The low-hanging branches of one of the weeping willows by the lake parted gently and she came towards him across the grass, smiling radiantly and walking as though she floated on air. She led him to a seat flanked by the willows where they could watch the swans, ducks and other waterfowl as they talked. The sound of a small, hidden waterfall tinkled somewhere on their left. The trilling of a gray warbler came from somewhere nearby and in the distance the high sweet notes of a tui floated on the still, balmy air.
As soon as Peter settled himself on the seat beside her, the Lady's face became grave. “Something still troubles you. The only solution that seems possible is unpalatable to you—therefore your subconscious has blocked your mind from thinking about it."
At her words, a dam seemed to burst in Peter. Questions poured from him almost as though somebody else asked them. “The Commander of Light—that's you isn't it? And the Commander of Darkness is the Evil One? And Merlin said the Lord in Blue is the feminine side of the Evil One—so the Evil One is two persons in one being?"
"Yes.” Her voice was soft and almost toneless.
"If—if ‘the Commanders of Light and Darkness waged war within the womb'—then—then doesn't that make you the Evil One's twin?"
"Only by the laws of this world, Peter. Both of us—that is the Lord in Blue and myself—were born of the same woman. But the Lord in Blue—the woman you knew as your Aunt Angela—didn't share my parental genes. There are therefore no blood ties between us at all. She's no more your aunt than the Evil One himself is."
"She seemed so normal—kind and caring."
"Until the Evil One caused her to revert to her true nature—to wake up as it were—she was a normal human being subject to normal human emotions. The Evil One's male side was late in waking her, was jealous because only his feminine side could assume the role of my ‘twin'—a delay that only served to help the Earthlight's cause by giving us more time. There was one period eight years ago when Angela's true nature asserted itself and she caused the car accident that killed me, thus fulfilling the second line of that prophecy. When she returned to being Angela she felt like any woman who'd been responsible for the death of a sister, even a much disliked sister."
Peter pondered this for a moment, his predominant feeling one of relief. He should, he realized, have taken more notice of the prophecy's words concerning the Blue Lord's claims of kinship with him. Then his mind raced back to all the questions still unanswered. “What about Uncle Paul? I realize I won't be seeing Merlin again, but..."
The Lady gently shook her head. “I'm sorry, Peter. The same law that applies to—to Angela applies to your Uncle Paul. Neither may return to the Earth in their former guises."
Peter thought about this briefly. However, with so many questions needing answers he feared he might forget something so he plunged on. “When the Lord in Blue showed me you and Merlin in the fortifying bower, he had turned you both to stone..."
"That was all illusion. The Evil One eventually discovered the fortifying bower and the Great Halls of Draining Light, but couldn't penetrate them. The Blue Lord's power had grown so great that you couldn't see through the trickery."
Now Peter came to what he felt was the most important question. “What about my father? Who was he? What happened to him?"
"Your father was who you think him to be. You never saw each other. Once you were born and he knew everything would be all right he went back to his own time for good. I knew somehow I wouldn't always be with you either. I found a father for you. He bore part of your name so I knew almost instantly he was the right one."
Peter smiled at her through a mist of tears. There was an enormous lump in his throat. “And you found a mother for me to soften the blow of Aunt Angela's betrayal."
The Lady's only answer to that sent strange echoes running through Peter's mind; he seemed to recall her saying the same thing before. “The Earthlight isn't without mercy."
The rest of the day—even the arrival of Bart and the twins and the banquet that followed—went by in a blur for Peter. After the banquet they were all so exhausted they slept in the following morning.
When the Lady called them into the private garden where she and Peter talked the day before, they all knew the time of parting had come. On his arrival Peter found, to his surprise, that there were five people not of the Chosen present: his stepfather, Jamie and John's mother, Maria and her mother, and Susan Brown.
"You will all forget everything that has happened,” the Lady said. “It is too much for mortal minds to carry around for a lifetime.” She turned to Peter. “But for you, Peter, I shall leave this..."
With both hands the Lady held the crystal box out at face level towards Peter. Over its lid her eyes held his, and the eyes were those of a mother. Their gaze penetrated his heart, excluding everyone else. Then they smiled at him, the love in them flooding his whole being. “Remember always, my son, I'm very proud of you and will always love you dearly."
The soft words repeated themselves in his mind as she slowly raised the lid of the box. A gentle light poured out, growing increasingly stronger until it became almost blinding. The light gradually faded and in its place a scene unfolded.
Peter saw a young woman, dressed in formal late eighteenth-century costume. Her hair was elaborately arranged and Peter found himself wondering, incongruously, how long it had taken to do. She had her back to him and was seated at what he at first thought was a small square piano or harpsichord. A voice whispered a name: “Marianne! Marianne!” pronouncing it in the German manner. The girl turned her head and Peter received a short sharp shock as he realized she was blind. A lovely, slow smile lit up her face, as though she received an inner vision unseen by other eyes. She turned back to her instrument and reached out her hands to play.
