Post by Honeylioness on Nov 24, 2008 11:01:54 GMT -5
The Fairy’s Gift
Normandy, 1286
The sharp CRACK of ice breaking was just the first indication that something was terribly wrong in the ancient woodlands. The frightened yell of the boy merely confirmed the news.
Before either sound had faded the woman appeared at the edge of the stream whose icy covering had proven not up to the task of supporting a young boy more intent on tracking rabbits than watching where he placed his feet. The delicate fabrics of her gown seemed inadequate to the frigid air of mid-winter in France but no sign of physical discomfort did she show, though her brow was furrowed as without thought she glided just above the ice towards the hole where the boy was to be seen. As he grabbed again for any kind of hold that would let him pull out of the water which sapped his strength with every heart beat the woman reached down and took hold of his arm, lifting him without effort from the water and moving him towards the bank and safety.
As the lad lay stunned and shivering on the frozen grass the woman cast her eyes to the left – and as if on cue a large rabbit left the shelter of the bracken bush to rise to his rear haunches and look at her with his head cocked to one side. After a moment the animal turned and moved quickly towards the small farm the lad called home.
Having sent her messenger for human help the Lady again shifted her attention to the boy. Pale slender fingers gently smoothed his wet curls and a voice the seemed to whisper from the branches of leafless trees swung through the air.
“It will be well Luc”, she crooned, “Rabbit will bring yer Da anon and soon ye will be dry and warm agin.”
There was a melodious inflection of both the Gaelic and Celt in her voice and words as she stood guard over the child until she heard the clumping steps of the human male who lumbered through the sacred woods to where she stood. A slight breeze arose and seemed to almost blow her towards the tree line where her robes shifted color and texture. And a very keen eye indeed would be needed to detect her standing there – watching. Even after the father had wrapped his son in a deer hide and left the woods for the warmth of their small farm she stood and watched and listened. It was not yet time. But soon. And so she waited as she had for many years past for the approaching year – and the choices which would change her life forever.
New World, 1756
Something wasn't right. As the fog of sleep lifted, Elizabeth realized she was not in her own bed—the rough sheets constricting her limbs felt foreign against her skin. A strong scent filled her nostrils, her head ached, and it was a struggle to lift her eyelids. Where was she?
Elizabeth instinctively reached for the ring. It was gone!
With effort, she managed to sit up. Her eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness, she could now make out billowing fabric surrounding the bed. Curtains?
Out of the shadows, a figure stumbled towards her.
"Luke, is that you?" she asked, surprised at the weakness of her own voice.
Now beside the bed, a deep male voice demanded, "What have you done?"
Raking the heavy crimson strands off her face she focused her eyes upon the ragged and blood-stained tunic of a Knight Templar. The distinctive red cross startling against the black of the warrior who, for a time, pledged themselves to the Order with the option to return to the secular life. The once crisp fabric now covered in ash and muck, pocked with singe marks. Smothering a groan as recent events began to crash back into her memory, all she wanted in that moment was to hide under the covers and hope to the Goddess this was merely a bad dream. But the astringent smells of smoke, horses, and blood were all too real.
“Elisabeth….me dire maintenant!” the frustration in his voiced emphasized by the lapse into his native tongue, “Qu'avez-vous fait la Sorcière?
An epitome of outraged manhood loomed over her. Even as she recalled more of the events which had brought them to this time and place, she still was able to appreciate on a female level the other figure in the room. Though he showed the signs of his recent battle they in no way diminished his unique appeal. Square jaw was counter balanced with eyelashes of incredible length and thickness, the jutting brow bone counterbalanced the passionate fullness of his lower lip. And while his hair was in need of trimming not even it’s silky texture falling into his eyes could soften the granite stare of those deep gray orbs. Putting aside her dislike of the English version of her name, Eilίs let herself momentarily forget their circumstance as she ran her gaze along his rugged face again. Each feature alone was not enough to be called special or memorable. But taken as a whole they had an amazing power to compel – or perhaps it was just her. And this man alone that compelled her.
Meeting his eyes she saw the brief flash of fear and bewilderment before it was ruthlessly beaten back by his impossible self-control. A brief thought caused her lips to twitch in a humorous thought he would surely NOT appreciate at the moment as she pondered all that strength and energy directed her way in a more sensual manner.
