Olivia’s heart thrashed within her breast. She stared at the surface at the table, waiting for what she knew he would say next.
“You have that mark, don’t you Olivia? You are the one he has come to claim.”
“No,” Mother sobbed. “It’s not true. None of this could be right. It’s just a myth.”
Stephen Fillmore kept his eyes focused on Olivia. “De Croft is here. And so is Von Der Weilde. The battle to the death is about to take place, Olivia, and you are smack in the middle of it all.”
Olivia met Fillmore’s judgment with her own icy glare of confrontation. The words of a relic seeker were not going to shake the foundations of the loyalty she felt for William. As far as she was concerned, he was just another enemy who threatened her newfound love. He would not prevail.
Stephen Fillmore flattened his palms on the table and leaned into her rebuttal. “He is teaching you evil, Olivia. You go back there and you will become as him.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Olivia spat, standing so quickly she knocked the chair over. “You are nothing more than a money grabber and I shouldn’t doubt you’ve followed William simply to get your grimy paws on his wealth. I will be no part of this. In fact, I’m going, and I’ll tell him just what you’re up to.”
Stephen squinted, peering deeply into her fury. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “It’s too late. You’ve had sex with him, haven’t you?”
Olivia’s cheeks heated to shocked anger. “How dare you,” she cried, incensed by being asked such a personal question. “Take your theories and leave us alone! No one asked for your opinions anyway.”
“If you go back to him you will go insane, as all the others have done. There were many women and lost infants. If you’re pregnant I suggest you get rid of it, and quickly.”
This was too much. Her rage caught, rendering her speechless. And as she lifted her hand to force him away he clutched her wrist, twisting it. She screeched with the pain. “William help me now!”
The door smashed wide to a ferocious gust of wind, sucking all the air from the room. Everything stood still, void of movement, suspended in a time that didn’t exist. Both Mother and Gran sat as statues, frozen outside consciousness at the intrusion. The wind swirled like a miniature tornado reaching a crescendo as it reached Olivia’s side. Her hair was blown asunder, any object not tied down shook free from shelves, and when the storm subsided, William filled the room, his black cape billowing, catching the last of the gust. With one stride he had a steely grip on Stephen’s throat, wrenching him hard enough to finally loosen the hold on Olivia’s wrist. He was the only witness to William’s abrupt presence and stared up at him with eyes widened in mortal shock.
The only sound was tight rasping. Seconds seemed to tick on for hours as William held on, searching the ruddy face for something Olivia couldn’t discern.
“Has Dietrick possessed this body?” he asked finally, a voice so low and authoritative that it that caused the windows to rattle.
Stephen shuddered, falling limp within the grasp. “No.”
“Has he sent you? Are you his foot soldier?”
“No. I am an independent.”
William tipped the hold forcing the head to twist, studying the features still. “It is so,” he whispered, satisfied he was being told the truth. But he did not release his captive. “No one touches her. No one but I. Life is the price you pay for this act.”
Stephen managed to swallow, the veins in his neck purple. His eyes closed, succumbing progressively to a lack of air.
“Give the word, my precious, and I will smite him.”
“You mustn’t,” Olivia begged. “I couldn’t bear to see anyone hurt.”
William spread his fingers and the man sagged to the floor in a pathetic heap.
“He stinks of drink and tobacco,” William scowled, sniffing. “He is an abomination, nothing more than muck, worthy only of our loathing. Better that he should perish and we be done with him.”
Olivia stepped away from William, suddenly fearful that he was as malevolent and as dangerous as the story she had just been told. Seeing her mother and Gran, in suspended animation, was not helping a growing angst. “What have you done?” she whimpered.
“Fear not,” he consoled. “They are not harmed. They will awake with no memory of this occurrence.” He strode to her mother and peered into the unseeing eyes, just as he had done with Stephen Fillmore. Then he went to Gran and visibly bristled. “The Old Mother,” he rasped, scrutinizing her frozen expression. “She was the one who has called Dietrick!” He whirled toward Olivia, the edges of his cape twirling to the movement. “She has brought forth the enemy upon us!”