Then came the eerie magic music—not this time a mere arpeggio or even a long lovely phrase but a complete melody. Without being particularly sad, its simplicity had a strange yearning quality.
The vision seemed to come closer to Peter—or was he moving closer to it? Over the musician's shoulder, he received a close-up view of the instrument. There was no keyboard. The instrument consisted of a hollow, polished mahogany box on cabriolet legs. And in the box, on their sides, lay the bells. In graded sizes, each bell sat inside a larger one on its left with its rim protruding. They were shaped more like bowls than bells and were made of glass. By means of a treadle that worked similar to those on old sewing machines he had seen in museums, Marianne made the glasses rotate while she caressed their rims with wetted fingertips.
Then the vision faded and Peter was again looking at the crystal box with the now softened light pouring from its open lid.
Behind the light the Lady finished speaking. “Good-bye, Peter. Good-bye."
When the last note died on the air, the Lady was gone, taking Merlin with her, and the Chosen were alone in the garden, not sure what they were doing there. Then the garden faded and Peter found himself back in his own home.
* * * *
IT WAS THE day before Christmas Eve. Slightly disoriented, Peter was in his bedroom packing to spend Christmas in the South Island on the farm of an old friend, Thaddeus Carter. He was about to close the zipper on his bag when something—two things—on his bedside table drew his attention. One looked simply like a rock and the other was an exquisite little crystal box with a red dragon on its lid.
Puzzled, he picked up the rock and strange, frightening images of dark tunnels flashed into his mind. Hastily he dropped it and gingerly picked up the crystal box. This time there were no frightening images. Instead, he saw a lovely woman dressed in flowing blue and white with silver-gilt hair and the hint of a crown or coronet on her head. Eerie bell-like music filled the air and he saw again the glass bells lying on their sides. However, although he kept the lid of the box open, everything faded, returning only when he closed the box and reopened it.
He went to his bedside drawer, took out the small album in which he had placed the photogr
aph of his mother and himself as a baby, and peered at the slightly fuzzy image in frustration. Then, returning to the crystal box, he held it near his face at eye level. The eye of the little red dragon on the lid seemed to wink at him. The creature was so tiny and yet so beautifully detailed that Peter knew if he had a magnifying glass he would be able to see every scale on its body. He touched the strange, webbed wings and could almost see them spread in flight, creating a noise like a drum. Slowly he lifted the lid of the box with his thumb. The first note of the eerie music floated out...
A knock at the door sent all the images in his mind fleeing. Peter started violently and nearly dropped the box. His future stepmother's voice, sounding anxious, came through the closed door. “Peter, are you ready? Maria's mother has just dropped her off and your father wants to finish packing the car. If you don't hurry you'll have to go without breakfast. We don't want to miss our flight."
"Coming!” Quickly Peter pushed the crystal box into his bag among the folds of his clothing. Cautiously he picked up the rock. The frightening images returned. Well, he didn't have time to investigate further. He'd better take that, too.
He shoved it in the bag beside the crystal box and the images faded. With fingers that trembled slightly he closed the zipper, swung the bag over his shoulder and opened the door. “Ready, Dreyfus?” he said to the dog, who immediately bounded out.
At sight of the grin on her future stepson's face, Sylvia Evans's own face dissolved into an affectionate smile. She raised an eyebrow as she looked at his cabin bag, which bulged everywhere in untidy lumps. She was clearly unprepared, however, for Peter's next move. He ran up and threw his arms around her, knocking the back of her legs with the soft bag and almost sending her off-balance.
"I'm so glad you're going to be my mother."
Sylvia hugged him back. When Peter gently freed himself she looked at him with eyes that shone like sapphires. When she spoke her voice was soft and low. “I'm glad, too, Peter—and very proud."
Peter's grin widened and the pink in his cheeks deepened as he saw that Maria had come up behind Sylvia. He included her in his grin and moved to join her.
"Are you sure you've got everything?” Sylvia said from behind, eying the misshapen bag doubtfully.
Peter turned back briefly. “Everything that matters,” he said with confidence.
End Of Quest For Earthlight
Laraine Anne Barker
On 3 November 2003 (at 7:42 am, to be precise) I celebrated sixteen years of writing. For more than eight of those years I've been trying to find a publisher and writing full-time—that is, I don't have what you would call a job. As far as I'm concerned writing is my job—and that's the way I treat it in spite of the fact that not only has it not earned me any money but it has also drained away all my savings. Sending work out to publishers is very expensive, especially if you have to send it overseas. Many other writers out there, incidentally, are in the same situation. But one of the good things about today is the Internet. And one of the best things about the Internet is that it's a great place to sell almost anything. It's certainly a great place to set up a publishing company. After just over a year of submitting work to electronic publishers I have managed to find one who likes my work.
I live with my husband and three long-haired miniature Dachshunds in a dairy-farming community just south of Rotorua in New Zealand's North Island.
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Visit www.hardshell.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.
The Third Age of Obsidian [Quest for Earthlight Trilogy Book Three] Page 21