The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) (100 page)

Only he would remember. It would be one more awful memory, just one more, bleeding into all the others.

“No, Mackinnon!” Morrigan stopped an arm’s length away. Her face was transparent, illuminating her terror. She didn’t dare force his hand by grappling with him, but she wanted to. She’d read his thoughts somehow, and knew what he contemplated.

He looked at her then down at the baby, reclining securely in the crook of his left arm.

One slow step at a time she approached, staring at Olivia rather than the yawning drop beyond their feet. Mackinnon put his arm around her shoulders, feeling her icy stiffness and the underlying shudder.

“I know what’s in your heart,” she said. “You want us to die. But so help me, if you harm my child, I will curse you until the end of my days.”

He tilted his head and his brows rose. “Those are words I would be stupid to ignore.” Olivia started whimpering so he removed his arm from Morrigan’s shoulder and brought the baby against his chest, her head near his throat, one hand holding her securely, the other patting her back— exactly as he used to hold Claire and Evie when they fretted. “A curse sent me on this journey. I know better than anyone the power of a woman’s curse.” He was silent for a long moment. Olivia quieted, soothed by his confident embrace, or the vibrations his voice made against her cheek, or both.

He had to do it. Throw the child over. Then, quickly, he must do the same to Morrigan, so the torment of watching her baby hurtle to its death wouldn’t last too long. Then himself. And it would be over… until the next time, if there were a next time.

But his arms remained rigid. They would not move, no matter how he willed it.

He saw himself breaking Aridela’s neck on Crete, thousands of years ago. He heard the snap of her bones. He felt her body slump against him.

He saw his arm lift, the moonlight race along his skin to reflect off the bone knife as it descended, ripping Menoetius from throat to groin.

He saw Eamhair and Cailean trapped on all sides at the edge of the Kyle. He saw Caparina being dragged to the stake. He heard the drunken village men laughing as they swarmed into his house on Barra, his daughters’ childish screams, and he heard the silence that followed, a silence that had filled him with its emptiness ever since.

Harpalycus had played a part in the last three of these atrocities, but he couldn’t blame the prince of Tiryns for the first two. That blood was on his hands.

He couldn’t do it. No matter if he lost everything, even if he lost this woman for all eternity.

He realized, with astonishment, that he didn’t want to harm Curran either. Not this time. He simply… couldn’t.

How interesting. Was that why he was standing here, breathing, next to
her,
alive? Because the Bitch knew him better than he knew himself?

Perhaps there was a reason she was known as the Goddess of Wisdom.

This wasn’t like him. He fought to construct a new plan, like a girl hastily pulling up her clothes after being caught in a compromising position. He would
allow
her to stay with Curran, but she would never quite belong to him. Mackinnon would build such an impenetrable wall around her that Curran would end up bashing himself to bits against it. Her life would be one of contentment, but deep inside, it would be Aodhàn Mackinnon she secretly hungered for. That longing would carry over into death, branding itself into the intangible part of her that never really died.

In the next life, he would fan those banked embers and claim her, forever.

Some small part of him laughed.
You’re justifying your weakness
.

“You mistake me,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt Olivia, or you, Morrigan. Never.”

She said nothing, but her eyes said much.
You’re lying. You’d kill her to make Curran suffer
.

“I’ve had time to think while you’ve been gone,” he said.

Olivia held out her hands to Morrigan and whined.

“Here. It’s you she wants.”

He saw her joy as the baby’s arms fastened around her neck. She gasped. Olivia put her face against Morrigan’s throat and sucked her thumb.

“Thank you,” she said brokenly. “I’m sorry.”

He saw something then that touched his ancient, rotted soul. At first it hurt, as it would if someone put a finger on an open wound, but then warmth spread like healing ointment.

She was
weeping
.

She, who hadn’t shed a tear, according to Seaghan, who’d heard it from Ibby, since she was a small child.

He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “Will you sit with me for a few minutes? Then I’ll go.”

She nodded. He helped her sit, there at the edge of land, as the sun dipped halfway into the sea, flooding the ocean with crimson, blue, and yellow fire.

“I’m not returning to Glenelg,” he said.

She stared into his face. “Why?”

