Overcomer - The Battle, Judy Colella [first color ebook reader .TXT] 📗

her voice commanding, “you have been commissioned to defeat once and for all the being who has done more to harm mankind than any other, except for its Master. You can do this, Cian MacDara. You have the heart, the strength, the knowledge, the ability, and the authority. Fight well, do not be fooled by fear, nor weakened by terror. What you have in you is greater than that which drives your enemy. Destroy him!” Her eyes and voice had grown fierce, something none of them had imagined possible. She took him by the shoulders and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “You have been blessed and cursed, Cian,” she whispered with intensity. “Defeat the curse and give back only the blessings.”

She stepped away, giving them all a last look, and said, “Now go.” The display of brilliantly shimmering light droplets showered around her form, finally dissipating and taking her with it. No one could talk for a few minutes, but the Keeper began almost immediately to play the harp.

Finally, Katie cleared her throat and said, “Are we waiting for that, uh, evil dude guy?”

“No,” the Keeper answered. “We are waiting for Amergin.”

They looked at each other in surprise. “Isn’t he the one who first brought my ancestor here?” asked Cian.

“He is. He is also a harper, a Bard of superior abilities, and a Druid who we trusted enough to make one of our Servant Helpers. He will take my place while I bring you to where the battle will be.”

“Why didn’t Celesta do that?” Celeste asked.

“She left now for the same reason that Michael left when he did,” he answered briefly.

“Oh.” Celeste nodded, remembering Celesta’s explanation.

“Cian,” said the Keeper, “unwrap the Sword. It’s almost time to go, and you should be wearing it before we leave.”

The boy nodded and carefully took the weapon from its blue covering. It was sheathed in silver- and gold-bound leather, the tip of the sheath solid gold with pure silver inlays of Celtic scrollwork. Braided leather laced with finely-wrought, ruby-studded gold chains made up the straps that would crisscross his chest and hold the sheath to his body so the Sword would hang diagonally across his back. The hilt, the only part of the Sword itself visible outside the sheath, was crafted of highly-polished gold, its grip indented where his palm and fingers would grasp it, the cross-bar shining silver with sapphires glittering at either end.

“Uh, how do I do this?” He could see, more or less, how it should go, but didn’t want to risk doing it wrong.

“There are buckles along the sides of the sheath that match with the ends of the straps,” the Keeper explained. “Have Celeste help you.”

An ancient tradition, one he’d all but forgotten, came suddenly back to him – when a man received his first sword, he would ask his true love to buckle it on him. His father may have told him that, but he wasn’t sure. Either way, he felt almost shy about asking Celeste, even though he was sure she knew nothing of this tradition. But the opportunity was too appropriate and special to allow bashfulness to prevent it, so he turned to her, holding out the sheathed weapon. “Um, would you mind doing this?” He felt himself blush and wondered if she could detect it in the Hub’s subtle light.

She gave him a tender smile. “I’d love to.” She took it from him, her arms dropping a few inches from its weight. A brief study of the strapping showed her the buckles and how they attached, and she went to stand behind him. A second later he felt the braided leather being tossed over his shoulders, and her hand came under his left arm, grabbed the strap and pulled it through, attaching it to the scabbard; she did the same with the right side, adjusted the sword across his back, and came around to the front again. “Does that feel okay?”

He shifted his shoulders a little, nodded, and put his right hand back to grasp the hilt. He knew better than to draw the Sword, but needed to be sure he could get to it easily.

“That’s perfect,” he said, looking down at the beautiful crossed straps. “Although honestly, this looks a little weird on a grey sweatshirt.” He gave her a crooked smile and shrugged.

“Well, I think you wear it well,” she told him firmly. “In fact, it wouldn’t matter what you were wearing. It would. . .oh!” She rushed forward and threw her arms around him, taking him completely by surprise.

“Hey,” he said softly, feeling the dampness of tears soaking tiny spots in his shirt, “it’s okay, Celeste. Please don’t cry.” He held her close with both arms and kissed the top of her head, the fragrance of her hair almost making him dizzy. “Everything will work out fine.”

“Y-you can’t promise that,” she sobbed. “If –if anything happens to you, I-I-I’ll die!”

He pushed her back slightly so he could see her face, and she looked up at him, plainly miserable. “No,” he admitted, “I can’t promise that. But I really don’t think we’d be doing this if it were going to turn out that way. If we all do precisely what we’ve been taught, and don’t give in to despair, we’ll win. Maybe not easily, but we’ll win.” He put the side of his index finger under her chin and lifted it higher, then bent down and did something he’d never done – or known how to do – before this moment.

He kissed her gently, tenderly, meaning the gesture with all of his heart. When they separated, they stared in wonder into each other’s eyes.

“I love you, Celeste,” he breathed, sounding somewhat surprised.

“I love you, too,” she answered, her voice trembling a little.

“And I love you both,” wailed Katie. “Aw, crap! Now I need a tissue!”