His words brought her back to their current situation. Too often had she been called “witch” in a variety of languages for it to truly affect her anymore, her face as impassive as the voice slipping past chapped lips.
Slowly she sat up and swung her feet to the floor as she replied, “My name is Eilίs, not Elizabeth…I do wish you would use it….Luke”.
Ignoring the fiery stare that by rights should have scorched her on the spot she began searching the bed linens for the missing ring – although her Spirit knew it had served it purpose and been reclaimed by the Sídhe.
The bed in shambles she sank back heavily to sit with elbows on knees and dropped her head to rest into recently calloused palms. Events of the past few weeks washed over her even as Luc paced and ranted and sarcastically vented his preference for the name of his birth. She knew that calling him by the English version of his name would get a reaction and give him cause to tirade. Knowing also that until he had raged and voiced his darker feelings and thoughts they could not move on and find some kind of resolution. Even when he was on the verge of loosing control Luc was a pleasure to watch. Firm of body and solid of limb she let herself remember the one time she had seen him unclothed and felt the blush heat her fair skin.
With the ease born of years spent not listening to angry words, Eilίs shifted into that peculiar place where she was fully aware of all that surrounded her yet – apart – as though watching someone else’s life and fate be displayed upon a stage. Within this divided state her mind was unburdened to wander back.
France, 1308
France in the year of our lord One Thousand Three Hundred and Eight was a dangerous place to be if you were a Templar Knight, and she had seen the way many in the streets had avoided any contact with them as they moved about the towns and cities. King Phillip was enraged by the Order’s refusal to give him use of their considerable financial assets. It was said that when he has approached their Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, the Knight had laughed in his face and dismissed the King like an overly-zealous street beggar. For that insult the Order’s ruling council and knights had been rounded up, imprisoned, and several were to be burned at the stake.
Closing ranks, the Order did a magnificent job of protecting their remaining leaders. It had taken almost two weeks to learn of Luc’s whereabouts and another to get the details of his intentions, a frustratingly long time for someone like Eilίs who was used to being able to read the hearts and secrets of those around her. Her bartering away of that ability just one of many things she was still learning to contend with.
Luc’s plan to rescue Jacques and the others by taking a corps of his serjens and ride into the square where the executions were to take place both awed and terrified her even as they served to draw her out of her dusky world and into fully into his. Wryly she smiled remembering their “first” meeting.
The tall, arrogant knight towered over the petite, cloaked figure which had somehow managed to enter his private quarters with none seeing. And then further igniting his male indignation, she had audaciously dared to warn him of the pending danger and plead with him to forsake his reckless mission.
Only from knowing him so long had Eilίs seen the momentary look of shock flicker over Luc’s face when he looked up from his repast to see a female appear out of the air to stand resolute in the middle of his chamber. As she took him to task, he blinked twice as though to clear his eyes before rising to fire back with a litany of questions: Who was she?….How had she gotten inside?…How did she know of his name? ….his plans?…and Whom did she plan on taking this information to for the highest price?
“I am Eilίs Ó Caiside, and I have known ye for many a year Luc”, her eyes softening even as her pulse picked up in response to finally being near enough to touch him without disguise , “I dinna mean ye any harm, I ne’er have.”
Entranced as she had always been by his stern good looks and passionate convictions, Eilίs had found her attention drifting to the way firelight shone in his midnight black hair, calling forth deep, almost blue, highlights that danced in the thick waves falling to his shoulders and mirrored the sapphire eyes which fixed her with their singular gaze.
Undaunted by a look that had sent many murmuring their own Last Rites she smiled almost secretly. Yielding to impulse, she stepped close as her right hand lifted gently toward his face. Alabaster fingers sliding softly through the ebony silk of his hair as her eyes deepened from pearlescent grey to a rich smoky hue.
“Muirnín, I beg you…do not do this thing…’twill end in death, and too long have we been apart”, her eyes shimmering with the force of her feelings as she told him of her love using the Ancient language, “Tá mé chomh doirte sin duit”
Swiftly his large hand had swallowed up her delicate wrist, his grip firm but not punishing. The furrow in his brow, the only outward sign of his recent sleepless nights and days, deepened.