“This is Curran’s time. Olivia’s. I fought it. I’ve always been a selfish man, and I wanted you. I wanted you back. I wanted to recreate the past. But the truth is I owe him— Curran. There’s a debt, a very long, very old debt, and like I told you, we can only go forward.”

“So you’ll leave your home. Your livelihood. Seaghan. Everything you know. Because of me.”

“Because I want you to be happy. Will you ever be happy if I’m there?”

She didn’t answer.

“She speaks to me, you know,” he said. “Sometimes I feel like she wants to forgive. She beckons. Beyond her, everything is bonny. When I have that dream, I know it wasn’t her on Barra. It was the men. Just men. And they are my creation. Mine and other men like me.”

“Oh, Mackinnon. I don’t understand.”

Above them, the sky shifted from blue to purple, and the ocean fell into shadow. The storm was now no more than a faraway bruise on the horizon.

In August, on these isles, this was as dark as it would get all night. He remembered it from his years on Barra.

He felt younger somehow, like his decision had released him from shackles. Words poured out, things he’d been holding in for too long. “I’ll never forget the first time we met. You were Aridela, a young visionary, full of hope and loyalty and courage. The reckless one, the ‘Taker of Chances,’ the firm believer in good. You grew into a wondrous ruler; your spirit and strength triumphed over catastrophe. There was magic in you. The heart of a long line of queens. It runs in your blood still— if I will only step out of the way.”

“Aridela is real? I thought… all my life I thought I’d dreamed her.” Her gaze intensified. “I was Aridela? Like I was Lilith?” She paused. Her voice hitched. “Eamhair?” she asked.

“Aye.”

She waited impatiently. When he remained silent, she finally asked, “There are more, surely, with three thousand years. What of Caparina Naske?”

He knew he hesitated an instant too long. “No, there was no Caparina,” he said. “There were no others.” Inside he reeled. How was she remembering so much outside of his guidance? Was it the influence of Selene and Themiste? Could it be Athene herself?

Quickly, before she could challenge him, he said, “You’re right to choose life. You do tend to make the right choices.”
Defiance,
he thought.
That is what brings us back, over and over. My defiance. If I submit, that’s when it will end. As long as I defy her, I’ll have another chance
.

“I’m ashamed of what I thought earlier,” she said. “I should have known you would never harm someone I love.”

His throat closed, but he managed to say, “I don’t blame you, not after the things I’ve done.”

“I’ve been lost, tired of being certain that no one could ever love me. I was so sure of it that I’ve pushed away everyone who wanted to.”

“You are loved.” He clasped her hand. His jaw clenched so hard it locked, and he had to forcibly release it. “And you will be happy. I promise.”

She stared at him, unblinking, motionless but for the breezes playing through her hair. Olivia made no sound as she gazed from one to the other.

“I’ll always remember our night.” She pulled the crescent moon necklace out from under her collar. The silver glinted, as violet as the sky.

He glanced down at the child. Her eyes were achingly blue, replicas of Curran’s.

“Aodhàn….”

He leaned forward and kissed her, following the command of her mouth, as he’d done for two lifetimes.

Just as he started to forget his resolve, to feel the old fantasy begin to reform, he heard a noise. A scatter of pebbles. He jerked away from her, turning his head sharply, staring behind them.

Curran’s golden head appeared then his torso as he hoisted himself over the incline and joined them on the bare rock.

“Morrigan!” he shouted. He sounded furious, and brandished a revolver.

Aodhàn’s senses plunged into scarlet-black rage. His body exploded like a ball of magma from the summit of a volcano.

Leaping to his feet and emitting a wordless roar, he barreled across the rock and flung himself on his old adversary.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“CURRAN!” MORRIGAN HELD
tight to Olivia as the baby threw out her arms, shrieking.

Mackinnon’s fist smashed into her husband’s jaw before he had time to take in the scene. Curran flew. The gun dropped from his hand, clattering and skidding.

“No!” Morrigan cried. “What are you doing? Stop it, Mackinnon!”

Curran rose and struck, his fist connecting with Mackinnon’s left eye.

Blood spurted from his eyebrow, but Mackinnon instantly reengaged. The two men joined in a ferocious, cursing tangle.

An almost godlike strength seemed to imbue Mackinnon. Swinging both fists together, he cracked Curran’s jaw. Blood spattered over the rock face.

