by Karey Brown
“I’m forbidden to discuss the statues, just don’t ever knock one over.”
“Oh, okay, because I’m an idiot and would do such a thing. We Yanks appreciate fine art too, you prig.”
“Trust me, these are not collectibles.”
Emily swung around and looked more closely at each of the statues. Apprehensive little flutters slid up her spine, tickling her nape. “What, Medusa was here?”
Allen sputtered.
Emily narrowed her gaze at the spirit. “What are you hiding?” And why do I feel as if the statues watch me, waiting, beckoning?
“Garreck will be here momentarily, determined to entertain you.”
Ignoring him, Emily kept studying both statues and the layout of Broc’s library. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases, hundreds and hundreds of shelves. None of them empty. “A camera would be nice.” A thought seized her. “Hey, Maeve mentioned that you bring items from my realm. Think you can get your hands on a camera?”
Allen grinned. “I do believe the laird has something called a Minolta.”
“What? You’ve got to be joking!”
Allen rocked back on his heels, Charlie Chaplin mustache twitching. “In this time, electricity fails to exist, though he has allowed plumbing, but even that is kept secret. The camera is here because I brought it to him as a gift, though I certainly do not understand what possessed—begging your pardon for my pun—me to think—“
“In this time?” Emily chilled. Okay, Elves, immortal Picts, even a conversation with a ghost . . . “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“You were requesting a camera.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“I am saving my neck.”
“You’re already dead.”
“Rude of you to remind me.”
Emily’s lip curled. “What is everyone hiding from me?”
“I have been forbidden.”
“Or what? They’ll stretch you on the rack?”
“You do have a penchant for death, my lady.”
“You are about to re-experience yours.”
Backpedaling from her advance, Allen held up his hand, sputtering. “L-look around you. Observe.”
Emily paused. Tapestries adorned stonewalls. Persian rugs lay underfoot. Broc’s desk was a hulking piece of dark furniture with lion’s claws as legs and feet. Metal clashing against metal penetrated, drawing her to the windows. Unlatching and pulling the windows inward, she leaned out. And gawked. Men, their bodies painted—or tattooed—with strange blue spirals and symbols, leggings like Indians from her own history books, brutally fought with claymores, broadswords, and shields. Others battled hand-to-hand. Emily whipped around. “Allen, what are they doing? That’s not how they were dressed the other day when they wore jeans and—“
“Attire for your benefit. Now that you know they’re ancient Forest Lords, ‘Picts’ in this realm and yours, though Reignsfeugh was part of the wildmen—Celts, to you moderns—“
“Forest Lords.”
Allen nodded. “Yes.”
Emily resumed watching the men, her breath catching. Broc and Garreck looked to be fighting to the death. Or, at the very least, were trying to maim. Reignsfeugh snuck up behind his laird. Almost, Emily shouted a warning. Instantly, Broc crouched, spun and brought up his sword. Had Reignsfeugh not jumped back, he would have been disemboweled. The crazed man roared with laughter, charging Broc. The thud of their bodies reached even her ears in the high tower room.
“They practice.”
“A little intense for tourists, don’t ye’ think?”
“Tourists do not come here to Castle MacLarrin, Lady Emily.”
Inhaling became labored. “You wanna elaborate?” She could not take her eyes from the ensuing battle below. No movie had ever captured such raw masculinity. Barbaric warriors. In their time, the sight of them charging down the mountain towards their enemy must have been daunting.
“I have been forbidden. Perhaps, you could ask questions and I would be remiss not to indulge in the answering of them?”
“What year is it?”
“Not the same as yours.”
“That doesn’t count as an answer. You aren’t allowed to do that. Try again, and don’t cheat.”
“Now see here! I do not cheat!” Allen glanced behind him. “We have not the time,” he whispered.
“Someone’s coming?”
“Lord Garreck.”
