Concentric Circles

by Aithne Jarretta

  He leaned in close and breathed into her ear, “Where’d you go?”

  Turning her head, she murmured, “Nowhere. I’m right here.”

  Meekal grunted, shaking his head. “You keep riding away from me. Perhaps, I should get a rope.” He wagged his brows.

  She snickered and rubbed against him under the table.

  Gail leaned forward and spoke from her place down the table. “Kal, what are you going to do about the reward for Zubird? Plan a honeymoon?”

  Surprise knifed through Shayla. She looked around at everyone, her eyes finally resting on Meekal. “Reward?” Honeymoon?

  “You know I don’t need or want the reward.”

  “Meekal,” Gail insisted, “that isn’t relevant. There’s a reward. Even if you are an Adjutor, you’re still entitled.”

  Meekal growled under his breath.

  “Kal,” Gail said, her tone slipping into a coaxing tone. “The Council will expect closure. You know the procedure. The Clerk’s office will have to draft a twenty-five thousand pound note because it has already been allotted.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  Shayla sensed Meekal’s heart racing. The sensation threatened to overpower her in its intensity. Everything about their bond was still a new experience. “You’re an Adjutor?”

  “Later,” he muttered, shaking his head angrily.

  Her frustration spiraled. She hadn’t realized Meekal had a job. Duh, Brinawell, she growled in her head. She had assumed the Bed and Breakfast was Meekal’s source of income. This was something new added to the mix. She didn’t understand the feelings she was picking up from him. They seemed to be anger and uncertainty.

  “Yes, I’m an Adjutor.” Meekal turned back to Gail. “I don’t want the reward. Mrs. Graham was involved with the Children’s Fund. I’ll donate it to them.”

  Pride replaced Shayla’s frustration.

  “All right,” Gail said. “I’ll start the paperwork and have it ready for your signature on Monday. Will you stop by and sign them?”

  “Yes. We’ll do it then.” Meekal’s tone reflected one of finality.

  Tension embraced the room. Shayla looked down at the last few bites of French toast and pushed her plate away. She didn’t know why the question popped out, before it was a cohesive thought. “Are Wraythe essentially evil?”

  Meekal sputtered on his tea. Coughing and thumping his chest. “No,” he said, still coughing.

  Harry gave her an understanding smile. “If something smells so bad it has to be evil, right?”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.” Shayla fidgeted with her fork. “I was thinking that if Zubird could summon them along with the Gnomonn are Wraythe originally evil? Or do they just reflect Zubird’s intentions?”

  Shaking his head, Meekal explained, “Zubird was actually the first to perform the Wraythe’s Rite of Misery. He did it for Malvenue. Brought the Wraythe forth in Wells. Set the whole village on its ear with grief and mourning. There was a rash of drug abuse and suicides before we figured out what was happening.”

  Harry interjected, “It was actually Vince who told us about the Rite of Misery. He found out about it during a meeting of upper level minions.”

  Shayla’s gaze traveled to the other end of the table where Vince sat with his family, but then she rolled her eyes in disbelief. “Upper level minions?”

  “Yeah, oxymoron.” Harry’s laugh sounded like a bark.

  “Shay,” Meekal said. “Wraythes aren’t essentially evil if you think in terms of a filter. They reside on the bottom of lakes, streams and the ocean. A large part of Glastonbury and its surrounding area used to be marshes and bog. Silt and later earth moved here by residents served to raise the ground level. Residents drained the excess waters away. The result is habitable land. It’s true much of the Wraythe contains pollutants, but that doesn’t make them evil. They are a product of the earth and our mishandling of natural resources.”

  “So they reflected Zubird’s intention?” Shayla pulled her brows into a tight knot.

  “Yes.” Meekal leaned away as Mari poured more tea into his mug.

  Mari smiled at Shayla, holding the carafe, inquiring whether she wanted more tea.

  “Yes. Thank you, Mari.”

  She poured, and then moved on to refill Joseph and Chaeli’s mugs.

