Dreamweaver

by Judie Chirichello

“I'd like you to meet your guardian angel, Gareth,” Tristan said. Then he tilted his head back and laughed; his shoulders shook visibly as the deep, rich sound echoed off the rafters.

  “Perhaps she is a witch,” Greum whispered.

  “Aye!” Tristan paused to catch his breath. “A witch and a guardian angel all rolled into one."

  “Nay, Tristan.” Gareth frowned and raised his head, glancing at Seerah as if he expected her to shove him back down. “Though your mirth is indeed a blessing in its own right, do na’ make sport of me. The angel was real. ‘Twas a miracle, truly."

  Laughter rumbled deep in Tristan's chest.

  Gareth ignored him. “A beautiful, shapely, young gel with blue-green eyes and flowing, black hair, she was."

  Tristan froze. The sound of laughter died in his throat and he choked out a soft cough as Gareth elaborated.

  “She wore a billowy white frock,” Gareth said. “And she told me to fear na’ for she was na’ the angel of death as I so believed, but me own guardian angel. She also spoke Gaidheal like a true Highlander. She was nothing a'tall like this shelta speaking harpy..."

  “Witch,” Seerah interjected. “I was na’ teasing Zeth. The lad be quite right about me."

  Tristan stared at her, wondering how Gareth's description of his so-called-angel could so accurately have matched the enchantress from Tristan's own dream.

  “'Tis the truth,” Seerah said. “I prefer sorceress, but witch will do."

  Lilybet hurried down the stairs and crossed the room. “Seerah? What be you about so early, this morn?"

  Marcus pushed his way past Lilybet. “To the Devil with the lot o’ you for rousing me at the crack o’ dawn,” he grumbled. He stomped across the cobbled floor and headed for the bar, drawing everyone's attention. After filling a tankard with ale, Marcus drank it down quickly, only to repeat the process two more times. Finally, he glanced up at the group, belched loudly, then scowled. “What? Have you never seen a man take drink?” He filled his mug again, plopped down in the nearest chair and let loose with another rumbling belch.

  Seerah giggled. “You were right, Aunt. Things be much clearer in the morning light."

  “Things? What things?” Lilybet clutched Seerah's forearm.

  Just then, Cosmo scampered into the room. Seerah withdrew her arm from Lilybet's grasp and bent at the waist. “Come Cosmo."

  Tristan and the warriors watched silently as the ferret leapt into her arms.

  “Tristan be the one who's to take me on me journey. He's The Lord Of Thunder,” Seerah said.

  “What of your suspicions?” Lilybet asked.

  Zeth, Colin and Greum glanced quizzically at each other, as Tristan and Gareth listened with heightened interest.

  “At first, Tristan's power distressed me, indeed.” Seerah said. “In me dream, The Lord of Thunder appeared to be God-like and magical—not a'tall like the surly mortal he truly is. Then I recalled the shadowed man who stood between me and the other powerful man."

  “The Fin-gael?” Lilybet asked.

  “Aye. Or so I thought. When I first saw Tristan, however, he was but a menacing shadow, standing in the threshold. You see? The Lord of Thunder and the shadowed man be one in the same—Tristan. Last night, I learned from me dream that his Laird owns an amulet exactly like mine.” Seerah pulled the chain from beneath the worn collar of her robe.

  Marcus clapped his hand against his forehead and groaned.

  Zeth crossed himself and began muttering a prayer. Greum and Colin just stood there, with their eyes wide and their mouths hanging open. Gareth simply stared at Seerah's pendant, while Tristan advanced.

  “Tell me where you got this!” Tristan grabbed at the pendant.

  Seerah dodged his grasp and tucked the amulet away. Ignoring Tristan, she turned to Gareth. “You should be resting. We'll soon be traveling very far. You need to be strong for the journey.” She smiled sweetly at him.

  “I asked you a question!” Tristan bellowed.

  Seerah turned and glanced up at Tristan. “Did you, now? I was na’ aware that you asked me anything. I believe you issued an order. You be a rather commanding man, I know, but you should learn to control your temper. Such rancor is very bad for your health. And the way you get so easily agitated..."

  “Warriors do na’ get agitated. We get angry and we get even. Now, tell me how you came to have that charm, I say,” Tristan demanded, contempt thickening his voice.

