Beyond the Hidden Gate

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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or

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Beyond The Hidden Gate

Copyright © 2012 Debbie Peterson

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1-61979-894-6

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Aynia galloped through the lush, green forest on the back of the spirited black and white

Gypsy mare, riding free and with wild abandon. Together they’d performed this same ballet

every morning for the past month here on the Emerald Isle. And she gloried in it. She loved the

feel of the wind on her face and the power and grace of the horse that carried her. While they

danced, all worries, questions, and concerns fled her mind. For in that moment, nothing else

mattered but the ride.

The woodland thinned as she traversed her customary path, and in response, her heartbeat

accelerated. She slowed the pace of the mare and turned her gaze to the top of the hill in rising

anticipation. Just as she expected, the magnificent white stallion, carrying his powerful,

mysterious rider stood motionless atop the grassy mound. The rider, wearing a black, hooded

cloak, gazed back—just as he had every single day this past week. Something about him made

the butterflies inside her belly take flight and created a longing she didn’t understand. Yet, she

couldn’t pinpoint or even find a reasonable explanation for the phenomenon. But then again, she

couldn’t find a reasonable explanation for a lot of things—such as why she couldn’t evoke a

single memory, save the recollection of her name. She didn’t have a clue as to what possessed

her to fall asleep underneath a willow tree that stood out in the middle of nowhere, or even how

she got to the said tree.

Aynia combed her fingers through her golden, wind-blown tresses and for sometime, she

and the enigmatic man continued their silent appraisal of each other. Finally, with a bit of



reluctance, she tugged her reins to the right and turned around. For soon, farmer O’Connor

would be looking to feed his horse. She urged her mare into an easy canter as they followed the

path that would return her to her makeshift shelter in the loft of his barn. Dark shadows, cast by

thick clouds, trees and heavy vegetation, gave the trail an eerie feel. Increasing winds battered

the boughs that moaned in protest and made for a skittish mount.

Just then, a deep menacing growl seized her attention. She turned toward the sound of the

unholy shriek the same moment a massive black panther lunged toward her with teeth bared. As

the startled horse reared back, the cat caught her in its claws and yanked her off the terrified

mare. Aynia landed with a thud upon the rocky ground and turned her head to the side. She cried

out in agony as the panther sliced through the sleeves of her denim jacket and into her skin. The

sound of thundering hooves, pounding against the earth entered her ears just as a welcome

blackness allowed her to escape.

***

Aeden withdrew his dagger from its sheath as he and his stallion raced along the twists

and turns of the crooked lane. He took careful aim and with a flick of his wrist, sent the wicked-

looking blade spiraling toward his target. A scant second later, the knife found its mark. The

panther screeched as the dagger plunged into his neck. He leaped from his horse and rushed

toward his foe. But just as he extracted the blade, and raised it to ensure his victory, the panther

faded, and then disappeared—taking his victim along with him. He closed his eyes and clenched

his teeth as he wiped the blood from his dagger and then thrust it into its sheath.

Malachi and Darach thundered from the shadows scant moments later. They shot a glance

toward him first and then scoured the path in search of their quarry.

Aeden shook his head in disgust and as he grabbed the reins of his horse, he said. “He’s



gone. Nathair had the strength to disappear and he took Aynia with him.”

Malachi cast his gaze toward the ground, found the telltale signs of blood, and stooped

down for a better look. “As always, your aim was sure, Aeden. He’s bleeding heavily. That

means he’ll leave us a good trail to follow. Don’t worry, my friend. We’ll find her.”

“We never should’ve chanced her life in the first place, Malachi,” he ground out. “The

moment we located her we should have just sent her home.”

“You know as well as I, she’d have refused to leave your side,” said Darach. “We’ve

already discussed this fact at length. Better for us to stand guard, keep her in our sights, and just

wait for Nathair to reveal himself first.”

“Well, we did that. And now, we’ve lost sight of her, haven’t we,” he spat.

“Not for long,” Malachi said as he turned toward his horse. “Mount up. I don’t want this

trail to grow cold. And, since he has taken Aynia hostage, it’ll be to our advantage to find

Nathair in a weakened condition.”

Aeden hastened to comply. No one surpassed Malachi in his tracking skills and he didn’t

want to hamper his search now. Many times throughout the day, Malachi abandoned his saddle

to study the trail. This time, as he picked up a handful of dirt and released it to the wind, he

turned toward them and grinned.

“We’re gaining on him fast. He’s pushing himself so hard; the wound hasn’t had

opportunity to close or even congeal. This is slowing him down quite a bit. By nightfall, we’ll

have him in sight.”

