Curse of the Lost Isle Special Edition

by Vijaya Schartz

  “Melusine, one day each month, when the moon disappears, from sunset to sunset, you shall become serpent from the navel down. Only your husband may know of this, if he is strong enough to accept it. But if he speaks of it to anyone, you will be separated from him, and his male descendants cursed for nine generations.”

  Melusine, pale as her white shift, swallowed hard and opened her mouth. No sound came out at first, then she articulated in a weak, squeaky voice, “Serpent? From the navel down?”

  Pressine could not fathom the ramifications of such a predicament. But before she could offer any comfort, another tide of power made her call, “Meliora! As the compassionate one, you should have convinced your sisters to spare your father. Your sin is the worst. You knew it was wrong and went along anyway. Now, hear your curse.”

  Wailing inside, Pressine watched the girl’s tender face take on a terrified expression. What could the Goddess have thought up for this loving child?

  “Meliora, you will inhabit a fortified castle on Mount Ararat in Great Armenia, on the remnants of Noah’s Ark. There, with a hawk for companion, you will keep a sanctuary. Every summer solstice, knights will come to pray for three days and three nights straight. At the end of a successful retreat, they may claim any gift they choose, and you shall grant it... But you may never give your love, your body, or your hand in marriage, lest they lose all possessions, and their male descendants be cursed for nine generations.”

  The girl collapsed onto the sand and broke into wretched sobs. Pressine’s heart went out to Meliora. The Goddess had just deprived her of the only thing Meliora lived for, love. Pressine wanted to cry with her, but yet another wave of pulsating power overcame her, and she called, “Palatina!”

  Palatina stood very straight in her white virgin robe, keeping her cool composure, but Pressine could tell from the set of her jaw that Palatina struggled to hide her distress.

  “In expiation for your crime, you will live alone, in a cave under Mount Canigou in the Pyrenees, north of Aragon. There, you will guard and protect a hidden treasure. Your refined and intelligent mind will lament in solitude for centuries, and come to understand your father’s plight. Until some day, a knight of your lineage claims the treasure for a great and noble cause, freeing you from your obligation.”

  All color drained from her face as Palatina stood, still as alabaster. “I see... I never thought of you as a cruel person, mother, but I may have been mistaken.”

  Pressine’s gaze encompassed her three daughters. “Do not accuse me of cruelty when you stood as judge and executioner to your father’s ordeal.”

  Pressine wanted to tell her daughters she had not devised the curse, but the Goddess demanded that she take responsibility for it, under threats of increasing the punishment.

  “What was so wrong about meting out justice?” Melusine asked defiantly.

  Pressine braced herself. “Do you not believe your curse fits your crime?”

  “No! You just ruined my entire life!” Meliora sprung back to her feet. “This is unjust and will only make us bitter and resentful.”

  “In time, you will understand the injustice of your own thoughtless revenge.” Pressine’s anger helped her hide her compassion. “Think about the man you condemned. He remained faithful and loving, regretted his mistake, and did not deserve such a harsh punishment. His very existence had already become a burden, and he suffered just as much as I did.”

  Looking out to sea, Pressine saw three great vessels emerge slowly from the mists, like phantom ships. “Now, Daughters, you have to leave this haven of peace and love and go separate ways to fulfill your destinies.”

  Melusine followed her mother’s gaze then turned to Pressine. “Can we not travel together at least part of the way?” she asked, out of breath, as if she knew she had no time left.

  “No, child. The curse starts now.” The Goddess vacated Pressine’s body, leaving behind a trail of sorrow.

  “Mother?” Palatina looked unusually smug. “Who cursed you? And what did you do to be cursed?”

  Sudden remembrance of her own cursing overwhelmed Pressine, and heat rose to her face. “It happened in Broceliande,” she managed to say, tears welling in her eyes as she recalled the sacred forest from which she was forever banished. “Like you, I angered my mother by passing judgement on my human father, King Salomon of Bretagne. Because he abandoned my mother to betroth a Christian princess, I made his bride barren.”

