The Immortal Bind

by Traci Harding

  ‘I am sorry, Jarl Thorkell, but I do not consult the oracle any more,’ Rosalind regretted to inform him. ‘My late husband made me vow to quit the practice, and not just because female oracles are frowned upon by the Christian faith, but because the process is taxing to my health, as it is physically ageing to my already old, frail form.’

  ‘That is a great shame, as I could use some guidance on some stately matters and understand you were most accomplished when suitably compensated,’ he said. ‘I went to great pains to find an offering worthy of your extraordinary service.’

  Rosalind could hear the annoyance underlying his gracious words, but she was not going to betray her last vow to her beloved. ‘I do apologise for your trouble—’

  The jarl held up a hand to silence her objection. ‘Not to worry, I’m sure the chairs in question would make a wonderful gift for my king, being that they were crafted in Byzantium.’

  ‘Byzantium?’ The name startled her and raised her curiosity — although she felt they could not possibly be the items she had lost.

  ‘Aye.’ He raised himself from the table and approached the large covered item that four of his men had carried into her great hall using two long poles. ‘Perhaps you would like to view my offering before declining my request?’

  He whipped the cover away and Rosalind gasped upon sighting her anniversary gift from her late husband — the last gift that Leonardo had given her.

  ‘I never thought to lay eyes on them again.’ She raised herself from her seat and moved closer to inspect them.

  ‘The legend supplied by the vendor I acquired these from claimed the chairs were enchanted, and that if you slept in one of them you would dream of your destiny.’

  Rosalind was amused to hear how the legend had already become twisted, but the doctrines of the Far East and Christendom were so different that was bound to happen. ‘Actually it is the stones in the headrests of the chairs that grant some the ability to dream of the remote, but it is one’s karma that it would reveal, not one’s destiny.’

  ‘Karma?’ The jarl was curious about the word.

  ‘One’s past misdeeds that need to be redressed to escape the earthly cycle of death and rebirth and ascend to the realm of the gods,’ Rosalind explained.

  ‘But we only live one life, before we join the gods in Valhalla,’ he insisted.

  This was interesting to Rosalind, as although the king had recently converted to the Church, his men obviously still maintained their pagan beliefs, and that being the case, they were more bound to trust the word of an oracle over that of a priest. This may have explained why the jarl had sought her counsel — he saw her as a channel to his gods.

  ‘The faiths of the Far East believe differently.’ She admired the chairs through teary eyes. ‘I was given these stones by a foreign ruler.’ Her ethics prevented her from stating whom. ‘He told me that the stones as a pair are called the Eyes of Karma. Ancients believed that certain precious stones had a high degree of consciousness, and if they had been cut from the same cluster, they could remain in telepathic communication with each other.’

  Now the jarl was laughing. ‘And you believe that? They’re rocks!’

  Rosalind merely shrugged. ‘There are many mysteries in the world that human beings have yet to understand.’

  ‘Well, I tested the claim myself and remember naught but an uncomfortable slumber.’ The jarl seemed pleased about that, given what he’d just learned.

  ‘It was also said that the stones would only work for those who were in resonance with their high spiritual frequency,’ she informed him, trying not to imply any unworthiness on the jarl’s behalf with the statement.

  ‘Ahh.’ Thorkell grinned. ‘There’s always a catch. But tell me, why have two chairs made?’

  A fond smile swept her face, as she remembered her husband’s reason. ‘So that my late husband and I could better appreciate each other’s path in this life.’

  ‘So did they work?’ the jarl challenged, sounding sceptical.

  ‘We never got the chance to know,’ Rosalind was sad to inform him. ‘Our brother’s death called us home.’

  The point of contention between her family and the jarl served to remind her that he was ultimately responsible for much of the heartbreak in her life — however incidentally.

  ‘The chairs were packed in containers to be transported home in the company of my husband and many hired guards, who, it is believed, turned on him en route and stole everything.’

  ‘Does this karma you speak of extend into the world of the dead?’ The jarl avoided the unpleasant topic for one he obviously felt she might find more appealing.

