Keira Ramsay Works in Progress
Breath of Heaven: Omega Five: Tallie Ho!
Breath of Heaven -- Interlude Four of the RuneQuest
Prologue
I am Rhiannon, Moira of the Clan, keeper of the fates, champion of the Fae.
Of late I have been stymied. We successfully recovered the runes of Fate and Domain, but Fiona-Sidhe, the half-fae lost to us thirty years ago, holds both us and the despised pixies hostage to her whim.
Oh, what we could have done with the rune of Inspiration. Our talented young might have discovered unknown depths to their creativity. Our elders might have taken the opportunity to escape the political and philosophical trenches they have built for themselves. And me, well, I might have finally found an alternative to the mantle of leadership I donned just ten years ago.
I have continued the past Moira’s traditions of leadership through example, but it has been harder than I ever would have thought. If only my predecessor had not been called to the Upper Realm so early, so suddenly. There is much he would have, should have, passed on to me. But instead, the very reason I’ve spent a decade in search of the runes is shrouded in mystery. I do it only because I know I must.
And now all that effort is for naught, unless Fiona-Sidhe begins to trust her brethren. I admit, her distrust is solely my doing. I have become so accustomed to unquestioned servitude, it never occurred to me she would be different. That she wouldn’t recover the rune for us and return to the Realm, grateful to return to her long-lost family.
But I was wrong. I have heard, through my long-time friend and fire-fae Aidan, that the pixie Liam attempted to wrest it from her by force, causing her great pain in the process. If nothing else, at least she despises them more than us.
If I can, I will use that hatred to my advantage, for the pixies are nothing more than craven murderers, something I have seen with my own eyes more than once. Violence such as that has made me who I am, thrust me into a position of leadership I’ve begun to disdain.
And now, now the pixies and the backstabbing Jionagh nibble at us from all fronts, eroding the stability the two found runes should have cemented.
I fear the last rune, that of Stewardship, will remain lost to us forever, and prove once and for all to my naysayers that my leadership has been all they allege…fickle and ineffective.
I am Moira, and under my leadership, the Fae will be made whole again. It is my calling, my fate, my destiny. Or so I have claimed.
To this point I have begun each narrative by stating that this is not my story, but today, as I pen this, I fear that it is.
Chapter One
Rhiannon tucked a silvery strand of hair behind her ear and concentrated on the runes cast before her. Even with the recently discovered runes of Fate and Domain, the picture of what would happen tomorrow, or even today, was still shrouded in mist.
She swore under her breath, a very un-Moira curse, if she did say so herself. If only she hadn’t alienated Fiona-Sidhe. If only she’d remembered that the rune must be freely given, instead of wrenched from the grasp of its finder. But ‘if onlys’ wouldn’t get them anywhere, not today, and not any time in the foreseeable future.
She stood, lamenting the low ache in her back even though she was in True form, earned from too many hours in the kneeling position as she threw cast after useless cast. She was so tired of being responsible for the health and safety of the Realm, of putting the needs of the Fae over herself, over the wants and needs she had as a young woman, or at least a young woman by fae standards. She’d even given up her last name, O'Malley, when she’d assumed the title of Moira.
But as with her recriminations just moments ago, bemoaning her station wouldn’t change anything. Things were the way they should be, as shown by her casting of the runes prior to Fiona-Sidhe’s appearance.
And now she must appear strong, invincible, for the Council meeting set to convene in just a few short moments. She dreaded the politics, the backbiting, the court politics the Council was steeped in, had been steeped in since their formation two centuries before, when the runes were first lost.
There had been an outcry when she was raised to Moira at the tender age of fifty. Many of the Elders were considerably older, more experienced, better suited. The arguments had been often and loud. But the cast of the incomplete set of runes had declared her ascension, and no one could really argue with that.
Today she knew the focus of their “discussion” would be her inability to wrest the rune of Inspiration from Fiona-Sidhe, never mind the fact her leadership had been instrumental in recovering the other two missing stones. All of the Elders knew the runes had to be freely given, but they would conveniently forget that during her oh-so-subtle lambasting.
She’d elected to keep Fiona’s mixed parentage a secret. It was a calculated risk, but one she’d take to minimize the further strife sure to accompany such a revelation.
Except for Chloe-Sidhe, the Earth Elder who spent six months in the Realm and six months in the Outer World with her Shaman husband, the Fae never intermixed with the pixies. Chloe had paid dearly for that indiscretion, losing her sister and her self-respect in the process.
Their enemy held their own little piece of the Realm, carved out of two hundred years of anguish and bloodshed. But the fae had held fast since her ascension, using complicated weaves of earth, air, water and fire to stop the murdering sprites in their tracks. Their enemies used their affinity with the arts and their manipulative natures to acquire what they couldn’t through pure violence. It was a combination that had worked all too well, and left a rancid taste in her mouth.
As Rhiannon thought of the hated pixies, her mind drifted to her recent encounter with the second of their kind she’d ever seen. Liam. His stunning face had haunted her since their showdown on the Oregon beach, and it angered her that she had allowed him to capture her thoughts, even if those thoughts began subconsciously.
