Immortal of My Dreams

by Alexis McNeil

  My fingers twitched in anticipation of going through the boxes. “We’ll be done in no time!”

  At three o’clock, I sprawled out on the floor covered in a layer of dust, completely frustrated. The majority of the items discovered, I regarded as junk. I unboxed many broken antiques or sets with pieces missing. I found a box full of damaged swords, with most looking worthless. We stumbled upon a few antiques worthy to sell, but not nearly enough. I uncovered a glass vase with a hand painted village around the bottom, a bundle of old tartans moths didn’t get to, and an ancient shield.

  I blew loose strands of hair falling from my ponytail out of my face and went down the other side of the attic. Tucked in between two boxes hid an old gold painted frame. I lugged the heavy frame out and realized from the gold plaque, the painting descended from my family’s clan, Clan Murray. Dust covered the painting, so I blew the dust off and a handsome, chestnut haired man appeared.

  He resembled a rugged highlander from old in tan chausses, a white linen tunic, and brown leather boots. I turned the painting over and found “Chieftain C.L. Murray 15th Century” written in black ink in my grandda’s handwriting. I flipped the painting back over and studied the handsome man. He appeared to be in his twenties, very well built, and had the vibrant green eyes that ran in the Murray family. He stood with a loch in the background and one foot posed on a boulder. His broadsword hung sheathed at his hip. No wonder he was a chieftain. He commanded power by just looking at him. I leaned the painting against the step banister so I’d remember to take the portrait downstairs. I knew the perfect place to hang it.

  Another two hours passed and all I had to show for my time was a small ruby necklace, pottery, and a moth eaten tapestry. I picked up a piece of pottery and thought about hurling the bowl across the room when a discolored wooden chest jammed in the corner caught my attention. I pushed the junk off my lap and carefully stepped over the mess I created to the new treasure before me. The aged chest looked about twelve inches deep, three feet long, and eight or nine inches high. A gold plaque lay on top. I brushed away the thick layer of dust and tried to make out the engraving. The worn inscription made deciphering impossible.

  I attempted to open the lid, but the rusted hinges didn’t budge. Scanning the attic, I spied a hammer lying on the window sill. Hooking the back of the hammer under the lid, I pried the chest open. I coughed from the gust of stale air that blew up in my face. Rubbing the grime from my hands onto my pants, I beheld the shiny gold belt placed in front of me.

  The belt had the appearance of solid gold with a huge emerald, the size of my fist for a clasp. Nine beautiful little gold daggers occupied slots spaced around the belt. A snake head with different colored stone eyes dressed the handle of each stiletto. The short deadly blades glinted in the patch of sunlight shining in through the attic window. I carefully slid out a dagger—-the one with ruby eyes—-from its slot and held it cautiously in my palm. I brought the dagger closer for a better look and noticed traces of a dried dark brown substance on the tip. Could the crusty matter be blood? I cringed at the thought of these knives taking the life of someone.

  Placing the ruby dagger back in its slot, I took the belt out for a better inspection. I barely had the massive belt lifted up, when I sighted four empty slots. Figured. The belt turned out like all the other antique pieces I found, ruined or missing something. I prayed we’d sell the belt and get enough money to pay off all the back taxes.

  “Did ye find something, lass?” Gerdie asked coming up the attic stairs behind me.

  “I think so. This looks like some kind of belt.” I studied the belt, holding it from all angles. “The gold shines as if brand new. Besides missing a few pieces, I think we can get something significant for it.” I held the belt up—-as best I could--toward Gerdie so she could get a good look.

  “Och, I remember that thing. Fifteen years ago ye’re grandda found the chest in…let me think….” She tapped her chin with her pointer finger. “Oh yes, he uncovered the chest in Edinburgh at a flee market. He behaved like a lad in a candy shop when he arrived home. I think he kenned he stumbled upon a rare treasure for a cheap price. Ye see, the seller didna ken ye’re grandda collected ancient books full o’ Scottish myths and legends. A sketch of that verra belt is pictured in one o’ the books along with its tale.”