  ‘I couldn’t say with any certainty.’ But Rosalind was wondering the same thing herself. As an oracle she could never recall her soothsaying; she did not have a conscious channel to the spirit world, but these chairs might provide a means to speak with her dearly departed Leonardo, or at least glimpse him. ‘Could I perhaps buy these items from you?’ she suggested, but the jarl appeared disinclined.

  ‘As I said, such treasure and legend would be a fine gift for my king. But what you have to offer in exchange is as priceless and rare as this pair. Agree, and we will both have what we want.’

  Rosalind turned and walked away a few steps to distance herself from the temptation. Her head and her gut inwardly screamed for her to resist. But upon turning back to observe the chairs once more, she knew her aching heart would not allow it. ‘I agree to your price, Jarl Thorkell—’

  He clapped his hands together, well pleased.

  ‘But I must warn you that although I can act as a medium between you and the spirit world, I have no control over the entities who speak through me. Your query and intention will determine the otherworldly adviser you attract.’

  ‘I accept your service for better or worse,’ he conceded.

  ‘In that case,’ Rosalind resigned herself to taking the risk, ‘follow me.’

  * * *

  Thorkell followed the oracle down into the locked vault beneath the manor. They veered to the left from the main aisle and down another, where they came to a door. She set aside the candle she’d carried to light their path and removed a key that hung on a chain about her neck.

  ‘I apologise, this room has not been opened in some time and could be a little dusty.’ Rosalind unlocked the door and led him within.

  Inside, the room was rounded and rather tiny — there was an unbroken line of white painted on the floor by the wall that formed a perfect circle. As it was the only decoration in the space, the jarl asked if it had a purpose.

  ‘Protection.’ The lady closed the door behind them. ‘It contains the entities that come through. We wouldn’t want anything nasty escaping into this world.’

  ‘If you say so.’ The jarl was amused.

  The room was devoid of windows also. There was a small round table, with a chair on either side, and a chest, which the lady opened. ‘I’ll need a few moments to prepare.’

  ‘At your pleasure.’ Thorkell was feeling gracious and quietly excited. He’d not sat in the presence of an oracle since he was a lad. But the oracles of his homeland spoke in confusing riddles and didn’t go into a trance as de Moray claimed the Lady Marchard did. Thus he took a seat to await the oracle’s pleasure, watching curiously as she prepared for her ordeal.

  From the chest she pulled several cloths, each a different colour: white, orange, dark green and violet. ‘Which colour are you most drawn to?’

  The jarl looked them over, wondering if this was a test. ‘None of them. I like black. Do you have black?’

  ‘I do,’ she said warily, ‘but I don’t recommend—’

  ‘Black it is.’ He slammed a hand down on the table in finality.

  ‘As you wish.’ The oracle put away her colours and overlaid the small table with a black velvet cloth. On this she placed a square-based ornament that was comparable in size to a small vase, and appeared to have been handcrafted from clay and fired. The unique item
narrowed towards the top and then opened wide once more to support a dish that sat perfectly in the open cavity on top. The belly of the item was hollow and opened at one side.

  Thorkell watched with growing curiosity as Rosalind pulled from the chest a large, clear glass vial filled with water that had a sediment of tiny stones resting in the bottom — some were blackish green in colour and others muted white and brown. She removed the vial’s stopper and poured a little of the water into the dish at the top of the ornament, before stoppering the vial again and setting it aside. A little box was the next item placed on the table, which contained slightly larger fragments of the same stones. The Lady Rosalind placed one of each shade into the dish of water.

  ‘More rocks with supernatural power, Lady Oracle?’ he queried his hostess.

  ‘These stones, I am told, are just black limestone and travertine. I found them lining the base of a stream that flows beneath the temple at Delphi in Greece. The water of the stream is potent for seers, and I believe the minerals in these rocks have something to do with that.’ She lit a small candle and placed it within the vacant belly of her table ornament. ‘When heated, I find the vapour is conducive to mediumship.’

