by Caroline Noe
Before Gwyneth could retort, Myrrdinus followed the suggestion and planted a firm kiss on her lips, his ardour lifting her from her feet. Exercising all the muscle strength his biceps could produce, he placed his hands on her waist and carried her, feet dangling, lips still locked, right into the middle of the amused wedding crowd.
Depositing her back on her feet in full view of her family and friends, Myrrdinus released the hefty suction of the kiss and dropped to one knee.
“Hereby, be evoking ritual of joining,” he announced, so loudly that they heard him in the neighbouring realm. “Giving meself in marrying to Gwyneth, daughter of Asher and Melith. Be ye agree?”
“Aye,” shouted her parents in touching harmony.
“Gwyneth, ye be mine, light of life and heart of hearts. Will ye have me?”
Gwyneth knew the time honoured words of the ancient engagement ritual. She had heard them spoken by other couples on many occasions, but, somehow, as she looked into his earnest, innocent and wide open eyes, they sounded as though he had just created them.
“Aye, be having ye for life and heart,” she replied, before the words had had a chance to pass through her brain. Once having spoken, she was rather annoyed at herself for how swiftly she had replied. Not to mention, everyone was laughing at her eagerness.
Be showing them.
She grasped Myrrdinus by the collar, yanking him towards her. The kiss that followed caused sensitive parents to shield the eyes of their children and Drevel to howl like a dog.
* * *
Harlin witnessed the inevitable union of Myrrdinus and Gwyneth with mixed feelings. He was gratified that they were happy, but the ritual had magnified his own romantic disappointment.
Ever since an exhausted Elaine had emerged from the forest, recounting the destruction of the Firestone and the disappearance of his mother, Harlin had been hoping for a resumption of their fledgling love affair. Instead, Elaine had been avoiding him, seemingly riddled by trauma and silent depression. Worried about her and unable to convince her to talk to him, Harlin had asked her female friends to discover the reason for her continuing misery, now that she was healed from the disease. Melith, Gwyneth and Serena had all approached her and been told nothing.
He had entertained fantasies of Elaine becoming his wife and leading the domain at his side. Months had passed and he was still doing that difficult job alone. Unlike Myrrdinus, Harlin was not of a begging disposition and certainly not in public. He had a position of leadership to maintain and the respect of the people was vital in preserving a fragile truce with former enemies.
Thus, the situation dragged on, until a merry Melith, fresh from victory with another stubborn couple, decided to intervene. Asher begged her not to interfere, but, as usual, she didn’t listen to a word he said.
“Now, ye be minding me, childlin,” Melith began, cornering a surprised Harlin at the food table. She loomed so close to him that he almost sat in the plate of meats. “Nough waiting. Ye be man and asking Elaine what be matterly. Ye telling her ye love her, and needing her to help ye. Understand?”
Harlin coughed and squirmed under her gaze. “Erm…I…”
“UNDERSTAND?” Melith repeated, aggressively.
Harlin nodded.
“Then go!”
She grasped him firmly by the collar of his ornate tunic and thrust him in the direction of Elaine, who was sitting in the shade of an oak tree with Clipper lying at her feet. The boy was the only person that she allowed to spend any length of time with her and he duly tried to take care of her at every opportunity, fancying himself her bodyguard.
With duty done, Melith patted down her tent-like dress and curtseyed, to the applause of the villagers. Asher just sighed and smiled.
Pretending not to see Harlin’s approach, Elaine busied herself with staring at a ham sandwich. Those sitting nearby, however, operated a kindly form of tact and swiftly moved, muttering some hastily conceived and completely unbelievable excuse. By the time the young man sat down beside her, they were alone, except for Clipper.
“Clipper!” rang out Melith’s dulcet tones. “Ye wanting help me with apple cake?”
That invitation swiftly removed the boy from the scene, paving the way for Harlin. There was a moment of awkward silence as neither looked at the other. Harlin suddenly turned towards her and blurted out, “What be I needing do, for ye to trust me again?”