  Stirring sugar in, Shayla said, “But it’s evil to bring misery down on people. I was going to say, unsuspecting people, but the truth is it doesn’t matter. Forcing such influence on others is despicable.”

  “That’s true,” Meekal said. “The reason they are left to their own environment is because most people with the power to invoke them would never use it to do harm.”

  “Fae royalty?” Shayla asked snidely.

  “I already told you that you’re royalty to creatures. Remember, at Midmar Circle?”

  Earl Grey tea went down the wrong pipe. Glaring and sputtering at the same time, she fought down her instant arousal at the memory. She brought her foot up and stepped on Meekal’s boot.

  “Wanna go back?” he asked, huskily. He leaned close for a quick kiss.

  “No.”

  Although Meekal’s bottom lip came out in a pout, his cobalt blue eyes danced with amusement.

  Shayla rolled her eyes. “I think I’m going to go for a walk. Maybe you should talk to Gail about your paperwork.”

  His face changed to seriousness. “Fine. I’ll find you.”

  “Later,” Shayla whispered, and then pecked him on the cheek in farewell.

  * * * * * *

  Shayla sat lotus style on the Angel Bench facing east within the Chalice Well Gardens. Eyes closed, she inhaled deeply and released her breath with a gentle, “Shree.” Inhaling again, she pulled the image of the Gardens into her mind’s eye.

  The landscape around her moved in eternal life, preparing for winter’s blanket and chills. Newly bare branches soughed in the fall air. Dry fallen leaves added their harmony, rustling and pirouetting in a journey back to the earth. A flock of redwings chattered incessantly in the hedgerow bordering the Gardens.

  In a relaxed posture, she uncurled her fingers, palms tilted toward the heavens. Meditation always took her to a place of unity with creation. Shayla surrendered to nature’s peaceful beauty, releasing her memory’s visions.

  The last few days had a way of gathering emotions and physical responses she was accustomed to blocking. The sight of Syther torturing his minions caused her stomach to retch even now.

  Amethyst Graham’s death weighed heavily on her soul. Her blood on her hands colored her world crimson with the temporary aspect of all things.

  She exhaled, releasing the dark haunting regressions. Letting go, she felt a slight lifting of her spirit. With each breath, she felt lighter. Within her solar plexus, Shayla experienced a new sensation of growth. Confidence grew that the work they had completed for the ward would succeed. Accepting progressive ideas and concepts brought her mind full circle around to Meekal.

  Gently, she curled the fingers of her left hand. The cut Meekal made there would have caused deep-seated concern and worries only days earlier. Not today. Assurance of their action along with its potential for healing the wards brought new understanding.

  She knew her blood was healthy. Meekal knew his was healthy. Their sharing was life giving, not destructive. Shayla sensed movement next to her. The fact that her heart fluttered when Meekal’s scent caressed her, pulled at the corners of her mouth.

  His quiet proximity revealed full acceptance of her focused meditation. Knowledge of this simple fact sent a thrill through her. She took a moment to relish his presence even as her eyes remained closed. She had never experienced such wholehearted willingness from a person to embrace her with full acceptance.

  Barb, her friend since the age of five, struggled with some aspects of her personality. Her mother’s love was boundless even as it tightened around Shayla with certain expectations. She allowed Meekal’s scent to surround her. Inhaling deeply, s
he pulled his essence within her.

  Chaeli’s voice wafted through her mind, “Where the light is brightest, the shadows are darkest.” Shayla thought that must also pertain to love and hate. The whirlwind of passion Meekal brought to her was deep, fast and serene, all at the same time. In the midst of sudden intense love, she experienced dark hatred compelled by consuming greed. Shayla released the thought with her breath and pulled in renewed hope.

  Time became irrelevant.

  The first thing Shayla was aware of when coming out of her meditation was the cold stone bench beneath her. Meekal’s energy was next. “Hey,” she whispered.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said, taking her hand. The tip of his index finger brushed over her cut palm. He raised it and gave a fleeting butterfly kiss, breathing warmly on her sensitive skin.

  “Kal.” She closed her eyes, forcing herself to recall why she came to this spot in the Gardens seeking answers to questions never before posed.