  The old woman took a seat and pulled the ornament closer to herself, and as the water began to steam she breathed deep its vapours. Her arms rested, palms down, upon the table to either side of the apparatus for a time, and then she turned her palms upwards. ‘Give me your hands.’

  At first he was hesitant to make contact with her — he didn’t know the extent of her psychic talents, and he wasn’t used to being told what to do.

  ‘Rest assured, Jarl Thorkell, I am not a mind reader. Whatever business you have with the spirit world shall remain between you and the entity who chooses to respond to your request. Joining hands with me will link you directly to the otherworld, and thus eliminates the need to voice your query. A like-minded adviser will be summoned forth to your aid by your unspoken intent.’

  She implied this was a warning, but Thorkell couldn’t have asked for a better arrangement. ‘I shall bear that in mind.’ He placed his hands in hers.

  ‘Hold in mind your reason for seeking this oracle,’ she instructed, bowing her head to breathe deep the sweet, musky vapours. Within moments, she began to tremble and moaned in discomfort.

  Thorkell smiled, finding her dramatics amusing — she was going to have to do better than that to convince him she had psychic power. Then she began to utter a chant in a foreign tongue, which sounded rather impressive, but the lady had travelled extensively, and so this was not so miraculous. He was tempted to openly laugh, but noted she was beginning to rise from her seat.

  ‘Is that it?’ he queried, unimpressed, as her hands left his.

  Her body began to vibrate violently and shot abruptly upwards, startling the jarl out of his chair.

  His heart beat with the intensity of a battle charge, as he backed away to observe the oracle pinned to the ceiling, her eyes closed as she continued to spout verse in the exotic tongue. He felt a tingling all through his being, and had to wonder if the vapours in the room were causing him to hallucinate. Thorkell had never witnessed anything so unnatural in all his born days, but the demonstration, however impressive, was useless if he couldn’t understand a word being said. ‘What is this gibberish, old woman?’

  She fell silent.

  The candle blew out, and the room fell into darkness.

  It had been a long time since Thorkell had felt unadulterated fear, like standing on the threshold of the Halls of Hel. His hair stood on end as shock sent waves of heat through him.

  In the space where the oracle had been, two eyes appeared in the darkness, glowing with the intensity of the full moon. ‘Understand me now?’

  The voice was deep and distinctly male, which shocked the jarl — how could she be doing that? Was someone else in the room? ‘Perfectly. But do you understand me?’ Thorkell tested the oracle’s boast that he would not have to voice his query.

  ‘I understand you better than you understand yourself,’ the voice replied. ‘I know what you wish, and why you choose to entangle yourself in this situation. Do you?’

  Thorkell was not going to be tricked into disclosing his purpose for being here. ‘Do I know what?’

  ‘Why you desire to marry and control this woman in particular?’

  The atmosphere in the room became very oppressive, and Thorkell’s mind was a whirl of questions, theories and suspicion. He didn’t want to disclose anything, in case he was being tricked.

  ‘You may think you desire her for her lucrative trading company, or because she is young and beautiful and will bear you many sons. Yet there is far more to the attraction than that. She owes you a debt, for once she and her betrothed were very powerful and had control over us.’

  ‘Us?’ Thorkell was perplexed. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘Once, long ago.’ The glowing pair of eyes lowered, as the body the entity was inhabiting floated down to stand upon the floor. The semi-transparent spirit form of a man manifested around the eyes, illuminated enough to obscure the oracle from view. The man was very foreign in appearance to the jarl.

  His head was shaved clean, along with his round face, his eyes were almond in shape and he appeared quite youthful. All he wore was a white cloth that wrapped around his slender waist and fell to his knees.

  ‘I’ve never seen you before in my life.’

  ‘This life,’ the spirit agreed. ‘But in another I was Dasa, a loyal official to you, Isa. You were betrayed by those you now seek to betray.’

  This was news to Thorkell. ‘Why should I believe you?’

