“Uh, yeah, me too,” Winn snorted, “seeing as how I did absolutely nothing to get them.”
Her uncle blinked in astonishment. “What do you mean? Calluses like that don’t just pop up out of thin air. You had to be doing something to get those babies.”
“No I didn’t, swear I didn’t,” the teen persisted, reclaiming this foot and repositioning herself cross legged on the mattress. Pulling the blankets up to her waist, she looked her uncle in the eye, returning his dubious expression with an adamant stare of her own. “Really, Uncle Tom. The headaches, the burning ache in my feet, the simmering in my stomach-it all started practically as soon as we landed here in Europe. You and Dr. McLennan were too busy with Ny-Mo, Finn, and Kesha - not to mention helping put the team together - to notice. After you left, things just got worse.”
Perhaps the fact that she was shrewd enough to make the accusation without making it sound like an accusation tempered her uncle’s response from defensiveness to apology. “Baby, if you were feeling bad, you know you could’ve interrupted me - or Jeanne - at any point to tell us. Why didn’t you?”
Winn shrugged. “Didn’t think it was important, at first. Figured it’d probly go away. But it didn’t. After you left, when it really started getting bad, there was nobody left to tell.”
“We have medics on the team. You should’ve let them in on your secret.”
“Oh yeah, and what would they’ve done? Given me kiddie aspirin? Told me to take a hot shower, drink some milk, and soak my feet? I tried all that. Nothing helped.”
“Baby...” Her uncle reached out to brush the hair from her face. “I’m so sorry you felt bad and nobody knew.” Again, Winn shrugged off his sympathy. Outwardly, she had to be an adult, mature, but inwardly she couldn’t deny it felt sorta nice to be coddled.
“I survived,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Besides, I thought if I made too big a deal of it, they might decide to send me home.”
“And you didn’t want that,” her uncle observed.
“No,” she returned firmly, “no, I didn’t want that.”
Uncle Tom took the point, she could tell. She wanted to go on this expedition, thought she deserved to go, and he knew it. A silence fell as he weighed whether or not to address the issue. In the end, he decided against it. “Well...” This time, it was his turn to shrug. “Changing the subject, I still think we should have one of the medics examine you. All of those symptoms had to happen for a reason. And nobody gets thick calluses on their heels like that just out of the blue. You had to be doing something...”
~
“Nay, she did not.” The new voice, a strange one - feminine, and heavily accented - captured both their attention. In a simultaneous movement so alike a bystander might’ve sworn the pair were actually blood related, Winn and Tom twisted to the right, towards the bedroom door. There, having just entered the room stood Jeanne, behind her stood a young woman as tall as she.
The shocked expression on Jeanne’s face, realising someone was behind her, was nothing compared to the strange clothes the woman wore: leather pants of some sort, a fur trimmed vest laced up the front - Winn’s fantasy novels would’ve classified it a jerkin - over a full-sleeved leather blouse, and tall, dark boots that came up over her knees. Strapped to her back and peeking over her shoulder was an amazing broadsword - huge, with a snarling wolf’s head pommel. The woman's hair was shoulder length, dark, pulled back from her face and tied with a leather thong. Her skin was a healthy, glowing tan, her hands calloused but capable, her entire posture and bearing self-assured, assertive. Her eyes were the most striking violet imaginable and unless Winn’s eyes were deceiving her there were hidden streaks of purple - a very un-natural looking purple - hidden in the depths of her dark hair, as well.
Winn had never seen anyone like her outside descriptions in novels, or perhaps the occasional medieval/fantasy type movie. Transfixed, she watched the woman with lips parted in awe, Uncle Tom’s expression mirrored his adopted niece - funny, as if he didn’t know who she was, who he was, or quite what to think of it all.
“She needed do nothing,” the young woman affirmed, leaving Jeanne’s side to step into the room. "For the deeds were all mine.”
For a moment, silence reigned. Then Winn, with typical teen irrepressibility, burst out, “Who the heck are you?”
“I second that,” said Jeanne ominously.
Winn’s outburst conjured a smile from the newcomer. “You know me not, Wintergreen Evans? Strange, is that. Why, I am your -”
Whatever she’d meant to say was cut short by Paul - Jeanne’s son - burst into the room from a side door. He was shouting before he ever entered the room, talking so excitedly, so fast, his words were strung together likes pearls on a line. “Winn, you’re-never-gonna-believe-what-I-just-found-out-about-your-ancestors, it seems…” Seeing his mom, her colleague, and most of all, the young woman by his mom’s side, he pulled up to a short stop, like a car putting on its brakes.
“Oh,” he said simply, peering at the young woman through the glasses he wore for reading and computer work. “It’s you.”
His pronouncement could not have generated greater shock waves. His mother, Jeanne, was the first to let loose. Arms akimbo, she stalked towards him, “Oh, it’s you? Paul Michael McLennan!” she snapped. “What do you mean, Oh, it’s you? Do you know who this is? Because if you do; I’d like to know too, if you please.” Paul, retreating from his mom’s impressive ire, opened his mouth to defend himself, but like a charging bull she ploughed on, not affording him the chance.