The pixie called to her on an elemental level, plucking at every string within her that made her a woman. And even if it was a harmless obsession, it still chafed that her iron self-control seemed to disappear like mists on the wind whenever she thought of him.
Life as the Moira was lonely, yes. If she had to count her friends, they would sum up in two. Aidan Hughes, of the Salamander Clan, and in an unlikely twist of fate, Chloe St. James, the Earth Elder.
As Moira, she couldn’t even indulge in a casual liaison, lest it be used against her. Unless, of course, she left the Realm and consorted with a human. But she never left the Realm unless it was to attend to a call of duty, so any sexual satisfaction she’d gained over the last ten years had been by her own hand.
Oh, how she missed the touch of a man, the sensation of callused fingertips gliding over her skin, plucking and tormenting and teasing. And now, with the appearance of the pixie in her subconscious and dreams, those hands now had a face associated with them.
It was shameful, in essence consorting with the enemy, and she hated that her thoughts took her to him more often than not. When her fingers cruised the familiar curves of her body, it was his eyes she saw burning into hers with sensual, decadent intent.
She flicked her wings in annoyance, collected her thoughts and pushed through the door that connected her living quarters to the Council chamber, the sacred box holding the runes tucked under her arm. Let the games begin.
*
“Under Rhiannon’s leadership,” the sitting Earth Elder in the scheduled absence of Chloe Saint James, Ciar, intoned, her words dry with disdain, “the Jionagh have evolved from a nuisance into an outright threat. Never mind the fact that the pixies still hold ground in the west. Ground that is rightfully ours.”
Rhiannon held her head high. “I see we’re revisiting old ground here, Elder. You know as well as I that this was foretold before the recovery of the two runes.”
“Recovery implies some action on our part, Moira,” Ciar sneered, now openly hostile as she ignored Rhiannon’s point. “They fell into our laps. We have ‘recovered’ only a child who is of no assistance and a pixie whose brain is so damaged he can barely speak his own name. The one rune we might have gained through action now sits with a fae who refuses to enter the Realm, who disobeys your direct order to return. Your decision-making skills leave something to be desired.”
Rhiannon stiffened. Ciar had been a thorn in her side for the last decade, always sniping, exploiting perceived weaknesses. It had simply been worse, of late. And as before, there was only one way to shut her up. “As always, your candor is appreciated, Elder, if uninformed. Shall we repeat what we have so oft in the past, a casting to determine leadership?”
“Nay,” Donough, the Air Elder, and Rhiannon’s staunchest ally, stated firmly. “The cast will read as it always does when Ciar puts us through this useless exercise. Rhiannon is the fated Moira and her word will be law.”
“For once, I find myself agreeing with Ciar.” Seamus, the Water Elder, spoke, his voice in modulated tones. “In this case we must be sure. The Jionagh are like termites, eating away at our very foundation. Both they and pixies must be stopped, if we are to retain the Realm and safeguard humanity.”
Rhiannon nodded in deferment. Seamus’ quiet support of Ciar left her unsettled. The water sprite had always straddled the fence, usually acting as the voice of reason when tempers grew hot and voices raised. For him to question her leadership now…
As always, Cullen, the Fire Elder, sat silent and stoic in his corner of the room, his eyes quietly assessing the tableau before him. His was always the hardest mind to change once made.
She spread a blood-red silken cloth on the table, then bowed her head over the box containing the runes. “Oh Mother Earth, hear my plea, combine together the power of earth and air and fire and sea, give to us, our future bold, from runes together, knowledge old.” She opened the box and cast the stones onto the cloth, closing her eyes as they fell with a thump predetermined by fate.
It was Ciar’s grunt of satisfaction that made her open her eyes, and because of it, she wasn’t so surprised to see what the stones foretold. Her fall from grace.
Prologue
She looked out over what had once been a thriving city, unable to believe the destruction she saw. It unfolded before her eyes, a war-ravaged landscape no longer peopled by the beautiful, the affluent. Now Los Angeles lay in ruins, the dregs of society living off the remnants of civilization, one scanty meal to the next.
Peri Johnson stood on what had been the mountain overlooking the Hollywood sign, not quite believing this was the teeming city she’d left just five years before. The sun reflecting off her aviator’s Ray Bans and the trim, expensive cut of her blue flight suit seemed to mock the devastation and poverty laid out before her. Shaking her head slowly, she tried to take it all in, absorb the impact, but her eyes kept straying, almost as if ordered, to the crooked “D” seventy-five feet below. It was all that was left of Hollywood; all that remained of the glitz and glamour of the movie capitol of the world.
They’d seen the news reports broadcast to the space station, but none of the colonists had really believed it, and it wasn’t exactly something you wanted to dwell on. Granted, they knew a temblor had hit Southern California, and it was reportedly a bad one. But the news coming from planet-side had become increasingly hysterical over the past year, even more hyped than usual, so they’d pawned the utter destruction displayed on their personal viewpads to be a shameless grab at ratings, then turned back to their training. The fact that none of them had ties to their mother world any longer had taken the guilt out of their group indifference quite nicely.
