Glancing back down, she examined the book. Did it hold the secret of the creature as Mr. Elliot claimed? Opening it, she began reading. It was a thick book but held many illustrations — it wouldn't take too long to get through it.
The cab came to a halt in front of a brick two-story on a sizable plot of land. The road wound its way through corralled horses grazing on the newly grown grass. Sylvia admired the horses and the rolling land Mr. Elliot's home stood upon. It took her three days to locate Mr. Elliot's home and she had to use much of her reporting skills to find it. Plainly, Mr. Elliot enjoyed his solitude. He didn't even own a phone. Not for the first time did she wonder how he had located her. She had read his book. Twice. It didn’t take her long to find the answer she was searching for, but she was enchanted by the history and mythology of the Celts, so she read through the whole thing.
Like many, she had heard of Druids and their connection with Stonehenge. Werewolves, she had heard of as well, but not the other creatures some people could change into: wolves, bears, boars, snakes, rats, foxes and others. Lycanthropy, as it was referred to now, was believed, by some, to be a gift from the Druids to help protect them as they carried out their work to protect nature. It was believed to be passed down through generations.
Most of it was supposition, since the Druids did not keep a written history. However, there were those who dealt with the Druids who left clues to put together, and put together Mr. Elliot had. If what he had been able to put together was true, the creature terrorizing Sydney was a Werecroc. Shuddering, she thought about what would have happened if it had bit her or scratched her, as lycanthropy was believed to be transmitted through bites and cuts.
It intrigued her there was a connection between this creature and the Druids, considering the fact Stonehenge collapsed shortly before the first attack. Going back, she checked, to make sure and it had been about a week before the first attack. The two events were connected, she was convinced, and the only person who would have a reasonably clear idea if this was true was Jackson Elliot.
She was surprised how easy it was to believe the monster was some sort of Were-creature. It was outlandish, and insane, but it was the only thing which made sense. The creature was humanoid, yet resembled a crocodile. It also explained how it could disappear so easily — it changed back to its human form. Further evidence was the last attack. It was inside a woman's home with no signs of forced entry by some sort of animal, or monster. It signified it wasn't a monster when it entered. She was a logical woman, and the Werecroc, no matter how crazy, was the only logical answer.
Stepping out of the cab, she asked if he could stick around for a moment, since she wasn't sure if the man was home. The driver nodded and she made her way to the front door. As of yet, it seemed as if no one was home, for no one had stirred in the home when she arrived. Ignoring the hefty brass knockers, she knocked on the thick wooden double doors first. Using her fist, the sound it emitted was too light for anyone to hear. Lifting the knocker, she brought it down hard, three times. The door promptly opened on the third rap as Mr. Elliot swung it open.
"I heard you the first time! No need to... oh, Miss Tyrine. I expected you a few days ago. I didn't think it would take you this long to figure things out."
He appeared as she remembered him from last time, white hair, erect, like crazy wisps of solid smoke. Wearing the same brown slacks and vest, the same grey shirt, she was sure it was the same clothes. It was either an incredible coincidence, or he didn't have much variety in his wardrobe. She decided on the latter.
"Good day to you, too, Mr. Elliot."
"Jackson, please."
"Jackson. I'm sorry it took me longer to get here than you thought it would, but I assure you, I figured everything out quite a long time ago. It was finding you which proved more troublesome. However, since I am here now, why don't you invite me in?"
Jackson peered down at her through his gold rimmed glasses as if she was some bug under a magnifying glass he was trying to determine what to do with it. She hoped he wouldn't angle the glass towards the sun.
With a nod, he stepped aside and motioned her in. With a wave to the taxi, she entered. The foyer of the house was grand in scale. Its vaulted ceiling was illuminated by a pair of sky lights which did little to light the floor. A light-colored hardwood floor burst outward concentrically from the center of the rounded foyer like age rings on an immense oak. A broad stairwell emptied out at the far end of the room leading up to a balconied hallway. A dark red runner carpet crawled its way up the center of the stair like a river of blood.
To the right was another room, a large oak table ran the length of the room. A golden and silver chandelier dangled above with ten candles mounted on wax guards. It was an antique, for most people used electric and had done away with candle chandeliers ages ago, but she always liked them.
Her parents had kept one in the dining room until a few years ago, when one of the candles fell out and caught the table cloth on fire. Afterwards, they got rid of it. It was amazing how you can have something for years, decades, and though it always had potential to be dangerous, nothing ever happens. Then, suddenly it blows up on you.
The table was flanked by four wooden chairs, each intricately carved. The chairs themselves seemed as if they were cut from one piece of wood. From where she stood she couldn't see a single join. She was probably too far away to see them. Either way, the chairs were expertly put together.
To her left was a traditional sitting room as you imagine most vintage British homes would have. A sizeable fireplace centered the wall surrounded by two cushioned chairs; their red upholstered cushions in stark contrast to the dark stained wooden legs and back and the fireplace mantle. An equally adorned ottoman sat with its back toward her, facing the fireplace. The deep colors and the warmth from the coals; red eyes buried under a gray blanket, created in her a desire to curl up and read a book, or to share drinks with a couple of friends over deep conversational points.
