by Trisha Telep
Slowly, a little bit at a time, she did open them. He was looking down at her from the shadows, just as she knew he would be. “Zek?” His name was so dear, so familiar on her lips.
“I’ve found you. My love, my wife, my Isabel.”
She wanted to say that no, she wasn’t his wife, she wasn’t that Isabel, and yet it felt as if she was. They were meant to be together. And just like that she was in his arms and their bodies moulded and moved, passion built and crested, and when it was over she drifted in the warm contentment of perfect sleep.
Zek stood in the shadows by the bed, watching her sleep. This was the woman he loved, and yet it wasn’t. She was physically different with her fair hair and blue eyes and lithe body -reborn, the Sorceress had said — but he knew inside she was the same. Did she remember him? He thought that in some part of her mind and heart she did recognize him. Certainly she’d given herself to him willingly, eagerly. He’d found her, his Isabel, and if life was fair they could remain together forever.
But as he knew all too well, life wasn’t fair. The Sorceress had kept her promise and now he must keep his, and it would more than likely end in his death. Only this time there would be no coming back.
By the time Izzy woke it was early afternoon. She was late. As she rushed about, showering and dressing, she tried to suspend her thoughts. Zek had come to her and she’d held him in her arms and loved him. Her dream man was real - or was he? Was the whole experience some sort of bizarre fantasy with a long medical name attached to it? There were so many unanswered questions in her head, but there was no time now to try to sort them out.
She had her job to go to and it was safer for her sanity to concentrate on that.
The job had been a real windfall for Izzy. There wasn’t a great deal of employment to be found in a small town like Neptune’s Bay - not out of the tourist season, anyway. Izzy had lived here for two years now, eighteen months on her own. Marriages didn’t always work out, she knew that, but hers must have been one of the shortest in living history. Six months and he was gone, back to the city, and Izzy was left in the rundown weatherboard cottage in which, together, they’d planned to grow old.
When he left, Izzy had a choice: she could follow him back to the city, where her friends and family would have welcomed her warmly, or strike out on her own in Neptune’s Bay. She’d chosen the latter option and, although since then there had been bad days, dark days, she’d never really regretted it. From the moment she saw this place she’d known she belonged here.
And soon after her husband had left, the dreams had begun. They weren’t always exactly the same but they were always about the lighthouse and the storm, and Zek Cole and her need of him. It was as if she had been drawn to this little town for a reason.
Neptune’s Bay was a holiday village, and in summer it swelled tenfold, only returning to normality when winter began to blast. The old lighthouse stood on the western point of the bay, high on the rocky cliffs that dropped dizzyingly to the heaving waters below. There was a new lighthouse now, further along the coast, its light automated but no less crucial to the well-being of ships passing out to sea. There had been a great many wrecks over the years.
The most infamous was in 1864. The Maggie Mackenzie, a steamship carrying nearly 200 passengers - emigrants from the Old World to the New - had been on her way around the point in a storm. She was seeking shelter in Neptune’s Bay when she struck the jagged line of rocks beyond the point, and sank with the loss of all aboard.
Izzy knew the story well because she had to repeat it every Sunday as part of her new job as official tour guide. The old lighthouse and its adjacent buildings were retained under a heritage classification, and the tourists were lining up to visit the place. Izzy entertained them each Sunday, and she was good at it. Every time she told the dreadful tale of the Maggie Mackenzie she would find herself adding to it, embellishing the storm, the cries of the drowning, the horror of those who watched from the shore. It was so tangible it was almost as if she’d been there herself. Sometimes she felt as if she had, so often did she dream about that storm and the lighthouse and Zek Cole.
Captain Ezekiel Cole was the keeper of the lighthouse when the Maggie Mackenzie struck the rocks in 1864. Izzy knew what he looked like because there was a portrait of him, and because of her dreams — although she didn’t know which had come first. The portrait hung inside the lighthouse, so that when she opened the door and walked into the chilly interior, there he was, staring straight at her.