“What do you mean…too long? Never have I laid eyes upon you until this hour woman”, a glacial edge moved swiftly into his crystalline eyes, “Or are you a Witch that you know what you know….and dare what you dare?”
“Nay M’Laird”, the sibilant brogue of her homeland arising as it did in times of deep feelings, “But Ye be th’one fer whom I was meant. And if my lot ‘tis to save ye from this folly ….then accept the burden gladly I do”
Even as the words left her lips a tingling rose from deep within her bones. Resonating throughout every fiber and concentrating itself where his rough hand still encircled her soft wrist.
“Sorcière!”, with a quick motion Luc dropped her arm and stepped back, eyes dilated in disbelief as he shook his head from side to side. Eilίs chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from laughingly pointing out that while the motion made him look like a lion perplexed by a rabbit walking on it’s tail, denials were of no usefulness when dealing with the Sídhe’s plans.
“I am Luc Reynaud de Varney”, his words spitting forth in defiance of the connection that had flashed between us, “And no person in Christiandom, let alone a woman, tells me what to do!”
The Guards had been summoned. And Eilίs meekly allowed them to escort her to a small dark cell in the belly of the garrison. The heavy sounds of a door being barred gave her pause for a moment, wondering how that sound would affect one who had no hope of leaving this foul place. Awakening the next morning in her small, cozy cottage near the sea she almost wished there had been a way to see the Guard’s faces when they discovered the windowless cell was empty.
Rising she washed her face, broke her fast, and began gathering the necessary items. Going to see Luc and trying to persuade him mortal to mortal had been a long shot at best. But she had done it for him, though the Elders had told her it would be to no avail. She had to at least try.
Waiting for the day to pass and the sun to glide behind the horizon, her awareness of the sacrifice she was about to take lay heavy in her Spirit. Everything rested on the outcome of the next two days and she prayed for the strength to continue on this path and the consequences of her choices.
As the last fingers of light slipped into the ocean she moved deeper into the copse of woods behind her home. The loden green of her gown swirled gently around petite curves and contrasted well with the rich auburn of her hair. In a small clearing there stood a moss-laden plank set crosswise atop two weathered stumps, on the soft lichen the sacred items rested upon this altar of nature. Lighting the Sacred Candles her melodic voice flowed into the surrounding brush as she began the Calling to connect with the Others:
Manawydan, son of Llyr, brother of Bran and Branwen,
Faithful friend of Pryderi and Husband of Rhiannon,
King of the Sea, Patron of voyagers,
Open the Gates between the Worlds, we pray to you.
Open our eyes and our ears and our hearts to the Gods,
So we may Commune with You and be Blessed.
Manawydan, open the Gates
I bid you:Gadael hi bod! Gadael hi bod!
Hours later as the Sun began it’s lazy ascent back into the heavens, Eilίs wearily made her way back to the comfort of her cottage. Her dealing with the Sídhe and the Ancients had been long and draining, and she had almost faltered in her chosen path when her mother’s Spirit had wept. Leaving the copse and using the last of her strength to open the small door, she spared a thought for how odd it was that all still looked so normal, when she herself had been changed forever. Crawling upon her cot she was asleep before her eyes closed. Fingers of sunlight spilled through the multi-paned windows, dancing around the blood-red gem which appeared on her left index finger. Her final gift from the Others.
*******************
“Vous m'avez entendu?”, the raspy sound of Luc’s voice pulled her back from her mental wanderings as he asked again, “Elisa…did you hear me?”
Raising her head from its cradle in her hands she looked at him with eyes that burned, their dove-grey color dulled to slate in her turmoil.
“Aye Luc, I heard you…You don’t believe in Magic or Elves….You want to go back…You don’t understand how you got here,” …rising to her feet she felt every one of her 600 years as she advanced, her voice rising with each word…”Do you think I should have left you to be slaughtered by the King’s troops, or perhaps burned with Jacques?”
Days of stress and fear over the life of the one who was the other half of her Soul flooded into Eilίs and sent her straight towards him, tightly clenched fists swinging at his chest and arms as she poured out the litany of her feelings and the facts of their lives. Tears flowed to dampen the bodice of her gown as she gave voice to it all:
“Since ye was born have I been with ye…watchin’ ye…lovin’ ye…remember not the story of the angel who saved ye from the fall out of the largest oak?…or yer cousin being sure a wood sprite had pulled ye from the river when the ice gave way?….”Twas ME!!!…and now, I have surrendered my immortality ta keep ye safe..and all ye can do is rage ….”