  Melusine cried in outrage, “and you still have the heart to curse us for making a similar mistake? Should you not be more understanding?”

  With a start, Pressine realized that her own mother had not cursed her of her free will. The Great Goddess had devised the curse then, just as She had today. “I know a lot more now about the workings of curses.” Unable to avoid the trembling in her voice, Pressine added, “Now you must go and learn to accept your fate. Hopefully, one day, you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  The three girls remained silent, staring at Pressine gravely. Without an embrace, a laugh, another tear, or a wave of the hand, they walked back to the sea. Deliberately, they climbed into the rowboat waiting at the edge of the lapping waves.

  Desolation gripped Pressine as she watched the small boat bobbing on the surf. It went first to the Occident. Melusine climbed the rope ladder against the hull then stepped on the deck and remained hidden from view. Next, the row boat took Meliora to the Armenian Hawk, then Palatina to the Canigou. Soon, a mournful horn sounded. Together, the three vessels faded into the mist, as silently as they had emerged earlier.

  On the beach, a few fishermen and servants, deaf to what had taken place, watched the ships disappear then went back to their various tasks. Dying inside, Pressine wailed. How could she bear the grief and the solitude? The Ladies of the Isle lived a long time, and she hoped the day would come when her daughters would understand and forgive her.

  In the meantime, Pressine had a relationship to mend before it was too late. Would her own mother accept a reconciliation if Pressine summoned her through the water basin? Having nothing to lose, Pressine must try to salvage what was left of her mother’s love.

  * * *

  “Mother?” Pressine’s reflection in the still water shifted slightly. She could smell the rain and see a canopy of oak boughs swaying to the winds of Broceliande. Then all movement stopped, and the majestic face of the Great Fae filled the basin. A white veil held by a gold circlet softened the austerity of her pulled up hair. She seemed surprised, then her expression mellowed.

  “Is that you, child?” Her Fae mother smiled in a tender way that made Pressine melt inside. “I have often wished for this happy day. You have grown into a beautiful woman.”

  “Thank you.” Somehow, the compliment from such an ageless beauty made Pressine blush. “I Apologize for not contacting you earlier, but I just now understand what you went through over the last two decades.”

  “Dare I hope that you can forgive me?” The familiar deep voice warmed Pressine’s heart.

  “I have already forgiven. See, I know how much it cost you to curse me...”

  “Do not speak of it!” The Fae cut in with alarming vehemence, waving her hands across her face, as if to erase the clumsy words. “The Goddess might take umbrage.”

  Nodding in silence, Pressine swallowed hard. “I had to curse my own daughters today.”

  “I know, child.” A look of infinite compassion came over the Fae’s perfect face. “Our realm echoed with the wrath of the Great One. We heard the spoken curse tear the fabric of the Otherworld. I grieve for you, for I understand your pain.”

  Pressine’s chest tightened. How long would it take her own daughters to understand and come back to her? “Will I ever see my girls again?”

  The Great Fae sighed. “Someday, as you just did, they will realize what really happened, but it might take a long time.”

  “I would like to meet you in person, feel your embrace again.” Pressine dared to hope it would be possi
ble. “Since I am banished from Broceliande, would you visit me on the Lost Isle?”

  “I shall visit you there.” Her mother smiled. “In the meantime, we can share our joys, as well as our grief, through this water basin.”

  “I would like that very much...”

  “I shall look forward to it.” The Fae’s peaceful smile receded. “I thought of you often all these years, child. I followed your successes, your fights, your rise to power. And I wept when the curse took hold of your life. Through all these trials, my respect and my love for you grew stronger.”

  Pressine’s throat tightened. “For a long time, I thought I hated you, but in truth I missed your loving support. Thank you for understanding.”

  “Understanding is what mothers do, child.”