The sight of his face took her breath away every time.
His black eyepatch made him look like a pirate, while his remaining eye stared out at her, dark and brooding. His mouth was a thin line, as if he was keeping whatever he wanted to say to himself, and there was a taut, anguished look to his face which made Izzy think he must be tormented by what had happened. And, of course, he had a reason to suffer. History had laid the tragedy at his door and made his name poison. When the steamer struck the rocks she had no warning, no chance of avoiding her watery fate, because the lantern in the lighthouse had been snuffed out.
Captain Zek had drowned that night, and his wife had never spoken of it, but everyone believed he had been drunk and failed to light the lantern. At least, they said, he’d tried to redeem himself by giving up his own life in his attempt to save those drowning, but it was a case of too little, too late in the eyes of the world.
And yet Izzy didn’t believe it. What about her dreams and the sea monster from the deep? What about the sense, every time she saw his face, that he was trying to communicate with her? (Although it was difficult to know how she could help a man who’d been dead for over a century and a half.)
Izzy had been haunted by the handsome lighthouse keeper long before he had appeared in her bed.
Zek’s head was spinning. He lowered it into his hands, as if that would ease the pain. He’d lost the sight in one eye sailing his ship from Nantucket to Sydney. There’d been an atrocious storm, and a broken spar hit him in the face. He’d fallen into the vast Pacific, half-conscious, tangled among torn sails and sodden ropes. He’d known he was going to die, but something inside him railed against his fate and that of his crew. He was a good captain and he didn’t deserve this - it wasn’t fair. He wasn’t normally superstitious, but suddenly he’d felt the invisible presence of something far more powerful than he.
Neptune, god of the sea, was peering into his heart and brain. A desperate Zek made the mistake of bargaining with the monster.
“Let me live,” he’d pleaded. “Neptune, let me live and I will grant you whatever you ask of me.”
I will let you live. But when the time comes you will give me whatever I ask in return for your life. Remember this, mortal, for there is no changing your mind once our deal is struck.
The voice boomed in his head like waves in a sea cave. He told himself he had no choice but to agree. Flailing among the debris, struggling for the surface, he’d felt something cold and immense brush by him, and suddenly he was free.
He found a new strength and used the fallen mast to haul himself back on board his ship. He and his men fought on, until the storm had blown itself out and all was calm. But the ship was badly damaged and the cargo lost, and when they limped into port he’d seen the lighthouse. Then and there he’d decided to become the lighthouse keeper of Neptune’s Bay. He told himself it was appropriate, since Neptune had saved his life. But deep in his heart he knew he was afraid of the bargain he’d made and what it might mean if he put to sea again.
Soon he’d met Isabel, and together they’d made their lives in the lighthouse. Zek forgot about Neptune’s bargain - pushing it far back into his mind - and instead thought himself the luckiest man in the world; he’d survived a shipwreck and found love. But what he didn’t realize was that it wasn’t luck at all. Neptune was simply waiting until Zek had something in his possession that the god wanted for himself.
Now he lifted his head from his hands and tried to focus. The Sorceress
had told him she would send him back, and he must save all those lost lives and capture the monster. But he’d failed once. How could he change the outcome this time?
He blinked again, and realized he was in the stairwell of the lighthouse, his lighthouse, gazing through the thick glass porthole. Outside it was a fine day, the sun shining like the blade of a sword through a gap in the clouds, and turning the dark seething seawater to brilliant emerald. Towards the horizon he could see rain approaching, the edge of a storm.
There was a sense of something else approaching, something as old as the ocean itself. Neptune knew he was back, and it wouldn’t be long until the monster came calling.
Zek began to climb the stairs, around and up, until he reached the trapdoor. It was closed but not bolted from above, and when he heaved at it the door lifted. He climbed through and at last he was standing in the room that housed the very heart of the lighthouse - the lantern room.
