The Lost Word

by Traci Harding

‘Hey!’ Karita protested at his damaging her house any more than he had done.

  ‘When you take a closer look, I think you shall agree that these cannot remain here any longer … especially now that they have been cleaned. I had hoped that mankind might have grown up considerably in the last hundred years … but it seems to be womankind that has been doing all the growing.’

  This man was definitely not the Logan de Scott that Karita had met yesterday. His manner, the way he moved and spoke — everything had changed. Karita did not flee when he brought the chimney stack down for her to peruse. As suspected, it was covered in the same hieroglyphs as those in her painting. ‘You did this, Tristan?’ She ventured to use the ghost’s given name to address the man.

  Logan nodded, then shrugged and gave an easy smile. ‘I was just the humble scribe for the knowledge of those far greater than I.’

  His voice made Karita’s heart flutter and his gaze, that had only yesterday disturbed her, gave her a warm, sensual feeling all through her body. ‘But how could a sixteenth century artist paint a picture of columns that you did not engrave until centuries afterwards?’ Karita frowned, confused.

  ‘’Tis possible,’ Tristan assured, ‘if my muse and the sixteenth-century artist were one and the same soul-mind.’

  ‘It is rumoured that I have been a muse for you.’ It was impossible not to feel embarrassed about their situation. ‘You’ve been living with me all these years?’

  A broad smile crossed Logan’s face, which he appeared unable to smother. ‘It is not my fault I am bound to this house,’ he explained. ‘You’re the first tenant I’ve been able to converse with regularly —’

  ‘When have we conversed?’ Karita asked, curious.

  Logan scratched his skull, feeling he might be in trouble here. ‘Every night, when you sleep,’ he confessed. ‘I tell you stories. You tell me all about your travels and your art … we discuss art quite a bit actually, and philosophy.’

  Karita was gobsmacked a moment. ‘No wonder I feel like I know you.’ Her embarrassed smile was starting to make her face ache. ‘I sleep naked almost all the time.’

  ‘I know.’ Logan was really struggling to suppress that grin now. ‘But I never look.’

  Karita smothered a screech in her hands and then took a deep breath to get a grip. ‘This is too weird.’

  Logan shrugged. ‘I suspect it will only get weirder from here.’

  Karita gathered her shattered sensibilities. ‘Well, weird is an improvement on threatened and scared, I guess.’

  ‘There could be more of that too, lass.’ He left the chimney stack with Karita and headed for the roof again to retrieve the other one.

  ‘Why don’t you just drop the stacks from the roof? That ought to destroy them.’ Karita presumed he wanted to get rid of them so they didn’t fall into the wrong hands.

  ‘I have some unfinished business to attend to.’ He climbed down the ladder with the other chimney stack.

  ‘How long can you run around in your great-grandson’s body?’ Karita was supporting her head in both hands, as she asked the awkward question.

  ‘Do you want me to fix that?’ Logan queried as he set the stack he carried down beside the other one.

  ‘What?’ Karita moaned, agitated by her pain.

  ‘Your head,’ he said. ‘Mind if I touch it?’

  Karita squinted as she looked up at him, for the morning sun was at his back. ‘If it will mean stopping this throbbing, you can sever my head if need be.’

  ‘Shouldn’t need to take such drastic action.’

  His large hand encompassed her entire crown, and as soon as his palm came to rest upon the trouble spot the relief was instant. A warm, bubbly energy poured through her and washed the pain clean away.

  Tears filled her eyes; Karita couldn’t prevent them, for it felt as if she’d been touched by an angel. She had never been a very religious person; she expressed her spirituality through her art. Karita couldn’t say that she hadn’t believed in ghosts before this, she had just never given them much thought. Now she had been healed by one, who had gallantly found a way to return to the land of the living to defend her from a dangerous foe. True, he was the one who had landed her in this trouble, but how wonderful that he’d taken responsibility and was doing something to right the damage.

