Haunted Moon (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #13)

Haunted Moon (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #13) Page 17

Aeval lit a black candle at the center point at the top of the pentagram, and whispered, her words faint and distant.

“Spirit of the Universal dance, bring to this rite your sacred trance.”

As the invocation echoed on the breeze, I was sucked deep into a long tunnel, swiftly moving inward, toward the core of my being, with everything around me surreal and vivid. The eye catchers glowed deeper, the stars twinkled brighter, and the auras of the trees began to shimmer and glow until the forest was lit up like nature’s carnival.

Lastly, Aeval lit a silver candle to one side of the black, and a gold to the other side. She raised her hands to the sky and turned to the crescent moon, her voice echoing through the glade.

“Mother Moon, shining bright, over Earth, Air, Fire, Water, ride your priestess, take her now, Camille, your sacred daughter! Lord of Horns, Father of Earth, Guardian, Provider, Brother, call now, your newborn priest, Our Beloved Lady’s Lover.”

As the Moon Mother descended to ride my shoulders, I turned to see a figure edge out of the forest. Male, that much I knew; he was glowing with the light of a priest. Of a god. And he was mine. I knew he was mine, and I dropped my kimono where I stood. As he began to walk toward me, I shrugged out of my dress. Aeval forgotten, the ritual forgotten, all I could think about was how I needed to rid myself of my clothing, for the chase was on.

Naked, I stood bathed in the moonlight, waiting, edging slightly to the left.

He moved, darting in my direction, and I ran lightly out of the Circle, laughing, turning to beckon him on, to tease him in. I wanted him, but he’d have to earn the right. No one claimed me without proving himself worthy, and whether he be mortal or god, he would have to meet me and match me.

I circled around the outside of the pentagram, the wind nipping my heels. He laughed, throaty and rich, and from someplace deep within me, I recognized the voice but could give no name to it. For he truly had no name, and neither did I. We were male and female, god and goddess, polarities in the great dance of the universe. Like magnets, we were drawn together, but the moment he came too close, I pushed away, running out of reach.

I still could not see him; he was cloaked in shadow, covered by a veil that I could not penetrate. But I did not fear him. He was my match, he was the Chosen One. And I—I was his Sovereign Queen. To be worthy of his status, he must meet me and convince me he was worthy. And then I would allow him in, ride him into the night, and he would emerge sanctified and holy, cleansed in my sacred light and sex.

His laughter faded as he paused, eyeing me. I stopped, shoulders back, hair streaming in the wind. The mood shifted, and intent now—the playfulness vanishing—he began to advance. I stepped back, into the pentagram, into the center.

“You must earn the right to taste my body. You must earn the right to be King Stag of the Forest.” My voice echoed into the night, the words coming from deep within me.

“I claim you.” Again, the voice resonated with me, even in its quiet ferocity. “Name the challenge.”

He must pass three tests, as it was in the days of old. Before I could stop myself, I said, “The challenge of demons.”

“So be it.” His words echoed with a frightening clarity.

I raised one hand, not sure what I was doing but only knowing that I had to. As I did, the image of a woman appeared—terrifying and beautiful. She was Japanese, and I recognized her as Demonkin. The man cried out and pulled back, his fear tangible in the night. She laughed and held up a spear.

He met her with a katana—where he got it, I could not see—but they fought, spear meeting the sword with deadly precision. Her expression was set; she was out to kill him if possible. She radiated anger and lust, the desire for blood. As she opened her mouth, I saw fangs, pearly white, with blood dripping.

She dove for him, knocking the katana out of his hand, and he let out a shout, but at the last minute, he managed to slip out of her grasp and dart around behind her. He wrestled the spear away from her and, without fanfare, without hesitation, plunged it through her chest. With a scream, she burst into dust and ash and vanished.

I still could not see his face as he turned to me and raised his hand in salute.

“One,” he said.

