Morrigan's Cross (Circle Trilogy 1)

He slid off the horse, bowed. “My lady.”

“Child. You have been ill.”

“A fever, broken now. Did you send the witch to me?”

“There’s no need to send what will come on its own. You’ll find her again, and the others.”

“My brother.”

“He is first. The light will go soon. Here is the key to the portal.” She opened her hand and offered a small crystal wand. “Keep it with you, keep it safe and whole.” When he started to remount, she shook her head, took the reins. “No, you must go on foot. Your horse will get safely back home.”

Resigned to the whimsy of gods, he took his case, his bag. He strapped on his sword, hefted his staff.

“How will I find him?”

“Through the portal, into the world yet to come. Into the Dance, lift the key, say the words. Your destiny lies beyond. Humankind is in your hands, from this point forward. Through the portal,” she repeated. “Into the world yet to come. Into the Dance, lift the key, say the words. Through the portal…”

Her voice followed him in, between the great stones. He locked his fear inside him. If he’d been born for this, so be it. Life was long, he knew. It simply came in short bursts.

He lifted the stone. A single beam of light speared out of those thick clouds to strike its tip. Power shot down his arm like an arrow.

“Worlds wait. Time flows. Gods watch.”

“Repeat,” Morrigan told him, and joined him so that the words became a chant.

“Worlds wait. Time flows. Gods watch.”

The air shook around him, came alive with wind, with light, with sound. The crystal in his uplifted hand shone like the sun and sang like a siren.

He heard his own voice come out in a roar, shouting the words now as if in challenge.

And so he flew. Through light and wind and sound. Beyond stars and moons and planets. Over water that made his sorcerer’s belly roil with nausea. Faster, until the light was blinding, the sounds deafening and the wind so fierce he wondered it didn’t flay the skin from his bones.

Then the light went dim, the wind died, and the world was silent.

He leaned on his staff, catching his breath, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the change of light. He smelled something—leather, he thought, and roses.

He was in a room of some sort, he realized, but like nothing he’d ever seen. It was fantastically furnished with long, low chairs in deep colors, and cloth for a floor. Paintings adorned some of the walls, and others were lined with books. Dozens of books bound in leather.

He stepped forward, charmed, when a movement to his left stopped him cold.

His brother sat behind some sort of table, where the lamp that lit the room glowed strangely. His hair was shorter than it had been, shorn to the jawline. His eyes were vivid with what seemed to be amusement.

In his hand was some sort of metal tool, which instinct told Hoyt was a weapon.

Cian pointed it at his brother’s heart and tipped back in the chair, dropping his feet on the surface of the table. He smiled, broadly, and said, “Well now, look what the cat dragged in.”

With some confusion, Hoyt frowned, scanning the room for the cat. “Do you know me?” Hoyt stepped forward, farther into the light. “It’s Hoyt. It’s your brother. I’ve come to…”

“Kill me? Too late. Already long dead. Why don’t you just stay where you are for the moment. I see quite well in low light. You’re looking…well, fairly ridiculous really. But I’m impressed nonetheless. How long did it take you to perfect time travel?”

“I…” Coming through the portal might have addled his brains, he thought. Or it might be simply seeing his dead brother, looking very much alive. “Cian.”

“I’m not using that name these days. It’s Cain, right at the moment. One syllable. Take off the cloak, Hoyt, and let’s have a look at what’s under it.”

“You’re a vampyre.”

“I am, yes, certainly. The cloak, Hoyt.”