Roan smiled. “That’s a comfort to me. And I pray you have many to pass on the old stories to.”
Will’s expression pained for a moment, as he fought to gain control of his emotion. The loss of his child a few days before was still a fresh wound. “Do you think Feeorin might show today?”
Roan smiled again and scoured the thicket that edged the dense grove of trees across the pond. “Doubtful. She’s a bit shy.” That was, of course, a lie. The only other woman Roan had ever known with as much courage and gumption was Meghan.
“Really? You’d think someone with magical powers would be less afraid of humans.”
“Aye well, take a look at the world, Will. We humans are a scary lot.”
“True enough. Still I’d have liked to have met her, this woman who has captured your attention, dare I say your heart. She must be a very remarkable woman.”
Roan studied the water’s surface, glittering sparkles of sunlight played across the surface, reminding him of the stardust in Feeorin’s silver hair. “Indeed she is, Will, but to know about her, to meet her personally, all you need do is read my books. She’s there in every story, prompting my hand, forming the words.”
Will offered him a warm smile indicating with a nod that he’d follow through with Roan’s suggestion.
“Your muse, as it were?” Will grinned.
“I s’ppose.” Roan returned the smile.
Will’s expression softened. “You know my Ma loved you as she never loved anyone else.”
The statement was like a sucker punch to his gut. Unexpected and targeting deep. “We had a unique and very special relationship, your Ma and me.”
“I just thought you should know. Brian was good to her, always. He took care of us, I suppose you’d call it. But when I was old enough, at home on holiday, we’d go on walks in the park and she’d get a far away look in her eyes when she spoke of you.”
Roan blinked back the tears prickling his eyes. “She was a fine woman, your Ma. I cared deeply for her.”
“But you didn’t love her?”
Will was grasping to understand Roan’s choices. “I did, but not in the way that would have been fair to her. You Ma knew that. There was a time I offered her marriage, before you were born. She turned me down.”
Will’s smile was touched with a curious sadness. “Why would she have done that?”
“She told me she couldn’t share me. That my heart was already promised to another.” Roan squeezed his eyes tight. “I’d never have intentionally hurt your Ma, you know that, don’t you, Will?” His brow twitched as he fought to gain control of his emotions.
“I know. I guess… ” Will hesitated. “I wish things could have been different between the two of you.”
“Things were as they were. You can’t change the past, and I wouldn’t have traded a moment of the time I had with you and your Ma while you were here.”
“Me neither.” He offered a conciliatory grin.
“Will?” The conversation stirred an unpleasantness inside Roan. Despite the certainty of his personal choices, he wondered of Meg’s.
“Yeah?” Will cast his line into the water.
“Your Ma, was she happy? You know, with her choices?” Roan peered up at Will. It was too late in some ways. Meg was gone now and in a better place, Roan was certain. Nevertheless, he needed to know, for his peace of mind.
“She was, don’t get me wrong, Roan. I think she was content. But there was a part of her that stayed here…with you, I think.”
Roan took a deep breath, unsure how to process this bit of new information. It was much easier to think she was wildly content with Brian and her marriage. Yet, it wasn’t difficult for him to understand why her heart would yearn for this place and its memories of their time together. They were set apart from the chaos of the world, the three of them, for a time cocooned away. Yes, that he could deal with, perhaps better than toying with the idea that Meg had had second thoughts about his marriage proposal. Things turn out for a reason. That Roan ultimately believed. “This place is special. I’m sure you’ve sensed that, being back these past few days. It’s not a place one ever forgets. We have a lot of good memories here, you, your Ma and me. They can never be duplicated and they shouldn’t be. They’re treasures for us alone to cherish.”
Will nodded. “I’m glad we had the time to spend here. It is a special place. I may not understand everything you’ve committed your life to or even why, but I’m blessed to have been a part of it, and I’m glad that Ma was as well.”