The trance pulled me deeper and I waved my hand again, letting instinct take over. Ritual magic fell where it would, and I just went along for the ride. The Moon Mother was leading the journey tonight. I was merely her vessel.

A whirl of light sparkled in the clearing, and a vague shape rose out of it, taking the form of a large serpent, crimson red with white diamonds patterned along its body. I stumbled back, out of the way. The snake had to be thirty feet long and as thick around as Menolly was. It swayed back and forth in front of him, as if he were a snake charmer. Hissing, its tongue forked out as it loomed over him.

“You. You came back.” He raised his hands. “It’s been a long time…”

The snake coiled to strike. As it launched toward him, he stood there, waiting for it. I wanted to shout Get out of the way, but my voice froze and all I could do was watch. It spiraled around him, buoying him up in its embrace. I winced, expecting to hear him cry out as it snapped his bones, but he just wrapped his arms around the snake and held on, pressing his face against the scaled body. The snake twisted, swinging him this way and that, but he held tight, and for a moment, it sounded like he was crying.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you. I had to run, or we’d both die. I had no choice. But I went back. I promise you, I went back to the field for days on end, looking for you. But by then, you were gone.” His voice faded, regret and loss echoing through his words.

And then I understood this challenge. Some demons…some demons weren’t the ones who had tried to hurt us. Some demons were the people we’d fled from but could never leave behind, memories that would haunt us forever. I backed away. He needed to come to grips with whatever this snake represented—with whomever he’d lost.

Another moment, and the snake stilled its movements, and then, gently, it let go, and the man stumbled to his knees, gasping for breath. The snake reached down and gently touched the top of his head with a flicker of its tongue, then turned and vanished back into the shimmering light.

He raised a hand as it went, holding it out, as he whispered, “Good-bye.”

That one word was so filled with sorrow and loss and finality that it made me hang my head. I was an intruder on his memory, and it didn’t feel right. I turned away for what seemed like hours.

And then, “Two.”

I turned. He was looking at me, his face still cloaked in shadow, his form still a blur.

A prickling at the base of my neck told me that his last challenge would be the biggest. I looked up at the stars and then nodded. With another wave of the hand, I braced myself for whatever might come into the glade.

But nothing appeared.

And then a soft whisper called out my name. My skin prickling, I turned. There, in the moonlight, stood my mother.

Maria D’Artigo. My mother, my greatest loss.

She was wearing the gown she wore for her death ceremony. My father’s people were buried naked beneath the trees, but for the preceding ritual, when we were being consigned to the Land of the Silver Falls, our dead were dressed in ritual garb—gowns of silver, the color of the moon, for women. And for the men, golden trousers and shirts, the color of the sun.

I cocked my head. This was his challenge, so why was my mother here? And why would she be here at all?

But as I watched her, the questions vanished from my thoughts and all I could see was how beautiful my mother had been. Waxen and fair, her hair trailed down her shoulders, the same golden shade as Delilah’s. But her eyes were closed, and blood ran down her cheek from a large gash in her head.

The challenge forgotten, I ran toward her. “Mother? Mother!”

She opened her eyes. They were white, with no gleaming hazel, no pupils, no warmth or welcome in them. Lifting one hand, she pointed an accusatory finger at me. “You took my place. You stole my memory, and you replaced me.”

Stopped cold by the chill of her words, I hesitated. I had taken her place, because I was forced to. I’d filled her shoes as best as I could, even though I could never be the woman she was. As I opened my mouth to protest, a well of anger cropped up that I didn’t know was there.

“You left us. You wouldn’t drink the Nectar of Life. You abandoned us. You could have lived if you had let Father give you the potion. You could have stayed with us, but you chose to die.” The words startled me, even though—in my darkest nights—I knew I’d felt them. Thought them. But the guilt had driven them deep inside, and I had never once breathed them aloud.

She dropped her hand and crossed her arms. “I chose to stand by my beliefs. I loved your father, but I was human. I chose to remain human.”

