The Dracove (The Prophecy series)

by N. L. Gervasio

  “What’s your name?” He set the wine down before sitting back, staring into her eyes, and raising his goblet to his lips.

  “I’m known by many, but ye may call me Trystan.”

  “What names are ye known by?”

  “One ye might know would be the Merlin.”

  “I thought Merlin was a man,” he said.

  She laughed. “Of course, most men would think it so. Not that I’ve not taken a male form, mind ye. Sometimes it’s much simpler to deal with men as a man. But Merlin is not a name. ‘Tis more of a status given to me—The Merlin—by the Dasulmavre. Men confuse that sometimes. You, however, are different, Cianán. I knew ye’d like my true form, so here I am.”

  He smiled; she was correct. “Why were ye searching for me? An’ what did ye mean ‘bout living many lifetimes? An’ who are the Dasulmavre—”

  “Patience, Cianán. All o’ your questions shall be answered in time, an’ ye shall have more, but I’ve something to show ye first.”

  He felt her searching his soul when she stared into his eyes.

  “How long have ye been with the priests?”

  “Since I was a boy. There are twenty years o’ training, an’ there are many things to learn. Ye didn’t know that?”

  She grinned. “Mayhap I did.”

  He frowned, not understanding why she’d ask him such things if she already knew the answers. Perhaps she didn’t know the answers or toyed with him. He’d heard stories of how Merlin enjoyed playing games—

  “This is not a game.” Her voice boomed loud enough to frighten the faeries from their trees. “I ask ye to see if your words bear truth. That is all. I do not care for deceit or for those who chose to deceive me. Men may twist words, but those words mean nothing when compared to their souls. I merely had hopes you’d like to join me in my journey through many lifetimes. If you like, I shall tell ye things about yourself, even in the darkest part of your soul, you do not know. I could bring up the fact that you were born to—”

  “I know who my parents were.”

  “Perhaps, but do ye know how your mother died an’ what became of your father?”

  He shook his head, wide-eyed. “Do ye know these things?”

  She nodded once.

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend you . . . .”

  “All is well.” She touched his hand. “Now then, should ye care to see somethin’ that by chance ye could do someday?”

  “Please.”

  “Very well.” She moved closer to him. They faced the brook. “Close your eyes a moment, like when you’re meditating.”

  He did so.

  “Breathe deeply . . . one . . . two . . . three. Now open your eyes an’ see a new world.”

  He didn’t understand. Nothing changed.

  “Clear your mind, Cianán. ‘Tis the only way.”

  Clear my mind, after what you just said to me? “The only way for what?”

  “Shh.” She placed her finger on his lips. “Clear your mind . . . slow your heart . . . an’ watch life . . . .”

  He listened to the words she chanted. The sounds around him changed and the leaves falling from the trees slowed in their descent. The water slowed as well. A hummingbird sat before him, suspended in the air prior to rushing home before darkness fell. He could see its wings perfectly: every color and detail of its tiny beautiful wings. He looked at her, realizing the two of them hadn’t joined in this enchanting spectacle.

  “How’s this possible?”

  “You shall learn, if ye choose. ‘Tis the reason I sought you out.”

  “I choose.” With his words, life caught up to them and the hummingbird fluttered away to nest for the evening.

  The sun set and the moon rose, lighting their meal. He told her he had to return to his search for the Mistletoe. She smiled sweetly at him, and pointed to an ancient oak tree in the short distance to his right. Several other oaks circled out from it, as well as two circles of stones. His eyes fell upon a moss-covered slab of crystal. But the oak, it was possibly the largest he’d ever seen. He followed where her finger pointed. His eyes stopped on a branch full of Mistletoe.

  “How’d ye know ‘twas there?”

  “Because I live in every forest in this realm,” she said. “I know where all o’ the Mistletoe is.”

  He took another bite of bread and a sip of wine. “How’s that?”

  “I’m Druid as well, Cianán.”

  This, of course, didn’t surprise him. Many of his studies revolved around Merlin. He decided to ask her about the shadows living in the darkness. The two of them in the forest alone wouldn’t be good whence the shadows came out, especially without doing spellbinding to cast them away. She told him he’d arrive home safely. No shadows would harm him so long as he was with her. He believed her, though he didn’t know why. He understood why she didn’t show her true form to men too: they’d fall in love with her, just as he had begun to do.

  Dusk fell upon the forest and she pointed out the shadows. He was amazed he could see them; he never truly saw them before, only heard about them. And the shadows didn’t see them; he and Trystan were invisible to them. When she told him it was time for him to go, she stood and waited for him to rise.

  As he walked with her through the forest, she didn’t say a word. He didn’t mind the silence with her. Words needn’t be spoken.

  However, something troubled him. “What about the food we left behind?” Most of it was untouched. It could feed a few of the families in the village.

  “The faeries shall finish it. We cannot dine in the forest an’ not leave food for the faeries. ‘Tis a gift to them.”

  “Faeries? They’re real?”