  “A tale? Do you know if the books are still around?”

  “If my memory serves correctly, I remember cleaning the desk out a few years ago and finding them. The books were in the bottom desk drawer.” Gerdie walked over to the desk and opened the bottom drawer. She pulled out an aged book, revealing its tattered and torn green cloth cover—-the same book my gram read from the last time I saw her. While Gerdie delicately flipped through the fragile pages, she made her way slowly back over to me and handed me the book opened to a chapter called: The Immortals.

  “Read the tale aloud lass if ye dinna mind,” Gerdie said sitting down in an old rocker.

  I stared in awe at the discolored picture on the page of the exact belt sitting on my lap. I scanned the ragged page and found the beginning of the story, a story about a belt that supposedly didn’t exist.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER THREE

  I glanced up at Gerdie’s smiling face and licked my dry lips. “Hundreds upon hundreds of years ago thirteen immortal men stood in front of thirteen powerful Guardians which comprised of twelve elderly men and one elderly woman. These so called thirteen Guardians—-which resembled warlocks more than men--withheld the balance between good and evil. They created thirteen immortal men to fight and do their bidding for them. The Immortals fought only when the Guardians deemed the battle to their advantage.

  The Immortals existed for one thing and one thing only…to fight. The battle honed warriors readied themselves for combat in a split second. For centuries the immortal men fought, ending with them walking away untouched and the enemy wiped out.

  The warriors were each birthed from a mother’s womb, but they knew who truly created them. Each Immortal lived with a human family until they turned five and twenty--the age when their bodies emerged as the ultimate battle honed warrior--never aging a day older. The human families knew what the beasts were. Some accepted…and some did not, but the families never disobeyed the Guardians. The few knowing humans kept the secret of immortality safe from outsiders, scared of their fates if they did not obey.

  The Guardians believed the honest, decent, hardworking humans needed someone on their side. And it was those so called good, moral humans the immortal warriors envied so much. Watching the mortal humans return home to their women and children and witnessing happy families living in homes filled with love changed the Immortals. They would handover anything, if only to become mortal for a year, a week…even a day. They yearned for what the humans took for granted. The Guardians perceived this. They were aware the immortal men wanted to leave their hell and become mortal humans so they could have a wife, a child…a home.

  On one cold wintry day in the deepest part of the Grampian Mountains, thirteen exhausted warriors stood in front of thirteen irritated Guardians who stared hard, cold eyes down at the men.

  The Guardians talked quietly amongst themselves, debating and deciding the futures of the thirteen before them. They knew the men made the two-week journey battling harsh winter weather and jagged mountains to ask one boon…to emerge from the depths of the mountains as mortal men.

  The Guardians settled on a decision and decided since the Immortals wanted wives, children, and a place to call home, their human soul mates would be the ones to turn them mortal. The warriors most likely would search, maybe for hundreds of years, for their soul mate if they wanted to become human.

  The Immortals did not like this. They felt like pawns in a game the Guardians set out to win. The Immortals cried out in an uproar. To calm the warriors, the Guardians agreed to create a belt to aide them. The belt allowed the warriors to travel through time, although three conditions had to be followed when
using the belt: each Immortal could only use the belt once in their lifetime, they had to keep fighting for the Guardians when needed while they searched for their soul mates, and under no circumstance was a mere human--other than a soul mate--to use the belt with them.

  The warriors would stay immortal forever unless they discovered their true soul mate. To guarantee the human woman was exactly that, the Immortals had to be willing to give their life to keep her. They’d transform into a mortal man if true love flowed between both hearts, but if any doubt arose and the love was not returned…the warriors would stay immortal till the end of all days.”

  The thirteen warriors agreed, realizing this might be their only chance at freedom. With a wave of the Guardians’ hands, the belt magically formed before the warriors’ eyes. An emerald the size of a large egg appeared as a clasp and solid gold forged from earth’s deepest pit molded the belt with thirteen slots around the waistband. In these slots slid thirteen small golden daggers with a serpent’s head on each hilt. Every pair of serpent’s eyes gleam a different color gemstone.