Elaine was so surprised by the question that she finally looked at him. “What are you talking about? Everyone trusts you; you’re their leader.”
“Not ye.” Harlin leaned closer to her, barely a breath away. “I seen ye look at me, fore ye left. Ye not trusted me with Firestone and ye been rightly. But stone goed now and we be free.” He shocked them both by taking her hand. She tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “I think ye cared for me once, when I been scarred and lone.” He sighed and held her palm to his chest. “Face be different, but inside, I still be scarred and lone.”
Elaine finally managed to slide her fingers out of his and turn her gaze away. “You should find yourself a true partner now,” she told him, her voice harsh and unyielding. “Someone young and beautiful to match you.”
“Ye thinking I only care bout face…?”
“Someone better suited to lead…with character.” Elaine’s voice wavered, almost imperceptibly, but Harlin, tuned to the sound of her, caught it.
“I love ye…” he began.
Elaine snorted with cynicism and interrupted his declaration. “You’ll get over it.”
“Not making light of me feelings,” Harlin told her, passionately. “Not childlin, but man. If I telling that I love ye, be truly.”
Elaine turned her face even further away, rotating her upper body.
“What?” he prompted. “Be talking to me. Please.” He gently reached out and turned her face back to his.
Elaine struggled to find the words. “A man died because of me.”
“Neil?”
“Yes.”
“I thinked he hurted ye, when ye goed back?”
“He did, but the Firestone changed him. He was my friend and loyal to me for a long time… He loved me… It’s not wise to love me.” Her gaze left his face again. She couldn’t bear to look at those searching eyes. “I betrayed him. He deserved better and so do you. It’s my fault that Leila ever came here. All of this may be my fault. Who knows what damage the Project did in the past?” She covered her face with her hands, but the tears refused to come.
“If me mother not comed here, how be I birthed?” Harlin pointed out. “So, be all me fault, maybes?”
Elaine stayed hidden behind her hands.
The shards quivered inside her mind, sensing that they were under siege.
“What ye doed, be ye able take it back?” Harlin asked, softly.
“No,” came a tiny voice, in reply.
“Then not goodly ruin yer life with guilt, hiding away inside yeself, like me in cave. Betterly spend yer life helping people.”
Harlin’s fingers softly stroked the back of her hands until her face emerged. He was disappointed to see that her eyes looked even more haunted than before. He wanted to insist that she tell him everything, even if he had to shake it from her, but he forced himself to remain still and quiet. Just when he feared that the moment had passed, she spoke.
“I thought I’d killed you,” Elaine whispered, as though releasing a poison. Those elusive tears made the back of her eyes sting.
“What?” said Harlin, with surprise. “When?”
“Leila told me that if I destroyed the Firestone, you’d die too, because it had your blood inside.”
“She lied. Or not knowed truly, herself.”
“It was a long walk back,” Elaine whimpered. “I got to thinking that it was my punishment to lose you, after all I’d done… And if you were alive, you’d be better off without me. There’s so much blood on my hands.”
Her voice shook violently now, as though the horror and misery was ha
mmering against prison doors, fighting to escape.
“Not more than be on mine,” Harlin told her, moving so close that his forehead rested against her scarred temple.
She froze in place, not wanting to move in case he vanished like a warm dream on a frosty morning. His every word carried a soft breeze to her skin.
“So many died ‘cause of me,” he sighed.
“I did it. I ended the Firestone, even knowing it could kill you,” Elaine admitted.
How could you ever forgive me? How could you love me knowing I did that?
His next words were whispered directly into her ear. “Ye doed rightly for realm and for me people. Maked me proud of ye and able trusting ye for future together…Ye should know something nobone else knowing. I be too ashamed for them to know.”
Elaine pulled her head back, just a little, so that she could look at his eyes. She saw truth written there, and great shame.
“Tell me.”
“When Firestone died, feeled great pain inside, like losed part of me, or losed loved one. Even now, still be grief inside of me…and thinking, may never go away. Even though I hated that cursed thing, be always part of me.” His palm went to her face, stroking her scar. “Be best for me, if ye choose love me. Be keeping me true to me people. Maybes then be goodly leader.”