  “Aye.” She looked at him curiously. “You study with the Druids, yet ye do not believe. How is this true?”

  “I don’t know. I s’pose it’s because I’ve never seen one.”

  “Not even on your journeys?”

  “Journeys are for enlightenment, not faery fetching,” he said.

  She continued forward. He could tell there was so much he didn’t yet know, so much for him to learn. When they neared the edge of the forest, his home was in sight. She stopped walking.

  “This is as far as I go,” she said.

  He turned to her. “Why?”

  “I’m very busy, Cianán.” A smile spread across her ruby lips. “You’re not the only matter I have to attend to.”

  He laughed. “Well then, I bid ye farewell, lovely lass.”

  “If ye care to learn of the things I’ve shown you an’ spoke with ye about, meet me here on the morrow just after sunrise. I shall be here waiting for ye. If ye choose not to, speak now.”

  “I choose to learn from ye, Trystan. I shall be here.”

  “Rest well, Cianán. You’ll need it.”

  “I shall. Good eve.” He kissed her hand.

  She gracefully curtsied and they parted.

  He walked, pausing occasionally to peer over his shoulder, until something caught his eye and forced him to turn around completely. A beautiful light surrounded her. She walked back into the trees, and he realized it was several smaller lights. They swirled around her, distorting her image until she became the very center of the light. The light crept up the trunk of one tree and intertwined with the branches of all the surrounding trees until it simply and mysteriously faded away. Next to her, ‘twas the most beautiful thing he’d ever encountered.

  Cianán opened the door to his home and stepped inside. He slipped a hand into his robe pocket and discovered a small branch of Mistletoe. A smile curved his lips at seeing the gift from her.

  That eve he sat before the fire and tried to slow time. Slow his heart and his breath as she’d shown him . . . and it worked.

  * * * * *

  Present day, Phoenix, Arizona

  His love for Trystan grew as he spent more time with her over a period of ten years before his change. He wondered if she was still alive, still weaving her magic, but had heard otherwise. Heard
she’d died. He refused to believe it. A woman of her power would be hard to kill. The last time they met, she was very angry with him. Why, he couldn’t recall. It was long ago, shortly after he’d found Siobhán.

  No matter, what once was shall never be again. He spun a dried branch of mistletoe between his fingers—forever preserved by his magic so it wouldn’t disintegrate as their love had. The thought saddened him. He would have spent an eternity with his beloved Trystan.

  His thoughts returned to his prey, Kylie. The way her hair whipped around in the breeze last night, and her eyes . . . a curiously unnatural shade of green—emeralds with flecks of gold within. Mayhap it was all he needed to tell him she was his Chosen One. The only other woman he’d ever seen with eyes such as those died six hundred years ago.

  His skin twitched suddenly. The same happened the night before. He knew it hadn’t come from Kylie. It felt as though one of his children was near, but that couldn’t be possible. None of them would be insane enough to live in this outer ring of Hell. And this feeling was different, for it was one he’d not encountered in a very long time. He couldn’t quite place it.

  The mistletoe vanished to its hidden realm. He scratched his chin and attempted to place the energy signature he felt.

  Unable to figure it out, he let out a grunt and walked out the door.

  * * * * *

  At twenty to seven, Kylie was almost ready for her dinner date. She put on her earrings to complete the look. Tobak walked out the room. The doorbell rang a few seconds later. Kylie ran out from her bedroom, and she stopped to look at Tobak.

  “Be nice,” she commanded, and opened the door. “You’re early.”

  “Aye, I hope that’s all right.”

  She smiled. “It’s fine; I’m almost ready.”

  Cianán looked at her and smiled from his position outside the door. He looked down at Tobak. “‘A beautiful creature ye ‘ave there.”

  “Thank you.” Kylie grinned with pride. “Oh, I’m sorry, please come in. She won’t hurt you.”

  “I know.” He stepped inside and ran his hand over the top of Tobak’s head.

  Kylie closed the door behind him and walked around. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She walked back to the bedroom to finish. What’s missing? A necklace maybe? And the perfect one to wear was at Ana’s store. She fumbled through her jewelry box, cursing under her breath because she still hadn’t found the silver ring she wore and apparently lost on Thursday night. She dug around the box and came upon the necklace her mother had given her a long time ago. Carefully, she latched it behind her neck.

  “Well, I suppose it’ll do.” She turned around to head back out to the living room.

  Cianán looked around the house, impressed with the style to a degree, though he preferred a much more ancient look. Tobak walked over to him. He smiled at her and sat on the sofa.

  “You’re very beautiful.” He patted the white beast on the head, and saw the tags on her collar. “Tobak; such a pretty name.” He leaned forward and looked into her golden topaz eyes.

  “You’ll protect her from anythin’, won’t ye?” She whined softly at him. “Aye, I believe ye, an’ anyone.”

  Kylie walked out. “Wow, she really likes you.”

  The recessed lights in the ceiling illuminated her silhouette. He momentarily wondered about the outcome of her destiny.