Collapsing into wrenching sobs that seemed likely to tear her elfin frame apart, Eilίs was unaware of the warm strength of Luc’s arms as he held her securely to his chest. A myriad of emotions and thoughts crashed into him as each of her words rang true in his heart. Nor did she see the changing of his features as disbelief gave way to memories he had told himself were merely the result of too much mead. Again he felt that resonating tingle of sensation which seemed to come from every point of contact with the woman he held, the feeling binding them in some way.
Scooping her up he moved towards the bed once more, setting down and lifting his soiled boots with no regard to the fine linen of the bedclothes, to lean against the ornately carved headboard. Cradling Eilίs to his breast as his hand gently caressed the thick tresses that flowed down her back.
“Shhh…hush now….do not cry so….Yes, I remember the angel. One moment I was falling off the flimsy branch I had let my brother goad me onto, and then it was if soft cushions enfolded me and lay me gently onto the ground”
Her voice came muffled from the crook of his neck, “Well, I could not let you die so young, ‘twas not meant to be.”
Luc’s mind moved more quickly now through other unexplained incidents, “The time I was lost in the woods and thought I saw a white deer. I followed that hart and come through the woods safe.”
“‘Twas I my Love”
“And the timbers which fell from the Hall’s ceiling after too much rain, barely missing me?”
“Aye my Love, I was there also”
For long minutes the only sounds came from the soft breeze whispering through an open window, carrying with it the sent of sweet grass and clover. Content to finally rest against the heart of her Soul’s Other…Eilίs breathed deeply of his skin.
Luc spoke quietly as though to himself, “I am a man who has lived only by what I can see, or make with my own efforts…So how was I to react when you appeared from the air in the middle of that hellish fight trying to free Jacques and the others? A vision of softness who took my hand and told me we must leave that place…while all around us men were bleeding and dying…?”
His voice fell silent again as they both remembered the carnage and cruelty wrought by a King’s greed and wounded pride.
A firm finger lifted her chin and brought her face up to his where his dark eyes all but demanded she not look away, “What did you mean….gave up your immortality?”, the furrow in his brow darkening like a thundercloud.
Her loving smile conferred to Luc grace and peace with her decision as she gently spoke of her Path. Her Elfin father and Druid mother, growing up knowing she was not like either race, the centuries of learning her gifts and how to use them without interfering too much in the lives of mortals.
She told him of the odd sense of connection she had felt with his mother, seeing him born and unable to help herself she had leaned over his cradle to kiss his forehead, knowing in that moment how she was meant for the small babe. Her arguments that night in the woods with the Sídhe, and the wrenching conditions upon which they would grant her use of the Blood Stone ring to remove him from harm…that they must go to another time and place….and she would become mortal.
Holding up her soft hand to show the raw patches on her palm, “See my Love, my first blisters, perhaps I should not have grabbed for your steed’s reins without gloves.”
Still stroking her silken hair, Luc released a long sighing breath feeling something unwind within his breast. As though he breathed air for the first time.
Kissing the wounded flesh he spoke against the broken skin, ”No, you shall not damage yourself ever again…I command it.”, several moments of silence again descended before Luc asked, “So where does that mean we are mon ange?”
A slow smile curled the sweet bow of her lips as she looked about the chamber and out towards the hills which could be seen from the open window, “They call it…Kentucky”, with a tender look she gazed at him questioningly, waiting for his response before revealing the year, 1756.
“You believe me then?”
Anxiously she waited for his response. Of all the places the Ancients had shown her, this one, where Luc could use his skill in the breeding and training of horses, had seemed best suited to her Knight.
His eyes followed hers and he looked out onto the steep but short hills covered with verdant grasses which undulated in the soft breeze, a feeling of belonging starting to take root in his mind. For a brief moment he saw three children gamboling inside a paddock with a roan colt, but with the blink of an eye the picture was gone, leaving the certainty of it’s truth behind.
