Autumn

by Lisa Ann Brown

  “You are a thief,” Arabel couldn’t resist mentioning.

  Arabel could sense Jonty smirking and it brought a welcome smile to her face. No longer alone, Arabel kept company easily with the thief, and for a moment or two, felt quite companionable. But then the realization of the utter precariousness of their situation infected Arabel once more and she felt her heart race with anxiety.

  “We’ve got to escape,” she spoke urgently, whispering, unsure if their room was being monitored.

  “Aye, that we do, missy, but how exactly are you proposin’ to do that?”

  “I’m not sure,” Arabel admitted. “But we must try!”

  The thief grunted and Arabel took it as agreement.

  “Can you remove my blindfold?” she asked him.

  “Dunno, but I can give it a try,” the thief consented.

  Arabel heard him shuffling over toward her, the chains jangled loudly on the floor.

  “Can you muffle that noise at all?” she requested.

  Jonty laughed. “Hold still,” he said.

  Arabel felt the thief’s nimble fingers at the back of her head as he untied the soiled bandanna. With a relief she’d not known would be so magnificent, Arabel was finally able to see again!

  “Thank you!” she enthused to Jonty, turning toward him now.

  Arabel was shocked and dismayed to see that the thief had been badly beaten. Jonty’s left eye was almost completely shut; it was purpling and swollen and he was grimy and his right eye was barely better than the left.

  “Who did this to you?” Arabel exclaimed.

  Jonty shrugged, and then winced, as if the movement had aggravated his injuries.

  “I’ve all my digits still, so ‘tis a small blessing,” he said amicably.

  “You didn’t see your attackers?” Arabel persisted.

  Jonty shook his head. “No miss, it’s like I was under some spell. I couldn’t defend meself, nor run even. It was like the evil spell they put on me before, you remember what I told you?”

  Arabel nodded. “Yes, you were possessed. I know.”

  Jonty’s swollen eyes met Arabel’s bright blues with a chagrined sort of expression.

  “They’ll wanna ransom you off, no doubt,” he said. “But no one will pay for me.”

  “That’s not true!” Arabel defended immediately. “Your mother will care, the Gypsies will care!”

  Jonty shook his head, wincing again at the movement. “Some says I got what’s coming to me, missy. Me mum will be the only one grieving after I’ve gone.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Arabel said sharply. “Except out of this prison. With me.”

  Jonty’s purpling eye held a brief instant of humour.

  “You be a mighty bossy one, missy,” he said.

  Footsteps sounded outside of the door and the resistant groaning was heard again as the door swung open.

  A tall, thin man with wavy brown hair and a muted expression stood before Arabel and Jonty. The man’s expression was truculent, almost bored. His dark eyes surveyed the prisoners with disdain.

  “Nicky!” Jonty cried out. “What’s gotten into you, man?”

  Arabel wondered if this was the elusive Nick Chauncer, Jonty’s former friend and helpmate.

  The thin man laid his cool eyes upon Jonty.

  “You deserve worse than this, you useless fool,” he pronounced cruelly, delivering a swift kick to Jonty’s already battered body.

  The thin man’s voice was calm and cold and guttural. With a sinking heart, Arabel realized she’d now met both men who’d haunted her for the past while - the two originators of the pervasive grey energy: Saul Porchetto with his evil laugh and Nick Chauncer with his guttural intonations.

  The two men from her dream. The dream that was always a nightmare.

  Nick Chauncer turned on his heel abruptly and left the room. Apparently he had satisfied his curiosity in regard to the prisoners. The door groaned and slammed shut behind him with a decisive finality.

  “What vile things have you done to him?” Arabel questioned Jonty. “He most certainly despises you!” The strong waves of animosity that lingered within the room surprised Arabel with their intensity.

  Jonty let out a long suffering sigh. “Don’t rightly know, miss, what got stuck up in his craw.” The thief rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Not like I stole his woman or nothin’, just took a couple a horses and some coin. And not even from him personally!”

  Arabel was stymied. What were the reasons that the Dorojenja were so interested in both her and Jonty? What was so alluring about the two of them?