It was like a living thing. The reflectors and the lamps revolved within their frame, flashing light that could be seen many miles out to sea. He had worked day and night to keep the oil up to the wicks, the wicks trimmed and the reflectors clean. He’d known how important his job was. At night, Isabel had come with him, sitting and watching, her face dreamy in the starlight. They’d talked about their plans, about their life together, never imagining it could end so soon.
Now, as he looked about the lantern room, everything appeared the same. When he peered through the windows towards Neptune’s Bay, he saw that the rain had closed in. He started to pace around the light, as he used to, lost in his own thoughts.
Izzy unlocked the lighthouse door. The wood was thick and marked by time, and sometimes the damp warped it so that it stuck at the bottom. Today was one of those days, and she used her shoulder to force it open. The air inside was cool and still, and the portrait met her gaze from the opposite wall. As if he’d been waiting for her.
“Good morning, Zek,” she said softly.
Good morning, Isabel.
“I dreamed about you again. At least, I think it was a dream.”
Tell me about it.
“There was a storm and the steamer was heading for the rocks and then the sea monster came up out of the waves and I knew you were going to die. I didn’t want you to die. I didn’t want you to leave me.”
The portrait seemed to understand.
“And then, this morning, it was as if you were there with me, in my bed. How can that be?”
He had no answer.
“I feel so lonely here without you,” she whispered. “I don’t care if you are a dream, I want you back.”
There was a sound.
Startled, Isabel looked up.
There it was again - a thumping noise. The sound of the trapdoor into the lantern room closing! Even as Izzy began to move towards the stairs, she heard footsteps coming down. There was someone else in the lighthouse.
The hairs rose on her arms despite her warm sweater. She was unable to move, her feet rooted to the floor, as the steps came closer. A hand rested on the railing above her, a masculine hand. Suddenly, now she could move. Fear sent her stumbling towards the door, her hands grasping for the latch, but the warped wood was stuck fast. She heaved at it, gasping, making little sounds of terror. It wouldn’t budge.
The man was coming closer, his steps echoing throughout the lighthouse like approaching thunder.
Izzy spun around, her back to the door, ready to fight for her life, just as he came around the last twist in the stairs. He was breathing quickly, his chest rising and falling. She saw it all: the eyepatch, the old-fashioned clothes, the so-familiar face.
“Isabel?” he said, and his voice was exactly as she heard it in her dreams.
Zek Cole was standing before her and he was smiling, his drawn face alight at the sight of her. He knew her, just as she knew him.
“How can this be?” she managed. “You’re really here.”
“I really am,” he said softly, as if afraid he might send her running in terror. “The Sorceress is the queen of time and, if she wishes it, time can be made meaningless. She’s brought us together again.”
“Again? But I’m not your wife . . .” Then why did she feel as if she was?
“You are my wife.” He said it fiercely. “The Sorceress told me you had been reborn, while I remained sleeping in the between-worlds, but it makes no difference. We were made to be together.”
Too much information, she thought shakily, too much to take in. “The Sorceress?”
“I asked her to reunite us, and in return I must face the monster Neptune and help her to capture him.”
Suddenly it was all too real. Izzy shook her head.
He was moving closer, and there was no humour in his dark eye, only love and longing. “I have been waiting to see you again.”
“I’ve been waiting too,” she said. “I’m so glad ... so glad you’re here at last.”
Emotion overwhelmed her, and she pushed herself away from the door and ran on trembling legs into his arms. He was wiry and strong, his body hard from years of physical work, but he held her as if she were something very precious, and his breath against her cheek was warm and alive. Just as it always was in her dreams.
“You’re mine,” he said, “and I am yours.”
She believed him. As fantastical as his words were, she felt their truth at her very core.
Izzy turned her face, her lips brushing his. He cupped the back of her head in his palm and began to kiss her. Deep, passionate, longing kisses.