“I think I must mon coeur précieux, for there is something in my soul which tells me you must never again be far from my arms.”
Normandy, 1286
The sharp CRACK of ice breaking was just the first indication that something was terribly wrong in the ancient woodlands. The frightened yell of the boy merely confirmed the news.
Before either sound had faded the woman appeared at the edge of the stream whose icy covering had proven not up to the task of supporting a young boy more intent on tracking rabbits than watching where he placed his feet. The delicate fabrics of her gown seemed inadequate to the frigid air of mid-winter in France but no sign of physical discomfort did she show, though her brow was furrowed as without thought she glided just above the ice towards the hole where the boy was to be seen. As he grabbed again for any kind of hold that would let him pull out of the water which sapped his strength with every heart beat the woman reached down and took hold of his arm, lifting him without effort from the water and moving him towards the bank and safety.
As the lad lay stunned and shivering on the frozen grass the woman cast her eyes to the left – and as if on cue a large rabbit left the shelter of the bracken bush to rise to his rear haunches and look at her with his head cocked to one side. After a moment the animal turned and moved quickly towards the small farm the lad called home.
Having sent her messenger for human help the Lady again shifted her attention to the boy. Pale slender fingers gently smoothed his wet curls and a voice the seemed to whisper from the branches of leafless trees swung through the air.
“It will be well Luc”, she crooned, “Rabbit will bring yer Da anon and soon ye will be dry and warm agin.”
There was a melodious inflection of both the Gaelic and Celt in her voice and words as she stood guard over the child until she heard the clumping steps of the human male who lumbered through the sacred woods to where she stood. A slight breeze arose and seemed to almost blow her towards the tree line where her robes shifted color and texture. And a very keen eye indeed would be needed to detect her standing there – watching. Even after the father had wrapped his son in a deer hide and left the woods for the warmth of their small farm she stood and watched and listened. It was not yet time. But soon. And so she waited as she had for many years past for the approaching year – and the choices which would change her life forever.
New World, 1756
Something wasn't right. As the fog of sleep lifted, Elizabeth realized she was not in her own bed—the rough sheets constricting her limbs felt foreign against her skin. A strong scent filled her nostrils, her head ached, and it was a struggle to lift her eyelids. Where was she?
Elizabeth instinctively reached for the ring. It was gone!
With effort, she managed to sit up. Her eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness, she could now make out billowing fabric surrounding the bed. Curtains?
Out of the shadows, a figure stumbled towards her.
"Luke, is that you?" she asked, surprised at the weakness of her own voice.
Now beside the bed, a deep male voice demanded, "What have you done?"
Raking the heavy crimson strands off her face she focused her eyes upon the ragged and blood-stained tunic of a Knight Templar. The distinctive red cross startling against the black of the warrior who, for a time, pledged themselves to the Order with the option to return to the secular life. The once crisp fabric now covered in ash and muck, pocked with singe marks. Smothering a groan as recent events began to crash back into her memory, all she wanted in that moment was to hide under the covers and hope to the Goddess this was merely a bad dream. But the astringent smells of smoke, horses, and blood were all too real.
“Elisabeth….me dire maintenant!” the frustration in his voiced emphasized by the lapse into his native tongue, “Qu'avez-vous fait la Sorcière?
An epitome of outraged manhood loomed over her. Even as she recalled more of the events which had brought them to this time and place, she still was able to appreciate on a female level the other figure in the room. Though he showed the signs of his recent battle they in no way diminished his unique appeal. Square jaw was counter balanced with eyelashes of incredible length and thickness, the jutting brow bone counterbalanced the passionate fullness of his lower lip. And while his hair was in need of trimming not even it’s silky texture falling into his eyes could soften the granite stare of those deep gray orbs. Putting aside her dislike of the English version of her name, Eilίs let herself momentarily forget their circumstance as she ran her gaze along his rugged face again. Each feature alone was not enough to be called special or memorable. But taken as a whole they had an amazing power to compel – or perhaps it was just her. And this man alone that compelled her.
Meeting his eyes she saw the brief flash of fear and bewilderment before it was ruthlessly beaten back by his impossible self-control. A brief thought caused her lips to twitch in a humorous thought he would surely NOT appreciate at the moment as she pondered all that strength and energy directed her way in a more sensual manner.