He leaned forward and gently kissed her lips. There was a delicate quality to the kiss, like the gentle brushing of a breeze. When they parted, he gazed into her eyes to witness a maelstrom of emotions lurking there. She was still not at peace.
“I knowing ye not believe me love,” he told her. “Not yet. Know that I be here, loving still, and not going away. One day, ye’ll know for yeself that me love be truly.”
And there it was, the key that finally opened the door.
The shards didn’t shatter or fade away, but they did lie still.
Elaine suddenly struggled to breathe. A single tear escaped from an eye and trickled past her nose on its way to freedom. It was followed by another, and another, until the iron floodgates finally cracked and yielded, pouring forth a torrent. She cried and howled and rocked, like a little girl who had been abandoned to the darkness. Locked inside Harlin’s embrace, she sobbed for hours, weeping for past suffering and lost opportunity, and for all the tears that should have been shed through long, harsh years. When the tears finally ceased, the healing had begun.
Melith, pretending not to be watching from the safety of the bower, smiled contentedly and continued to fill her mouth with the contents of a large platter of cake.
“Ye be sickly,” Asher commented.
“When I ever been sickly of food?” Melith replied.
“Truly,” said Asher and stole a slice of cake from her platter.
“Elaine be rightly?” asked Clipper, concerned at the noisy grief his charge was displaying.
“Aye,” replied his father, “be rightly now.”
* * *
Harlin rushed out of his chambers and down the stone steps of the castle, adjusting his cravat necktie. He hated the thing. He could never properly tie it without Elaine’s help, and she was somewhere in the castle messing about with some invention or other. He wouldn’t wear it at all, only Bert would start moaning that he needed to look more like a leader and less like a farmhand. Personally, he would rather spend time with the farmhands than with the endless line of politicians, leaders and would be allies that kept arriving at his gates. Sometimes he wished he had stayed in his cave – at least he would have had a few hours peace.
“Where ye been?”
Bert was lurking at the bottom of the stairs, a permanently cross expression on his face.
“Reading what Elaine finded on this Wilsh people,” Harlin told him, hurrying straight past. “Not be muchly.”
Bert limped after him, staying at his right shoulder – his perpetual position. “Aye, well, they be here. Eighty of ‘em.”
“How many?”
“Leader bringed wife, childlins, rest of his family, rest of hers…”
“Wonderly. Where be Elaine?”
“Meeting more people with ideas.” Bert waved his arms around to illustrate how little he appreciated ideas. “Not understand word they saying.”
“We having nough food maked for all these people?” Harlin enquired.
“Aye, all be on platters, looking tasty,” Bert replied. Discussing food was about the only time he didn’t moan.
“Harlin!”
Another voice calling me name. Now what?
Asher appeared from behind a pillar. “Wilsh be here.”
“Knowing,” Harlin told him, marching past. “Misery here telled me.”
“Aye, as maybes, but he not telled ye Scartain’s also here.”
“Who?” asked Harlin and Bert, in harmony.
“Coming from somewhere north, I never heared of,” Asher told them, a smile sneaking over his face at Harlin’s long suffering expression; it reminded him of how Gawain used to look.
“Best not be telling ‘em never heared of ‘em,” Bert advised.
“Not utter fool,” Harlin said, rolling his eyes.
“Not utter, maybes,” muttered Bert.
Harlin turned a corner and walked straight into Grain, who tutted and held out an ornately embroidered jacket.
“Not wearing that,” Harlin stated, with a defiant air of belligerence. “Too hot. Ye trying give me heatstroke.”
“Ye getting that word from Elaine?” Bert ventured.
“Aye, so?” Harlin asked, testily.
“Ye not knowing what meaning, any more than me,” Bert grumbled.
“Coat,” said Grain and unceremoniously thrust Harlin’s right arm into the jacket.
“Stop fiddling with me,” Harlin snapped, trying to break free.