  Seerah tilted her head and batted her eyelashes at him. “You'll likely get angrier."

  When she drew her mouth into a pout-like expression and sighed, Tristan scowled at her obvious, though pitiful ploy to charm him. “I'm getting angrier by the moment."

  “Tell him, Seerah. Quickly.” Marcus took another swig of ale and said, “Aye. Mayhap he'll become so angered that he'll bust a vein in his thick Scot head.” He belched, then chuckled.

  Lilybet marched over to Marcus and cuffed him on the head. “That'll be enough of that,” she said. With a curt nod, she swiped the mug from his hand and turned her attention to Seerah and Tristan.

  “For the love of—” Marcus tried to snatch the mug back.

  “Shush.” Lilybet swatted his hand away, and made to smack him on the head again.

  Marcus slouched in his chair with a huff.

  “So much for me charms, Gran, dear,” Seerah muttered.

  “What?” Tristan glared at her, his suspicions soaring.

  “Oh, nothing.” Seerah shrugged. “If you must know, the amulet belongs to me mother. ‘Tis a talisman and I would na’ try to take it again, if I were you.” She glanced at Cosmo who sat perched on her shoulder.

  When Tristan also glanced at Cosmo, the ferret appeared to smile and wink at him.

  Seerah giggled.

  “Enough of this folly.” Tristan seized Seerah by her upper arms and shook her. “Tell me what I wish to know!"

  Seerah winced, then inclined her head in a serene, bored-looking gesture. “Have you ever felt a ferret's teeth sink into your skin, Tristan? ‘Tis na’ a pleasant experience, I assure you."

  Cosmo bared his teeth as if to emphasize her point.

  “It can also cause severe illness,” she said, glaring now. “And, you may wish to clean the wax from your ears, for I just told you!"

  Tristan scowled at Cosmo, and hesitantly released Seerah. He dragged his hand through his hair and said, “Tell me again."

  “I'm a Druid sorceress—a witch, and the amulet belongs to me mother."

  “Aye, a witch. I told you all,” Zeth said. Colin took a step backward, but Greum and Gareth simply frowned at one another as if considering the possibility.

  Closing his eyes, Tristan rubbed his temples and shook his head.

  “You do na’ believe me?"

  “It goes against Tristan's nature to believe in the likes,” Zeth said. “Tristan says, ‘tis foolish to trust such things as witchery and emotions, but especially women for they own no reason."

  “Lord have mercy.” Marcus tried to snatch the mug from Lilybet's hand.

  “Hush.” Lilybet cuffed him on the head again.

  “Och! Stop that, woman!” Standing, Marcus rubbed his head and glared at Lilybet. “That's enough of this malarkey.” He stomped over to where Tristan and Seerah stood glaring at one another. “She speaks the truth,” Marcus said. “What happened last night was no illness. Why, it happens most every time she dreams. Aye, a witch she is. And I'll likely be stuck with her, her rat, and her witchcraft shenanigans for the rest of me days. Go on, show him you true self, lass."

  “Aye, show him, Seerah.” Lilybet nodded.

  Tristan braced his hands on his hips. “Aye, show me, indeed."

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Seerah smiled, proudly displaying her rotten-looking teeth. When she scraped at them with her fingernails, however, the dark stains and corrosion faded considerably. But it wasn't until she pulled a rag from a pocket in her robe, and rubbed it vigorously against her face tha
t understanding finally dawned on Tristan. Her skin was as white and smooth as ivory satin, not at all gaunt and ashen as he'd believed. He frowned, annoyed by her obvious deception.

  Then Seerah removed her bonnet. She uncoiled and unbraided her hair, running her fingers through the black mass until it hung past her hips. It shimmered like an exquisite, sable robe fit for a queen. It looked so soft that Tristan was tempted to reach out and touch it, but he didn't. Instead, his keen gaze explored every inch of her flawless face. Her petite nose was slightly upturned, as if daring him and openly mocking him at the same time. Her full, pouting lips were a deep, inviting shade of ruby red that seemed to beckon him; his mouth went dry at the sight.

  Tristan swallowed hard, his body stirring with remembrance as visions from his provocative dream about Seerah flashed in his mind. He shook his head, mentally rejecting the image, but when she began unbuttoning the dowdy robe she was wearing he froze. Relief washed over him when she revealed an ordinary frock instead of the white gown from his dream, which Gareth had also mentioned. Unfortunately, the comely, blue over-tunic and cream under-tunic enhanced her coloring and her modest feminine curves. She looked even more enchanting now, than she had in his dream ... but how could a dream...