His words brought her back to their current situation. Too often had she been called “witch” in a variety of languages for it to truly affect her anymore, her face as impassive as the voice slipping past chapped lips.
Slowly she sat up and swung her feet to the floor as she replied, “My name is Eilίs, not Elizabeth…I do wish you would use it….Luke”.
Ignoring the fiery stare that by rights should have scorched her on the spot she began searching the bed linens for the missing ring – although her Spirit knew it had served it purpose and been reclaimed by the Sídhe.
The bed in shambles she sank back heavily to sit with elbows on knees and dropped her head to rest into recently calloused palms. Events of the past few weeks washed over her even as Luc paced and ranted and sarcastically vented his preference for the name of his birth. She knew that calling him by the English version of his name would get a reaction and give him cause to tirade. Knowing also that until he had raged and voiced his darker feelings and thoughts they could not move on and find some kind of resolution. Even when he was on the verge of loosing control Luc was a pleasure to watch. Firm of body and solid of limb she let herself remember the one time she had seen him unclothed and felt the blush heat her fair skin.
With the ease born of years spent not listening to angry words, Eilίs shifted into that peculiar place where she was fully aware of all that surrounded her yet – apart – as though watching someone else’s life and fate be displayed upon a stage. Within this divided state her mind was unburdened to wander back.
France, 1308
France in the year of our lord One Thousand Three Hundred and Eight was a dangerous place to be if you were a Templar Knight, and she had seen the way many in the streets had avoided any contact with them as they moved about the towns and cities. King Phillip was enraged by the Order’s refusal to give him use of their considerable financial assets. It was said that when he has approached their Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, the Knight had laughed in his face and dismissed the King like an overly-zealous street beggar. For that insult the Order’s ruling council and knights had been rounded up, imprisoned, and several were to be burned at the stake.
Closing ranks, the Order did a magnificent job of protecting their remaining leaders. It had taken almost two weeks to learn of Luc’s whereabouts and another to get the details of his intentions, a frustratingly long time for someone like Eilίs who was used to being able to read the hearts and secrets of those around her. Her bartering away of that ability just one of many things she was still learning to contend with.
Luc’s plan to rescue Jacques and the others by taking a corps of his serjens and ride into the square where the executions were to take place both awed and terrified her even as they served to draw her out of her dusky world and into fully into his. Wryly she smiled remembering their “first” meeting.
The tall, arrogant knight towered over the petite, cloaked figure which had somehow managed to enter his private quarters with none seeing. And then further igniting his male indignation, she had audaciously dared to warn him of the pending danger and plead with him to forsake his reckless mission.
Only from knowing him so long had Eilίs seen the momentary look of shock flicker over Luc’s face when he looked up from his repast to see a female appear out of the air to stand resolute in the middle of his chamber. As she took him to task, he blinked twice as though to clear his eyes before rising to fire back with a litany of questions: Who was she?….How had she gotten inside?…How did she know of his name? ….his plans?…and Whom did she plan on taking this information to for the highest price?
“I am Eilίs Ó Caiside, and I have known ye for many a year Luc”, her eyes softening even as her pulse picked up in response to finally being near enough to touch him without disguise , “I dinna mean ye any harm, I ne’er have.”
Entranced as she had always been by his stern good looks and passionate convictions, Eilίs had found her attention drifting to the way firelight shone in his midnight black hair, calling forth deep, almost blue, highlights that danced in the thick waves falling to his shoulders and mirrored the sapphire eyes which fixed her with their singular gaze.
Undaunted by a look that had sent many murmuring their own Last Rites she smiled almost secretly. Yielding to impulse, she stepped close as her right hand lifted gently toward his face. Alabaster fingers sliding softly through the ebony silk of his hair as her eyes deepened from pearlescent grey to a rich smoky hue.
“Muirnín, I beg you…do not do this thing…’twill end in death, and too long have we been apart”, her eyes shimmering with the force of her feelings as she told him of her love using the Ancient language, “Tá mé chomh doirte sin duit”
Swiftly his large hand had swallowed up her delicate wrist, his grip firm but not punishing. The furrow in his brow, the only outward sign of his recent sleepless nights and days, deepened.