  Her pain gone, Karita again looked up at Logan and was surprised to find that she saw another man superimposed upon his frame, highlighted by the rays of the sun. It was the long strands of fair, wavy hair, falling down over his shoulders and beyond, that first captured her attention, but the translucent man seemed to be of a slightly bigger build than Logan. Karita couldn’t make out the features of his face, but she imagined that Logan had inherited some of his comely looks from his great-grandfather — perhaps even those dimples on his cheeks. ‘That felt amazing,’ she said, overawed by the situation. ‘But you didn’t answer my question … how long have you got?’

  ‘As long as I can keep this mortal body awake.’ Tristan served her a confident wink. ‘As soon as I grow weary, Logan’s rested soul will knock me out of here and he will regain possession.’ Logan picked up the stacks and headed back inside with them.

  ‘Wow,’ Karita mumbled, her mind awash with possibilities and visions of adventure and mystery. A sudden chill swept over her, snatching away her lovely mood. ‘Tristan?’ She rounded the house and nearly had a fit when she entered the back door and saw Logan out cold, on the floor.

  ‘No, you don’t.’ Preston reached out from his hiding spot beside the doorway and grabbed hold of Karita’s wrist as she tried to flee. ‘We have what we need for the hunt,’ he motioned to the stacks Logan still clutched to his body, ‘so let us depart.’

  ‘What do you need me for?’ She pulled away, but one sharp tug found Karita in Preston’s embrace.

  ‘Protection from your muse,’ he replied.

  Logan began grumbling as he came round. ‘What the hell happened?’ He looked down at the stacks he held under both arms and remembering nothing about them, he soon figured it out. ‘Help me out of the house, quickly.’

  Preston, unable to hold Karita and aid Logan at the same time, turned to her to with an apologetic look on his face. ‘Sorry, sweetheart.’

  He covered her nose and mouth with a mask and she struggled momentarily before everything blurred into dreamland.

  After his last effort, Tristan did not have the strength to boot Logan out of his body a second time and as he watched Preston aid Logan back out to the car, all hope of saving Karita walked out the door with them. Or did it?

  Preston had left Karita in the small laundry that led to the back door, but as this room also contained a toilet, both the interior and exterior doors could be locked from the inside.

  Tristan made speed to the laundry and, once inside, summoned all his strength to will the room’s interior door closed. Fortunately, Preston had already shut and locked the exterior door. Unfortunately, the young art collector had reentered the house in time to see the door close and was now racing down the hall to reclaim his hostage. Tristan focussed on the bolt, which he’d never attempted to move before. Come on … He strained to concentrate. He didn’t need to have it fully across; just the slightest movement would secure Karita’s safety. Merciful masters, forgive this fool a century of disdain and grant me the strength to save her.

  Preston grabbed the doorknob and heard the bolt lock into place. ‘Damn you, de Scott!’ The art collector tugged at the heavy wooden door but it would not give. ‘Well, I have what I came for. You can keep the girl … for all the good it will do you. You, my friend, are dead! Best leave the womanising and treasure hunting to those of us still living.’

  Tristan followed the irate American to the front door and watched him descend the front stairs and climb into his huge automobile. The entity sighed with relief as he watched the car drive away, then bowed his head in prayer. Thank you.

  The late afternoon sun streaming in through the barred glass on the back doo
r, and the trees beyond, woke Karita as it did a little dance upon her body. She was rather surprised to find herself on the laundry floor and flashes of earlier events bombarded her brain. She’d blacked out so many times today that her moments of consciousness were a bit of a jumble, but after a short period of consideration Karita figured that she should, by rights, be a hostage.

  She peeled herself off the ground and moved to open the door to the house interior. She smiled broadly when she found it was bolted. ‘Tristan.’ Only he could have locked her in. Unbolting the door she entered the house in search of the man she couldn’t see. ‘You saved me from Molay.’ Her emotions choked her as she spoke.

  But he’ll be back after he reads those glyphs. Tristan willed for her to hear him, but she did not. He was weary from his heroics and could not make his will felt.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ Karita asked, tears rolling down her face. ‘Are you all right?’

  I am fine. Tristan gazed at her, feeling beholden to her. He loved it that she knew he existed. But then, I am not the one who has been knocked out three times in one day.