Spreading out from the fireplace was floor to ceiling bookcases, filled with row upon row of books. The whole place exuded manliness. The only thing to throw off the whole clichéd macho crib was the plants. They were everywhere. In the foyer, two giant ferns rested to either side of the entry doors, verdant sentries standing at attention. Several potted plants hung from hooks, descending from the vaulted ceiling to dangle above one’s head.
Some plants spilled out from the pot to reach longingly for the floor, a waterfall of vines, though they were still a meter or two from it. White flowers spotted the vines intermittingly, white petals pealed back to reveal yellow coated stamen.
Bright flowers created a palette of colors emerging from pots running the length of the balcony on the second floor. The pleasant smell of a flower garden permeated the house and she breathed deeply, her muscles relaxed and tension fled from her body. Feeling a sense of renewal and awakening, it must have been mirrored in her eyes because she caught Jackson watching her, nodding his head.
Smiling, he said, "It's like waking up after a decent night’s sleep and stepping outside on the first couple days of spring, isn't it?"
All she could do was nod, as she was a little overwhelmed by the ease she felt inside. Peering again at Jackson, she felt as if she was seeing him for the first time. His demeanor had changed. Before, he had always seen gruff and grumpy. Even a moment ago, when answering the door. Judging by the light in his eyes and the smile on his face, she believed it had all been a show. Perhaps one he had to use all too often and so became almost too natural for him to put on.
"You have questions?" Pointing to the sitting room.
"I do." Sylvia moved across the foyer and into the sitting room. Choosing the ottoman instead of one of the chairs, she sat. Now, more than ever, she felt like curling up on it and reading a book, or writing one.
Following her in, Jackson took one of the chairs, turning it to face her a little more squarely.
"Ask." He placed his hands together on his lap.
>
Sylvia wasn't sure where to begin. She had many questions, but those took a back seat now to a more pressing question which had now worked itself to the surface of her brain after entering this house.
"Who are you?"
Jackson's eyes widened a little at the question.
"Not the question I expected, but I am pleased by it. I had a feeling you were a smart girl." Smiling widely at her.
For some reason, she felt a swelling of pride at his approval.
"Definitely not the question I was expecting.” He inhaled deeply. “And not an easy one to answer I'm afraid. If I was to tell you, it would require a great deal of faith on your part to believe in the tale I would tell." Leaning forward, his eyes capturing hers. "Do you have faith in me? Would you believe a story the likes of some fairy tale told by the Brothers Grimm?"
Staring into his eyes, she noticed for the first time how startling green they were. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t believe from this man, she realized, nodding.
Jackson leaned back into the chair.
"Very well. I will tell you my tale and it will answer some of your other questions I would imagine. Get comfortable, this will take a while, for the story spans many years, several thousand years in fact.”
Chapter 4
"I was born at the sunset of the time of the Druids. At the age of thirteen, I was apprenticed to a Druid named Marloq. He was ancient by anyone’s standards. Had been there since the beginning, or so it was said. One of the first to be called Druid." Jackson paused, expecting Sylvia to interrupt with a guffaw at what he was suggesting, but she remained silent and attentive. He continued.
"I knew little about Druids, but I always had an affinity for animals and nature. My parents felt it best to guide me along the Path, knowing full well what danger I would be in. They decided it was for my best to learn the ways of Druids."
"You see, this was the time of the Roman Empire, and they were like locusts, sweeping across the lands. When they came to the Isles, some of the Celts fought them. The Druids, the religious guiding force among the Celts, were swept up in the combat. Despite the mystical power of the Druids, there were too few who remained to give the Romans much trouble."
Again, Jackson paused for a reaction, but Sylvia appeared enthralled with his story.
"Tea?" he asked.
Staring at him a moment longer, she realized he was asking her something.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Tea? Would you like some tea?"
She smiled. "I would, yes, thank you."
Standing, Jackson left through a doorway towards the rear of the house. It was a long time since he had relived these memories. Had stuffed them away like a squirrel stows away a nut, forgetting it till needed or perhaps to never uncover it again. This time though, the nut appears to have grown on its own and was uprooting all he believed.
Absently he boiled the water, and grabbed a pair of tea cups and bags. He headed back to the sitting room. Sylvia was there, standing, reading the bookends on his book cases. When he entered she suddenly turned from them, as if embarrassed to be caught, and returned to the ottoman.
"It's okay. I don't mind if you explore my books. In fact, you can have them when I'm gone."
Scrunching her eyebrows at that statement. "Gone? Gone where?" she demanded.
"Ahh... Forgive me. I get ahead of myself." Handing the cup to Sylvia.
Taking the cup from him, she placed the bag inside. Pouring till the cup was about three-quarters full, he stopped, checking her to see if it was enough. She nodded so he brought the kettle over to his chair and placed the bag in the cup and pour three-quarters full again. It was always the right amount for the tea to taste the best. It was a pleasure to see the girl thought the same way as him. Easing himself into the chair, he allowed a moment to settle his body.
Sylvia removed the tea bag from her cup, setting it on the small saucer Jackson had provided. “Why were there so few Druids left?"