The old man would have none of it. His brows knit firmly together while the contest as to who could be most stubborn proceeded. Asher stood back and laughed. This trio was more fun to watch than any entertainment.
“Harlin, put the jacket on. You look so handsome in it.”
A smiling Elaine glided across the floor in a flow of soft linen; no mean feat for a woman as heavily pregnant as she was.
“Get off me,” Harlin told Grain, shooing him away and donning the jacket.
Grain couldn’t prevent himself giving it one firm tug and brush down for good measure. All he got in response was a glare.
“Thinked ye out inventing lightbell,” said Harlin, petulantly, when Elaine arrived at his side.
“Light bulb,” she corrected, “and we’re almost ready to open the moat and let the river run through again. It’s exciting.”
“Aye, gladly ye happy,” Harlin whined. “Needing ye with me. Cart loads of people here.”
“I’m here,” Elaine told him and expertly adjusted the crippling necktie, before kissing him firmly on the lips. “Better?”
She felt his hand rest gently on her bulging stomach. He did that every night as they drifted off to sleep. It seemed to give him comfort.
“Harrrrrlin!”
A child’s voice was hollering his name, the sound echoing off the walls.
“Changing me name,” Harlin moaned.
“Still be same arnus,” Bert quipped as he limped past.
Clipper rounded a corner, scampering so fast that he slid the last few paces across the polished floor, arriving at Harlin’s feet in a flurry of arms and legs.
“Elaine!” he chirped, jumping back up and giving her a mighty hug.
“Carely, boy,” warned Grain, detaching Clipper and shuffling him over to Harlin. He gently rearranged the folds of Elaine’s cavernous dress. Despite his demeanour and annoying capacity to fuss, Elaine had developed a great affection for the old man, having quickly realised that he harboured a love for her, as though she was his little girl - something she found endlessly touching.
“Message!” announced Clipper at the full pitch of his considerable lung power, making everyone jump.
“Boy give me heart attack,
” moaned Bert.
“Ye living forever, old creak,” Harlin quipped. “Rightly Clipper, who message from?”
Clipper stood up as tall as he could and announced, “Myrrdinus say ‘get move on, ye great Twassock, ye late.’”
Clipper punched Harlin in the gut, in a manly gesture, and took off running. He was barely out of the door when a shriek was followed by the sound of food platters clattering all over the floor.
Elaine laughed until she cried.
Chapter 24
The Firestone was dying, but it had always completed whatever had been asked of it. The Key of Old, like the restraining bolts from whence it came, was crushing the life from it, killing the stone’s power, but it drew what strength it needed from the malevolence of its mistress. When the Harpy, that had once been Leila, arrived back in the past, all that remained was a pile of dust, nestling in the palm of her hand and polluting the cut she had sustained. The dust fell between her fingers and blew away in the wind, leaving only the twisted metal Key.
Dropping the now useless relic, Harpy peered around. It was dark, but she could tell that the forest was less overgrown than before. The air was still fresh, but carried the light scent of petrol and industry. Straining her ears, she heard it. There, in the distance, the unmistakeable sound of traffic. She could not be far from the road that led to the Project and her beloved Caleb. Pulling her cloak tightly around her haggard form, the Harpy limped, slowly and painfully, through the trees. The headlights of a passing car momentarily illuminated the night and guided the pilgrim in the right direction.
It no longer mattered that she would soon be dead. If she could only prevent the Project from working, Caleb would live, marry her younger self and alter the future. Her terrible suffering would never take place. Neil would grow old and she would remain friends with Elaine until their dying day. The Harpy would be gone, forever.
Joining the road, Leila staggered with each agonising step, her life force leaching from her dying, crumbling body. By sheer strength of will, she reached the top of the hill and turned back into the forest, taking the short cut to the guarded gate. Only a few more steps and she would be back at the Project, where it all began. Strength fading, she weakly pushed aside branches, forcing her lungs to rise and fall. Her heartbeat pounded inside her ears: a bloody clock, ticking away the precious time she had left.