  When there was no response, Karita smiled anyway in the hope that he could see and hear her. ‘It figures that I finally meet a man who intrigues me and he’s been dead for a hundred years.’ She sniffled and took a seat to ponder her situation.

  Tristan gave a loud laugh, flattered. Where were you a hundred years ago? Nay, he rejected the fantasy, you would not have been the woman you are, back then … society would have squashed your spirit and suppressed your art. Tristan, considering the day’s events, had to conclude that society hadn’t changed that much. You have to get out of this house. If I had a way to tell you about the key that Preston Molay is sure to return to find, would I? Possessing the key would place you in more danger. Tristan took a seat, too. Why didn’t I take up the challenge a hundred years ago when I was told to? Because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself, that’s why. Tristan looked to Karita, whose tear-filled eyes were gazing about the house in search of him. I never loved anyone so well in life as I have you these last few years. I gave my life to protect the secrets entrusted to me, but I did not have the courage to utilise that knowledge when I could, and thus I damned myself to be a prisoner in this house. What I wouldn’t give to have my earthly vessel back. His brief time in Logan’s body was enough to make Tristan green with envy for the living. But he’d touched that beautiful dark-haired woman, which was more than he could have hoped for before this day. I should never have mused you into painting that work … I just wanted to make my presence felt in your life, in a beneficial way that would not scare you into retreat. Tristan scoffed at his efforts in retrospect. Well, I’ve made my presence felt all right … and placed you in mortal danger in the process. Tristan ceased his confession as Karita burst into tears. Oh, please lass, don’t cry. He felt guilty, because her misfortune was his fault entirely. She had been doing fine without him. I would give anything to undo the harm I’ve done.

  ‘Could it be that Tristan de Scott has finally come to his senses?’

  Karita gasped when she heard a voice with a strange European accent, distinctly different to Tristan’s. A spiritual entity manifested in mid-air before her and assumed the form of a robed man with a jovial face. ‘Tris … tan?’ she stammered. The being was transparent and ghostlike, albeit illuminated, and it puzzled Karita that he could speak aloud whilst lacking a physical body.

  ‘No, no, Tristan is over there, pouring his heart out to you from the lounge,’ the spirit advised, motioning to where the ghost sat pining.

  ‘Really?’ Karita was so charmed by the information that all fear of the unknown was swept away. She would have thought that the sudden appearance of a spectre in the middle of her lounge room would scare the wits out of her! Yet she felt perfectly calm — calmer than she’d felt since she arrived home. This being had a very welcoming energy indeed.

  ‘I never lie,’ the visitor stated. ‘Now, I think the first thing we need to do is get you both functioning on the same plane of demonstration.’

  ‘Beg your pardon?’ Karita was amazed when tiny bubbles of light, in long slender streams, poured out of the visitor’s hands to gather around a form where Tristan was sitting. The swirling masses of light seemed to stick to the form, gradually making it more and more visible. As the substance of the body thickened, features became apparent; a young man, not much older than Karita, with long, fair, wavy hair that fell about his shoulders and beyond. ‘Tristan!’ She stood up, her heart pounding in her chest, for he was angelic to look at.

  ‘You see me?’ Tristan turned, awestruck, to the spirit who had made this possible. ‘How?’

  ‘Just a simple matter of stimulating the vibratory rate of the atoms of your etheric body, my friend.’

  The penitent man fell to his knees before the spirit. ‘Master, you came … all these years … I thought you had disowned me.’

  ‘No, Tristan, it was you who disowned yourself,’ the spirit enlightened.

  Tristan observed his subtle form fast filling with light. ‘Why do I glow thus?’

  ‘I think you know,’ the Master said, to avoid placing the man in an awkward predicament, but as Tristan merely frowned and shook his head, his expression imploring an answer, the spirit smiled warmly. ‘You finally opened your heart again. Thus, your subtle bodies are absorbing cosmic light once more.’

  ‘You were Tristan’s muse!’ Karita got a grip on what was happening.