  Arabel had scoured the landscape of her mind during the long hours of their enforced captivity without arriving at any solid or useful conclusions. She was no longer certain where she ought to look for clues or what questions needed to be answered by Jonty. The thief was not forthcoming with any useful speculation and so Arabel sat quietly, pondering the situation, wondering how best for the two of them to escape.

  Arabel banished all other thoughts from her mind. She refused to dwell on the accusations Raina had brought forth about her father and she knew she could not waste any precious energy speculating as to her grandmother’s vanishing act with Paloma Porchetto.

  Arabel surveyed the small room they were captive within. It appeared to be a part of an old cabin-type structure. The walls were unpainted and the floor was old, knotted pine. The room was completely empty except for the two of them; there was no furniture, no rugs, no windows and the ceiling was quite low. Arabel cast her gaze to every corner of the room, hopefully surveying all parts of the floor, walls and ceiling in case there was a trap door, hidden panel or anything whatsoever that could facilitate an escape route.

  After a thorough search, Arabel was forced to admit to herself that there was nothing within the room itself that would help them to escape. The door was locked from the outside and there were no secret exits. Arabel sat dejectedly for a moment, collecting herself. She closed her eyes and thought of Eli. She wondered if she would ever see him again. Arabel figured she’d already been missing for at least one night and she missed Eli terribly.

  A longing to reunite with Eli overtook Arabel’s spirit completely, bolstering her resolve to make it out of this dire situation as soon as she could. For now, Arabel was resigned to sit and wait, perhaps to try for further sleep, as there wasn’t much else she could do presently. Arabel had the feeling she was going to need all of her strength soon to combat whatever menace the future threatened her with and until then, her hands were tied, both figuratively and literally.

  Arabel closed her eyes and wished for sleep. Sleep without dreams.

  Feathered Friends

  Eli urged Jovah forward as they edged deeper and deeper into the old forest.

  Zander rode alongside Eli and Ira flew above. The two young men were joined by Baltis and a collection of twenty five other Gypsies. Xavier was not among them as he’d stayed at the Lodge with Mireille, Francesca, Madame de Lorimar and assorted others to create energetic patterns of safety for the search party, and to uncover the hidden entrances to the underground tunnel network.

  Xavier had stationed Gypsy guards at the Governs’ caravan to wait until the tunnels were re-manifested, at which point the Gypsies would explore the tunnels to see where they led and ascertain whether or not Arabel was confined within them. The Gypsies had discovered that Jonty was missing and most likely also kidnapped, as his mother had been found tied up and incapacitated, with no memory of the attack and her son’s blood spattered inside of her caravan, so the search was on for the thief as well.

  Eli persisted in mentally sending messages to Arabel but they seemed to be hitting a void. The messages appeared to be bouncing back to him as if they had hit a wall and Eli had never encountered this before with telepathy. Xavier had speculated that Arabel was being held within an energy void and Eli knew his mother was busily attempting to uncover its power source whereupon she would dismantle it.

  No on
e spoke as the search party scoured the woods for signs of the Dorojenja and the mood was both tense and psychically focused. The horses thundered through the trees and Eli only hoped they would find Arabel safe, and soon. Eli struggled to mitigate the threatening anxiety and to keep it out of his personal sphere. He knew it was imperative to remain balanced, as his own powers lessened with any negative emotion or thought.

  A slight rain was falling on the search party and the terrain began to freeze as the wind picked up. The trees rustled and swayed in the forceful gale and Zander stole a brief look at Eli.

  “We need to search the north end of the Copse,” Zander said decisively and Eli nodded.

  “Can you feel her?”

  Zander shook his head. “No, but I can sense the darkness and its amassed forces.” Zander glanced behind Eli at their small band of Gypsies. “Just hope there are enough of us to take them on.”

  Eli’s jaw was set in a grim line. “Oh, we’ll take them on, alright,” he vowed.

  Ira cawed in agreement and did some quick aerial loops as he surveyed the upcoming woods. Eli was incredibly grateful for the bird’s presence, as well as for his newfound ability to understand the corvid. When exactly he’d begun to comprehend the bird, Eli wasn’t certain, but now that he could, he was more thankful than ever. The bird had proven a loyal companion to Arabel and Eli knew the familiar would not rest until her safety was assured.