  All thirteen pairs of immortal hands grasped a dagger. The warriors obliged to pierce the skin just below their hearts. Once a drop of their immortal blood stained the blade of their dagger, the agreement and belt bound to them for all time. The Guardians revealed one last instruction; the belt would not work unless all thirteen daggers were in place.

  Grunts from the Immortals echoed through the cavern as the warriors pricked themselves precisely below the heart binding their word and souls to the belt. When all thirteen stained daggers slid into place on the finished belt, the Guardians handed it over to the Immortals. The thirteen warriors left in high spirits and began their searches for their soul mates and their destinies for freedom.

  It is said the Immortals discovered too late the wicked spell woven into the belt by the deceitful Guardians. After every use, the daggers and belt would separate, spreading over the land only to leave the next immortal to retrieve the lost belt and daggers which could take centuries to come across.

  For hundreds and hundreds of years the immortal warriors endlessly searched to find the daggers, belt, and their soul mates. No one knows if all the immortals found their soul mates, or if by chance, they continue their quest.

  “The myth is so romantic in a way,” Gerdie said breaking the story’s spell, bringing me back to reality. “I remember listening in on this tale one night with ye’re gram. After ye’re grandda told us the tale, he said to her, ‘Elspeth, if ye dinna ken it, ye’re me other half. I canna live without ye.” Gerdie sat in the middle of the dusty attic for a moment with a sad smile on her face staring off into the distant past.

  “If you don’t think we should sell it, I….”

  “No, lassie, we need the monies.” Gerdie glanced around the attic with a sullen expression on her face. “I’m sorry there weren’t more valuable things up here.”

  “It’s all right. At least we found something promising. I might as well go look for an antique shop now, before they close-up for the day.” I put the belt back into the case and caressed the dagger with the ruby eyes. It seemed as if the dagger called to me. All of a sudden, I wanted to touch the serpent’s head, slide the blade out from the belt, feel the weight of the heavy golden weapon in my hand.

  “I can drive ye into town,” Gerdie said, putting an end to my trance. I shut the lid and closed the clasp before second thoughts filled my head about selling the belt.

  “I can drive myself.” I picked up the chest and glanced back at Gerdie from the top of the steps. “Oh, Gerdie, can you bring down that portrait?” I nodded over to the old painting and shifted the heavy chest in my arms. “I want to hang it above the fireplace in the living room.”

  “Aye, o’ course lass.”

  * * * * *

  Three antique shops made up part of the shopping district in Dornoch. I picked the most professional looking one, Dunstan’s Antiquities, hoping the shop I chose would be capable to shell out the most money if the belt turned out to be valuable.

  A bell on the door jingled when I walked through, stepping into a quaint and cozy shop. In every direction I turned, sat little knick-knacks, antiques, and newer trinkets.

  “May I help ye, lass?” a small elderly man asked from behind a glass case. His white hair stood up on end around the bald spot on the top of his head and big, bushy eyebrows resembled fuzzy white caterpillars sticking out over small wire framed glasses which perched on the tip of his bulbous nose.

  “Yes, I wondered if you’d be interested in buying an antique,” I said. He motioned me over to an aged table and laid out a cloth across the top.

  “Lass, why dinna ye set ye’re treasure down here and I can get a good look.” I placed the heavy wood chest on the table so the latch faced the shopkeeper. He opened the chest and his face took on an expression of pure shock. Immediately, he shut the chest. “I’ll be right back, lass. I’ve got ta make a phone call.” He hobbled through a red velvet curtain divider and disappeared to the back room.

  After a few minutes, he shuffled back out. “Could I ha’ ye’re name lass, and an address?” he asked with a pen and notepad poised in his hands.

  “So, you’ll buy it?” I asked confused.