“You chose to be a coward!” The words reverberated through the night, and I clasped my hand to my mouth, immediately ashamed of what I’d said. How could I call my own mother a coward? She’d given up everything she ever knew to follow Sephreh back to Otherworld. She’d chosen a life alien to her own and had raised us with love. How could I accuse her of being so weak?

“I chose…I chose…” And then, she paused, and the anger vanished even as she let out a long sigh and slumped her shoulders. “Camille…I was more afraid of living a thousand years than I was of dying. I understood what it meant to die. I didn’t know if I could live that long and stay sane. I wasn’t born to it, like you and your sisters, and your father.”

“But we needed you.” As if the dam had burst, I let it all out. “We needed you. I needed you. I had to grow up too fast. I had to take your place because somebody had to, and Delilah and Menolly were too young. I had to become their mother—when I just wanted to be a girl. And Father, he’s never recovered from your death. He loved you. He worshiped you. I could never do anything right—he never let me forget that you were perfect and I…I wasn’t.”

Tears streaming down my cheeks, I flung my fury at her, not caring if I hurt her, not caring if she hated me. “I needed you so many times, but you weren’t there. At least I did what I could for my sisters, but there was no one there for me when I needed a mother…when I needed someone to hold me and tell me it would all be okay! Father was too busy with the Guard and too busy mourning you to notice that his children needed him. How could you do that to me?”

My mother hung her head, and all the fight vanished. “I can’t make it right, Camille. I can’t go back and change what was. No one can. I’m sorry. I made the choice I had to. It was my life to keep or let go. But I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I watch over you and your sisters; I keep an eye out on you. I can’t intervene, but I never forget you. I’m with you whether or not you realize it.”

Weeping, I sank to the ground. “I needed you…I need my mother.”

She glided forward, her spirit so bright she almost blinded me. As she knelt by my side, her arms slid around my shoulders and she crooned softly.

“Hush, my girl. You had to take on too much. But you can let it go now…you can let some of that go. You have so many responsibilities, but your sisters are grown. You don’t have to play the role of their mother anymore. You can live for yourself and your lovers. Lean on them, and lean on your friends. And when you need me, remember, I am here. I am listening.”

I pressed my face against the soft touch of the spirit, like I did Misty, at home, and cried like I had never cried before. I cried for the years of trying to meet Father’s expectations. I cried for having to face Menolly’s death and rebirth without Mother’s help. I cried for the isolation I’d felt when Hyto kidnapped me. And, after a long while, my tears lessened. It felt like a lump that had been lodged in my throat all these years had shifted and loosened. With a hiccup, it vanished, and I sat back, hanging my head.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said all those things—”

“No,” my mother said. “You needed to face the fact that as much as you love me, you’re also angry. You squashed those feelings down so hard, they were eating you alive. They were draining you.”

Sniffling, I nodded. She rose, and I stood beside her.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, honey.”

“I love you.”

And my mother looked at me, and for a flicker, I saw the lovely hazel eyes that used to watch over me, and they twinkled with tears. “I love you, too. I have to go, now. Please…I’m happy. I’m waiting for you—but it will be a long, long wait, I think, and I hope. Which is as it should be.”

And then, before I could say another word, she turned, walked back into a misty veil, and vanished.

Spent, I turned back to stare at the figure in the shadows. “Why her? Why me? I thought this was your challenge.”

“It was. My challenge was to stand back and let you fight your own battle. My challenge was to watch you work through one of the deepest losses you’ve ever experienced without stepping in to help. And so…three.”

And then he moved forward, and the moonlight shimmered over him, revealing his face. Morio. My magical match. The priest to my priestess. The King Stag of the Woodland, and I was his goddess.

Once again, the moon swept down to gather me up in her frenzy. I opened my arms. He moved into my embrace, sliding out of his kimono. As he held me, naked and erect, the Moon Mother shimmered overhead, and the night-singing birds echoed through the woodland, and then I was off and running and he followed me, into the dance, onto the web, into the arms of the Moon Mother and the Horned One.

Chapter 9