“No, no, he’s down there, trying to kill Broc.” Emily glanced back down at the men. Garreck was missing. Worse, Broc glared up at her. “What year is it, Allen? Everyone refers to me as being a modern.” Should I wave down at him? ‘Course, with his expression getting nastier and nastier, what I should do is give him the finger. She liked that plan well enough to follow it through. And laughed when it had the desired effect of pissing him off. She pushed the windows closed, but not before sticking out her tongue. His roaring curses were very satisfying.
“Lightning strikes and is most ferocious when they enter your realm. They co-exist, side-by-side.”
“Parallel universe.”
“Well, this is The Year of Our Lord 1210, whereas, you are from a far more advanced century.”
“Impossible.”
“Impossible?” Allen sputtered. “Yet, you break your fast amongst royal and mountain Elves, sleep under the same roof as three-thousand year old warriors . . .”
Emily’s gaze narrowed.
“I am not locked here. Nor are they. This is where they choose to be, while having awaited the return of their High Queen. I take care of errands requiring the crossing of various boundaries.”
“Which is how Broc came to have jeans, sweaters, socks and undergarments for me.”
“Precisely.”
“I don’t even want to know how he figured out my measurements.”
“You aren’t that different from the other.”
“The other?”
Allen sighed. “Aurelia.”
“I’m so confused.”
“As was I, when first I found them.”
“Where are you from?”
“Kent.”
“Era?”
“Eighteen thirty nine is when I took on this peculiar form of being neither dead, nor alive. I was a scholar. Your world. I came by an interesting little book, in a language never existing to us, Lady Emily. My first assumption was fortune smiled upon me, for in my hand I knew was the ancient language forever lost of the Picts and Celts. Through much trial and massive head pain, I began to decipher what should have remained buried. The information far outweighed the worth of the book, as I was soon to discover.”
“Why?”
“That book is why I was killed, cursed.”
Emily swallowed rather loudly. “Killed? Who killed you, these guys?” She flung her hand, indicating the Forest Lords below.
“Far worse than them.” Visibly more nervous, Allen glanced over his shoulder. “Garreck nears.”
“I was thinking, the way you pop in and out—“
“I do not pop!”
“Whatever. Do what you do and find Broc. Give him a good scare while you’re at it, but ask if I can use his camera.”
Allen deflated. “Very well.” He shimmered and was gone.
“Oh, Allen!”
“You don’t need to holler.”
“Don’t forget to ask him where he keeps it.”
“As you wish.”
“Allen!”
Again, the spirit appeared. “Yes, my lady?”
“What was in that book?”
“Magic far darker than evil itself.”
Abruptly, the vast room warmed, though Emily hadn’t noticed a difference in chill until Allen was truly gone. Briskly, she rubbed her arms. Damn, should have requested thermals, since he seems to run errands. A ghost . . .running errands. As absurd as her nemesis actually being a Pict. No, that wasn’t right. Her realm had labeled him Pict, but he was actually some Forest Lord. Oh, yeah. Any minute now
, I’ll wake up in a rubber room, wearing a straightjacket. And, I hear voices. Yup, clearly on my way down the—
“Ah, here ye’ are.” Garreck strode into the library, halting. Visually, he scanned cathedral ceilings. “Allen?”
“Gone.”
“Yer’ not swooning.”
“I’m getting used to him.”
“He’s harmless. A little too filled with information no one body should ‘ave a right ta’ ken, but harmless.”
Emily offered a smile and changed the subject. “Are these swords antiques?”
“Some. There are a few that are ancient; therefore, priceless. Others are relics here to honor their deceased owners.”
“Really? Which?”
“The long case over there,” Garreck pointed across the room. “That one holds silver bow and several arrows.”
Emily dashed over to where he indicated, oohing and ahhing. “These are Aunsgar’s culture, aren’t they?”
“Aye, mi’ lady. They belonged to his sire.”
“Why not keep them in his towers?”
“I believe it pains him to be reminded on how long it has been since he’s been home.”
