BRENNUS LET OUT a whistle that pierced the din of the warriors and giants fighting. From the forest more Skaraven rode into the clearing, each seizing one of their clansmen and riding back to the edge. When Althea saw Taran disperse all the horses into the woods she signaled to her husband, who whistled a second time.

Ruadri strode into the clearing, removed his tartan, and brought his forearms together in front of him. “Eyes,” he shouted.

All the Skaraven turned their faces away and squeezed their eyes shut as the shaman used his moon power. She felt the cool wave scatter over her but kept her eyelids closed.

“Clear,” Ruadri called.

Althea sighed with relief as she looked at what the shaman had done. The giants tried to follow the Skaraven, but now blinded by Ru’s power they staggered and fell over the bodies of the ruined totems. That was when the enormous wall of water smashed through the clearing. The massive deluge swept over the giants, who became almost instantly immobilized by their rooting feet.

Cadeyrn rode forward with Lilly sitting pillion behind him.

Althea nodded at her. Everything depended on their coordination. The chef nodded back.

“Now,” Brennus ordered.

As Lily directed the flow of the already receding flood, Althea knelt by the nearest stream. With a quick check to see that Rowan and Bhaltair were on dry land, she touched the water’s surface.

The air around her grew bitterly cold as she poured her power into the churning flood. Frosty streaks raced from her fingers through the water, solidifying it into thick gray ice. Everything it touched froze as well, including every giant, Hendry and Murdina.

Their youthful illusions gone now, the mad druidess shrieked and tugged furiously at her ice-encased legs while Hendry closed his sightless eyes and silently moved his lips. Althea shot a quick look at Bhaltair and, to her relief, saw that he had already cast his spell.

Where his palms pressed to the ground, a whirling black circle spread forward and opened under the ice. The air filled with the tortured sound of fracturing frozen water. It buckled inward and down as the vortex beneath it widened. Althea watched as the entire clearing slowly began to revolve. What remained of the wooden totems and the famhairean tilted at impossible angles as their frozen blocks crashed together, circling and tilting toward the center.

Murdina and Hendry swept by, arms flailing in the air, as the first sheets of ice began to drop into the yawning abyss. One by one the giants plunged into the nothingness. The vortex whirled faster, pulling everything toward the center. Althea brushed her windswept hair from her face and instinctively backed away until she felt Brennus’s arm slip around her waist.

Bhaltair’s robes whipped in the rising wind, but he knelt with his hands to the ground, unmoving. The cacophony of screeches from the murderous tribe joined the wailing of the whirling gale. Althea covered her ears but couldn’t take her eyes from the surreal sight.

In one great, final whoosh, the abyss widened only long enough for gravity to do its work, and then it was gone. The clearing was empty.

At the sudden absence of the whirlwind, Althea took a steadying half-step as did every other clan member. The only thing that remained of the abyss was a muddy depression. Up above, the angry red haze was gone. Instead the dusky blue sky of evening stretched over them.

Althea caught her breath as a cascade of amber and red lights rose up above the clearing.

Ruadri and Emeline moved up to join their chieftain and Althea, and the nurse made a low, soft sound of surprise.

“Never tell me the famhairean escaped it,” Brennus said.

“No, Chieftain, ’tis the souls of the Wood Dream tribe,” the shaman said to Brennus. “And those of the Roman soldiers. We saw them being taken by the totems during the massacre.”

“Please don’t ask us to describe that,” his mate added, shuddering.

“They must have been trapped inside the giants all this time,” Althea said. “It would explain why they were so crazy. They had three personalities, and they all killed each other.”

The nurse nodded as she watched the lights rise, grow more transparent, and finally disappear. “I’m glad they’ve been set free.”

Brennus turned to face his men, and lifted his fist into the air. “Bràithrean an fhithich.”

Althea felt her heart swell as the Skaraven answered him with the same words, shouted so loudly that they echoed on and on around them. It was their call to arms, Brethren of the raven, but in this moment, it served as their victory cry.

It was finally over, and the Skaraven had won.

But another shout came from the center of the clearing, one that tore through Althea as she saw Taran running toward a swatch of green huddled on a patch of red ground.

“Rowan.”

* * *

Taran reached her before the old druid, the horse master’s knees ramming into the sodden earth beside her.

“Rowan,” he said, louder, as he grasped her shoulders. He turned her over to see the dagger fall from her limp, bloodstained hand. “No.”

