too still, and the pearlescence of her pallor made her appear bloodless.
The silver-white stripe in her dark hair shone even brighter than before, framing her face.
She looked too much at peace, and that frightened the living shite out of him.
He didn’t want her at peace. He wanted her vibrant, alive, and arguing with everything he suggested.
She didn’t twitch a muscle as three small dragons scampered into the bed and protectively curled around her, gently propping their noses on her chest, arms, and legs before settling in and going to sleep.
“My children keep her warm,” Bresag explained with an affectionate nod.
“Her fevers have not returned since the destruction of the witch’s medallion, but she seems frequently chilled, often shivering in her sleep.
” She set aside the goblet and smoothed the covers higher across Mathison’s chest. “They consider her their sister.”
Mathison tried to move his hand closer to Calia’s, but he didn’t have the strength.
The tiny dragon closest to him lifted its head and seemed to notice. It nudged Calia’s hand closer to Mathison’s, then looped its scaly tail around Mathison’s wrist and pulled his hand over on top of Calia’s. With a satisfied nod, it snuggled back in place on Calia and closed its eyes.
The faint but steady energy of the mate bond passed between them and warmed his fingers, assuring him that his dear one possessed enough life for her soul to recognize his.
He breathed easier and found the strength to close his fingers around hers.
Ever so softly, she didn’t squeeze his hand, but her thumb twitched and caressed his.
“Mo chridhe,” he whispered.
“My heart.”
He heard her in his mind and would’ve smiled if he’d had the energy. Aye, they had a long road of healing to travel, but together, travel it they would.
* * *
Her eyelids were too heavy to lift, but at least no pain or nausea remained.
The unbearable ache in her chest had decreased to a heaviness that made taking a deep breath a struggle, but she’d worry about that later.
Mathison’s hand on hers, the warm, familiar tingle of their bond as their fingers touched, that’s all that mattered because it meant he lived.
Her heart soared when he whispered, “Mo chridhe.” But try as she might, she just didn’t have the strength to speak.
All she could do was think to him and know he would hear her.
Believe. If she had the energy, she’d smile.
She, who had only believed in what she could see and touch, now believed in everything.
And she knew Gillian was happy. Tears welled and seeped from the corners of her closed eyes, but she didn’t care.
They were tears of gratitude and peace. Her precious baby was happy and flying without wings.
A dry, raspy tongue licked her face, cleaning the tears away. Then a soft, familiar whisper tickled her ear. “We are here for ye, sister.”
Sister? Then she realized where she’d heard that whisper before. It was one of the baby dragons. They must have hatched.
Mathison’s fingers closed around hers and squeezed. She tried to squeeze his back and failed, but did manage to move her thumb in an awkward caress.
“I love you,” she thought to him, fueling the sentiment with the ferocity of all she felt for this man at her side.
“I love ye more, my beloved.” His thought rumbled just as deeply as his voice, caressing her mind with tenderness. “Never again will we ever be parted.”
“Never again,” she echoed, promising it to herself as well as him. “You are my home as I am yours. Together we are whole.”
“Aye, my love. We are one.”