  “Yes, I know that now.” Somehow, a burden lifted from Pressine’s heavy heart.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Seven years later

  That Tuesday Pressine sailed off the Lost Isle, taking with her the magnificent alabaster statue a Greek sculptor had made of her over the past months. The stunning sculpture reminded her of the representation of the Goddess, but white, and delicately chiseled. More importantly, Pressine had imbued the statue with power. She feared the sailors would notice the eerie glow emanating from the wrapped stone. But what if they did? Pressine did not need to justify her actions to mortals.

  The ship also carried several chests containing the personal treasure Pressine had inherited from her father, King Salomon of Bretagne. She may never return to the Lost Isle, and it would remain safely hidden in Merlin’s cave until needed again.

  After a long voyage, they landed on the Northumbrian shore. With a small escort and an ox-cart towing the heavy chests and the statue wrapped in blankets, Pressine made her way slowly to the sacred mountain of Brumborenlion. Upon reaching her destination, she ordered the camp set up at the bottom of the hill.

  Tears came to her eyes at the memory of her last conversation with Elinas the day their daughters condemned him to solitude. At last, his suffering would soon end. Pressine had hoped to tap into the phenomenal power of the mountain itself to get inside, but the curse still prevented her from using her gifts to reach Elinas.

  At sunset, she observed the shadow of the tallest menhir in the circle of stones, then, armed with a shovel and a torch, she climbed to the cave’s entrance. Bats screamed as they flew out of the subterranean passage. A chill crossed her spine. The curse was weakening. She could feel Elinas... so close.

  She hurried through the tunnel, strewn with dead leaves. Spider webs hung from the ceiling, and rodents and large insects scurried at the edges of the torch glow. Batting at roots, vines, and insects, both real and imaginary, she reached the end of the passage, blocked by a pile of rocks and debris, as if the mountain had collapsed.

  But the debris had settled, broken down, eroded and crumbled away. The pile did not quite reach the ceiling. At the very top, a narrow slit let out a slim ray of blue light emanating from inside the cavern.

  Pressine hung her torch to a holder in the wall. Hiking up the hem of her blue shift, she climbed the pile of rocks and peered through the narrow aperture. She could see brilliance coming from the cave, six or seven feet away through the rubble, but nothing more. Her heart started beating wildly when she realized that she could probably widen the crack and dig a passage wide enough to crawl through.

  Using shovel, hands, and nails to remove small rocks and dig out the dirt, Pressine widened the gap between the top of the debris and the ceiling. She lost track of time as she worked relentlessly, wiping sweat and grime from hands and face with her shift. Stone by stone, she wormed her way through the narrow space. She wished her servants could help, but they all feared the forbidding place, and rightly so. The magic forces at work could prove deadly to simple mortals.

  For hours, Pressine pushed herself to the limits of her endurance. Finally, exhausted, she reached the last obstruction. The shaft of light coming from the other side through the slit had widened. As she peered through the aperture, she saw part of a cavern, immersed in blue brilliance, with tall octagonal pillars of polished crystal.

  “Elinas?” she called softly.

  No response. Was she too late? Had her beloved husband already died?

  “Elinas!” she shouted in panic.

  A slight stirring from beyond her field of view sent her pulse soaring.

  “Elinas!” she called again, relieved to hear him. Although she could not seen him, she knew he was alive.

  With renewed ardor, she attacked the final blockage, not stone but chunks of crystal, separating her from her beloved. She dug, scratched, pried at the shiny rocks, and pummeled them with her feet, forcing them to fall away inside the cave. Their tumble echoed eerily, like tinkling bells, in the high-vaulted space beyond. Then Pressine found herself inside the cave, sitting atop a mound of broken crystal.

  The famed cave, bathed in cold blue light, called to her Fae mind. So much available power might drive a Lady of the Isle to distraction, but Pressine only thought of Elinas. Frantically, she scrambled down the blue chunks and scanned the perimeter for signs of her beloved. “Elinas, I’m here!”

  A faint rustle on her left made her turn.

  “Pressine?” In an alcove to the side, a frail old man with a long beard and white matted hair struggled to sit up from a stone couch. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me, my love.” Sorrow and guilt assailed Pressine at the weakness in his voice and at the obvious deterioration of his aged body.

