Triskelion

by Avril Borthiry

  A pause followed, and Jake could all but hear the cogs of comprehension whirring in the professor's mind.

  “Are you telling me the sarcophagus contains the remains of a wolf?” Sam Kellett's doubt showed in his expression. “Who would go to all that trouble for a wolf?”

  “Those who loved him.” Jake shrugged. “Respected him.”

  “May I ask how you know this? Do you have documentation?”

  “Only a brief mention of the wolf's death in a 14th century letter written by a Welshman residing at Castle Rushen.” Jake glanced along the shore to where some ancient grey walls kept vigil over the bay. “It was left to me by a... friend.”

  “I see. Fascinating. Well, that certainly explains your interest in this case.” Sam followed Jake's glance. “Wraysholme. A fine example of a medieval manor house. Purchased some years ago by a wealthy businessman, I believe, although no one has ever seen him. He restored it and disappeared. The place stands empty.”

  “A shame.” Jake's thoughts veered toward a painful path in his mind. He gritted his teeth and looked up at the cave. “Let's take a look at this find of yours, Professor.”

  Sam gestured to the slope. “After you, Dr. Price.”

  A short time later, Jake crouched at the side of the sandstone slab and touched his fingers to the words engraved into the stone.

  “Sandalio,” he murmured. “Amicus fidelis. Faithful friend.”

  “The inscription works with your assertion, but if this is the grave of a wolf, the engraving of the cross puzzles me,” said Sam. “As does the Triskelion, come to that. Since it is deemed not to have a soul, an animal wouldn't merit a cross, and the Triskelion is unusual given the era and the location.”

  “It matches your medallion, Dr. Price.”

  Aware of the surreptitious glances Emily had been casting his way, Jake gave the professor's young assistant a friendly smile. He fingered the medallion that had escaped the confines of his shirt, amused by the shy yet obvious admiration in the girl's eyes. His ability to attract women with little effort was something he had never quite understood.

  “You're very observant, Emily.”

  She returned his smile, her cheeks colouring. “It symbolizes eternity, does it not?”

  “Among other things,” he replied. “The Triskelion is found in many cultures. In this case, I must assume the symbol had some meaning to the wolf's owners. As for the cross, I can only speculate that it might have been added as a touch of whimsy. The wolf was apparently a valued companion.”

  “So you're certain about the contents of this sarcophagus, then?” asked Sam, his tone still dubious if not a little disappointed.

  Jake had no doubt at all, but gave a non-committal shrug. “Well, let's see, shall we?”

  ~ ~ ~

  A team arrived from the university later that afternoon, and Jake watched as Lio descended from the cave for the last time. It seemed unceremonious somehow, placing the wolf's noble bones in a cardboard box and lowering him down the slope.

  Yet the discovery of his grave would give birth to a new legend and ensure the wolf's immortality. As was often the case in smaller communities, word had already spread. A small local crowd had gathered at the base of the cliffs, watching as events unfolded. Tomorrow, the unexpected find would be in the papers and on the internet. If need be, Jake would field questions, offer vague answers. After all, the romance of legend had more appeal when shrouded in mystery.

  Disturbed by the shadows of things past, he turned away from the cliffs and picked his way along the shore until he reached the path leading to Wraysholme. Like the incoming tide, ancient memories surged forward, their clarity unsullied by time. Jake paused, acknowledging a familiar ache beneath his ribs.

  Since the phone call that morning, he had struggled to maintain his usual emotional restraint. On this day of all days – the summer solstice – the past had beckoned, and he had obeyed the call. He had remained stoic throughout, convinced of his strength, sure of his composure. Ah, but it had been a false facade – one doomed to collapse.

  Deafened by echoes of the past and blinded by the brilliance of its images, Jake at last capitulated to the onslaught of raw feelings. He closed his eyes, turned his sight inward, and became who he had once been.

  Who he really was.

  He stood alone beneath the splendour of a starlit sky. The earth smelled rich and damp from recent rain. A soft breeze played in his hair and his tongue tasted salt. Before him, the bare sands stretched into the night. He waited, aware she could hear his voice and feel his presence.

  But would she come?

  Then, from the darkness behind him, he heard the tell-tale splash of feet, and his spirit leapt. She was running. Running to him. His fists clenched and released, one hand seeking the comforting grip of his sword hilt.

  A moment later the footsteps ceased and he heard a stifled sob – a sweet sound of relief that reached in and squeezed his heart. He lifted his gaze to the stars and spoke her name.

  “Katherine.”

  Jake opened his eyes and touched the scars on his face, remembering the gentle touch of her lips against his skin. God, how he had loved her. He loved her still.

  “I love you too, Elric. God knows I do.”

  Seven centuries had passed since Katherine's words had fused to his heart, but it all seemed like yesterday.

  Yesterday? He blew out a shaky breath. No. Christ help me, it seems like a single heartbeat ago.

  Yet seven hundred years had passed – give or take a decade or two.

  History, in all its incredible chaotic glory, belonged to him. He had lived it, chronicled it, studied it. He had harvested legends worldwide, shaking truth from myth. From quills to pencils to computers, his archives continued to grow. Over the centuries, most of them had been shared with mankind under a variety of aliases and in dozens of languages.

  He had loved and been loved. He had inspired others and changed lives. He had saved lives, and given people hope where none existed. Yet his hands were not without stain. Evil had often crossed his path and challenged him. There had been many instances of merciless justice and spilled blood.

  I also know how to move through this world unseen, and will do so when necessary.

  In order to safeguard the Triskelion's gift, Elric needed to be reborn – again and again. Many times he had been obliged to seek out the darker recesses of the earth. It mattered not. He valued such times. Darkness still offered him a measure of solace as well as a place to hide until the years erased his image from men's minds. His ability to see a man's thoughts had not waned. If anything, it had sharpened, but he used it sparingly. It had, for some reason, developed an immoral flavour.

  Why had he been chosen to receive the Triskelion's gift? The answer had long eluded him, although he suspected his advanced mental abilities played a part. Katherine once said he'd never been allowed to live. Well, he'd been given one hell of a second chance. He had ceased to question the why of it.

  Now that Lio had found a place in legend, it was perhaps time to think about sharing Katherine's tale, and that of her beloved Owen. Their blood still flowed in the veins of their descendants, although none had demonstrated Katherine's abilities. Jake knew, because, as promised, he had always watched over them. Despite his fears to the contrary, that night on the shore had not been the last time he'd seen Katherine – or Owen.

  But that was a tale for another time. Indeed, Elric had many tales to tell. Perhaps, he pondered, it was time to start telling them. His passion for writing remained and time, after all, was plentiful.

  Might it not also become a burden?

  He smiled as he remembered Katherine's concern and glanced back toward the cliffs where people still lingered, their focus centred on the activities in the cave. Satisfied he wasn't being watched, he pulled a large iron key from his pocket and set out along the path toward Wraysholme. It had been a while since he'd set foot inside Katherine's birthplace. The old house would never be allowed to lang
uish, of course. He had promised her that as well.

  “No, little one,” he said. “Not a burden. Never that.”

  For as long as I live, so will you, in my heart and in my dreams.

  Forever, Katherine.

  The End...

  ...of the beginning

  “Ah! When should all men's good

  be each man's rule, and universal peace

  lie like a shaft of light across the land

  And, like a lane of beams athwart the sea

  Thro' all the circle of the golden year?”

  A. Tennyson

  From the author:

  Thank you so much for reading.

  Check my website for links to my other books:

  www.avrilborthiry.com

  Email:

  allwrite@rogers.com