“William,” Olivia cried, tears beginning to stream on her cheeks. “I can’t bear all this. I’m not strong enough to understand any of it.” She continued to inch away. “You are Wyldelock De Croft.” She knew, but the verbal confirmation made it all so daunting, so surreal.
His brow creased in anguish. “My Queen,” he whispered gently. “It is an ancient name I no longer harbor. I am your William. I will always be your William.”
“It’s true, isn’t it? All the things he said.” She glanced to where Stephen sat, huddled in terror on the floor.
William dipped his chin in veneration to her wisdom. “Yes,” he said so quietly she barely heard. “That and much more.”
“Then you are not a man,” she wept. “You are a creature and I am caught in this unspeakable quest of yours, one we can never survive.” She was against a wall, trembling.
“No, Olivia, I am a man.” Panic etched through his voice, his distress visible. “You know that I am. My future is yours.”
“But what of your past? It seeks to destroy us both.”
He studied her now as he had studied the others, with a look that penetrated her being, causing an eruption of bumps on the flesh of each limb. Then he lowered onto one knee, bowing submission before her. “My past cannot harm either of us if I have your allegiance.” His long hair curled over his cheeks, quivering to the honor he bestowed to her.
“You speak of allegiance, but what of love? We have nothing if we cannot share love.”
Slowly he lifted tear-filled eyes, dark and round and filled with longing. “We have reached this crossroad together,” he said sadly. With a wave of one hand he thrust back the cape, producing a sword. Bending the other knee he knelt, placing the hilt on the floor, the tip against his chest, over his heart. “I know of no other recourse. With your guidance I can find love again. Without you I shall perish, better that it shall be done by my own doing. You alone determine my fate, Olivia. Speak, and it shall end, here and now.”
Drained of energy Olivia slumped to the floor, directly in line with William’s waiting gaze. The silver from the blade dazzled her as it moved in rhythm with each breath he took. If he were to take a deep sigh the tip would certainly puncture his thin shirt, his skin, muscle. As if knowing what she dreaded he gasped and instantly the material stained red.
Her heart whelmed with the fullness of compassion. She stretched her hand to touch the deep devotion that seemed to saturate the air between their mournful gazes. His lips parted, and he mouthed her name, but his shimmering brown eyes never left her soul.
“Deceit! Olivia, wake up. He’d never kill himself. It’s a trick. His existence is more important to him than yours! Don’t fall for this pack of lies!”
The buzz of an annoying insect faded as Olivia extended her hand farther toward William. She folded her fingers around the blade to push it aside, feeling neither the pain of the slicing cut or the heat of her own blood as it trickled down her wrist. “Together--you and I--always.”
He clasped her wrist, raising her bloodied palm to his mouth, healing the wound with a sultry kiss. “Displeasure will never bar your path again.”
He spread his arms, the dark cape draped from each as massive wings, and she was immediately submerged within the mugginess of black heat as he folded the shadows around her. Once she ha
d dreamt of flying, free of gravity in a body that always obeyed the rules of nature. Within this strange place she enjoyed a similar sensation, her feet dangling free of floor or earth. She clung to his waist and felt cooled by a breeze issued by great flapping wings and when the flight finished she opened her eyes to find a glowing bedchamber, the turret of the Keep, just as she had imagined it would look, in the dream that remained stubbornly beyond recollection.
A sorcerer, yes, and much more--a nobleman, an intellect, a lover--all of it meant for only her. Perhaps he had blinded her within one of his many intoxicating spells, perhaps she was reduced to a puppet, dangled by strings of compelling magic, and perhaps she was caught in a sticky web of seduction only his austere beauty could dictate. But with him was exactly where she ached to be. She wouldn’t struggle to be free of him, she couldn’t. This was destiny and she welcomed its kiss as she welcomed him. If to learn this mysterious craft meant they could always be joined then she willingly accepted. He allowed her choice of will. The sword against his breast, waiting for the choice, was a clear and distinct indication of deep loyalty. She would do everything in her power to return the loyalty. Love had taken a firm hold in her soul. “Teach me everything, William. Dress me in the armor of knowledge. Prepare me for our battle.”