“Jeanne,” Tom spoke up quietly from the bed.
Winn watched in amazement as his one word brought Dr. McLennan to a standstill. She still looked angry, but her uncle’s calming effect on the woman was incontrovertible.
“I just want to know the truth,” she said, cutting Tom a sideways glance.
“I, too, desire an explanation,” put in the strange young woman, edging around Jeanne for a look at her son.
“Maybe he’d give you one if you all let him alone for a minute so he could talk.” Far be it from her to weigh in on Paul’s side, but even Winn could see the kid looked like a mouse cornered by a hungry cat. She could also see he’d never get anywhere if they didn’t shut up for a minute so he could get a word in edgewise.
Grown-ups. Want to know the whole story but won’t keep quiet long enough for you to tell it.
Paul’s quick glance in her direction showed gratitude, but Winn sloughed it off. Sticking up for him was, she supposed, the least she could do after that maniacal attack.
“Well,” he began, “Winn and me had to have something to do while you and your boyfr - oops, I mean, while you and him,” he nodded at Tom, “… were off in Egypt. The other day we started talking about how Winn’s ancestors went to the States from Europe, and we thought it’d be sorta cool to, you know, do some genealogical research online and see who they were and if we were related or something neat like that.
“So, anyway, Winn’s been having lots of headaches and her stomach’s been hurting and stuff, so I’ve been doing most it on my own.” Thankfully, Winn noted wryly, he left out that chauvinist accusation of all of her problems being related to her period.
“After the, um, the incident, day before yesterday...”
Winn winced, both at the thought of her unprecedented loss of sanity, and the disclosure that she’d been out of it for so long!
“I just had to keep busy, what with you guys being away and all, so I -”
“Paul, luvvie, come to the point!” directed his mother, sounding as exasperated as Winn felt with the longwinded explanation.
Paul looked a bit put out. “Yeah alright, don’t rush me...”
Winn snorted in amusement, caught Paul’s reciprocating glare, but ignored it.
“I found out Winn and her brother and sisters are related on their mum’s side to a German knight who was in Bulgaria in the 13th century. This knight was under the command of a Baron named - �
�
“Baron Daniel von Felden,” the newcomer supplied.
Winn, along with her uncle and Jeanne, looked at her in astonishment, but Paul wasn’t rattled a bit. “Yeah, and this Baron was this great warrior who fought in the Crusades, I think. There’s all these legends about him - mostly fantasy and folktale type stuff, don’t know how much of it is true.”
“You would be much astonished,” the strange woman supplied, amused.
“But anyway, I found a very obscure legend about him, and it seems he had this magical sword, which he gave to a young boy who was his body servant, when they were attacked by vampires.”
“Ulrich,” she interrupted again.
“Is that what it was called? The stories I read didn’t preserve the name. Anyways … ”
The woman reached behind her back and drew her blade from its sheath. Winn gaped. The weapon was beautiful in its deadly craftsmanship. A blue light glinted, running up and down the razor sharp edges.
Paul paused, his mouth scribing a perfect O, after a moment as he struggled to continue, his eyes wide at the sight of the blade, he said, “I found one legend about a woman who also carried the same magic sword,” his voice almost cracked as he realised the enormity of his words, and the proximity of the stuff of legends within his reach.
“Aye, some of what you speak is truth, mayhap distorted muchly, so forgive me if I interrupt your story young master, for all here must know the truth. Your destiny depends upon your understanding. Baron Daniel was indeed my master, and indeed we did fall foul of a terrible creature, Queen Darcia of the Strigoi. The Baron pressed Ulrich into my hands that I may escape and protect the weapon. I admit that in fear I removed myself from that place, leaving him with the Strigoi Queen. It has been my companion ever since.”
Paul looked closely at the young woman, “There was stuff about how she had violet eyes, and lived with dragons, and she was a great warrior and never used any weapon but Baron Daniel’s sword.
“I thought it was all really cool when I read it,” he concluded, almost sheepishly, his eyes fixed on the woman with a look bordering on hero worship, “then I found a link and discovered that she was the daughter of this Scottish knight.”
“The knechte, Jacob Witt.”
“Yes that’s him, it was then I got all excited. I figured Winn would be too, ‘cause she’s a descendant of that Scottish knight too. I rushed in here to tell her and, well... there you were. You’re really her, aren’t you?”
The woman smiled at the tiny seed of doubt in Paul’s voice. “Aye, lad. I am. I am Mira Witt, I am really her.”
“Wow,” Winn breathed.
The others stood; mouths open in amazement their faces mirroring Winn’s.
“I beg a favour that we may now assemble in the open, for I have one more introduction to bring you, but I pray you... be not afraid, for my beloved is pure of heart and of good intent towards you.” She looked straight at Winn as she spoke.
Jeanne led the party to the large rear garden, the special services troops were in the barn, at their evening meal, tended to by Yvonne who had swiftly taken up the reins of ‘Camp Cook’.