Again, it was an excellent question, Jackson thought.
"There were so few Druids because of the civil war between them. As with most groups of people, there are always differing thoughts, and Druids were no different. There were those who believed nature and humans could work together to make a better world. Those people were, near the end, led by one called Sylvanis. A formidable Druidess, but she found her equal in the ruler of the opposing view, Kestrel, who believed civilization was a harbinger of death to nature. It must be scourged from the Earth so nature could reign, she believed. To accomplish this, she used an ancient spell, seizing the totem animal of an individual and drew it out, merging it with the person. This spell was called Lycanthros. It created the first Trues."
"Trues?" Sylvia cut in. He could tell she was having a tough time understanding what he was telling her, but was trying.
"Yes, Trues. The spell is complex and only works on certain individuals. Those whose totems are were close to the forefront. The spell only worked on four individuals she was only able to locate. Por, a Celt whose alternate form was of a boar. Renwick another Celt whom took the shape of a rat. Two foreigners from Egypt became the other two. Syndor, the snake and the other Egyptian, Answi, became what you saw the other night." Jackson stood and began to pace. “They were called Trues because they were the first shapeshifters, their spawn were only copies — less than the Trues, and beholden to them as well."
Sylvia raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean beholden?"
Jackson gave a quiet smirk. "When a True infects another, and they live, this isn’t assured. The transmission of lycanthropy is traumatic to the body and often causes rejection, system shock, resulting in cardiac arrest. However, if the person lives, they are now a lycanthrope and can mimic the ability of the True who infected them. Oh, they will never be as strong, but they are formidable in their own right. The problem is simple, they are under the control of the True. Whatever the True wants, the victim will do."
"Sounds dangerous," Sylvia muttered. "I mean, if they can control the person, why wouldn't they infect as many as they could, and create their own army!"
"Again, I am pleased I was right about you, Sylvia," Jackson stood and began to pace. "Which is precisely what Kestrel proceeded to do. She had her Trues wreak havoc all over the land, infecting as many as possible. Thousands died from the attacks and more died by not living through the infection." Jackson stopped pacing and sat back down. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he clasped his hands before him.
"Sylvanis was left with little choice. Searching everywhere for those who might undergo the spell and live, she only found four people as well." Pausing, he considered something.
"You see; nature always seeks a balance. I believe it’s why Sylvanis was only able to find four, though she searched everywhere. Four became her champions. Her Trues. Calin, a Celt, believed to be the lover of Sylvanis, though it was never confirmed. His totem was the wolf. Adonia, whose form was of a fox. Catherine, was from far to the east, though no one knows where, but I believe it was Macedonia. The animal she transformed into was a tiger. And, of course there was Conner, another Celt who was as massive as a bear, and became one, too," Jackson said with a flourish and a smile.
Sylvia pondered this. It was incredible what he was telling her, but it was also impossible. According to him, Jackson was supposedly over two thousand years old. He was also claiming there were monsters walking the land, in the service of magic wielding Druids. The funny thing was, after seeing what she saw, she believed him. This story was too fantastical. Yet, she was trapped in the story with no hope or desire to escape.
"Tell me more. I'm not sure I believe any of what you are telling me, but it's an amazing story."
Jackson smiled.
"Well, I have been many things in my life, but a liar isn't one of them," Jackson smiled. "Where was I?"
"Sylvanis' Trues," Sylvia informed him.
"Ah, yes. Kestrel allowed her Trues to raise an army by force, so she could try to destroy civ
ilization, but Sylvanis only took people who volunteered to become Weres. Her army was smaller, but because they were volunteers they fought with heart. The others were dominated and did not fight with the fervor Sylvanis’ did. Still their numbers were overwhelming and many Weres died. There were also losses amongst the Druids. Terrible losses, and ultimately the losses would be the end of the Druids. Their power and influence was so vastly lessened. When the Romans came, they were unable to mount any type of resistance.
However, I digress." Jackson frowned, thinking about his place in the story. "The true turning point was when Calin defeated Pol and Answi in combat." Leaning forward a little more to accentuate his point. "You see, when a True is killed, all those he has infected are no longer cursed with Lycanthropy. So, when they could no longer be controlled, Kestrel's army dissolved around her. In the end, Sylvanis came for her." Leaning back, he sank into the cushions on the chair.
"My teacher didn't know much about what happened, other than neither one walked away from the confrontation. Word was there was some sort of prophecy promising Kestrel's return. Also, Sylvanis found some way to stop it or counteract it. Not sure. It was never quite explained to me."
"I met some of the Trues, once," Jackson continued after a moment to sip his drink. “It was a few years after the war and I was finishing my studies as a Druid when Calin and Adonia rode into my village. I remember the expression in Calin’s eyes,” Jackson said with a faraway look. “It was believed he was in love with Sylvanis, and her loss devastated him. He had the appearance of someone who had lost everything.”
Continuing to stare at nothing for a moment, he finally shook himself and glanced back at her. “They had come to tell my teacher they were going into hiding, and if we had need of them, they would do their best to return to help. I never saw any of them again.”
The Awakening: Part Two (The Lycan War Saga) Page 7