Now they could be blind no longer. Omega Five had returned to Earth, its training complete, its inhabitants enhanced to the nth degree by low-gravity living, nano-tech implants and the innumerable scientific benefits of living and working in a world void of virtually all stimuli. There had been no ticker-tape parades, no blinking wall of vacuous cameras. Their return had ceased being newsworthy as cities across the world began to disintegrate, from the LAs of the world, with its natural catastrophe, to the Detroits and their utter collapse from the inside out.
Now they were back, here to complete a mission they’d never really believed. Not really. But how could they? Being back on Earth was almost too much. Not the devastation, the Fivers could view that with a dispassionate, scientific eye. No, it was the colors, the smells, the tastes that wafted through the wind and danced on the tongue. There was too much to see, too much to do.
Peri longed to flee back to the comforting confines of Edwards Space Command, nestled in the dry, desolate scrublands of the high desert. Protected. Unchanged. She wanted the bland, the dun-colored, the metallic tasting again. She wanted the company of her fellow Fivers, with their witty humor and reference-ridden repartee.
It was not to be so. Each of the Fivers, all fifty-three of them, had been dispatched to their home city, their mission now more timely than ever. Their implants would keep them in touch with their handlers and with the other fifty-two of their clan. They would find suitable mates, reproduce, and begin to populate the world with strong, intelligent progeny--and in doing so, repair the ills of the world. Five years ago, it had seemed a noble goal, something attainable, if a bit imperialistic. Now, looking down at the carnage of her beloved Los Angeles, Peri wasn’t so sure.
With one last look and a tiny shudder, Peri began to walk down the hill, heading toward her future--and the future of the world.
Air Force flight surgeon Tallie Cavanaugh is going home to Oklahoma—but only under duress. Her best friend has signed her up to speak at the local base’s graduation ceremony--without her knowledge. As a decorated veteran of several campaigns, she’ll do it for the Air Force, but going home means putting up with the pomp and circumstance she’s always despised.
When a mid-air collision between two jets calls Tallie’s skills into action, she meets up with the one man she hasn’t been able to forget…fire chief Connor Jackson.
Connor knows all about Tallie’s career, hell, he and every other person in their small town have followed her achievements. Fifteen years have passed since he’s seen her, and for most of those years he’s been able to forget all about her…the way her mouth tasted on a hot May night, but he’s avoided seeing her until now because of the memory of what one little kiss had done to him all those years ago…
Chapter One
Lieutenant Colonel Tallie Cavanaugh strode into Deke’s Tavern, sure of only one thing—she was going to kill Malone. She bellied up to the bar, not caring that she was still wearing her flight suit, only concerned with getting her hands around her fellow surgeon’s neck.
“Where is he hiding, Deke?”
“Now Doc, you know I can’t give him up when you have every intention of breaking your Hippocratic Oath.”
“Jesus Deke, you’ve gotta remember to leave the day job at the college. C’mon, just tell me where he’s at. I promise not to hurt him…that badly.”
Deke laughed. He was more than a bartender, he was a retired C-130 pilot who’d been there and done that in Vietnam and now taught English Composition at the local university. “Hell Tallie, it’s not that big a deal, is it? All you’ve gotta do is bore a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears lieutenants and their parents for half an hour and eat some overcooked chicken at the O-Club.”
Tallie dropped her head in her hands and groaned inwardly. How in the hell her best friend could have set her up her like this was a mystery.
“It’s not so much the speaking part as it is facing the town fathers and the women’s auxiliary. Last time I was home they almost gave me the key to the freakin’ city…ergo, I don’t go home anymore.”
Sure, she visited on occasion, but more often than not, her parents hopped into the RV and visited her at whatever base she happened to be stationed at. Right now that happened to be Pope Air Force Base in North Carolina.
As for her brother…God only knew where Mike was. He’d finished his pull in Desert Storm and disappeared off the face of the earth. She still had a private investigator on the payroll to find him, but no one in the family had heard from him in almost fifteen years. The consensus was that he was dead, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t give up hope until she saw the proof for herself.
Deke slid a mug of Guinness in front of her. “Don’t worry, Tallie-girl, you’ll have that key yet.”
That’s what she was afraid of.
***
Tallie straightened the cummerbund on her mess dress, the military’s version of black-tie, and grimaced into the mirror. Oh, she looked fine, her blonde hair pulled into a chignon, her make-up flawless, but she really wasn’t looking forward to the meet-and-greet reception line prior to dinner, or the three hours of monotonous chit-chat with the wing commander and the various town dignitaries who were sure to be at her table.
The one bright spot in her day had been reconnecting with one of her old friends from Bosnia, a flight nurse who was now the commander of the hospital on base. Well, that and the fact that she’d managed to muscle Malone into being her “date” for the festivities. If she had to choke down mystery meat at the Club, then she was taking him down with her.