Soul Inheritance

by Honey A. Hutson

  Exhilaration began to build as she thought of home, at least as Miranda had known it. After all the years of wandering as a gypsy it was the only home she’d known. She’d loved it there, loved her house, her children, her life and Charles. That was until he told her his secret. Told her what he’d done to ensure what was left of his family made it to safety. He thought it was at least a chance and better than dying at the hands of the Witch Finders. Those who sought to destroy anyone they could for profit, especially Pagans. Thousands of years of heritage would be destroyed for greed. He wouldn’t let that happen. His father had died, leaving him the head of a large family and holder of all the wealth to control them.

  Charles did what he felt he must. He made allegiances with forces he wouldn’t have sought out if their own extinction hadn’t been imminent. He turned to a very old Druid who told him often what was coming, offered to show him a way to save the family.

  Orin McGrady was his only hope. The chill of forewarning ripped through his lands before sunrise that day. Family members gathered at the main house within the hour. Everyone felt it, knew what it meant. The Witch finders had set their sights on the clan and it was only a matter of time. Charles rode to Orin’s tiny hamlet in the next glen, sat quietly on his horse as he waited for Orin to acknowledge his arrival.

  The crotchety old gentleman opened the door slowly, stood holding to it for support.

  “You finally came. I told you it’d come to this, that your days would be numbered. Feel the cold this fine morning eh?”

  “Yes,” Charles said, dismounting and coming to stand before Orin.

  “Well, the time’s indeed come to make a choice. Since you’re here I’ll assume you don’t desire to burn at the stake, or see your women and children tortured and used before you only to be drowned in water tests. You don’t want the stones of your own fields to be used to crush you till you’re dead?”

  Charles swallowed at the thought of his dear mother and sisters. The families he’d helped manage into profitable, comfortable lives of honor.

  “No. I don’t wish it for them.”

  “And you’re willing to make allegiances with… well, more powerful, if darker forces, for their lives?” The old man looked up at him in the bright morning light, his eyes gleaming.

  “Yes, I’ll make whatever allegiances I must. What do I need to do?”

  “Come, we’ll talk and I’ll tell you how.”

  He led the way into the little cottage. Charles followed, leaving the horse to graze in the yard. The home was scantly furnished, but cozy with quilts on the bed, a bubbling pot of stew on the hearth and several books on a table by a comfortable chair.

  “Sit.” Orin directed.

  Charles did as he was told. The old man sat in the chair by the fire.

  “They’ll see you safely to new lands. In exchange they seek your allegiance, and a bond to your family through your natural magic. You’ll live out the peak days of your life reaping the benefits of the power they give you. Once you begin to decline they’ll expect you to become one of them. Oversee future generations’ continuation of the arrangement. The children will be reared in their ways, to serve and protect them. To share power with them. By doing these things the family will remain profitable. A power in the new lands. Keeping the old ways sacred. There’s no defying them. That would mean death and more. Loyalty will be required. You’ll be connected to the dark ones as will all who come after you. Each becomes a part of them to repay the debt. The cycle of life and death’ll end for you. You won’t die to continue other lives, but continue on as one of the dark ones in physical form, managing the power granted to the line. The others will be reborn to the family the power growing over time. Those who try to fight, try to leave, will join you in form. Filling the role of hunters and guardians.”

  Charles sat and listened quietly, stolidly. Orin’s face was intense and stern.

  “Do you understand the bargain?”

  “Yes.” He looked at the ancient face across from him. “How do you know this old man?”

  “My ancestors made the arrangement.”

  Charles considered this; thought back on his childhood. How the children would peek around Orin’s barn to watch him work magic openly. He remembered his parents, their quiet whispers when they thought the children didn’t hear. They spoke of strong magic, magic acquired through dark channels.

  “And why do you offer it to me?”

  “I was required to continue on as I’m to seek a strong family in… shall we say dire need. I am the last. It dies with me, unless I can pass my heritage on.” He grinned, showing a gaping, toothless hole. “My days are done, yours are just begun. It is time for the old to die and the young to carry on this gift to save our people.”

  “What of you? Will you leave with us?”

  Orin laughed, a gravely sound. “No. I am very, very old. My time is at hand. I will die tonight, bringing you into this new power.”

  “You would die so that mine may live?”

  “It is what’s expected. It is why I’ve lived so long. Waiting to find another to pass this gift to, bring my masters so they may continue helping our kind out race the extinction visited upon us. We must survive.”

  Charles nodded gravely. “What must I do?”

  “Come,” Orin leaned forward, got up feebly from the chair. He took a glowing coal from the edge of the fireplace. It smoked in his hand, yet he didn’t seem to notice. He drew a half circle in front of the fireplace with the charred edge. Inside the half circle he drew several rune symbols. One of protection, one of power and several that Charles didn’t recognize despite his vast knowledge.

  “Kneel.” One crooked finger pointed to the center.

  Getting to his feet Charles moved to the indicated spot. There he knelt while Orin drew a rough symbol of one half of the family crest in front of him. Then he drew the other half representative of the dark ones, joining the two. He moved to stand between Charles and the fire, his back to him.