“What do you mean…too long? Never have I laid eyes upon you until this hour woman”, a glacial edge moved swiftly into his crystalline eyes, “Or are you a Witch that you know what you know….and dare what you dare?”
“Nay M’Laird”, the sibilant brogue of her homeland arising as it did in times of deep feelings, “But Ye be th’one fer whom I was meant. And if my lot ‘tis to save ye from this folly ….then accept the burden gladly I do”
Even as the words left her lips a tingling rose from deep within her bones. Resonating throughout every fiber and concentrating itself where his rough hand still encircled her soft wrist.
“Sorcière!”, with a quick motion Luc dropped her arm and stepped back, eyes dilated in disbelief as he shook his head from side to side. Eilίs chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from laughingly pointing out that while the motion made him look like a lion perplexed by a rabbit walking on it’s tail, denials were of no usefulness when dealing with the Sídhe’s plans.
“I am Luc Reynaud de Varney”, his words spitting forth in defiance of the connection that had flashed between us, “And no person in Christiandom, let alone a woman, tells me what to do!”
The Guards had been summoned. And Eilίs meekly allowed them to escort her to a small dark cell in the belly of the garrison. The heavy sounds of a door being barred gave her pause for a moment, wondering how that sound would affect one who had no hope of leaving this foul place. Awakening the next morning in her small, cozy cottage near the sea she almost wished there had been a way to see the Guard’s faces when they discovered the windowless cell was empty.
Rising she washed her face, broke her fast, and began gathering the necessary items. Going to see Luc and trying to persuade him mortal to mortal had been a long shot at best. But she had done it for him, though the Elders had told her it would be to no avail. She had to at least try.
Waiting for the day to pass and the sun to glide behind the horizon, her awareness of the sacrifice she was about to take lay heavy in her Spirit. Everything rested on the outcome of the next two days and she prayed for the strength to continue on this path and the consequences of her choices.
As the last fingers of light slipped into the ocean she moved deeper into the copse of woods behind her home. The loden green of her gown swirled gently around petite curves and contrasted well with the rich auburn of her hair. In a small clearing there stood a moss-laden plank set crosswise atop two weathered stumps, on the soft lichen the sacred items rested upon this altar of nature. Lighting the Sacred Candles her melodic voice flowed into the surrounding brush as she began the Calling to connect with the Others:
Manawydan, son of Llyr, brother of Bran and Branwen,
Faithful friend of Pryderi and Husband of Rhiannon,
King of the Sea, Patron of voyagers,
Open the Gates between the Worlds, we pray to you.
Open our eyes and our ears and our hearts to the Gods,
So we may Commune with You and be Blessed.
Manawydan, open the Gates
I bid you:Gadael hi bod! Gadael hi bod!
Hours later as the Sun began it’s lazy ascent back into the heavens, Eilίs wearily made her way back to the comfort of her cottage. Her dealing with the Sídhe and the Ancients had been long and draining, and she had almost faltered in her chosen path when her mother’s Spirit had wept. Leaving the copse and using the last of her strength to open the small door, she spared a thought for how odd it was that all still looked so normal, when she herself had been changed forever. Crawling upon her cot she was asleep before her eyes closed. Fingers of sunlight spilled through the multi-paned windows, dancing around the blood-red gem which appeared on her left index finger. Her final gift from the Others.
*******************
“Vous m'avez entendu?”, the raspy sound of Luc’s voice pulled her back from her mental wanderings as he asked again, “Elisa…did you hear me?”
Raising her head from its cradle in her hands she looked at him with eyes that burned, their dove-grey color dulled to slate in her turmoil.
“Aye Luc, I heard you…You don’t believe in Magic or Elves….You want to go back…You don’t understand how you got here,” …rising to her feet she felt every one of her 600 years as she advanced, her voice rising with each word…”Do you think I should have left you to be slaughtered by the King’s troops, or perhaps burned with Jacques?”
Days of stress and fear over the life of the one who was the other half of her Soul flooded into Eilίs and sent her straight towards him, tightly clenched fists swinging at his chest and arms as she poured out the litany of her feelings and the facts of their lives. Tears flowed to dampen the bodice of her gown as she gave voice to it all:
“Since ye was born have I been with ye…watchin’ ye…lovin’ ye…remember not the story of the angel who saved ye from the fall out of the largest oak?…or yer cousin being sure a wood sprite had pulled ye from the river when the ice gave way?….”Twas ME!!!…and now, I have surrendered my immortality ta keep ye safe..and all ye can do is rage ….”