  After traveling for the best part of two hours the searchers came to the north end of the Copse. Very few Gypsies lived this far out of camp and the few shacks, shanties and cabins that they passed appeared to be mainly deserted. By tacit agreement, Zander moved into the lead as the group traversed the area and he concentrated on sussing out the origin of the hostile forces. Ira landed upon Eli’s shoulder and Eli gave the bird a quick pet as they waited to see what Zander would relay.

  “I can practically smell them,” Zander mentioned, with a somewhat distasteful grimace. He pointed to the farthest incline, a densely forested, sloping hill with a grouping of five, run-down looking cabins around it. “There,” he said.

  The Gypsies rode toward the cabins and dismounted a short distance away. The rain continued to fall and Eli knew it would turn to snow before long. The mounts were secured and the group moved stealthily toward the cabins. The wind howled loudly and the horses were unsettled.

  “Can you tell which one she’s in?” Baltis queried Zander.

  “No, but I can tell she’s here.”

  Eli felt the relief course through his veins. Arabel was here and they were going to rescue her. Or he would die trying. The sky had turned dark and Eli wondered that night should be falling so soon. It was not yet mid-day and he had reckoned there would be at least a few hours of autumn daylight still.

  Ira flew off of Eli’s shoulder and began to caw loudly and repetitively. Eli glanced upward to see what was hiding the light. His mouth fell open as he took in the glorious sight.

  The sky had indeed become black…black with birds.

  Eli laughed in sheer, uncontrolled delight as his eyes gazed at the thousands and thousands of corvids now filling the sky.

  Crows, ravens, magpies, blue jays, rooks, jackdaws, treepies, choughs and nutcrackers swarmed the eye line as far as anyone could see and their raucous cries filled the air with their collective supernatural power. Tears of amazed appreciation glistened in Eli’s eyes as he heard the message from Ira, loud and clear.

  “Attack!”

  Faithful To His Memory

  The door groaned open and Arabel awoke immediately, startled by the sound. She sat up hastily and looked toward Jonty and she was dismayed to see that the thief could barely see, due to the worsened black and purplish swelling of his eyes. Arabel looked at the door and held her breath as she waited to see who had come to visit them.

  A white haired Gypsy woman in a dark shawl and black dress stepped into the room. The woman was accompanied by two solid looking Gypsy henchmen, both of whom wore scowls upon their faces and carried small but cruel looking hand-whips. The woman was quite dainty but her energy field was not in keeping with her physical size; it was large and angrily vicious. Her aura bled in blacks and reds and Arabel was strangely fascinated by the whirling dervish of colour that accompanied the woman into the room.

  “Get up!” the woman imperiously demanded of Arabel and Jonty, her voice deep and slightly accented.

  Arabel quickly jumped to her feet and Jonty did the same. The woman moved over to the prisoners and grabbed Arabel roughly by the chin. The woman’s hostile black eyes peered at Arabel with a low simmering hatred and her expression was intent, as if she was seeking to find something within Arabel’s very soul.

  The woman dug her nails into Arabel’s skin, hard, and then she thrust Arabel’s face away from her, as if the very sight of Arabel was distasteful. Arabel remained as still as possible; the woman was clearly unbalanced and Arabel had no wish to aggravate her further.

  “Bring them!” the woman ordered the two Gypsies and then stalked from the room.

  Arabel was half-dragged, half pulled down a low, dark hallway. The hallway was tight and narrow and the further they moved along its dark corridor, the smaller the space became. Soon they were forced to crouch and were moving quite slowly within the narrow confines.

  The older woman was in front and she called back to them, “Hurry, hurry!”

  The Gypsy soldier behind Arabel slapped her sharply with the hand-whip to prod her to quicken her steps and Arabel scurried along the hallway as fast as she was able. The corridor quickly became a tunnel of mud and Arabel surmised they were being led down into an underground cavern.