Her white face looked so peaceful she might have been asleep. But his hand shook as he touched the wound she’d made just below her heart. The blood must have poured from her to pool before the altar, and she’d never made a single sound.

Bhaltair knelt heavily beside him but Taran didn’t look at him. Instead he gently stroked the side of Rowan’s face. Keeping the famhairean from interfering with her and the old druid had required all of his strength and speed. He had not once been able to look behind him to see her.

“Hendry took the goat’s blood from her, lad,” Bhaltair told him. “He wished her to sacrifice me. In the confusion I saw the blood on the ground, but I reckoned she’d taken back the crock. Gods.” He swiped at his eyes. “I couldnae have opened the portal without the spell being sealed. She’s…’twas…a very brave lass.”

Taran felt his clan gathering around him as he held Rowan cradled against his chest. He heard the old druid tell them of what she’d done to assure they would defeat the mad druids and their famhairean. He looked up from her face only when Brennus touched his shoulder.

“Your ring may bring her back to us, lad,” the chieftain said. “Surely the Gods would reward her for this.”

“My ring’s lost,” Taran said, his voice choked. He touched her cheek. “’Twas taken from me by Ochd.”

There were angry murmurs from the clan and one of the women began to quietly weep.

Like the abyss that had taken the murderous tribe, Taran felt a hole open in his chest, and yet the ache wasn’t unbearable. It was familiar. How many centuries had he waited for her? How many would he wait again?

A boot appeared on the ground next to Bhaltair and Taran looked up through blurry eyes. Manath looked down at Rowan and took the clan ring from his finger. Without a word he placed it on the ground within Taran’s reach. One by one all the Skaraven moved to do the same, each man removing his clan ring and placing it by Rowan.

Soon the ground around her body gleamed with carved raven rings.

The dark lass that no Skaraven had wanted now might have had her pick of the entire clan. Taran only wished she could see this final tribute.

Althea knelt down beside him to take hold of Rowan’s hand.

“Just so we’re clear, Fight Club, I don’t want you as a mate,” she told the dark lass. “Got one of those. I only want you back.” From her own finger she removed Brennus’s clan ring, and placed it in the dark lass’s palm. “Please come back to us, Rowan.”

“Come on, love,” Lily whispered, as she did the same. “Don’t give up.”

Emeline gripped Taran’s shoulder and he felt her try to ease his sorrow as she silently laid her ring next to the others.

Perrin wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and quietly sniffed. With trembling fingers she removed her ring and placed it in Rowan’s palm with the three others. Tenderly, she closed her sister’s fingers over them.

“Please, Ro,” she said in a quaking voice. “You can’t leave me now.”

But as she and the other ladies looked on, nothing changed. Rowan remained still and unmoving. Perrin began to sob.

Slowly Taran bent over his soul-mate. “Rowan,” he murmured as he kissed her brow. “I’ll find you again. Wait for me.”

But as his tears fell onto her face, he felt the ground under them shifting as green grasses pushed up through the once barren soil. They speared the clan’s rings, which began to glow along with the rings in Rowan’s hand. Sunlight poured down in a sparkling shower as a wave of green swept through the clearing, covering it with soft grass and wildflowers. The trees came to life and put out leaves. Birds flew over them, chattering and singing, while a herd of red deer wandered out from the forest. So much life appeared that Taran wondered if winter would ever return, but he suspected this was also Rowan’s doing.

“From death comes life,” Emeline said softly.

“Stick with life,” a hoarse but familiar voice told her. “Death sucks.”

Taran looked down into his lady’s open eyes, and watched as her hair began to grow out over his arm. Her pale face filled with a soft radiance as she returned his gaze. Then she glanced around at all the clan rings.

“Looks like you’ve got some competition.” She handed the four rings in her palm to the botanist. “Sorry, ladies. You’re cute, but girls are not my thing.” She looked up at the horse master. “He is.”

Taran drew her to her feet, hardly knowing what to think. “Did you do this, Rowan?”

“No,” she said and held out her other hand. In it was his clan ring. “You did.”

He couldn’t believe she had it. “How?”

“Ochd shoved this in my hand just before Hendry destroyed him.” She smiled sadly and sighed. “In the end I think he really did love me.”

Taran took the ring, and placed it on her finger. As the clan cheered he kissed her, with all the love that had spanned the dozens of incarnations they had shared.

“Well, that was refreshing,” Althea said to Brennus. At his curious look she added, “She came back. That girl never does what I ask her to.”