Lochlan cocked his head. “We’ll see about that. How do I get there?”
“You can’t find it. It’s hidden.”
“How. Do. I. Get. There?”
“Behind me, through the seam. You have to go through Guhl Woodland, over Voiceless Summit, through Dark Grove until you get to Nevarf,” the Unseelie wheezed. “Shadowland is north of there on top of Dront Mountain. But I told you, you can’t get through. Not unless you can shadowstep.”
Lochlan squatted. “You’ve been most helpful.” He touched his hand to the Unseelie’s head, both of them seeing the seven circles of Hell as he did so. This was the part Lochlan hated. Within seconds, the Unseelie turned to ice and then shattered. Lochlan removed his hand.
Taking a step back, he shook the vision loose, contemplating his next move. At sunrise, he would slip through the seam and enter Faery, after first making sure the monastery was secure before leaving. He wasn’t taking any chances with their safety. They’d been through enough.
He made his way through the forest, walking instead of flying, listening to the gentle hush that cloaked the land as the hand of winter smothered everything to death. He climbed the rock steps that led to the monastery, nearly slipping on the ice. When he reached the top, he stared at the opulence of the stone structure while memories of Searly plagued his mind. He was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. He pushed through it and walked on, passing by the consecrated grounds where they had laid Thaddeus to rest. The monks had wasted no time, not knowing if there would be another attack, so they performed the ritual quickly. It had reminded Lochlan of when they had buried Elin’s parents, only this time without Searly. Standing at Thaddeus’s graveside had brought back so many painful memories that Lochlan wasn’t sure he could stay and watch. He could almost feel her standing there, staring at the ground, her wet hair clinging to her sad face, remembering what she had said to him on that fateful day in the rain.
“I’m dying inside,” she said.
“I know,” he said, whisper-soft.
“I don’t know how to go on without them.”
“I know,” he said again just as softly. He shivered against the chill. “How long were you planning to stand here?”
She closed her eyes, letting the rain cascade over her. “Until I figure out how to say goodbye.” He didn’t reply, and after a minute she said, “You don’t have to stay.”
“I would like to, if that is all right with you.” Lochlan turned his head then, his unnaturally pale eyes beseeching her, asking for approval.
She nodded. “All right.
He would have stayed with her in the rain forever if he had to. He couldn’t leave her alone. His heart wouldn’t allow it.
After they buried Thaddeus, the monks had tried talking to him, no one knowing what to say. They still didn’t. Even when he was there, he was a ghost. Present, but somewhere else.
Upon entering the monastery, he walked down the dimly lit corridor and heard the monks chanting a Gregorian chant that forced his feet to stop moving and his ears to listen. He leaned against the stone wall, resting his head against the coolness of it, and closed his eyes. The chanting started out quietly, one voice, then two, then three, each growing in volume until he was sure the angels could hear. If the angels could hear then maybe they were listening, so he started to pray.
Help me. I need to find them. Please help me find them. I need to save them. Help me. Please.
Lochlan’s chest felt tight and heavy. So much so, he could no longer hold himself up. His knees buckled and he sank to the ground, sliding down the wall until his butt hit the floor. He drew his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. By the time the monks’ chanting had reached the crescendo, his eyes were burning, his cheeks were wet, and his heart was bleeding.
He started his own chanting then. I failed them I failed them I failed them I failed them.
All the times he told Elin he would keep her safe. Promised her, and Zeph had taken her right in front of him.
Lochlan roared like a lion and stood, fists clenched at his sides. He started to move, his cloak snapping around his ankles for every angry step he took. Once outside, he spread his wings and left the ground, wishing he could leave his regret behind as well, but no such luck. He would carry his regret around for the rest of his life.
He checked and rechecked the wards he had the witch place around the monastery, rare enchanted objects he’d learned would keep even the evilest of species out. He had done some quick research after the last wards had failed. These wards would not. Maude, the witch, had bet her life they would hold, and he had faith in her. He’d known her for a long, long time. How old she was he did not know. He’d never asked, it was none of his business. Although he suspected she was well over one hundred years. Perhaps her potions and spells helped keep her spry. All he knew was she had kept his secret, and he had kept hers. He trusted her.
When he was satisfied that the monks would be protected, he left a note for whichever monk to find, letting them know he would be back, hopefully with Searly and Elin in tow.
He took flight once more, and when his feet touched the ground again, he was staring up at the manor. More memories assaulted him. First, memories of his father. Then memories of Elin. He had lost them both in the exact spot he stood.
God! he wanted to scream. Why? Why did this happen?
Why was he being punished? Why? Why? Why?
You are not being punished. You are being tested.
Lochlan whipped around. “Who said that?” He saw no one. Sharpening his vision, he concentrated harder. There was a flutter of motion out of the corner of his right eye and something white flew in front of him, landing on a tree branch closer to him.
You are not being punished. You are being tested. The voice was feminine and coming from…
Lochlan cocked his head and stared at the white owl who stared back at him. “Are you talking to me?”
