Guardians of the Portals (22 page)

“Caitlin, my dear. You look wonderful!”

Caitlin embraced the frail shoulders. He seemed older, the limp more pronounced. She knew today was the day.

“Would you like to sit on the porch, Eirik? I can have what’s-his-name make us some tea.”

Eirik laughed and took her proffered arm. She led him up the steps and guided him to a comfortable chair.

Caitlin fussed over the tea service, pouring, adding his two lumps of sugar and skimmed milk. She liked hers plain, the slight bitter taste appealing.

“So what is the news that brings you all the way into the wilderness, Uncle?” She had taken to calling him ‘uncle’ to his everlasting delight. He beamed at her and winked.

“Bright. And sassy, as always.” He took a sip and put the mug down on a small table separating the cushioned chairs. “I do have a reason for making the trip. And, I’m afraid, what I have to say is of the good news, bad news variety.”

Caitlin chewed on her lower lip. “My father?”

“It’s not what you think. He is actually quite well. And he is free. He has apparently thrown his lot in with Greyfalcon. He seems to be working with a small team composed of,” Eirik faltered, unsure how to tell her the next bit, “uh, your brother and another.”

“Another.” Caitlin’s voice was flat, emotionless. She knew but she wanted to hear the words. It would make her decision that much easier.

“I can see you’ve already guessed. Trey. They are involved in certain of Gunnarr’s business interests.”

She spat out, “Arms.”

“We believe so.”

Caitlin rose and walked to the railing and leaned over, studying the carpet of russet leaves, thin and dried, so like her soul. It was time.

“I’m ready.”

“Are you sure? I’ve hesitated to ask but we think they are using the Portals to ship the arms undetected. As you know, this violates everything we believe in. You are the only one who knows the principals so intimately. We need your insights. And your special gifts.”

“Agreed.”

“So easily. Are you sure? Say the word and I will never mention it again.”

Caitlin smiled. “There’s only one reason my father has decided to work with Greyfalcon again. He has a plan. And that plan is to get my brother out of their clutches. I promise you, Uncle. I will figure out that plan and we will help him carry it out.”

“Where are you going?” Eirik watched Catlin walk toward the door. She looked over her shoulder and gave him a feral sneer.

“I’m just going to practice, Uncle.”

“Practice?”

“...taking out the trash.”

Caitlin walked up the narrow stairs to her bedroom. She threw a few items in a duffel bag and looked around the cheerful room. This time she would know her opponent. That gave her an edge, sharp like the fractured surface of her heart. She exited the bedroom, finally feeling at ease and no longer alone. She had a companion for this journey, this time one of her own choosing. They would get to know each other well and she would call him by his name...