He smiled consent, swaying with her in his arms. “Yes, graceful soldier, I will teach all. But first we share of each other.”
Olivia fell to the bed with him, enchanted by the flow of sweet kisses that dampened her face. Love would be her sword and she knew of no greater weapon.
* * * *
Sorcerer. Conjurer. Enchanter. Magician. All these titles denoted divination above and beyond the natural laws of physics known to the human mind. What could not be explained with logic was quickly reduced to ridiculous superstition, swathed in assumption, inference, satisfying the primitive need for a clear rationalization. And then, if the eye told the mind the impossible was occurring, evil must surely be the fuel that fed the fire of such irrationality.
Olivia had fallen victim to the same reliance on narrow opinion. Shameful, seeing that she was one who should certainly know better, for was her gift a result of some perverse dance with the devil? Others estimated it as such and were wrong. So too, had she concluded that William, whose craft far exceeded her meager talents, harbored malevolence. He demanded of nature rather than it of him, and because she had never witnessed such prowess, her feeble intuition screamed that iniquity lived within his soul. She had even gone so far as to call him a creature. How callous, when he had been nothing but gracious, eloquent, tender, caring. He had walked into her life, enveloping every dream she ever had with the promise of fulfillment. He had never displayed evil; evil was the vile enemy who lay in wait--to ruin through jealousy and revenge--what happiness they shared.
He rested, her breast his pillow, beneath the velveteen covering of the bed. An energetic lover he gracefully taught her the meaning of bliss, pulling from her such pleasure as she never knew could exist between two lovers. Only when her elation peaked did he allow his own release and she had watched his face contort, lids half closed in a wave of contentment, as he cried out, his mouth curled as though a sneer, as though suffering dreaded pain rather than bliss. Not pain. Exoneration. As ecstasy filtered through his body, a brief death left him completely impotent within her embrace. She held him, coaxing his dampened cheek to laze on her breast, and he sighed, draped over her, and rested. She had slept, minutes, hours, it was difficult to know, but when she woke he was still with her, his breath steady on her cleavage, leg curled over hers, arm ever protecting. No incantation could compare to the magic of this!
She combed her fingers through a thick strand of black hair, and saw his lashes flicker. “You are awake, lover,” she whispered. “Can’t you sleep?”
He kissed the inside curve of her breast. “In sleep I would have no awareness of you.”
The heaviness of tone outweighed the warm breath on her skin. “William, what are you thinking?”
He stretched, like a long lithe cat, its muscles flexing in preparation for the hunt of survival, his deep sigh not unlike a low purr. “We must begin, before the sun rises.”
“Begin? You are truly insatiable,” she teased.
He smiled. “Nothing would please me more than to oblige such intimation, my jewel. No, you must prepare, cleanse your body before commencing the journey.”
“What do you mean? Where might I be going at this time of night?”
“The path of obtainment waits for your presence. You must find your Guide.” Pride filtered through his growing smile. “I can help you to prepare, but the journey you must make alone.”
“I thought you were my guide,” she said softly, not wishing to disturb the silence of darkness that circled their bed beyond the curtains. She wanted to stay here till morning, with him, and when the light awakened the day they would make their plans, form strategies for battle.
“My post is as your teacher, protector, servant. Your Guide is the voice that will give great wisdom. When you return, you will know which direction to call for assistance. Once you establish contact the Spirit will never forsake you.”
Olivia could sense the magnitude of this, her first truly important lesson--she saw it in his eyes as she hung on to these few final moments beneath the cover, warm against his physique. “Where must I go?” she asked.
“To a place that has always existed--where the Ancients live.”
“How long must I stay?”