Morrigan didn’t dare go closer, not with Olivia. “Stop!” she screamed again, uselessly. Curran would die. Olivia would witness her father’s murder. Then she and the baby would be at Mackinnon’s mercy. He’d showed regret and compassion before, but this mad rage seemed bestial. She feared it wouldn’t subside until everyone within his reach was dead.

“Curran,” she whispered. “Curran, oh Curran.”

Her husband slid past Mackinnon’s fists long enough to punch him in the stomach. Mackinnon doubled over. Morrigan’s hopes rose, but, overcoming the pain somehow, he lunged, battering Curran’s face and making him stumble. One fist lowered, opened, and chopped sideways into the area of his enemy’s kidney. Curran fell, writhing.

“Help me,” Morrigan cried. “Diorbhail, you said men face a great She when they die. Who is She? Will She help me now?”

This blade can right an ancient wrong
.

Morrigan brought the knife from her pocket. Gloaming light sparkled along the blade.

“I’m a woman,” she said. “I can’t kill.”

She saw Louis shaking his head.
Respect the strength inside you.

What else had he said?
You’ve a bit of Penthesilea in you.

Lifting her gaze from the knife to the men, Morrigan shoved away her terror. Mackinnon was on top of Curran. She heard a horrifying cracking sound, and wondered if it was her husband’s skull.

This be a woman’s resolve! As for men, they may live and be slaves
. Who had shouted that? Ibby, quoting the Celtic queen, Boudicca.

There was that other queen, too. Aridela. Would she be timid, or would she do what was necessary?

I can kill. I
will
kill to save my husband and child. I
am
Penthesilea, Boudicca, Aridela
.

Securing Olivia between her left arm and her body, she ran forward, lifting the blade in her right hand, eyeing a spot halfway down the side of Mackinnon’s ribcage where she meant to bury it.

But at that moment, a desperate thrust of Curran’s knee propelled Mackinnon backward. His arms flailed, striking Morrigan’s arm, and his shoulder struck her in the chest. The knife flew out of her hand as she lost her balance, and all her attention veered to Olivia. She twisted to keep from falling on the baby, and instead landed hard on her right elbow.

Pain erupted. Olivia was wailing; Morrigan sat up, biting off a curse, and attempted to soothe her.

Mackinnon stood, but instead of renewing his attack he stepped away. His hands opened, palms up.

Curran reached for the revolver, grabbed it, and fired, all in one motion. The explosion reverberated, frightening a colony of kittiwakes into screeching flight. The act seemed to take all his remaining will. He collapsed and lay motionless.

Mackinnon staggered. A small spot of blood appeared on his sark, below his ribs, and quickly expanded. He pressed his hand against the wound and looked down at it. Blood seeped over his fingers.

His gaze rose, meeting Morrigan’s, and he smiled.

Then, releasing a stifled groan, he crumpled, so close to the precipice that one out-flung arm dangled in empty space.

* * * *

Olivia sobbed and clung to her mother. Neither man moved.

Morrigan patted the baby and rocked, automatically wiping Olivia’s nose with her sleeve. “You’re fine, jo, my wee jo. You’re no’ hurt.”

Screeches subsided into hiccups. As Olivia calmed, Morrigan rose and crossed to Curran, praying to any deity who would listen to spare him. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath when she placed her hand under his jaw. He had a pulse. It was rapid and shallow, but beating. He was alive. There was blood everywhere, but she didn’t think it was enough to make him die. He was unconscious, and she was glad. For this moment at least, he felt no pain.

“Morrigan.” Mackinnon lifted himself on his elbows.

They lived. Both still lived.

“Morrigan,” he repeated. “Will you speak to me?”

As much as she hated him in this moment, she couldn’t forget those two other children she’d borne. How they were murdered. How that murder and his failure to save them had tortured him these many years. Their names flowed over her tongue like whisky. She could almost see their faces.

“No.” She kept her gaze locked on Curran. Using the edge of her sleeve, she mopped at the blood.

“Please, Morrigan. Let me say goodbye.”

She looked at him then. His face was grey. Sweat dampened his hair and ran down his temples. He clenched his jaw repeatedly, grimacing.