“Garreck?” She paused, weighing her words. Jagged scar held her attention, the faded savagery of it only adding to his handsome ruggedness. Wavy dark hair caressed broad shoulders, well-conditioned shoulders currently swathed in a fisherman’s white cable knit sweater. Black slacks. Dark Irish came to mind. And green eyes that were mesmerizing against sun-kissed skin. Chiseled, kissable mouth was outlined by a mustache and shadowy goatee. Her heart accelerated.
That will be enough!
Emily jumped. I can’t help it’s a farkin’ candy store here!
“Milady?”
He’s beautiful to look upon. And he dared defy his laird to protect Aurelia. His mouth screams for kissing.
I will kill him. Then you need not suffer temptation.
Touch him, and I will hunt you for millennia. At least he has the balls to show himself!
“Lady Emily?”
“Who am I? Who exactly was Aurelia?”
Cursing and yelling filled her head, muting Garreck’s voice. Don’t you dare lecture me about defending a man! You’re nothing more than imagination gone super awry—oh my God! I’m actually arguing with myself. La, la, la, I’m not listening anymore, de dum de dum.
Nervously, Garreck stepped out into the shadowy corridor before returning to stand closer to her. “I admired you from afar. Strength and courage, you were never to be a part of our world. Redemption was sought, you, the unsuspecting pawn, and we, the ignorant players.”
More confused than ever, Emily didn’t know what to say.
“Lady Emily, Princess Aurelia was promised to Urkani upon birth.”
She was too surprised to do anything more than nod. Blindly, she reached out for the chaise she stood by and plopped down. “Did Aurelia know?” she whispered, as if it were still a great secret.
“We’ll never know.”
“How do you know of it then?”
“Once in a while, the austere Elf joins me in the highest tower overlooking the mists and imbibes in our finest scotch.”
“A closet lush. Who knew? So, what happened?”
“Aurelia was led to the circle of standing stones, Elders in disguise hiding from their homeworld assassins.”
“Hang on—“
Garreck waved away Emily’s next question. “Another story, another time, Lady Emily. Aurelia was chosen to become The Keeper. Trained in weaponry, educated, and conditioned for a life of immortality, for thirteen years, she was kept from everything she knew. And then, she returned to her kingdom.” Garreck’s face became bleak with sorrow. “So much deceit.”
“Garreck?” Emily whispered. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”
“No, Emily. If one of us had been courageous enough to speak up to Aurelia, mayhaps much would have been very different. Aurelia’s half-brother had poisoned her father, accelerating his aging process until, within hours of her celebrated return, Aurelia was setting fire to his burial pyre.”
Emily covered her mouth.
“By nightfall, her kingdom had been whisked away into a hidden realm for the rest of time this earth shall exist. Everything she knew, her way of life, culture, friends, forests, mountains, and sea, all her familiar, gone.”
“Why? I mean,” Emily was aghast. “To what end?”
“Her half-brother was Lumynari.”
“Well, shit.”
“Aye, shit.” They shared a smile before Garreck resumed his tale.
“Drakar, her half-brother, coveted Aurelia’s throne, but his goddess, Shadow, coveted Aurelia.”
“Aurelia? Why?”
“As the Keeper, she was now beholden to power Shadow wanted for herself.”
“A goddess would already be pretty damn powerful.”
Garreck shook his head. “Shadow has her own myths and legends, much of it faded from the retelling, but one thing always stood out: she’d been stripped of much of her power, when above ground. Lumynari were to swarm the kingdom, imprison the much sought after humans—slaves used for practice in their hideous rituals.”
Emily swallowed thickly. “How did Aurelia come to be with Broc, and not her kingdom?”
“She was half Lumynari.”
“Exiled. Racism.” Emily spat out the words contemptuously.
“Her mother was Lady Dulinia, a beautiful widow, and her father, King Breton, a besotted fool. He took in the widow, not realizing she was Ardra’s daughter.”
“Ardra?” The name from her dream-vision. “Aunsgar’s twin.”