Less than one hour later, Malachi raised a hand to halt their progress, put a finger to his

lips, and dismounted. He and Darach followed suit. Malachi then led them through the thickest

part of the forest on foot. Heavy, intertwining brambles slowed them down, but did not defeat



them. At last, they approached a large tree, with a gnarly, massive trunk. To the left of the tree

they spotted evidence of a circular fissure leading underground. They hunkered down behind a

pile of rocks, surrounded by bushes, and surveyed it for a time. Nothing stirred.

“I still see only one set of tracks, and the weight that created them has not changed,” said

Malachi. “That probably means Aynia is still unconscious.”

“All the better for us,” Aeden said. “She won’t be able to interfere.”

“Amen to that. I’ll conjure a mist of protection as we enter,” said Darach. “Nathair will

probably aim his curses high and center, if he has the ability to aim at all. So keep your body low

and your backs to the wall. At least, until we have entered his lair.”

“Have your dagger ready, Aeden,” Malachi said. “If you can give us one more well-

placed shot, Darach and I can ensnare him according to the previous plan. That gives you leave

to grab Aynia and get her out of there.”

Aeden gave him a nod as he unsheathed his weapon. “In all the confusion, don’t forget to

look for the cauldron. And don’t come back without my knife.”

They circled around, keeping to the shadows. Then, just as they approached the gaping,

fissure, Darach waved his outstretched hand and invoked a thick, cloudy haze to precede them.

On silent footsteps, they followed the narrow passageway deep into the earth. A faint light grew

ever brighter as they traversed the final turn.

Aeden spied Nathair then. So busy tending the wound on his neck, the warlock didn’t

suspect their presence. He looked past the man’s shoulder and spotted the crumpled form of

Aynia. Nathair didn’t so much as provide a blanket to shield her body from the cold ground.

Aeden fought for control of his rage to ensure accuracy of his aim. Malachi gave him a single,

encouraging nod. In one quick, fluid movement, he raised his hand. The dagger screamed toward



his victim. Nathair turned toward them just as the blade sunk deep into his chest. The warlock

slumped as he bellowed in response.

In that same instant, the warlock flung an arsenal of deadly spells toward them. They

used every skill in their possession to avoid them. Blinding lights in every color imaginable lit up

the chamber. During the clamor, Darach dropped to the floor and took hold of a thick, elongated

root that protruded from the wall. A quick incantation filled the root with the power to ensnare.

He flung the slithering vine atop Nathair, seconds before the warlock completed transforming

into his panther persona. The fibrous cord first wrapped around his neck and constricted its

victim. Nathair, now half man, half cat, struggled to free himself. The root continued in a

downward spiral, encircling the rest of his body. With each turn, the vine tightened its grip.

“Get Aynia out of here, Aeden,” shouted Malachi just as the earth trembled in response to

his verbal command. A jagged crack formed and then inched apart, creating an abyss. “Now—”

Aeden rushed toward Aynia and scooped her up into his arms. He retraced his path as the

turbulent roar within the tunnel accompanied each step he took. Finally, he returned to his horse.

While cradling his precious bundle, he made all haste toward the abandoned cottage he and his

companions had used since entering this realm. Once inside, he laid Aynia on the bed, and then

placed a dissimulation spell around the exterior of the cottage in the rare event Nathair could find

a way to escape his prison. He next made his way toward the bed, and sat down. Blood had

saturated the sleeves of her borrowed jacket. He promptly removed the tattered garment, then

washed, and inspected the injury to her arms. The claws had ripped into her flesh, but the

wounds didn’t appear lethal. On the other hand, the gash on her neck, caused by Nathair’s

vicious fangs, could cause a problem if he didn’t immediately tend to it. He released a ragged

sigh as he brushed the long strands of hair away from her face and then leaned down to give her



a tender kiss.

“I’ll be right back, my love,” he whispered. “In the meantime, sleep well and know that

you’re safe.”

Aeden made quick work of gathering the medicinal herbs he needed. Once he returned to

the cottage, created a poultice and healing tea, he went to her bedside and administered both.

Now, he could do nothing more but wait for the enchantments to take effect. He took hold of her

hand and as he gazed into her beautiful face, he shook his head in worry and concern. She had

naught but good intentions the day she left the Tuatha, misguided though they were. And now,

courtesy of Nathair, she had no memory—no memory of him, her life, or the deep love they

shared.

A small moan drew his attention away from his troubled thoughts. His hand traveled the

length of her cheek and jaw. The herbs coursing through her veins caused discomfort and a

certain degree of pain. Yet, they were necessary. With any amount of luck, she’d sleep through

the process, awaken whole, and free of odious spells conjured by nefarious warlocks.

Time crawled at a snail’s pace. One hour passed and then two more. Still she slept. By

the fourth hour, the healing poultice had repaired the injuries to her arms and neck. Now, they

just needed to reverse the effects of Nathair’s vile spell and in that regard, he’d no guarantees.