Revenge
.

~~~~

BOOK TWO

WOLF

––––––––

Betrayed at every turn, Caitlin turns to the Althings as her last hope to revenge

the wrongs done to her family.

Wolf is the Captain who safeguards the woman from those who would use her

for their own ends.

Two men, enemies and competitors, lay claim to Caitlin’s heart and soul.

With Revenge lurking close, who will she choose?

––––––––

"T
ry again, dear." Eirik tapped the woman's wrist but she jerked it away, annoyed.

"It isn't working today, Uncle. I know the marks are gone but something's wrong. It's inside."

"Caitlin O'Brien, listen to me. There's nothing inside, you are fully healed. It's all in your head." Eirik pushed away from the metal table and reached for his cane. Though he missed his homeland of perpetual ice and snow, the damp New England winters still wreaked havoc with old bones. He limped to the window and fingered the sheer curtain that filtered weak rays reflected off a crystalline canopy.

The elder muttered, "Looks like more snow coming." He turned to Caitlin, willing to distract her with her favorite exercise, a mutual enjoyment they'd learned to savor as winter's grip tightened on their Green Mountain retreat. "Why don't we give it a rest today? I have a surprise for you. I wanted to save it for later, but perhaps now is a good time."

Caitlin kept her eyes on her clenched fists, pressed into the unforgiving metal surface, the base of her palms whitening with the strain as the blood flow cut off. As instructed she willed the changes, small in comparison to everything else she'd learned to control, but her errant body resisted this one last request. He tried not to let her see his frustration, mirroring her own.

Biting his tongue, he cast the mental image, using supreme control to penetrate her resistance.
Drain your thoughts, girl. Blank your mind. Go beyond the obvious, peel the layers back, easy, soft. Inner space, inner peace.

He'd intended the mantra to echo and resound in her head, to direct her thoughts and energies. His hidden voice disrupted her focus instead of allowing the shift to flow. She grimaced and whispered, “Damn,” on expelled breath, emptying her lungs as her shoulders slumped once more in resignation. She visibly shivered as a chill breeze swept the backs of their necks. Her caretaker had returned.

"Come, my dear. Let's sit by the fire. I think both of us could use a spot of warmth."

He wandered toward the grouping of love seats and deeply cushioned recliners clustered about a Vermont wood stove. Sinking into his favorite seat, he pulled a fleece throw over his legs and sighed with contentment. These last months had been difficult, his people under siege, and his legendary patience tested to its limits. He'd put plans into place, safeguards against intrusion, but their resources dwindled and he felt the reins slipping from his grip. He needed Caitlin. He needed her gift if they were to survive.

Caitlin murmured, “Uncle,” once more, a small smile tilting her thin lips upward for a fleeting instant. It was a small endearment he much enjoyed though in fact he was no relation at all, but more a trusted friend and advisor, a mentor of sorts and her salvation when all had seemed lost. Her words, not his. In truth his meddling, and that of his brother, Gunnarr, had contributed to the quagmire of competing interests that haunted them at every turn. She bent down and brushed her lips across his thinning steel gray hair—and smiled as he unconsciously hunched his shoulders and leaned in for the touch. He had not anticipated the flutter of affection, both of them shy and still hesitant to fully breach the wall of distrust she'd constructed.

"I don't seem to be making much progress." Ruefulness and a hint of anger made her words brittle and sharp.

"Nonsense, my girl, these things take time and you are still recovering your strength." Waving her toward the couch, he continued, "Perhaps we should try a different approach." He couldn't help smiling as her face brightened. "Something that will help you understand the importance of what we do."

It was such a small thing, this sharing of memories, but it grounded her in ways he could not explain. She curled up on the loveseat set at ninety degrees to the recliner and stared into the fire through the glass plate on the front of the stove.

"Should I get what's-his-name to bring in more wood, Uncle?" She and the man who tended to her every need, indulged her every whim, carried between them an uneasy truce that even his negotiating skills failed to breech. At his nod of assent, she called out, "We need wood. And tea."

He frowned with displeasure at Caitlin, but it did little good. He had no idea why she refused even the simplest of courtesies to his, and her, assistant. It wasn't that she disliked the man—she'd said as much—but her disdain and disregard seemed to stem from some deep-seated antagonism directed to all who guarded her from unwanted incursions from the outside world. It was a puzzle, but only one among many.

"Before you settle, bring the holo-table over. We can continue your education in comfort today." He watched her drag the wood folding table to the center of the grouping. She fussed over the projector, aligning it with compulsive precision.

He reminded her, "Don't forget the remote."

Grinning, she mouthed 'slacker', as he deftly caught the device that she flipped onto his lap.

He watched her bend over and plug the unit into a recessed socket in the pine flooring, marveling that after weeks of intense rehabilitation and near force-feeding by her attendant, she'd finally picked up enough weight that the scientists could pencil in 'thin' rather than 'emaciated' in their weekly reports. She moved aside grudgingly as the attendant sidled past her to dump the armload of logs into the hamper to the right of the stove. She flicked a thumb toward the small kitchen, an imperious gesture, as she bent her head toward the table, missing the clenched jaw and spark of anger on the man's face.