Collapsing into wrenching sobs that seemed likely to tear her elfin frame apart, Eilίs was unaware of the warm strength of Luc’s arms as he held her securely to his chest. A myriad of emotions and thoughts crashed into him as each of her words rang true in his heart. Nor did she see the changing of his features as disbelief gave way to memories he had told himself were merely the result of too much mead. Again he felt that resonating tingle of sensation which seemed to come from every point of contact with the woman he held, the feeling binding them in some way.
Scooping her up he moved towards the bed once more, setting down and lifting his soiled boots with no regard to the fine linen of the bedclothes, to lean against the ornately carved headboard. Cradling Eilίs to his breast as his hand gently caressed the thick tresses that flowed down her back.
“Shhh…hush now….do not cry so….Yes, I remember the angel. One moment I was falling off the flimsy branch I had let my brother goad me onto, and then it was if soft cushions enfolded me and lay me gently onto the ground”
Her voice came muffled from the crook of his neck, “Well, I could not let you die so young, ‘twas not meant to be.”
Luc’s mind moved more quickly now through other unexplained incidents, “The time I was lost in the woods and thought I saw a white deer. I followed that hart and come through the woods safe.”
“‘Twas I my Love”
“And the timbers which fell from the Hall’s ceiling after too much rain, barely missing me?”
“Aye my Love, I was there also”
For long minutes the only sounds came from the soft breeze whispering through an open window, carrying with it the sent of sweet grass and clover. Content to finally rest against the heart of her Soul’s Other…Eilίs breathed deeply of his skin.
Luc spoke quietly as though to himself, “I am a man who has lived only by what I can see, or make with my own efforts…So how was I to react when you appeared from the air in the middle of that hellish fight trying to free Jacques and the others? A vision of softness who took my hand and told me we must leave that place…while all around us men were bleeding and dying…?”
His voice fell silent again as they both remembered the carnage and cruelty wrought by a King’s greed and wounded pride.
A firm finger lifted her chin and brought her face up to his where his dark eyes all but demanded she not look away, “What did you mean….gave up your immortality?”, the furrow in his brow darkening like a thundercloud.
Her loving smile conferred to Luc grace and peace with her decision as she gently spoke of her Path. Her Elfin father and Druid mother, growing up knowing she was not like either race, the centuries of learning her gifts and how to use them without interfering too much in the lives of mortals.
She told him of the odd sense of connection she had felt with his mother, seeing him born and unable to help herself she had leaned over his cradle to kiss his forehead, knowing in that moment how she was meant for the small babe. Her arguments that night in the woods with the Sídhe, and the wrenching conditions upon which they would grant her use of the Blood Stone ring to remove him from harm…that they must go to another time and place….and she would become mortal.
Holding up her soft hand to show the raw patches on her palm, “See my Love, my first blisters, perhaps I should not have grabbed for your steed’s reins without gloves.”
Still stroking her silken hair, Luc released a long sighing breath feeling something unwind within his breast. As though he breathed air for the first time.
Kissing the wounded flesh he spoke against the broken skin, ”No, you shall not damage yourself ever again…I command it.”, several moments of silence again descended before Luc asked, “So where does that mean we are mon ange?”
A slow smile curled the sweet bow of her lips as she looked about the chamber and out towards the hills which could be seen from the open window, “They call it…Kentucky”, with a tender look she gazed at him questioningly, waiting for his response before revealing the year, 1756.
“You believe me then?”
Anxiously she waited for his response. Of all the places the Ancients had shown her, this one, where Luc could use his skill in the breeding and training of horses, had seemed best suited to her Knight.
His eyes followed hers and he looked out onto the steep but short hills covered with verdant grasses which undulated in the soft breeze, a feeling of belonging starting to take root in his mind. For a brief moment he saw three children gamboling inside a paddock with a roan colt, but with the blink of an eye the picture was gone, leaving the certainty of it’s truth behind.
“I think I must mon coeur précieux, for there is something in my soul which tells me you must never again be far from my arms.”