A sudden jerk of Will’s fishing line brought Roan’s attention to the water. “Hang on, Will, you’ve got something there.”
Roan glanced up and met the delighted look on his godson’s face, preserving it always in his heart.
“Wait, you two,” a feminine voice issued from behind them. Penny stood with her camera poised amid the waist high grass. “I want to get this shot of the great fishermen.”
Roan stood as Will dragged in his line. Unbridled laughter followed from them both as Will drew up the end of his line, producing a fish no bigger than a man’s wallet.
“Hold it up, come on,” Penny insisted.
Will came to Roan’s side and they turned to face Penny. Holding up the great catch between them, Roan glanced at Will as they offered Penny a cheesy grin.
Chapter Eight
2001~
Roan’s frail hand shook as he poured the rich milk into the pitcher. The liquid spilled over the top of the chipped edges, worn over time. Frustrated, he grabbed a towel and sopped up the results of his accident. He remembered when his hands were once strong and firm—able to tie a fish fly with a quick flick of his wrist. A mild stoke had left him less capable with his hands than he used to be. Soon after, he advised his lawyer of revisions to his will, with the idea that he would likely die alone on this earth. He’d had plenty of time to consider what he wanted to do with the farm and his possessions and he was glad that his lawyer didn’t require explanation.
Time’s passing had brought changes, both good and bad. Good, in that with new technology, his stories were now being read worldwide through the internet. Their availability had created a nostalgic resurgence in the researching and storytelling practices of his homeland. Though he’d never felt the need to invest in a computer himself, it gave him great satisfaction, if not bewilderment, that his publisher stated the old stories were being snapped up like wildfire to brush on the internet. Finally, Roan could see viable proof that the traditions and legends were now being read by new generations.
He heard often from Will and Penny. Will had taken a business partnership position in New York and Penny had become an elementary school teacher. Will’s letters came every week, filled with the vivid descriptions of the trips he and Penny took together to exotic locations and how much in love they still were even after all these years. They’d never had children, though had spoken often about adopting, but hadn’t yet settled down long enough to seriously start the legal paperwork to begin the process. It worried Roan on occasion, wondering whom his stories would be passed on to in his own lineage. Penny, of course, often spoke of how she read his stories to her classes. However, it troubled him still that since he wasn’t getting any younger, it appeared he’d likely leave this earth having not bounced a grandchild on his knee.
Roan was tired, more so tonight than in recent days. He sighed as he picked up the pitcher and cake and shuffled carefully on wobbly legs to the back door, as dedicated to his nightly routine now as he’d been over forty odd years. “Watch out now, girl,” he cooed as he sidestepped his aging yellow Labrador. The dog looked up with a single sleepy eye and slowly stood, knowing well his routine. Her master always walked at twilight.
The old door creaked as Roan opened it to the cool autumn night. He once loved the autumn season, with its brisk afternoons and cool nights, but now, the chill sliced through his bones, making him susceptible to frequent coughing spells.
He covered his mouth with his s
hirtsleeve to prevent breathing too much of the evening air into his lungs for fear of another sleepless night. He’d had too many as of late and there’d been a time or two when he was so weary that he wished only to close his eyes and sleep forever.
It was his dreams, however, that kept his heart beating. When he dozed in and out of reality, he could almost see Feeorin in all her beauty, her arms outstretched, calling to him.
His eyes weak from what he suspected were the onset of cataracts, Roan surveyed the horizon, searching the black silhouetted forest glen near the pond. The field grass and thicket had gone wild without his careful tending in years past. He wondered if Feeorin was still there, if she ever thought of him as he did her. More than once it crossed his mind that between his age and the overgrowth, he might not be able to find the spot where he’d once met with her. Nevertheless, he also knew he wasn’t getting any younger and his one wish before he left this earth was to see her beautiful face once more.
Roan clumsily shifted his brown corduroy coat over his frail arms and unhooked the old lantern, its paint peeling with age, from its hook by the back door.