  “I know.” Meekal’s tone was comforting. His fingers tightened around hers.

  “Do you?” Her knees trembled and her heart raced.

  “Aye, love. Everything has happened so fast. I can understand why you want to leave.”

  She chewed her lip, lowered her lashes and fought the surge of moisture in her eyes. “It isn’t that. Exactly. Although I suppose that’s a fragment of why I have to go.”

  “Shayla,” his gentle insistence caressed her. “I understand you need time. I came out here to tell you Amethyst’s memorial is in the morning. I’ll take you to Bristol International afterwards if that’s what you want. Continental has a flight to New York at eight fifty-five.”

  A sharp inhale actually hurt. She attempted to pull in her emotions and tears. The sudden wetness on her cheeks came from a wellspring of emotions brought about by unanswered questions. She wished she could slam the door to her heart and not feel the painful twist she experienced in her chest. “I don’t even know you. I feel this way and don’t even know how to put everything into perspective.”

  “Shh. I know.” He pulled her into a tight embrace, caressing and murmuring low.

  She closed her eyes, squeezing the lids tight. Her breathing rasped due to her emotional and physical conflict. She wanted to stay here forever and she wanted to flee back to the States in a rush of homesickness. Where was her home now?

  Meekal’s hands in her hair brought delicious sensations of desire forth. Shayla pulled away and stood stiffly. She swallowed her rising passion and turned, facing him with building tension. “I didn’t even know you had a job, much less what an Adjutor is. There’s so much we don’t know.”

  “We’ll figure it out, Shay. You didn’t know because I was off work for four days. Besides, one of my assignments is to oversee security around Glastonbury. The Well is just a small part of that.”

  “You could’ve said something about it.”

  Meekal’s lip twitched. He moved closer and pulled her the remaining distance. “I admit there were more important issues. I’ll be honest. I’ve never felt this way before. Cliché, I know. But it’s the truth.”

  Shayla trembled. Slowly, she brought her fingers up and brushed them through the black silk on his head. “What does an Adjutor do?” Shayla watched as Meekal studied her closely.

  “The position is similar to the local police. It differs in the fact that I often serve as a guide or liaison to foreign visitors of all faiths. An Adjutor is an assistant. You know we have many visitors who come here. I assist them, coordinating their schedules, pointing out local sacred sites not listed elsewhere and maintaining a sense of law within their experiences.”

  “I think I understand.” The buttons on his shirt distracted her. Shayla fumbled with them thoughtfully. She still didn’t have the trembling under control. The explanation was simple enough, just frustrating. “Is that what Gail does? Is your job the same as hers?”

  “Gail is more undercover and travels all of the UK. I stay here in my back yard. It’s just a carry-over from our family destiny of protecting the Well. That’s why I was so upset about the reward. I don’t need or want it. I was doing what had to be done. Zubird was an internationally wanted criminal. That’s why there’s a reward.”

  “Oh.” Shayla chewed her lip. She reminded herself that Meekal accepted her unconditionally and what a new experience that was. Her heart swelled at that thought even as she envisioned the great body of water between their lifestyles. “You aren’t mad?”

  “Insane? Perhaps.”

  “No, I meant…”

  “I know exactly what you meant. Teasing, love. No I’m not angry.” He leaned forward, pulled her lower lip between his, and nibbled. “The most powerful symptom of love is a tenderness, which becomes at times almost insupportable. Victor Hugo said that.”

  “Kal.”

  “I love you. Let me be sensitive and understanding. All right?”

  She moaned into him, sending her hands up to his neck. Waves of yearning swept away uncertainty. She deepened their kiss while holding on as though for her life.

  [12] Saying Goodbye

  The news of Amethyst’s death had spread quickly. Well-known in the Westlands as a philanthropist and spiritual warrior, the local churches resurrected their old custom of placing a light within windows designed for the purpose of guiding wanderers through the marshy lands around Glastonbury. Electric lights had been dimmed last night, bringing the golden glow to the prominent attention of local residents.