  Looking directly up at him, Seerah closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When she opened them, again, they appeared to be the most wondrous shade of blue-green he'd ever seen.

  The air went out of Tristan's lungs in a rush.

  “Me angel,” Gareth said.

  “N-nay. She's a w-witch,” Zeth whispered.

  “Aye.” Colin nodded.

  “Nay. An enchantress,” Greum said.

  “You see?” Seerah smiled and gestured with a flourish of her arm.

  Tristan flinched feeling as if he'd just been wakened from a deep slumber. A scowl furrowed his brow as he glanced at each of his men. It was suddenly very obvious what had happened; his mighty warriors had easily been reduced to a band of lusting whelps by a mere lass—a shrewd, cunning lass. Why, she had almost completely disarmed Tristan as well. He clapped his hands together slowly, and said, “Aye. A magical show, indeed."

  “Och! You still do na’ believe?” Seerah said, her hands settling defiantly on her hips.

  “Nay. But your disguise was indeed a clever trick. It worked quite well.” Tristan arched his brow and glanced at the warriors. “You have obviously gained the reactions you were surely hoping for."

  Looking momentarily startled by Tristan's comment, Gareth, Colin, Zeth and Greum swiftly checked their appreciative expressions. “There's nothing magical about such a disguise,” Tristan said, returning his full attention to Seerah. “By me own thinking, ‘tis a rather obvious, deceitful and desperate ploy for attention by a conniving lass."

  “Ploy for attention? C-conniving? I'm a sorceress I tell you!” Seerah stomped her foot.

  “And, I say there be no such thing."

  “A hard-headed Scot is what you be then,” Marcus said, holding his hand out to Lilybet. “Give it o'er woman. I deserve a stiff drink for putting up with the likes of him."

  Lilybet sighed and handed him the mug of ale.

  “What about your laird and me amulet?” Seerah said.

  “You have yet to tell me how you came to know such things,” Tristan said. “Or about how you came to have the pendant, but I'll wager your tale will be interesting."

  “Tale? Bah! I saw the truth in a vision."

  “A vision, you say?” Tristan stifled a yawn. “This game tires me."

  “'Tis na’ a game, but the truth. A vision also told me that you and Gareth are na’ brothers."

  “Your aunt said—"

  “She was trying to protect me,” Seerah said. “Evil men also seek to find me amulet. ‘Twas the amulet Colin was about to speak of last night. I made him speak with me powers. I only asked about the men who wounded Gareth because ... well ... if they be the evil ones and they be near—danger is surely near as well."

  “And, why might that be?” Tristan asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

  “They also seek to find me because..."

  “Because?"

  “Because ... I'm a—"

  “A witch? Aye.” Tristan nodded slowly like he was seriously considering the possibility. “Now, I see. These men be after you because of your special powers."

  “Aye,” Seerah said, her shoulders slouching with apparent relief. “Shall I tell you of me vision?"

  “Oh, please do.” Pulling out a chair, Tristan sat down. He stretched his legs out in front of him and folded his arms across his chest. “'Twill likely prove to be quite entertaining."

  “Oooh!” Seerah stomped her foot again. “Believe me or no, but you do na’ have to be insulting."

  “Tell him of your vision, Seerah. He will see,” Lilybet said.

  “He'll likely na'!” Seerah bristled.

  “'Tis the truth, I'll likely na'. But, do tell.” Tristan grinned.

  Seerah glared at him. “Make fun of me again and I'll ... I'll..."

  “You'll what? Turn me into a toad?” Tristan taunted.

  “Nay.” Seerah frowned, looking genuinely disappointed. “I could na’ do that."

  “Just as I thought.” Tristan smirked triumphantly. “You are finally willing to admit that all this talk of sorcery and witchcraft is nonsense, then?"

  “Nay. ‘Tis simply unnecessary to turn you into a toad.” Inclining her head, Seerah batted her eyelashes at him. “For you already are an ugly, insufferable, wart-ridden toad with a black soul."

  Tristan felt a muscle in his cheek twitch as he fought his desire to grab her and throttle her.