Mira stood for a moment to one side of the little group, she clapped her hands once in front of her body, and a beautiful creature, standing at least three times her height appeared behind her accompanied by a blast of displaced air. The creature then laid its head on Mira’s shoulder, its colouring matching perfectly the streaks in her hair and her beautiful, entrancing eyes. She raised her arm to embrace the massive head. “This is my beloved companion; this is Lady Alushamenta, Purple Queen of the M’ntar.” She said, her voice echoing the love she felt for the huge creature.
“Go you back beloved, I will call you when all is ready.” She whispered.
Winn staggered for a moment as the M’ntar queen disappeared, Tom leapt forward to steady her, “What’s up baby?” he said voice full of concern.
“She spoke, I heard her speak, inside my head it was, she said ‘You, will I see again soon,’ and she called me Red child.” Winn gasped the words, unable to believe what had happened.
“You are brave of heart and quick of mind, Red child, Lord Dominie will love you greatly, of that I am sure.” Mira placed a hand on Winn’s head. “Why wear you and the boy these strange things on your noses?”
“Cos I’m short sighted, I can’t see too clear, things which are a long ways off.”
“And the boy?”
“He needs them for reading,” said Jeanne.
“And watching telly,” the boy shot in, not wanting to be left out of the discussion.
Mira beckoned Paul to her, and placed her hand on his head too, “Children should not suffer these ailments, for surely they are for those advancing in years?”
Both Winn and Paul closed their eyes for a moment.
“Take you off those strange glasses from your faces; you have no need of them now.”
“That’s impossible,” said Jeanne.
“No mum, its not, I can see properly, everything is so clear.”
“But…”
“He’s right Dr Jeanne, so can I,” the teenager added.
Mira stood and watched as the two youngsters and their respective adults marvelled at the miraculous correction to their charge’s sight.
“Thank you,” said Tom to the young woman, “What you have done here, small though it may be, for us has been a great thing.”
Mira turned to her with a smile. “I have journeyed long to meet you, Wintergreen Evans. We are of the same blood, you and I. And we, both of us, have vital tasks ahead of us.”
“We-we do?” Winn gulped.
She’d always wondered what characters like Frodo felt when they, just common little folk, discovered they were going to be pivotal players in a race against time, evil, and fate. She had a feeling she was fixing to find out.
Ever since she could remember, Winn had wanted excitement, craved adventure. She’d always day-dreamed of how cool it’d be if her fantasy novels were proven real. Now this - this stranger appearing out of nowhere, acting as if she knew some big secret about her that was going to change the course of her life and even history itself, this was a little too much, even for Winn.
“We do,” Mira affirmed. “I have known since I was but a child, a knowledge burning deep inside my heart that a time would come that one of my descendants was to play a part in a terrible battle, a battle which will surmount all others in the history of this world. I knew not ‘twas you, until you laid a foot on the soil of Cruithintuait, this, my father’s homeland of Alba. From that moment your blood called loudly to me: restlessly, incessantly, disturbing even my deepest slumber. The forces of prophecy, magic and destiny convalesced about me, drawing me through time and distance to you.
“Those marks on your feet” She gestured down to Winn’s bare soles and heels. “Those are symbols of my journey to reach you. So closely linked are you and I that distresses to my body, will oftentimes emerge on yours.”
Tom and Jeanne approached as she was speaking. “Wait a minute-that sounds dangerous!” Tom interrupted. “I don’t like the sound of that. Obviously, you’re some sort of...of...” speaking to Mira, he searched for the right description. “...Warrior. Your life is a dangerous one. I don’t want my niece being threatened by what happens to you...”
“Have you any choice in the matter?” Mira’s violet stare was direct, piercing. “Destiny chooses us all, Master Thomas. Who she selects and what she directs, who among us can challenge?
“The rider of the Red,” she went on, “has a role that none but she can play. You look upon her as a child, I know.” She took in both Tom and Jeanne with that indictment. “But she is not. Her years are but a few less than mine. What I can survive, so can she. What I can do, so can she.”
“Which is ... what?” Jeanne inquired carefully.
“I am the Purple Rider,” the girl stated confidently. “As my descendant and one now so vitally linked to me, Wintergreen has been
named and she will be the companion in battle of Lord Dominie the Red, - she is the Rider of the Red. Together we shall join with the other M’ntar, and lead the children of light in the battle against the Anakim and the other creatures of darkness, the evil spawn of The Watchers.”
“Lea-lead into battle?” Tom sputtered. “Now you listen here, young lady. I don’t know who you are or what you’re up to, but my niece is not going with us to the other side. She’s not fighting in any war. She’s staying here where she’s safe.”
“Tom.”
This time it was Jeanne who spoke up, silencing the American’s tirade with a single word.
“Well...well, she can’t,” he protested weakly. “I mean, look at her. Mira may be a warrior of some kind, but Winn is Winn. She doesn’t know how to fight or handle a weapon or defend herself or...” his voice faded as he knew he was already losing any argument that he was trying desperately to raise.
The Tirnano - Book 1 'FINN' Page 29