  ‘Does it matter, if we both get what we desire? You can have what you want in this life, despite the cost to others, if that is your wish.’

  ‘Well, of course that is my wish, why wouldn’t it be?’ the jarl posed with equal parts satisfaction and frustration.

  ‘Exact your revenge in this life, and the cycle continues to exact revenge upon you in the next.’ Dasa outlined the consequence. ‘And these two souls would not be the first in line to do unto you as you have done unto them . . . karma builds in a not-so-favourable fashion against you.’

  ‘We only live once!’ Thorkell insisted. The wrath of everyone he’d threatened, killed and stepped over to get to where he was this day, was a nightmare he refused to contemplate.

  ‘Even if that were true, you have unwittingly brought a curse upon yourself in any case.’ The tone of Dasa’s voice was so sympathetic and yet at the same time it mocked him.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Thorkell wondered if the entity was referring to itself. Was it threatening him?

  ‘The stones in the chairs you brought here are cursed, and in purchasing the pair you have brought the curse upon yourself,’ Dasa informed him. ‘I would strongly advise you to leave them with the oracle and return to her the curse that killed her husband.’

  The claim he’d been cursed made the jarl’s skin crawl a little. He had planned on leaving the chairs behind in any case, but the prospect of passing on a curse seemed poetic justice for the oracle, and this was pleasing. Dasa may have been twisting truths to his own end, but he certainly knew a lot about current world affairs. The oracle had promised him a kindred spirit and it certainly seemed that Dasa was that.

  ‘The curse has already cast its shroud over the man who sold the chairs to you.’

  ‘De Moray’s affliction.’ The lord had appeared very under the weather at the time Thorkell had seen him. But again Dasa could be embellishing the truth to manipulate him into doing what he wanted.

  The spirit form nodded. ‘Within days he will breathe his last.’

  Thorkell didn’t believe in other lives, or this karma that both oracle and spirit had mentioned, but if Dasa’s prediction about de Moray proved true, the jarl certainly didn’t wish to be subject to a curse. Thorkell feared no man, but a curse could not be run through with a blade or threatened into submission. There was no point gettin
g his way with Tianna Marchard if he died before he had the chance to enjoy the spoils.

  ‘I can protect you from the curse. Join with me and I can shield you from death itself, for my spirit is everlasting. Together, we can sidestep karma . . . we can be immortal in the mortal world!’

  An invisible supernatural ally was an appealing notion, and it was offering him power and immortality, no less.

  ‘What’s in this for you?’

  ‘FORM. I want to feel, taste, smell, speak and be heard! And most of all, I want to have influence upon existence.’

  Jarl Thorkell may have known very little about Dasa, but something about his tale seemed a little off. ‘Well, if we all have many lives as you say, what do you need me for? Why don’t you just get born again?’

  ‘There are many worlds where a soul can work off its karma, and I have been languishing in the realm of formlessness, where I can see all the pleasures of the physical world but cannot partake.

  I died in possession of a curse, which I carried to my death to protect you from this fate.’

  ‘Are you implying I am indebted to you?’ Thorkell hated to feel obligated.

  ‘Never, Isa,’ Dasa humbled himself slightly. ‘I mention it only so you may know that my services have proven most beneficial to you in the past.’

  ‘So you say.’ Thorkell had no proof of any of the spirit’s boasts. ‘But, besides saving me from the curse you say I have upon me, what can you do to be of service?’

  ‘I can make you youthful again, I can change your appearance and teach you how to influence the thoughts of others,’ Dasa boasted. ‘Shall I prove it to you, while you still sit within the safety of the oracle’s circle?’

  The prospect of feeling his youthful form again was an inviting one. ‘I’m afraid I don’t really fancy the idea of sharing my form with another being for all time.’

  ‘I only need to be in your body long enough to carry out your will, then you can transfer me into the body of another, maybe one of your men, until my talents are needed. Once you give me access to your world I will be completely at your disposal and command, Isa. But you need to decide soon, before the oracle awakens.’