Still, he had to know. He inhaled a deep breath, slowly released it, and said, “Open your

beautiful green eyes, my love,—it’s time for you to wake up now.”

Aynia could hear a voice, somehow familiar, yet not. Though he called to her amidst

hazy dreams from which she struggled to free herself, she couldn’t identify his voice.

Determination alone finally forced her eyes to open. She blinked several times before she could

focus on the handsome face, returning her gaze. A slight grin turned the corner of the mysterious



rider’s mouth. How that fact presented itself, she couldn’t really say. But of a certainty, the man

with the dark brown hair who held her hand owned the white stallion. And right now, his hazel

eyes with soft golden flecks looked at her with concern.

“Where am I?” she asked as she struggled for memory.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and said, “Inside an old abandoned cottage, not far

from where you fell. Do you remember the incident?”

Aynia drew her brows together as she struggled to recall— and then with sudden clarity,

she remembered the panther that held her bound and the sound of pounding hooves before she

lost consciousness. “You saved me from the panther,” she breathed out as she extended a hand

toward his face and then dropped it to her side before making contact.

A tender expression replaced the concern. He caressed her cheek with the back of his

hand and then brushed through her hair with his fingers. “Not the first time, my love. You’ve a

history of getting into trouble.”

Her heart pounded inside her chest for the way he looked at her right now. She took in a

breath and held it. Myriad of thoughts raced through her head in response to his comment. The

man spoke as if they were—as if they were well acquainted with one another. If so, he could

supply the answers to all the questions that had plagued her, ever since she awoke under the

willow tree, not knowing quite how she arrived there—

“How are you feeling?” he asked, breaking into the mush of her muddled thoughts.

She ignored the question, for she needed answers to her own. So many in fact, she didn’t

know in which order to ask them. “Please, I need you to tell me who I am.” A slight shake of his

head accompanied a ragged sigh as she asked the question. He looked—disappointed?

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Your name is Aynia and you’re the daughter of



Midhir Cecht,” he replied.

She briefly closed her eyes and nodded. At least she had her own name right. She tilted

her head to the side then, as she tested the second name inside her mind and found a distant ring

of familiarity. “And you are?”

He hesitated for several long moments and it truly seemed he didn’t quite know how to

answer the simple question.

“You needn’t hold anything back. I’m not afraid of your answers,” she said. “In fact, I

welcome them.”

“All right, then. My name is Aeden, and I happen to be the man who loves you far deeper

than I ever thought possible. I’m also the man you promised to marry shortly before you

disappeared,” he said. “And don’t think for one minute, a vile spell created by a foul warlock,

will absolve you of this promise. I intend to make you mine, Aynia, the moment we return to our

realm.”

Aynia could feel a warm blush spreading across her cheeks over the intensity of his gaze

and sought a quick diversion. She placed a hand to her knitted brow and shook her head. “Our

realm? I don’t know what you mean by that—”

“We’re not from here, Aynia, nor do we belong here. At least, we haven’t belonged to

this realm for many, many centuries.”

“No—wait a minute. You’re not making any sense, Aeden—”

“Ah, but I am, my love. You see, we belong to the Tuatha De Danann. And a long time

ago, after the Milesians defeated our people in battle, Manannan cast a powerful spell of

invisibility over many parts of Ireland. He cast this spell in order to hide Tir na n-Og within the

subterranean levels of this island. We’ve lived within this realm, hidden away from the eyes of



the mortals, since that time.”

She should dismiss his fanciful explanation as ridiculous at best, but somehow she

couldn’t. “If what you say is true, then how did I get here?” she asked.

“Through the portal. There are several such gates and each one leads to a different place

and some, even to a different time.”

“Do you happen to know why I chose to pass through the gate which brought me here?”

she asked. “And, why I don’t have any memory of the passing?”

He twined his fingers around hers and nodded. “You entered this realm in a sweet, but

misguided desire to protect me. You can’t remember any of this because Nathair expected us to

pursue him after he stole the cauldron. Therefore, he placed a Lethe spell around the entire

perimeter.”

She closed her eyes and breathed out a sigh. “You’ve lost me again. What is a Lethe

spell, who is Nathair, and why would he steal a simple cauldron? Are they not plentiful?”

“A Lethe spell is conjured to make its recipient forget. The noxious curse erases

everything of importance inside one’s mind.”

“Then why didn’t it affect you the same way?”

“Because you’d already absorbed the whole of it,” he replied.

She mulled that over for a moment and then nodded. “All right and Nathair?”

“Nathair is a powerful, shape-shifting, warlock from the Fir Bolg, and the cauldron is no

ordinary cauldron. This one, known as the Undry, is magic and once belonged to Dagda. Undry

is bottomless and was created to fill the desire of the possessor. The ancient relic leaves no man

unsatisfied.”