“Time has no consequence there. Leave all that you know in this place. Trust your senses for none will betray you. Deceit has no reign there.”
“Let us begin,” she announced. It was the first step of a course that would secure their relationship and Olivia was ready for any arduous passage. And, the sooner they started the sooner she would return.
“Ah,” he said. “You are undaunted. I hear your bravery and it helps me grow strong.”
He pulled back the covers, his palm once again exploring the curves of her figure. She sighed at the sensuality that erupted over her flesh, her spine arching to a short wet kiss upon the fine hairs of her stomach. A silken cascade of long hair feathered her skin as he pressed his ear against her womb, she felt his smile and deep in her heart she understood why his lips curled in happiness.
“My Queen,” he whispered, lifting his eyes to her face. “Our Prince has stirred.”
Olivia stroked his hair, hoping this moment would go on forever, so sweet was its taste. He hugged her hips, thrust another longing kiss onto her skin, and then rose.
“Come,” he said, scooping her up in his arms. “First you must bathe.”
An oval tub beside the crackling fire awaited, steam billowing from the heated water. The smell of roses saturated the air as he gently lowered her into the fiery depths. He cupped water and patted her cheeks and neck, watching his hand as he did so, his expression of utmost attentiveness. She didn’t speak, for fear it might break his meditation. The ceremony was steeped in sincerity. She was the accepting apprentice.
His lips moved in a quiet incantation, words she did not recognize, yet the immensity of them filled her ears and sunk within her being. “Let it be so,” he said in finality and stepped over the edge of the tub to join her in the bath.
He knelt before her, water veiling his torso. His hair, dampened by the billowing steam, curled over each shining shoulder. He cupped her skull with hands that encompassed her whole head, thumbs flexing to one last caress. Meeting her gaze he smiled once more. “Now,” he demanded. “Your Guide waits.”
The fingers against her hair gripped tightly and he pushed her beneath the surface of the water with a weighty plunge.
So sudden and unannounced was the act she had no chance to draw a breath. Instinctively she flayed for the surface but it grew ever higher, like a cloud in the endless sky. She was spiraling down and down and she watched in eerie calmness as the glass bottomed tub dissolved, William’s legs still curled upon i
t. His voice resonated through her drowning mind. “Fear not. Let yourself go.”
The stab of initial panic faded, as did the surface, and Olivia allowed the weight of the water to take her. She had no need for air. Her heart continued to beat, each sense acute to the essence of her surroundings. A dark green glow infiltrated her being as she floated downwards, and when she finally began to rise again, a tunnel of white light guided her way.
She found herself standing on the beach, pebbles beneath her bare feet causing no discomfort. The ocean was perfectly serene, reflecting a dazzling blue in the sunless sky. The Keep glowed majestically on the cliff above her. Filled with awe she drank in the familiar scene--but the colors! Nothing was mute. Every rounded stone, every blade of grass, every drop of water vibrated with a quality of life she had never believed possible. And she was an intricate part of it all, relishing the essence of nature, unembarrassed by nakedness, for clothing would denote separation from all that was pure.
No sound touched her ear. No wind tickled the ocean’s surface, nor was there breath to coax the grass to sway. Nothing stirred in this, a living dream. “What now?” she asked, her words so heavy they sank into the sand beneath her feet.
The mirrored ocean cracked. From it a seagull fluttered, its wings caught in a fisherman’s net. “Oh,” she cried, horrified that cruelty could invade this place of beauty. She knelt, picking the net from the wet feathers.
Freed from its bonds the bird shivered the remaining drops of water from its body. And rather than flap away it stayed, staring at her with knowing black eyes.
Olivia gasped. She recognized it--the same gull she had found one afternoon that now seemed so distant--the same gull that had hung twisted and distorted in death. She had picked the netting from its corpse that day as well, releasing its decaying body back into the ocean’s arms, so its spirit could at least be free. And now it had returned to her, to reward the compassionate act with thanks. Her heart flowed with pleasure. No kindness could go unnoticed.
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