The owl spread its wings wide and far, flew from the branch, circled around, and when it landed in front of him, the owl was no longer an owl, but a woman with wings. Beautiful white wings. She stood tall and regal, wearing an all-white gown that hung at varying lengths all the way to her ankles with wide sleeves also cut at varying lengths down to her wrists, a gold rope tied at her waist. Her hair was long with gold and silver streaks and her face sparkled like the sun on the water, shimmering every time she moved.
“Who are you?” he asked, stunned.
“I am sorry we haven’t met before, though we sort of already know one another.” Moving toward the manor, a hint of a smile crossed her lips. “May we go inside?”
For a moment, Lochlan stood in place, dumbfounded. She peeked over her shoulder and asked, “Are you going to stand there or are you going to invite me in? We have much to discuss.”
Lochlan blinked and then forced his feet to move. “I have a feeling you already know your way around,” he mumbled, moving past her toward the manor.
“Only what I’ve seen through the windows,” she answered coolly.
Once inside, Lochlan closed the door behind them, remaining rooted in place. She moved about the room as though her feet never really touched the floor. Pure grace she was, and he couldn’t help watching her. She seemed familiar, on a deeper level than just the owl he had come to recognize, and he was desperately trying to figure out why.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She turned to eye him. “For what?”
Remembering how he had promised the owl (her) that he would keep Elin safe, he shook his head and veered away. “I made a promise. And I–”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
He said nothing. He knew the truth. It was his fault.
He had failed. He had failed. He had failed.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she repeated.
Lochlan’s brows drew tight. “Why now?” he asked. “Why reveal yourself to me now?”
“It was time.” She picked up the wooden owl Elin had left
on the dining table and eyed it thoughtfully.
“Why?”
Her eyes slid to his. They were golden, like the sun. His breath caught, seeing his own reflection within them. Not like a mirror, rather, like he was seeing his life through her eyes. He stumbled back, unnerved.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked.
“No,” he croaked.
“Look at me,” she said softly. “Tell me who I am.”
He turned his pale eyes to hers. She held his gaze. He swallowed, knowing there was more to her than he could comprehend. “I’m not sure. But you’re–” He swallowed again, throat feeling tight. “That day at the waterfall, when Elin was going to touch me. You intervened.”
“Yes.”
“You knew about me?”
“Of course. I brought her to you. Though, I didn’t know you would nearly fall, thus making her reach for you. That was quite nerve-racking. You gave me a fright.”
Lochlan tilted his head. “What do you mean, brought her to me?”
“It was time for you two to meet.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me, it isn’t.”
“Are you sorry you met her?”
“No! Of course not!”
“See?”
Lochlan gaped at the woman before him, incredulity defining his countenance. “See what?”
“It was time for you two to meet. You really should pay attention.”
He gripped the back of his neck and stared up at the ceiling, blowing out a frustrated breath. “I don’t understand.”
“You will.” She studied the figurine still in her hand. “Isn’t it funny how this started out as just a piece of wood? Nothing separating it from any other piece of wood. Someone came along and molded it, carved it into something beautiful, chiseling it into something to be admired. With just a tool and an imagination.” She looked at Lochlan. “Why did you buy this for her?”
“Because she liked it.”
“Because she liked it,” she repeated softly, almost wistfully.
“How did you know I bought it for her?”
This woman had an array of smiles and the one she wore now was a mischievous one. “I know lots of things, Lochlan.”
“Not sure how I feel about that.”
“Here, this may come in handy.”
Lochlan looked down, the weight of the owl magically in his hands.
“Put it in your pack. We’ll take it with us.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Take it with us where?”
“To Faery, of course.”
“You’re going with me?”
“I cannot let you go alone.”
“I’ve been alone all my life.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Have you?”
Lochlan peered at her then, transfixed on the richness of her eyes. She saw through him, down to his bones, and every secret of his heart was visible for her to see. He blinked and turned his back to her, wanting to give her none of his secrets. “Who are you?” he asked again.
“Someone on your side, Lochlan. Do not be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“You are. Of many things.”
He neither confirmed nor denied. Instead, he played with the wooden figurine in his hand. “Why do I need to bring this?”
“It’s sentimental.”
“So?”
Keeping his back to her, he lit a fire in the fireplace with a flick of his wrist and moved closer to the hearth. He shook off his cloak and draped it haphazardly over a chair. She glided along like she was made of silk, touching this and that. Her energy was palpable, rippling and crackling the air around them.
“I like sentimental things,” she answered. “As do you.”
He poked at the fire, little sparks flitting about. The firelight danced over his features, highlighting his strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. He watched the sparks, listening to the wood pop and hiss. “What do you know about what I like?”
“I know you, Lochlan.” She smiled secretively, like a cat dreaming of a mouse. “I know you very well.”
“How do you know me?”
She turned toward the door and placed her hand on the latch. Ignoring his question, she said, “Tomorrow, we’ll leave for Faery. Do try and rest tonight. I’ll be back at dawn.”
“What’s your name? I should at least know your name don’t you think?”
She paused and Lochlan waited, his bones tired, his heart weary. “Think of me as your Guardian Angel,” she said, peeking over her shoulder.
“That’s not who you are. You were sent to watch over Elin.”