 

*******

 

The Keeper watched his three charges with some amusement. It was about time the boy acknowledged his feelings for this lovely young lady, and made it okay for her to feel about him the way she did. In one way, it also made what was to come more certain of a positive outcome; the incentive to succeed was now far greater for them both.

So involved were they with each other, that none of them heard the solid footsteps of the Druid warrior as he made his way closer to the hill from his pathway. In fact, it wasn’t until he was standing at the top, his eyes questioning as he gazed at the trio, that Katie finally noticed him.

“Who is that?” she asked the Keeper in what could have been called a stage whisper.

At this, Celeste peered around Cian, and the boy turned to face the newcomer. Upon seeing the young man’s face, Amergin gave a start – he’d been told about his looks, but somehow hadn’t expected them to be this extreme.

“I am Amergin,” the man said in his native Gaelic.

“I am Cian MacDara, and I owe you a debt of gratitude on behalf of my family.” The boy went down on one knee before the man and bowed his head.

Amergin gave him an approving look, highly impressed by the boy’s humility and immediate sense of duty. Not many, even of his own time, had expressed such genuine appreciation for the things he had done for them. And never had he met someone even close to being so insanely handsome who hadn’t become, by this boy’s age, totally engrossed in himself. “Thank you for telling me this, Cian, son of Dara. Please stand.”

The boy got up and faced the Bard.

“As far as I know,” Amergin told him, “no one before has ever earned the right to wield the Sword of Light. In fact, I only know of it through the Keeper, who tells me it is the most powerful weapon ever forged.”

Celeste whispered the interpretation to her friend.

“What about the hydrogen bomb?” Katie asked the Druid, irrepressible despite the solemnity of the situation.

Amergin put his head to one side and regarded her curiously. A female, based on the configuration of her body, but so bold as to speak out like this? He had no idea what she’d been saying, but was impressed – and a little affronted – by her lack of fear. He turned back to Cian. “What did she say? And who is this girl-child to speak so openly to Amergin?”

Cian was sharply reminded of the cultural differences defined by the massive gap of time that separated this man and Katie Grandol. The Celts of Amergin’s time were atypically matriarchal, but their younger women were expected to show as much respect for the Druid elders as the young men. “She asked about a different kind of weapon, one from her own time that is considered the most powerful ever made.” He looked over at her and said in English, “Not the same thing,” then to Amergin, “In her own time and place, women have equal rights as men. In fact, it is considered disrespectful for a man to ignore a woman who is speaking to him, regardless of her age.”

“Really! Oh-ho! Now that is an interesting place, indeed!” He chuckled at the idea, not sure if he liked it, but finding the concept amusing nonetheless. Now he turned his attention to Celeste, who had been furiously whispering the interpretations into Katie’s ear this whole time, while managing simultaneously to tell her friend to shut up.

“And who is this magnificent creature?”

Celeste blushed and fell silent, looking away awkwardly.

“This is Celeste, the one who will play the harp to keep back the rest of the darkness. And – ” he was about to say, “and you can’t have her,” but realized how childish that would sound, so ended the sentence with, “. . .was taught by Celesta.”

The Keeper was certainly no fool, and knew exactly what was going through Cian’s mind. He compressed his lips to keep from chortling; Amergin caught this, and grinned, no fool either.

“It’s all right, boy,” he said, “I’m far too old for something as young and fresh as this one.”

Celeste suddenly wished she didn’t understand Gaelic and wanted to crawl under the Keeper’s rock.

“So!” the Druid continued brightly, still smiling, “shall we trade places, then, Keeper? I’m ready to make some music if you’re ready for some traveling. I still don’t know nearly as many of the Songs as you, but since you seem to think what I do know is sufficient – ” He shrugged. “I trust your judgment on this Croghan.”

The Keeper stood, still strumming as he passed the harp to Amergin, who took up the tune and sat comfortably with a sigh.

“Here’s your Harp.” The Keeper handed the wrapped instrument to Celeste. “It’s actually a great smokescreen for what we’re really about. I’ll explain later.” He gave Amergin a pat on the back, thanked him deeply for his help, and led the three teens from the hill, going in a direction they hadn’t taken before.

They walked for what seemed a very, very long time, but finally stopped at one of the portals defined by its swath of darker grey. Here, he indicated that Cian should cover the sword with his coat and adjust the straps so the hilt would slide down below the level of his collar – it might not look right for him to be carrying something like that on his back where they were going.

When the Keeper caused the grey to go misty and golden, they walked through and found themselves on a hill overlooking a lovely little island. At their backs was a cairn, and the panorama around and below was green and windswept, the water around the island the same dark blue as Celeste’s eyes.

“Where are we?” Katie, delighted, stared wide-eyed at the view.

“The Isle of Iona,” the Keeper told her. “It’s about five o’clock in the afternoon and the same day as when we left your school.”

“So we’re current with our own time?” Celeste pulled an errant red-gold strand of hair away from her eyebrows and tucked