  Spreading his arms wide and standing tall and straight despite his advanced years he began to speak in a tongue Charles recognized as ancient Latin mixed with Galic. He spoke quickly and feverishly until there was no way to keep track of what he said. All he knew was the man asked the dark ones for a transfer of heritage, to combine their blood and let the power pass on so they would not die in the minds of men who no longer remembered their ways. No longer respected what they were capable of providing.

  A strange light emanated from the flames. It stretched outward, licking toward the silhouette in front of Charles. They formed, flickering and twisting until another being, built of fire and flame stood in front of them both. It reached into Orin and he turned, facing Charles. His eyes glowed a brilliant green and then blue as the heat from the flames increased. He began to change, to shift, to form into something else.

  The rickety old man was now tall and slender. His skin turned to paper, burned away, curling back from a tough green skin beneath. His hair fell away, replaced only by a shiny surface of the same hide. Both ears fell to the floor, leaving behind only holes with smooth rounded edges. The flames receded back into the fireplace, leaving a slick, muscular form in its wake.

  Charles sat on his knees, unable to get to his feet, much less run. He was shocked, but also fascinated by the strong, stern being that was created before his very eyes. Never had he seen such power. It was not appalling or grotesque, but held his fascination.

  The figure moved forward, reached out with a steaming hand and touched his chest. The pain was intense as the brand burned deep. Still he did not move. He thought instead of his mother, sisters, brothers and all the others this night would save from brutal extinction. The line of ancestors that had come before and the line of descendants that would come after.

  ‡

  The rider came swiftly through the darkness, hoof beats his only herald. The
lantern he carried moved swiftly through the trees like the ghost lights of legend. Charles threw on his coat – he’d not dressed for bed, but stood waiting by the window - and rushed downstairs.

  Jessie McDougal rode madly to the big stone house, pulled his horse up short just in front of the door. Moving forward Charles took the horse’s reins as the rider jumped to the ground, forgoing the assistance of stirrups.

  “Charles, you have to get everyone up, now. You have to leave here.” He grabbed Charles by the arm in desperation. “They come. They’re heading this way right now, not two hours ride.”

  Charles didn’t have to ask who rode their way, or what they wanted.

  “Ride to the other houses, let them all know to meet me at the edge of the creek now. Leave everything behind; take only the clothes they can carry. Hurry.” He helped hoist Jessie back into the saddle. “Tell any who want to run to meet us at the docks, but be careful who you choose to tell. Go.” He rushed into the house as Jessie sped away at a gallop.

  The others had been prepared. As he rode back home that day he’d gathered the head of each household and held a meeting in the large barn that adjoined all their properties. The agreement had been reached. They must leave for the new world. A rider was dispatched to the cove to find a ship. Charles knew it would be waiting, though not exactly how. It just would be and they would make it across the ocean to safety. Everyone would have what they could carry waiting. Jewels and gold were split among them into small amounts that were easy to transport. Each family was equipped with enough to survive and pay passage should they become separated. The group gathered at the creek, everyone was accounted for before they headed for the coast.

  In the cool autumn night they slipped through the darkness, not daring to even light a torch. The riders of the witch finders passed them as they crept silently through the trees. In the dim light they approached the edge of the fishing village where the ship would be waiting. The man Charles had sent appeared to lead the way.

  “There’s a ship on the far end of the village, waiting to set sail. It was like he was just waiting there for us. It was already stocked with provisions and crew. ” He spoke in wonder, feeling the new power that surged through him. They all felt it and were grateful. Charles watched them board with relief, feeling he had done the right thing. Several families joined them who knew the fate they would face if they didn’t and they set sail as the morning mist was burning off.

  The homeland shrank into the distance as they left the only existence they’d ever known for an unrevealed destination. Standing on the decks, some wept, but all were relieved and watched as the dark clad riders of the witch finder general emerged on shore. The horses paced as if agitated with their riders yelling undistinguishable words in their wake.

  This was the story that Charles told Miranda when they strolled under the stars several nights before the birth of their first child, a son. It made him that much taller and stronger in her eyes. It was scary. There was no mistake, but he’d done what he must. At the time she didn’t grasp what it meant for the family they began together. It was not until after Prescott was born she realized what he’d done.

  That was when she began searching through her own magic for a solution. Some way she would not have to give up her husband, or surrender her son to this horrible future. The first thing she did was take the ring Charles had given her in love and made it into the most powerful charm she could manage. The silver wedding ring with the claw-like setting and a blood red ruby in its center worked perfectly. It was something he’d given her; therefore it would not appear to be suspicious. It would weaken any danger facing its wearer, sapping strength and the ability to do harm from an aggressor. It drew power from the opponent. The stronger the enemy, the stronger the ring..

  Over several years she searched quietly for a way, for someone who knew how to help. Letters were sent to a friend far away. Strangers passing through town were questioned for news of her family’s location. She cast prayers that her family would know and return. The lake was like a bubble. It supped any magic like bread soaks up milk. Whenever she tried to reach beyond it’s boundaries she could feel herself being drained and weakened.