  The spirit nodded. ‘So when push comes to shove, this predicament was of my doing. I expected too much of Tristan too quickly,’ the spirit confessed and then gave a chuckle. ‘It has, in fact, taken him a hundred years to forgive me and decide to take up my challenge.’ The spirit’s expression became serious once more.

  ‘I know I must be a disappointment —’ Tristan began, but the spirit would not hear of it.

  ‘You were only human, Tristan. But by making your own choices as you did, I was forced to wait until you were prepared to understand your errors before I could allow you the opportunity to correct them.’

  ‘How can I correct things?’ Tristan motioned down to his glowing form. ‘I am bound to this damn house!’

  The spirit waited patiently for Tristan to calm himself. ‘Well, it all depends on whether this young lady is prepared to help you complete your quest?’

  ‘Nay, ’tis too dangerous.’ Tristan rejected this option.

  ‘More dangerous than sitting around here waiting to be knocked off by the “Brotherhood”?’ Karita used her fingers to make quotation signs in the air. She was also rather irked that her hero considered her not up to the challenge. ‘Or do you have a problem with accepting a woman’s aid?’ She placed her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows to await his response.

  ‘I didn’t mean … I meant …’ Tristan found himself tongue-tied. ‘I just don’t want to cause you any more harm than I already have done.’

  ‘Well, you’ve done a pretty fine job of protecting me so far.’ Her tone of voice had softened and had a slightly seductive edge to it. ‘And as I owe you my life, I think I can see my way clear to helping you out,’ Karita volunteered, turning to face the spirit. ‘What do we have to do?’

  ‘I do believe Tristan can fill you in on the details,’ the spirit advised her.

  ‘But my curse?’ Tristan appealed for more information.

  ‘Curses are illusory restrictions we place on ourselves, or allow others to place upon us,’ the spirit said. ‘You finally care about something more than you care about protecting the secrets of this house and wallowing in self-pity. You will move with that to which you are most devoted.’

  Tristan dwelt on this, but dared not question the kindred spirit further for fear of really embarrassing himself.

  ‘Only your contact,’ the spirit nodded toward Karita, ‘will see and hear you, unless you wish it. But you can make your presence felt in the physical realm, Tristan, if you but focus your will. If all you do, you do from love, then
no feat you undertake will drain your energy.’ The spirit’s form began to become obscure, and his voice to fade, but as he departed he addressed both Tristan and Karita. ‘With a pure heart and pure intentions you are as powerful as I AM.’ The Master vanished, leaving Karita and her ghost thunderstruck.

  ‘Who was that?’ Karita realised she hadn’t caught a name.

  ‘Just about every great thinker in the history of the Western world,’ Tristan informed her, dazed by this upturn in his fortunes.

  Karita wasn’t sure she was ready to pursue that idea right now, but there was one point of interest she did have to mention. ‘Do you really care more about me than the missing word of creation?’

  Tristan looked at her and formed a meek, embarrassed smile. ‘No one is more surprised than I,’ he assured her. ‘My life and my death add up to nearly a century and a half of self-pity. I didn’t think love existed in any form until you breezed into my house.’

  ‘But you must have loved someone for Logan to be here?’ The question had slipped out before Karita had considered how personal it was. She could tell by the look on Tristan’s face that the memory was hurtful. ‘I’m so sorry —’

  Tristan held up a hand to stop her apology. ‘When I was labelled a fraud, she left me, taking our son with her. I never saw or heard from them again … not that I lived for very long after that. The men who labelled me a fraud knew it was a lie, and so came to this house to extract what information they could out of me.’

  Karita was frozen in horror as the wounds from the torture began to manifest on Tristan’s beautiful angelic form.

  ‘I sat around feeling sorry for myself for too long, you see,’ he explained. ‘If I had taken what I knew and pursued my own claims, I could have proven myself legitimate. But I stewed in my misery too long and the Brotherhood came for me. I knew they’d torture the truth out of me in the end. I also knew that if I killed myself, then my spirit would haunt this house and protect the secrets I carefully hid away here. The world was not ready for what I knew then, and the world is not ready now.’