  “I willna be lyin’ ta ye lass. In all probability I could buy the piece from ye for a wee price and ye’d ne’er ken its true value. Lucky for ye, I dinna do business that way. I dinna ha’ enough ta pay ye for what the piece is genuinely worth. I made a call ta a collector I ken who is specifically looking for the belt ye hold. If I could get a phone number and address ta give him, perhaps ye two can come ta an agreement on a price, but I willna be dealin with ye today lass, maybe another time.” His large knobby hand gently patted the top of mine.

  He seemed like a sweet old man, but I still felt leery giving him my information to pass along to a complete stranger and have him know where I stayed with a valuable antique he wanted. “Tell you what, I’ll give you my cell number. If this ‘collector’ is indeed serious, he can call me.”

  I left the shop discouraged. I anticipated going in, selling the belt, and putting an end to the whole tax dilemma, but another part of me grew excited at the thought of having more time with the ruby eyed dagger.

  At dinner I told Gerdie how a rich collector might call and to keep her fingers crossed that we’d get a lot of money for the belt. Before retiring for the night, I opened the chest--which I stored at the foot of my bed--and took the ruby eyed dagger out of the slot, caressing the smooth shape in my hand. The blade spread warmth through my palm and up my arm. I held onto the dagger staring at the stain on the tip of the blade. Whose blood had it belonged to? A man, woman, God forbid a child! With that thought I stuffed the dagger back into its slot, slammed the chest closed, and buried myself under the covers on my bed.

  * * * * *

  Ding-Dong. I abruptly woke-up to the ding of the door bell echoing in my head. God, what time was it? I squinted over at the alarm clock, eight fifteen. Who made house calls this early? I sure hoped Gerdie was already awake, because I planned to stay in bed. I rolled over and burrowed into the blankets attempting to fall back asleep.

  “Jillian, are ye awake?” Gerdie asked in a chipper tone from the other side of my bedroom door.

  “Yes,” I said still half asleep. “Come in.”

  “Jilly, a mon stopped by. He’s downstairs,” she said eagerly. “He’s the one interested in the antique belt. He wants ta see the belt and talk ta ye!”

  “He’s downstairs?” I asked puzzled. I knew I never gave my gram’s address to the antique dealer. And I sure as hell would have remembered talking to a man on the phone. “Tell him I’ll be right down.”

  “Okay,” Gerdie said closing the door behind her.

  After brushing my teeth and throwing on a pair of jeans, a cream Henley, and a plaid button down shirt, I headed downstairs to the living room where a low murmur of voices floated through the opened doors.

  I walked in and instan
tly stopped in my tracks. An attractive man leaned with his back against the mantle while Gerdie rambled on about the weather. The man’s head snapped up and his bright, grass green eyes stared into mine with an intensity I felt clear down to my toes. His unruly dark brown hair needed a trim and I had a feeling a toned body hid underneath his perfectly tailored dark gray suit.

  “Jillian, this is Cameron Lachlan,” Gerdie said from the couch. I glanced down at the large tan hand waiting for mine and briefly shook it. I peered up into his face.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said pleasantly. “This might sound silly, but have we previously met?”

  “No.”

  “My mistake,” I said knowing I’ve seen this man before.

  His gaze darted around the room. “I understand you have something I might be interested in purchasing.”

  “Yes, I have it upstairs. I’ll be right back.” As I left the room and headed upstairs I couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Lachlan. I knew him. I got up to my room and hefted the heavy chest into my arms. I lugged the heavy chest downstairs and sat it on the coffee table with a loud thud in front of Mr. Lachlan.

  “Here it is,” I said. “Go ahead and take a look.” I moved off to the side as he opened the chest. When the lid opened, he ran his hand slowly over the belt. A smile hinted at his lips, changing his features, making him appear almost…friendly. Sheen filled his eyes. Were those tears? Was the belt that important to him?

  “I’ll leave ye two alone ta discuss a price,” Gerdie said rising from the couch. She left the room closing the doors behind her. I glanced down at the man before me, kneeling over an antique belt and clenching the sides of the chest as if he would never let go. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the red ruby eyed dagger. My hands itched to pick it up. I didn’t think I could part with it.