Dutifully, Lucy followed silently beside him, both of them slower now than when in their youth they forged this path together on their nightly walks.
Roan trudged down the uneven dirt road using an old walking stick to navigate his steps, still stumbling when his gaze didn’t catch a pothole. After a time, he stopped short of the edge of the road and peered down the steep embankment. It looked familiar enough, and he pondered how he could forget the exact spot where his life was irrevocably changed. The cattails grew thick and tall, and the grass was as high as his shoulder in spots. The thought flickered across his brain that if he fell, it was unlikely they would find his body for days.
With cautious precision, Roan edged sideways down the steep embankment, once or twice losing site of the Lab, only to spot her waiting at the base of the hill.
He used his makeshift walking staff to chop back the overgrowth and create a path through the reeds encumbering his path. He was driven by hope that he would find Feeorin and tell her that his work was now complete. For whatever that might mean to her now, it was with great satisfaction that he wanted her to know he’d devoted his entire life to keeping her and her kind alive through his stories.
In the clearing stood the ancient old oak, its bark now stripped and scarred by age and passing deer, yet its spine still as sturdy as the first day he’d seen Feeorin.
Weary from his walk, Roan settled into the shelter of the great tree’s exposed base. Its roots, as large as some of its older branches now, provided a bit of windbreak from the cold. He placed the lantern next to him, leaned back against the cool bark, and gave a contented sigh. He’d always felt closest to her here. Here, where if he closed his eyes, he could transport his memory back in time to that fateful day when he first kissed Feeroin, sealing his fate and his soul to her for the rest of his earthly days.
Startled by a rustling in the tree overhead, Roan peered through the darkness, his aging eyes unable to discern as quickly as they once had.
He picked up the lantern and held it in front of him, its light quaking from his unsteady hand. Were those flickering lights he spotted within the wood or simply his old eyes playing tricks on him? Carefully, he stood, bracing one hand to the tree to get his balance before venturing further. The rustle of leaves ahead caught his attention and his head snapped quickly to the spot, fearful it might be a pack of wild dogs. He clutched his walking stick, ready to battle if he must whatever being lay in wait for his old worn out body, but nothing emerged from the shadows. Perhaps it was only his old dog snooping about.
He tipped his head to the side as his ear caught the faintest sound tickling on the breeze. Perhaps he was going crazy, but it sounded like music, though a better explanation might be the soft wind blowing through the leaves.
His heart pounded a dull cadence against his chest. With caution, he moved forward, tipping his face to the sky as if it might aid his hearing. Gradually, he drew closer to the edge of the dense woods, the sound growing now more loud and clear.
He stopped, aware of how cold his legs were despite the thick corduroy pants he wore. His boots were soaked from walking through the marshy landscape.
Scanning the area, he noticed thick bramble bushes growing waist high guarding the entrance into the woods. Left with little choice if he wanted to find out the origin of the mysterious noise, he would have to force his way through the prickly guard or turnaround and leave.
Music, now louder and much more distinct than before, alerted Roan that he might well be slipping into madness. His heart slapped against his chest with such ferocity that he cared not that the thorns of the bramble bushes sliced his thin flesh. Angry red welts appeared on the backs of his hands as he brushed away the needle-like branches. The music pulled him in, coaxing him forward, and he found himself caught up in his quest, unable to resist the pure joyous strains of the melody.
He pressed on, hoping against hope that somewhere beyond he might find his beloved Feeorin.
His gaze caught the faint flickering glow ahead, like that of a campfire. He swallowed against the parched dryness in his throat. And with cautious anticipation, parted the bramble bushes that prevented a clear view.
A few yards away was a circle of faeries. His aging eyes blinked in childlike wonder. There were hundreds, of all shapes and sizes, dancing and playing odd little instruments as if they were celebrating something wonderful.