  “I would recognize your voice anywhere.” He looked like a specter of the man she had known. “Come closer,” he wheezed. “My eyes are failing. I have grown blind with time.”

  Rushing to his side, Pressine sat at his feet and looked into his now pale amber eyes. Elinas stared through her, unseeing. Something tore inside her. She took his hand and brought it to her face.

  “Do not cry.” Elinas patted her wet cheek gently.

  Pressine laid her head on his lap, as she used to do, so many years ago. Shame at her own youth and vitality made her sob. “I want another chance to grow old with you.”

  “Nonsense.” For an instant, strength surged in his voice. “You are young, healthy, and full of life. How could you ever want to grow old like me?”

  Presine squeezed his bony hand. “If not for the curse, we could have brought peace to the land, driven out the Vikings, realized our destiny to unite all the kingdoms of Alba.”

  “We could have.” Elinas chuckled. His feeble laugh ended in a cavernous cough. He cleared his throat then said between labored breaths, “And sooner or later, our subjects would have laughed at me for bedding a queen young enough to be my great-granddaughter.”

  “The bishop would probably have accused me of consorting with the devil, or worse.” Pressine smiled sadly. “A Lady’s love for a mortal is often doomed.”

  “I never regretted my love for you.” Elinas paused, and the bubbling sound of a nearby spring filled the vaults. “I must be dying if the curse lets you close to me. How much time do we have?”

  “A day or so.” Pressine’s throat clenched. She couldn’t tell him of her daring plan. What if it backfired?

  “Then tell me all about your life. There is so much I want to know.” The sadness in his shriveled face broke Pressine’s heart.

  “My life without you is dull and of no interest.” How she still hoped, but the risk was great.

  “I wish I were young again to honor you as I used to.” A glimmer of his old smile made her lust for the vibrant man he had been.

  Suddenly the power of the cave shifted, as if a door to another dimension had opened. The tall pillars buzzed with magic, and Pressine felt light and buoyant, empowered by the place. As she realized what had happened, she rejoiced. Finally, the curse had been lifted. Her powers had returned a thousandfold, and she could execute her secret plan.

  Pressine couldn’t help an irrepressible smile. “Elinas, the curse has just been
lifted from us.”

  A spark glinted in his blind eyes. Furtively, he wiped away a tear.

  Moved beyond words, Pressine knelt in front of the low stone couch and took both his hands. In a deep whisper that bounced and echoed off the blue crystal walls, she intoned an incantation she had learnt from Morgane but had never used before.

  As Pressine chanted, her power grew, amplified by the crystal cave. Her head reeled when the blue shimmer illuminating the vaults turned white, then gold, then deep amber. Soon, warmth filled the previously cold abode. Closing her eyes, Pressine focused her mind, amazed at what she could do with such power.

  When the king’s hands tightened on hers, she answered with a squeeze of her own and opened her eyes to see Elinas staring back, a look of wonder in his soft brown eyes. His muscled body now filled a silky blue tunic and crimson breeches. The shriveled face had rejuvenated. The thick hair and stubbly beard looked as black and well groomed as the day they’d first met. The extraordinary transformation had only taken a few moments.

  “I can see!” Elinas exclaimed, grinning wolfishly as he had on their first encounter. “Let me look at you.”

  Pressine stood up and spun, instantly transforming her dusty shift into the low cut dress of diaphanous white veils she wore for their first banquet.

  “I dreamt of that cherished memory so many times...” Elinas rose, spry as a young man. “You look even more ravishing than I remember.”

  Pressine chuckled. “And you look as vigorous and handsome as on our wedding night.”

  Elinas fingered her gold necklace of amber and jet stones, and smiled. “That was my gift for our betrothal.”

  “Yes, my lord. The only piece of jewelry I still wear, even under my blue shift when carding or weaving on the Lost Isle. It reminds me of our happiest days.”

  “By the fires of Bel, Woman, you move me to tears.”