Garreck looked to her, and smiled gently when she shrugged. “Drinking scotch seems to awaken memories not quite my own.”
“Unsettling, I am sure.”
Emily nodded. “To say the least. Okay, so marry Aurelia to Urkani—“
“Urkani was—is—high commander of Aunsgar’s elite. He possesses magicks studied and learned for a thousand years. His first duty is to his liege. His position required he remain with Prince Aunsgar, who was to rule Quemori until Aurelia could return safely, Drakar having been exterminated.”
“Okay, but how was Aunsgar gonna know if Drakar was now out of the way, if he was in another realm with Broc and the gang—sorry, not gang, but, well . . .”
Garreck laughed. “I ken yer’ meaning. An event none of us foresaw: Aunsgar refused to leave Aurelia with Outlanders—us, at that time, as we were known. Though we were the guardians of Brwenwind Forest, we were rather barbaric. Personally, I’ve always suspected Urkani had desired to watch over the princess as well.”
“Your kindness towards Aurelia, and now me, makes you unpopular with your laird.”
“I am his half-brother. We quarrel often, but I alone guard his back.”
“I thought that was Reignsfeugh’s job.”
“The Celt places himself wherever he sees fit.”
“He’s a real Celt? Wow.” She pointed to her head. “The designs?”
“Initiation into our tribe after he’d lost all.”
“Lumynari?”
“No. A tribe of people no longer existing, not even history has yet ta’ discover. Doubt they left anything behind for archaeologists. They were nomads. Poisoned most of his village, stealing possessions, then moved out before morning mists cleared. Reignsfeugh had been hunting alone, the passage of a boy into manhood. Returning, after several weeks of his isolated journey with the prize of all kills, a bear, and with nothing more than a knife, strategy, and his wits,” Garreck sighed, exasperated with himself. “I’m tangling details. Reignsfeugh’s people believed the closer you achieved a kill with your bare hands, the higher your rank into manhood. The larger the carcass, the more value you showed yourself to be to the tribe.”
“In the meantime, his tribe is being wiped out.”
Garreck nodded. “By the time he turned for home, he smelled the stench of death and saw the circle of bu
zzards in the sky long before the village came into sight.”
Emily grimaced. “That poor man—kid, wasn’t he just a boy?”
“Aye. Even if he hadn’t succeeded the hunt, on that day, he became a man in the worst possible way. Not even a dog was left to bark. None survived.”
“Who were these people?”
“You won’t be able to pronounce the word in our language, but loose translation means ‘Bleeders’.”
“Helluva name.”
“Few surviving their savage foraging have told hair raising tales of how, during the night, as villagers lay dying from poisoned ale and food, Bleeders would cut their own shoulders allowing blood to river down their arms as they danced around bonfires, and the dying.”
Emily’s amber eyes darkened. “Scatter ash, that they not smell our trail. Be wary smoke, they forever assail. Sister Wind by day, my mother by night, protect us from Whuulgnah, our enemy of might.”
Garreck’s jaw dropped. “Mi’ lady, ye’ speak spells handed down—how could you ken such words? Ancient, milady.”
“I . . . don’t know. I see out someone’s eyes, and I see a woman, young, very young, and with dark skin, exotic, her hair is like black ink, long, long and glossy. She’s looking to me, nods as I repeat after her the spells you just heard. Many people walk towards us. She’s dropping ash as we walk. A caravan of people. There aren’t many of us left. We’re being followed.” Emily’s eyes rounded. “I see you and Reignsfeugh! All of you. I see us . . . hiking. It’s so cold.” Emily shuddered, folding her arms, huddling. “Hard to breathe. Rain. So much rain. It washes the ash away. We’re stopping. We’re being followed. Why are we stopping?” Emily shook her head, cobwebs clearing. “What’s happening to me, Garreck?”
“I will take you to Aunsgar. He has mandated you will weapons train with him. It is his knowledge you seek for your answers.”