“All the years alone,” he murmured, pressing his face to her hair, kissing her temples, her cheeks. “Lying sleeping in the between-worlds, and waiting. And now I’ve found you again, Isabel.”
Izzy lifted his face in her hands, feeling the rough stubble. As much as she wanted to lose herself in this remarkable moment she knew it couldn’t be that simple. There was something poignant in his smile, a tragic edge.
“I remember . . . last time you faced Neptune you died. I stood safe in the lighthouse and saw it all. Please, I beg you, don’t risk your life again.”
Suddenly a squall hit the lighthouse, seeming to rock the very structure with its violence. Wind moaned up the stairs and rain lashed the porthole windows. It felt as if they were on a ship and under siege from the elements.
“He’s coming,” Zek said bleakly.
The memory was sharp in her brain - the cold blue skin rising from the sea, the dark predatory eyes that didn’t blink, the dorsal fin stretching sharp along its spine. How could anyone fight such a creature and survive?
“We need to leave,” she gasped, urgently pulling at his hand. “We must go. Now.”
His face was calm, his gaze tender. “It’s too late, Isabel. I’ve given my word and I can’t go back on it.”
“No.” Izzy heard him but she refused to believe. She spun around towards the door and wrenched at the handle, tugging hard. To her surprise this time it came open a foot, and she squeezed through the narrow gap, shouting for him to follow.
Immediately her hair was tossed into her face, the salty air stinging her eyes. She took one step towards the paved path that led through the ticket office and into the restored keeper’s residence.
And froze.
Her heart beat hard, the blood rushed in her ears, but she could hear neither above the whining of the wind and the crashing of the surf against the rocks below the lighthouse. The paved path was gone and in its place was a muddy track between tufts of grass. The residence was different too and, when she looked down over the wild waters of the bay, the town was not the one she knew at all. The houses were smaller, older, and smoke rose from the chimneys before being whipped into a frenzy by the gale.
She had been transported to another world: Zek Cole’s world.
Izzy spun back towards the lighthouse, angry and frightened, and found the door shut against her. She began to pound her fists against the rough wood until it opened. He stood there. His chest was rising a
nd falling quickly, his face coloured by the eerie light from the storm outside. A crackle of lightning tore through the sky, striking the ground behind her, and she screamed. He grabbed her and dragged her inside, and let the wild wind close the door behind them.
“Make it stop,” Izzy shrieked. “Make it all go away.”
“I can’t stop it,” he growled. “Not until it’s finished. I told you. I have sworn to the Sorceress - I give her Neptune and she gives me you. I have to do what she wants. Only then can we be free to be together. I know last time Neptune won, but this time things will be different.”
Izzy wiped the dripping rain from her eyes. “I can’t remember everything that happened last time. My dreams are fragments . . . bits and pieces. Sometimes I think it’s as if I can’t bear to remember it all.”
He gave her a long look. “Come with me,” he said, “and I will tell you.”
She didn’t want to go; she didn’t want to be here. Zek Cole was a man who’d been dead for over a century and a half, a man vilified by history, and yet he said she was his wife and he loved her. Madness, it was madness, she thought wildly, as for a brief moment commonsense reasserted itself.
And then he turned and looked at her and held out his hand. “Isabel?”
Izzy felt her feet moving, felt the warm strength of her hand in his, as she followed him up the steep staircase that twisted around and around to the top of the lighthouse.
Zek could hear her footsteps behind him. Her clothing was unfamiliar, the blue trousers and the knitted sweater manly, but there was certainly no way he could mistake her for anything other than a woman. The tight fit of her clothing around her curves, the soft line of her mouth, her long, curling fair hair were all very feminine.
In other ways, too, she was different to his Isabel - stronger, less inclined to obey him without question - and this worried him. Last time Isabel had stayed safe up in the lighthouse while he faced Neptune. Would she be so easily persuaded this time?