“Was I?”
“Weren’t you?”
“Maybe I’m the craftsman sent to mold you into something beautiful. Something to be admired.” She smiled that secretive smile of hers. “Get some rest, Lochlan. You’re going to need it.”
With that, she opened the door, stepped out, and turned into the owl, flying away on a flutter of white wings.
Lochlan closed the door behind her and rested his head against it. Tomorrow he would be going to Faery. He had no idea what to expect. Or who he was even going with. Yet he sensed no malice from her. He had sensed something, though, something vaguely familiar. Perhaps if he wasn’t so tired he could put his finger on it. As it was, he was exhausted, so he lit a lantern and headed toward the staircase. With heavy feet, he climbed the steps and walked down the hall, stopping at his bedchamber door. He didn’t go in. He crossed the hall and pushed opened the door to Elin’s bedchamber. The door creaked as he walked inside. Her bed was still unmade, the scent of her lingering.
He closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in her essence. Tears pricked his eyes.
He crossed the room and stared out the window, the moon shining red.
“I’ll find you,” he whispered. “Wherever you are, I’ll find you.” His breath caught in his throat. “And then I’ll kill the Faery bastard who took you from me.”
He took another shuddering breath and lay down on the bed, curling into a ball, not even bothering to remove his boots.
He pressed his face into her pillow and breathed in deeply. A faint scent of honeysuckle tickled his nose. He closed his eyes, hoping sleep would find him soon while he repeated…“I promise I’ll find you.”
I slipped through the billowing darkness, a vortex of emptiness. Everything seemed to have fallen away like the universe hadn’t even begun, like it never existed at all. I was absent of mind, absent of body. That was the way I wanted to stay. Absent.
Wake up, Elin. You cannot die like this, a voice whispered inside my head.
I pushed it away and drifted on a current of nothingness, floating on dark waters for which there was no bottom.
But I want to…
Searly held Elin’s hand while he sat at her bedside. Her eyes had frozen over, reminding him of a winter lake, robbing them of warmth. She was in there, somewhere. He knew it, but it was as though she had taken a huge step back from life. He wanted to tell her that all was not lost, but he knew the pain she held inside. It was visible on her face, written like words on a scroll for anyone to read.
Bringing her limp hand up, Searly held it to his cheek, praying to God, and then he pleaded with Elin. “Wake up. You mustn’t give up. You cannot die like this.” He closed his heavy eyes, feeling the faint pulse in her wrist, and he pleaded with her again. “Please wake up.”
Zeph had kept his promise. He had brought Searly to her the minute they’d stepped out of the dungeon and into whatever this place was. While Zeph had welcomed him to Faery, the image Searly had of Faery did not coincide with the reality of it. It was a colorless, lifeless void where nothing thrived. Everything appeared to have been captured, and then hung in the balance, suspended in time. No wind, no chattering of birds, no murmurings of life’s creatures. It was barren. Even the air itself seemed haunted by misery. He sucked in a lungful of it and waited for the feeling of utter despair
. Right on cue, the gnawing feeling of gloom filled his lungs. He pushed it out quickly, only to have to inhale it again and again.
Was this purgatory? For it seemed more like a state of mind rather than an actual physical place one could travel to. Even the very chair he sat upon seemed more imaginary than real. It was the most unusual experience he’d ever had, like being caught inside a dream from which he couldn’t wake.
Taking another despairing breath, he gripped Elin’s hand tighter. Her eyes were open and unblinking, yet she was breathing, albeit shallow breaths, though her mind had wandered off without her body.
“Come back,” Searly begged. “Where have you gone?”
“She’s Fading,” Zeph said softly, startling Searly. The room had grown still, and other than his repetitive prayers, there had been complete and utter silence, so unnatural that it frayed his nerves and set him on edge. At the sound of Zeph’s voice, the quiet fell like a blade on a guillotine.
Searly jumped and placed his palm over his beating chest. “Saints in Heaven,” he gasped. After slowing his racing heart to a respectable rhythm, irritation set in, and then anger. “Can you heal her?”
Zeph let out a sigh. “I have tried.”
“Try again,” Searly demanded.
“I cannot heal her.”
“Why not? You healed me.”
“She doesn’t want to be healed. This is of her choosing.”
“Why won’t she wake up?” Searly raged. “What did you do to her?”
Zeph stared out the window at the dull, listless sky that sagged with dark clouds, bloated with rain that refused to fall. When he turned to Searly, he looked nearly as empty as Elin, like even he had given up on life. His eyes had lost their flare, their spark, the thing that made them frighteningly beautiful. Now they were as listless as the sky above.
“I’m sorry,” Zeph said, remorse clinging to his words. “I didn’t know.”
Searly jumped to his feet, knocking over the chair in which he sat, hearing an odd echo when it hit the floor. “You didn’t know what? What does Fading mean? Tell me!”
Zeph scrubbed his hands over his tired face and then let them fall loosely at his sides. “Faeries have the power to Fade. They can will themselves to die and let their spirit be absorbed back into Faery itself.”
The Moon Shines Red (Heart of Darkness Book 1) Page 15