  Another child came during her search and the desperation deepened. Until the day came that the dark ones called Charles from her side as they picnicked with the children by the water. The loan came due and he was called to pay the debt.

  Taking Prescott by the hand and little Sandra clutched on one hip Miranda ran. Her long skirts slowed progress through the thick woods. Charles, in his new form as Greystone, stalked calmly behind as they scurried toward the road that led to town. She didn’t look back and had nearly breathed a sigh of relief when she not only saw the road, but a wagon meandering along with a neighbor guiding it.

  Rushing forward she sprinted toward the road, dragging Prescott behind her. Sandra whined on the other side as her mother struggled to clear the last few feet.

  “Please, help us.” She screamed through the dappled light toward the driver. He continued on as though he’d not heard. Then Miranda ran into the invisible border of the land they called home.

  It was as solid as any wall. She hit it at a run and was thrown back into the dense growth as her children sailed from her arms. Stunned she lay on the ground for several moments, trying to catch her breath. Prescott lay crying on one side and Sandra on the other. Greystone caught up with them easily, strode up and stood near as she wailed to the driver of the wagon, begged for help.

  “He can’t hear you. You meant to leave, so the old ones blocked your way. Don’t you think I’ve thought of leaving? Tried even? Others as well.” He studied her with those familiar, chiseled features. The eyes were still Charles’ and they still spoke of love for his family. “They’re my blood, they can’t leave.”

  Something was missing from his statement. There was something cold and warning in the way he chose his words. Miranda looked up, got to her feet, drew Prescott close.

  “Sandra. Come here. Come to Mommy.” She reached out for the little girl. The child stood and stared blankly at her, then at the creature that was her father.

  Miranda’s blood froze in her veins. It grated along her insides like glass, tearing at her heart.

  “Sandra. Come to Mommy,” she demanded.

  Sandra only looked at her and then turned and ran to hide behind Greystone’s legs.

  “She knows I’m still her father. That hasn’t changed. She knows where she belongs.” He looked pitifully at Miranda then stretched an arm toward his son. “Prescott, come here.” The boy ran toward his father and out of reach before she could react. He took his father’s hand as he turned to look at his mother.

  Absolute horror filled her features as she realized they wouldn’t ever be allowed to leave. She looked toward the road. Freedom was only a few steps away. She didn’t belong to the old ones yet. Her children stood one on either side of their father, holding onto one of the long talons as if it were normal. They weren’t shocked or alarmed. They knew who he was despite his appearance. They stared blankly as though they not only didn’t understand, but didn’t care.

  Greystone turned and walked back toward the house, taking Sandra up onto one hip and leading Prescott. The wagon continued to wander off down the road, nearly out of sight. She watched it until it was gone, then turned and followed her children home.

  Miranda was a virtual prisoner at the Victorian house where she’d been mistress. She hardly left her room except to be with the children, which was a closely monitored activity. He was always just out of sight, watching and waiting, hoping she’d come around.

  At night he would creep into her room to watch her sleep. A rocking chair in the corner, cloaked in shadow, was his perch. She knew he was there, but didn’t acknowledge his presence. One night he came much later than usual. Instead of taking his usual place in the chair he came and sat on the edge of the bed. Long cla
ws gently stroked her face and hair. The back of his hand brushed her cheek. She shivered despite herself. He withdrew his hand.

  “I’m still Charles. I’m still here, in this… this… body. Is my appearance so horrific to you?”

  “You’re no longer human.” She shrank back into the covers.

  “No. I’m not. I’m more, so much more. You don’t understand, but you could. You will. If you don’t wish to leave our children behind you must accept this, you must embrace this, become this.”

  Miranda shrank further from him, to the other side of what had been their bed. He crawled toward her, clutching the covers so she could not move further.

  “I love you. I meant it when I married you, I mean it now. I want to spend forever with you. And this is our chance. You’ve felt the power, shared it, tasted it. I could do anything I want, control anything or anyone I want. And it’s forever. We’ll never die. We’re eternal. Imagine, being together forever, watching over generations of descendants.”

  Tangled in the blankets she shook uncontrollably. Unable to imagine eternity here, as one of these things. She struggled to get free of the covers, but found herself cocooned.

  “I don’t want to be here forever. Don’t you understand what forever is? We’re not meant to live forever as one creature, but over and over again. There’re other things waiting for us in other places, other times. This isn’t right, it’s unnatural.”

  “Says who? Why can’t we control our own destinies? Who’s ever said we cannot?”

  Miranda could take no more. Finding the edge of the blanket she let herself slip from the edge of the bed into the floor. She gathered her skirts, ran out the door and stumbled down the steps and into the night. She fled down the shore with Greystone not far behind. In the distance the wolves sang to the night. Many an evening had been spent listening to them as the two lovers strolled by the water. Tonight the sound was not romantic, but menacing. They were closer and seemed to call to the primal instinct within.