Eirik liked to think he'd selected Liuthr for his warrior prowess and stoicism, but in truth he was the last man available who did not look at all like Trey. His nephew—her captor and former lover—would remain an issue for another day.

Liuthr's name meant 'shield wolf' in Old Norse, their mother tongue—apt, for the man was canny and tenacious, with legendary talent as a tracker. His men called him 'Wolf'—and all had sworn a blood oath to follow him to the hereafter. It was a measure of the woman's importance to their survival that Wolf had agreed to the demeaning assignment. Eirik gave his captain a nod of thanks and dismissed him with quick gesture.

That Caitlin suffered from post-traumatic stress syndrome did not require advanced psychiatric training. She'd internalized her experiences during those endless weeks in an alien environment, trapped, alone, and abused physically and emotionally. It had taken little nudging on his part to send her over the edge such that the care and feeding of her intense hatred for Trey required no input from him.

Eirik still found it difficult to believe his nephew capable of such abuse—his healers had called it 'torture'—but the evidence was irrefutable. Broken bones, scarring and soft tissue damage in a recurring cycle of healing and cruel mistreatment attested to Trey's reputation as a demon, a devil, amongst his peers. When Trey threw his lot in with the Althing, eschewing his clan and his heritage, Eirik had hoped to tap into the boy's more sensitive side, the one his father and siblings had systematically bludgeoned to a bloody pulp on the fields of battle. Despite his best efforts, he could never overcome the youngster's harsh upbringing, nor could he ever completely trust that Trey's loyalty would remain with the Althing indefinitely. So he'd elevated the young man to second-in-command to keep him close and assigned him to the task of enforcer. He'd executed his assignments dispassionately and efficiently. And enemies and colleagues alike still called him the 'warrior without a soul'.

Eirik twisted in the chair, annoyed that his brain seemed lost in an endless loop, reliving events over which he'd had little or no control. Perhaps today's lesson would help both of them resolve some of the issues. They needed clarity and focus. They needed Caitlin's talents.

****

W
olf paced about the U-shaped kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. Idly he wondered if they should have gotten another delivery of propane for the stove and auxiliary heaters before the weather turned foul once again. He was unaccustomed to mulling over such mundane details. That was Orri's job and he knew his man would be laughing his ass off if he could see his captain struggling with matters of provisioning and preparing meals. When this assignment concluded, he would need a show of strength to reposition himself in his men's eyes. Though isolated from all but his charge and the occasional visit from Eirik or one of the scientists, rumors managed to circulate. What had seemed a temporary inconvenience now dragged into its seventh week, purgatory morphing into his version of hell.

The kettle's shriek jolted him awake. He flipped the knob to
off
and removed the pot to a trivet on the counter. Gathering his thoughts, he concentrated on the ritual, slipping into a meditative state. He poured a small amount of boiling water into a ceramic teapot, swirling to coat the inside surface and dumping it out. Black tea leaves, measured by feel, feathered into the warmed pot. Carefully pouring the boiling hot water onto the leaves, he gauged the amount of liquid by practiced eye, and set the kettle aside. While the tea steeped, he arranged two mugs, the strainer, a ceramic holder with sugar and sweetener in glassine packets, along with a pitcher of skim milk, onto a tray. He added two spoons and the teapot, then reached for the bag of pastries. His Gothi had a sweet tooth though the woman seldom indulged.

Thinking of his charge nearly derailed the sense of contentment the ritual usually infused into his troubled spirit. A Japanese-American girl had taught him the virtues of ceremony and adherence to tradition in maintaining balance, amongst other things. Gods, it seemed centuries since he'd found comfort in a woman's arms. When this was over...

Wolf carried the heavily laden tray into the sitting area and laid it on a narrow pine table set against the wall. He'd refinished the piece, working late into the night in the basement of the log cabin, relishing the feel of the wood as it carried away his resentment and disquieting thoughts. He'd been a carver of some renown in his younger days, long before his clan directed him to more necessary tasks. He still indulged during the frequent downtimes, creating small totems for his men to carry into a conflict, for luck or as offerings to Freyja if their bloodied, spent spirits were called home.

The woman and his Gothi chatted quietly as the hologram spun lazily over the small table. They'd adjusted it to an intimate setting, one quarter size, but still surprisingly three-dimensional. He loved technology—the gadgets and tools, the weaponry, and especially the communication devices that gave him almost instant access to a world of ideas and opportunities. Rather than disturb their absorption in the slowly rotating frames, Wolf remained at the side board and poured the tea into the mugs, adding sugar and skimmed milk to Eirik's but leaving the woman's plain. She claimed to like the bitter tang—'bitter' being a fitting description of her personality. He carried the mugs to the end tables, set them on cork coasters and backed away.