  As Colin, Zeth, and Greum glanced anxiously from one to another, Gareth actually chuckled. “Please,” he said. Then he cleared his throat, suppressing his obvious amusement. “Mind na’ Tristan's wrath. Speak to me of this vision, please."

  In turn, Seerah graced Gareth with a pleasant smile. “Your manners be refreshing, indeed."

  When Gareth smiled back, nodding cordially in reply, Tristan shot him a warning glare.

  Gareth simply chuckled, again. “Come, witch-angel, Seerah. Speak freely. Please?” He issued his most dazzling smile. Tristan immediately noticed the telltale, pink blush coloring Seerah's cheeks. He couldn't believe how quickly Gareth had managed to charm her, but not without consequences.

  From what Tristan could see, the charming seemed to be going both ways. “Hell and the Devil,” he muttered as he shook his head with disbelief.

  * * * *

  Gareth's warm, inviting smile had taken Seerah by surprise, making her feel more feminine than she ever thought possible. But Tristan's terse oath quickly let her know that her reaction had not gone unnoticed. Flustered, she shifted her guilty gaze to her hands and tried to gather her thoughts. “I-in me vision, last night, I saw you, Gareth. And Tristan, too. You both stood high on a hill before a great castle, with your laird. You were all in disagreement about a lost object, and the laird was sad—nay...” She frowned and glanced up, again. “Nay, he was deeply sorrowed as if he'd been grieving a tremendous loss for a very long time. He held an object in his hand, an amulet like the one I possess. He asked you to locate it."

  “What make you of that, Tristan?” Gareth asked.

  “I know na'.” Tristan stood and walked toward Seerah. “What of these evil men?"

  With an arrogant huff, Seerah cocked her head at him. “They search for the stone, and me. They also be very near. I have felt the presence of the serpent and the pig very strongly since before you arrived."

  “The serpent and the pig?” Tristan scoffed.

  “Aye. They represent the evil ones. At first, I believed you to be evil because of your empty soul and dour disposition, but I know now it's simply you nature. Difficult, hah! ‘Twas a grave understatement on me dear Gran's part.” Seerah addressed Gareth, then. “You must help me convince Tristan to take me to your laird. I believe he has knowledge that will aide me in me quest."

  “And,
what be this quest?” Gareth asked.

  “To find me parents. The Norseman seized them during an unsuccessful raid, off the coast of Eire, nearly two decades ago."

  “You believe they still live?"

  “I do. Though I'm na’ certain of me father's location, Gran assured me that me mother is being held captive in a castle in the Highlands of Scotland."

  “There be many a castle throughout all of Scotland,” Gareth said. “Ireland and England as well. How can she possibly know this?"

  “Gran is gifted as well."

  “She has the sight, then?"

  “Aye.” Seerah nodded. “Though she has been blind since birth, the gift of the seer allows her to see the past and the future. And through the use of Dream-magic, she has witnessed me fate—the prophecy."

  Gareth's eyes grew wide. “She's a Dreamweaver, then?"

  Stunned by Gareth's knowledge, Seerah cast him a startled, questioning look. “Aye."

  “Like a fortune teller?” Greum asked.

  “Nay. Dreamweaving is much more complicated than mere fortune telling,” Seerah said. “Only Dagdha can grant the power of Dream-magic. According to Gran's dream, the ... prophecy, I'm to locate me father, rescue me mother and defeat the serpent."

  “How does she expect you to do this, alone?” Gareth asked. “And what makes you believe you can accomplish such feats?"

  Seerah blinked back the tears of frustration and fatigue threatening her composure. “If Tristan agrees, I shan't be alone. As to why I believe. I ... do na’ know that I do—na’ completely. But ‘tis is me duty to at least try to find them and fulfill the prophecy. I've nothing else to lose."

  “What say you to that?” Gareth asked Tristan.

  Tristan sighed deeply as he closed his eyes. Then he rubbed his forehead like it was causing him sever pain.

  “Och! You still do na’ believe me?” Seerah's hands balled into fists at her sides. When she stomped her foot this time, Marcus’ shillelagh quickly levitated up from the bar, then flew across the room straight at Tristan.

  Tristan looked up, raised his hand and caught the club in mid-air, just before it would have collided with his head. He studied the cane for a long moment before glancing at Seerah.