As Aeden spoke, hazy memories stirred in a single corner of her mind. She could see the



image of a small cauldron—and now, she could see the exquisite room that housed it. The room

contained other treasures as well; she could see a spear and a sword.

“To give you a bit of history, after the ancient ones conquered the island of Erin and the

Fir Bolg, Nathair the warlock, nursed his hatred for all the Tuatha De Danann. A hatred that

grew ever stronger as the centuries passed. Somewhere along the way, he decided to steal

Dagda’s cauldron, for he believes its power is strong enough to destroy us. My assigned quest,

before you interfered, was to retrieve the cauldron and return it to our realm.”

“I interfered with your quest?” she asked, clearly confused.

He flashed a charming grin. “Something you are quite adept at, my love, if you believe

your course of action will save someone you love.”

Butterflies swarmed yet again. They began their flight low in her belly and threatened to

burst through her chest. She lowered her gaze and just as she took in a breath, he tilted her chin

upward, forcing their gazes to meet. Then, without giving her chance to decline, he took

possession of her lips. The kiss, sweet and tender at first, grew in intensity. The moment passion

erupted between them a host of memories flooded her mind. She could now recollect every detail

of her immortal life. More precious to her than any other? Her memories of Aeden and the deep,

matchless love they shared. She leaned forward as her arms inched upward and encircled his

neck. In response, he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her closer still.

As his kisses continued, she recalled the all-consuming dread that took possession of her,

the moment the king assigned Aeden, Darach, and Malachi, the duty of retrieving the cauldron.

Nathair would expect them, knowing the king would select his most skillful warriors. In turn, the

warlock would set his most cunning trap in order to destroy them. No, her heart screamed. No.

She couldn’t let that happen.



Aeden found her in the garden, in her deepest moment of despair. He took her into his

arms and held her close to his chest.

“Don’t worry, Aynia,” he had said as he stroked her back. “We’ve devised an infallible

strategy. I vow we’ll return victorious by the month’s end.”

She closed her eyes against the pain. “No plan is infallible, Aeden. You understand this

better than most.”

He took a small step back and fused his gaze to hers. “Nothing will prevent me from

returning to you. That, my love, is a promise you can count on.”

Aeden kissed her then, just as he kissed her now. And in the same moment he left her

standing in the garden, she devised a plan of her own. She needed to pass through the gate first,

for Nathair would not expect her—

The rattle of the door latch ended the kiss. Aeden leaped to his feet and dashed for the

table. He took hold of a kitchen knife, just as the door swung open. As Malachi and Darach burst

into the room, he dropped the blade onto the table, and let loose an exasperated huff.

“Good way to get killed,” he said.

“No, I don’t think so. You were a little too preoccupied to pose any kind of serious

threat,” said Malachi as he flipped Aeden’s dagger into the air, caught it, and then flung it toward

him. He looked past Aeden then and gave her a wink. “How are you doing, Aynia?”

“Much better—now that all the missing pieces have returned,” she replied as she swung

her legs over the mattress and vacated the bed. Aeden extended a hand toward her as she joined

her handsome companions in the center of the room.

“Did you find the cauldron?” asked Aeden.

Malachi nodded. “That we did— along with some of Nathair’s prized talismans. Should



the man somehow survive his ordeal and discover a way to escape his tomb, he won’t be nearly

so dangerous.”

“Excellent,” said Aeden and as he turned to meet her gaze, he added, “Then let’s go

home.

The moment they approached the portal, everyone dismounted their horses. Aynia then

cast her gaze toward the stone gate, outlined with strands of ivy and lush vegetation. The golden

lettering of the Tir na n-Og, welcomed those who could see and decipher the message etched

atop the arch of the door. Malachi opened the portal and with reins in hand, stepped through first.

Darach followed.

Then, just as she moved forward, Aeden tugged on her hand, and turned her around to

face him. He cuddled her close and as he gazed into her eyes, he said, “I love you Aynia, more

than life itself, so promise me, you’ll never cross this gate, or any other gate, ever again, unless

I’m by your side.” He brushed his lips against hers. “Promise me—”

Her heart skipped a beat and then quickened its pace. She closed her eyes. “Only if you

stop this nonsense and kiss me,” she replied in a breathless sort of rush.

He wasted no time in complying with her request and the ardent kiss stole what little

breath she had left. When at last he gave her leave to breathe, she caressed his jaw, took a deep

breath, and said, “I love you, Aeden. And I promise that with each rising sun, that love will do

naught but grow stronger.”

The kiss he gave in response to her heartfelt comment, quite easily surpassed all others.



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Beyond the Hidden Gate