  Shayla craned her neck, gazing at the ribbons tied in the branches of Old Magog. An ancient sentinel, the enormous oak overlooked the surrounding landscape with primordial power. Magog’s story could be seen in her gnarled bark. Once a significant part of the Avalon Oaks, she and Gog, her partner, marked the traditional entrance to the island in a bygone era when water surrounded the blessed grounds of Glastonbury.

  Her vacation to this sacred place had become overwhelmed with the urgency of meeting Meekal. There had been no time for sightseeing. Now, in the wake of a devastating death, she took a break to wander the countryside. The rough feel of the tree’s skin beneath her palm whispered the truth of its history. Shayla allowed a small smile to lift the corners of her mouth.

  Having attributes of a Fae definitely proved advantageous. No wonder she had always loved being surrounded by nature—it spoke to her like no other. In view of the old tree’s perspective, she could visualize the former avenue of mighty oaks, bordering the ageless pilgrim’s path, serving as both welcoming committee and protectors of the wayfaring seekers of shelter, new knowledge and hope.

  The laughter of many generations of playing children echoed from her branches, eliciting tears of regret from Shayla that no one ever came and played among the spreading arms anymore. Protected for all posterity, people now kept a respectful distance.

  That is until Amethyst’s death.

  The night before, candles carried there by mourners lit up through Magog’s branches as one by one, people who knew and cherished Amethyst remembered she had loved playing around the tree in her youth. Thus, the multi-colored tributes tied and laced around the reaching wooden fingers.

  Fall sunshine slanted through Magog’s nearly bare branches, leaving araneous lines of shadow on the leaf covered ground beneath the massive old oak. The ribbons, tied there by Amethyst’s many friends, glistened in the brightness, dancing on the fall breath, singing with snapping voices of remembrance. Across the countryside, the tributes from people of all ages represented the wide spread goodness of one downed by evil.

  The cool breeze whipped Shayla’s jacket loose, swooping up the hem of her sweater, bringing gooseflesh in its wake. She shivered and pulled the front together, buttoning it tightly against Mother Nature’s proclamation of coming colder weather.

  A dark purple lacy ribbon attempted to blow away, brushing against her cheek. Shayla became aware that moisture spread on her face. Friendship, no matter how new, pulled at her heart. Amethyst had been an extremely kind person f
rom the moment Shayla arrived at the Bristol Airport.

  The devastating loss Shayla experienced stemmed not only from the shock of sudden horrific death, but also of lost possibilities. She would never get to know the woman on a deeper level. She sighed, thinking of Gail’s red-rimmed eyes and Meekal’s gray face. Their mourning would mark them for some time.

  She fingered the ribbon and reattached it with a silent prayer. “Blessed be,” she whispered, caressing its softness. She pulled away in slow motion, stroking the low branch. It was time to meet Meekal and go to the funeral.

  * * * * * *

  Still a bit green around the gills, Meekal stood at the entrance to St. Mary’s Chapel, greeting mourners who passed through the arched stone doorway.

  Shayla approached and gave him a quick hug. “Sorry I’m late,” she whispered into his ear.

  “That’s all right. You didn’t miss much.”

  “I know how lost you feel. I want to be here for you.”

  The arrangements for Amethyst’s funeral had taken up most of the night and early morning. Preparing the roofless St. Mary’s Chapel for visitors during the chilly season proved no small task. Shayla had been amazed when she discovered the ceremony would be held within these hallowed walls.

  Topless and windowless, it stood in majestic beauty on the Abbey grounds. Joseph had fashioned a clear top, magically invisible to the naked eye. Its presence would help to preserve some of the warmth generated by strategically placed heaters, fueled by modern generators.

  The last mourners entered. Meekal folded her hand into the crook of his arm and led the way. They walked toward the front between the folding white chairs now occupied by tearful observers. She tried to calm her rushing heart.

  Whispers of curiosity reached her ears. People wondered who she was. She hoped her part in the ceremony would not be frowned upon. In an attempt to feel reassurance, she clutched the silk lavender bag containing the items Joseph had requested she collect during her countryside wanderings.