  Arabel could hear Jonty’s chains jangling loudly behind her and the eerie sound was somehow comforting as she traversed the mud hallway. Arabel held her breath, hoping the dark path would end soon in a much more open and hospitable space. There was a certain element of claustrophobia present and Arabel was very much looking forward to being able to stand upright again instead of crawling on all fours as they were doing now. Arabel’s bonds had been loosened slightly so that she could crawl and she hoped to use this to her advantage once they had arrived at their new destination or holding cell.

  Arabel wondered why the old Gypsy woman hated her so. It was baffling.

  Arabel was certain she’d never met the woman before so why the intense dislike was present, Arabel could not fathom. The Dorojenja soldier behind Arabel slapped at her again with his hand-held whip and Arabel cried out in pain. She scurried forward with renewed intent and kept her eyes fastened upon the figure in front of her. Arabel’s hands were now completely grimy. Dirt was caked under her nails and her cape, dress and hair were also dirt-encrusted and had become somewhat weighted down with mud, thereby impeding her progress down the mud tunnel hallway.

  All Arabel could hear was the laboured breathing of the small group as they inched forward in the shadowy darkness of the corridor and the accompanying clanging of Jonty’s chains. The tunnel was still getting progressively smaller and Arabel felt the threat of hysteria bubbling within her lungs. Arabel had never before thought of herself as the claustrophobic type, but as she thrust her body forward in the black and muddy corridor, Arabel was quite certain she was indeed the claustrophobic sort and if she didn’t get out of this dark and muddy tunnel soon, she was going to start screaming incoherently and most certainly would be on the receiving end of the very angry Gypsy whip right behind her.

  The tunnel seemed to go on forever and Arabel was finding it harder and harder to breathe. Arabel tried to grasp her athame, which was tucked into her cape pocket, but she couldn’t quite get to it. Arabel knew if she could make contact with her athame she would be able to at least summon a small amount of power to aid her as she traversed the claustrophobia-inducing tunnel.

  Thankfully, after what seemed an endless journey, the Gypsy woman suddenly halted in front of Arabel and began to mutter words in a foreign tongue that Arabel could not understand. Arabel could see
they had reached a doorway of stone and the Gypsy woman appeared to be calling the doorway to open via a magical incantation.

  The words she uttered sounded like complete gibberish to Arabel but the woman’s tone was passionate and clear and the stone doorway suddenly gave way with a loud crashing sound and the small group were immediately and violently sucked into and through its narrow opening. Almost instantly, they were then thrust down a steep and muddy slide. Arabel felt her stomach lurch within her body as she was catapulted downward at an alarming speed.

  Arabel cried out sharply as she fell headlong onto a grassy embankment, re-injuring herself in her attempt to cushion her body from the fall. The Gypsy woman, the henchmen, and Jonty all landed nearby and Arabel was disoriented momentarily. The bumps on Arabel’s head and neck throbbed steadily and Arabel was jolted by the thud of her landing and in a fair amount of pain from both headache and hunger.

  Arabel glanced around immediately to see if she could recognize their location but nothing at all seemed remotely familiar. Directly in front of them, Arabel viewed a series of rambling hills, to their left, a steep embankment, and to the right, a densely forested wooded area. The Gypsy woman scowled at the prisoners.

  “Get up!” she shouted angrily, pulling an athame from her pocket.

  Arabel and Jonty got to their feet immediately and Arabel’s pulse quickened as she tried to suss out if this was their moment of escape. The Gypsy woman smiled slowly, as if reading Arabel’s thoughts.

  “There’s nowhere to run,” she said succinctly and Arabel’s spirits sank.

  The Gypsy henchmen corralled their two prisoners into line and marched them toward the woods. The Gypsy woman led the way, muttering all the while under her breath, moving her athame as she performed some further dark magic Arabel couldn’t comprehend.

  “Yola!” one of the Gypsies called suddenly, a tense urgency flavouring his tone.

  The white haired Gypsy woman did not look at the man and she did not cease her spell. Arabel’s interest peaked sharply at the mention of the woman’s name. Yola? Was this Raoul Porchetto’s mistress, Yolanda Selivant? Arabel wondered.