What he thought before was a rustle of leaves in the wind was in fact faery music. The sound was so sweet that he touched his face in wonder realizing only then the tears that streamed freely down his cheeks.
Caught up in the music and frivolity, Roan watched in amazement, forgetting for a moment about Feeorin.
“‘Tis time, if ye wish, Roan McNamara, to finally make me your own. What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine. Has your feeble old human mind forgotten me?”
She stood at his side, Feeorin, as beautiful as he remembered. Her hands reached for him, cupping his wrinkled face.
Roan smiled, knowing it was difficult to get more than a grimace from a face that had suffered a stroke. “Can you not see me as I am, my dear Feeorin?” His voice shook with emotion. “I have neither the young body nor the stamina to love you as I would like.” Roan wearily tapped a crooked finger to his chest. “Oh, but here…here, I have loved you every moment of every day. And I do not regret any of them.”
“Ah, then, I suppose I should be flattered. Still, it appears you have not taken to heart all that you have written.” Feoorin smiled sweetly.
Pride gripped Roan’s heart. “How can you say that? I’ve devoted my life to these stories…to your stories. In order that you and your kind would remain alive.”
“I see you can still muster up that stubborn pride of yours, so there must yet be some passion left in your bones.” Her silver brow rose, casting off a shimmer of faery dust. “There’s great magic in the elemental powers of our goddess earth and sky. You should know that it’s never too late when it comes to love. It’s the most powerful of all magic, especially when put to the test.”
She stroked his cheek, her luminous gaze almost compelling him to believe that what she said was enough. Roan shook his head. “Even if I could summon every ounce of passion in this old broken body, I’m dying, Feeorin. I came to tell you that my work on this earth is complete. New generations are beginning to embrace the old stories and retell them. Some have even been made into movies.”
She studied him, listening to his words, but her smile remained unchanged.
“Oh Feeorin, my true heart, if there was a way to make you mine, I gladly would, but to leave you on earth now as mortal, without your magic, would be a guilt far too great for me to carry to my grave.”
Feeorin tipped her head, unearthly wisdom sparkling in her eyes, and spoke not a word, letting Roan continue.
“There’s one thing though, just
one wish I dare ask before I leave this earth. And that’s to taste your lips once more.” Roan’s fingers shook unsteadily as he cautiously touched his hand to her face. His gaze settled on her mouth and he placed a crooked finger to her lips.
Her smile warmed his flesh. She grabbed his hands in hers and tugged him toward the open glen.
“Come with me now, Roan McNamara. For if ‘tis truly your wish to have me always, to take me as your own, you’ve only to kiss me one last time.”
The music was deafening and yet the frolicking faeries seemed oblivious to their presence. Stronger the music swelled in his head, and his heart beat in rhythm with its tormented pace trying valiantly to hold up under the strain.
Entranced by her beauty, Roan followed Feeorin, captivated by the look on her face and the music that threatened to absorb him. At the rings edge, she stopped and let go of his hands.
“Shall ye kiss me then, Roan McNamara? Or shall I have to save your sorry hide yet again?” Without explanation, she stepped into the ring. She turned and kept her gaze firmly locked to his.
Between them, as though Roan and Feeorin were invisible to the throng, the faeries continued their merry dance, apparently unaware of anything unusual in their midst. Her mesmerizing gaze tempted Roan, daring him to step through the ring, take her in his arms and kiss her senseless as his heart so desperately wanted.
Images of his life flashed in his mind as he looked at her. Like a movie screen, replaying the most precious moments of his life, those he held dearest to his earthly existence. There was little reason now for concern over what might happen. He could die. If he stayed in the earthly realm, he would die, and no doubt, in the not too very far future. Even now, he could feel his body aging, his life force slipping away. On the other hand, he could trust Feeorin, as she had trusted him all these years to tell her stories, to remain true to him. Roan closed his eyes and gave in to the music, letting it fill his soul.
Aware he might never be the same, Roan stepped through the first space between faeries he could find.
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