  “Perhaps she senses I don’t fear her.” He knew the wolf wouldn’t normally be so friendly. She was Kylie’s protector, yet she strangely didn’t sense danger in him. “You look beautiful this eve.” He admired the way Kylie’s little black dress enhanced every curve of her body. He wondered once more if he had to kill her during the Rítus—he might enjoy having her around later. Maybe she could be his queen. It was something he’d have to look into when he returned home.

  She smiled at his compliment.

  “Thank you,” she replied. “You look very, shall I say, dashing.”

  A grin split his lips. “Are you ready now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shall we go then?”

  She nodded and walked toward the door, grabbing her satchel and shawl on the way out.

  He followed her, opened the door, and touched the small of her back as she stepped outside. He felt the tremble of a chill surge through her body.

  He’d definitely have to keep her alive.

  * * * * *

  After an exquisite meal, he sat, enamored by the candlelight dancing across her face. She reminded him so much of Siobhán, yet she was so different. He didn’t think he’d ever find someone who could take Siobhán’s place, but Kylie could. He was certain of it, though he felt the energy flow from the witch’s crystal she wore around her neck, much like the energy that flowed from the locket Siobhán wore. Perhaps not as powerful, but no matter, it couldn’t protect the willing—

  “Are you okay?”

  His eyes moved from the flame he’d concentrated on to her heavenly face once again, and he smiled. “Aye, why do you ask?”

  “You looked like you were off in another world.”

  “Perhaps I was. I apologize. I didn’t mean to ignore ye.”

  She smiled. “It’s okay. You just look like you have a lot on your mind.”

  “Only you.”

  She lowered her head and her hair fell in her face again, the way it did the night before. She slowly looked up.

  He chuckled. “I’ve embarrassed ye again?”

  “No,” she said.

  He arched his right brow.

  “Well . . . yes.” She looked away briefly, but slowly turned her eyes to his again.

  He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Ye should never be embarrassed by anything or anyone.”

  “I can’t help it when I’m with you.”

  “Why?” He gently massaged her hand.

  “Because you make me nervous,” she whispered.

  “Nervous? Do ye fear me?”

  “No, not that kind of nervous.”

  He lowered his head. His blond locks fell around his face.

  “Now it looks as though I’ve embarrassed you,” she said with a smile.

  “Perhaps ye ‘ave, lass, but it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to embarrass me.” He reached for her hand again. Embracing it, he felt the bandage concealing a small wound. “What ‘appened to your hand?”

  “Oh, I broke a jar today at the studio. Shattered all over the sink.”

  “It’s not too deep, I hope.”

  “It’s fine. It was just a small cut.”

  He pulled her hand to his lips and gently kissed the bandaged area.

  She blushed again.

  His eyes met hers, his lips still on the bandage, and he slowly lowered her hand.

  “‘Tis a beautiful necklace ye wear.”

  She reached for it and brushed the crystal with her fingertips. A small sparkle flickered within. “Thank you. My mother gave it to me before she died.”

  He cocked his head. She obviously didn’t realize the crystal’s power. “Was this a recent event?”

  She let go of the necklace. “No. She and my father died years ago.”

  He dipped his head low for a brief moment, but kept his eyes on her. “My condolences.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Ye miss ‘em a great deal.”

  “It’s an emptiness that never seems to go away.”

  He felt the sadness in her. “I understand.” He gently brushed his fingers over her hand. “I’ve lost many loved ones as well.”

  His fingers intertwined with hers, and Kylie looked down at their hands. He was so mysterious and yet, she felt as though she knew him.

  Without saying a word, he stood, taking her with him, and guided her to the dance floor. He took her into his arms and looked deeply into her eyes. Gazing back into his, she became lost.

  A vision struck her . . . a large hall where a couple danced
; the woman wearing a beautiful pale blue fifteenth-century gown, and the gentleman—Cianán—dressed in attire fit for royalty. The floor of the hall was marble tiled with circular carvings etched into each one, and the columns—engraved with knots and strange looking animals, Celtic carvings. A colossal fireplace big enough to stand six people in was the room’s centerpiece. It had a beautifully decorated mantel with the same carvings as the columns and a large mirror placed above it, angled down. Suits of armor stood in each corner, as though guarding the room, and there were seven grand candelabrums around the room, seven candles burning brightly on each. Celtic tapestries hung on the walls, each bearing a different symbol. Heavy burgundy drapes covered the windows.

  Kylie was in awe of what she saw, and it wasn’t the first time it’d happened. But it wasn’t normally while she was awake, either.

  He turned her, placed her back to his chest, and slipped his hands around her waist to her stomach, taking both of her hands in his.

  He whispered in her ear. “Still nervous?”

  She closed her eyes. He turned her and brought her body against his once more. He gently touched her face.

  “No.” Her heart fluttered. She opened her eyes again.

  He slipped a hand gently under her chin, bringing her forward. His cool, moist lips touched hers. It took her breath away. Her knees weakened and time ceased for them. They glided across the dance floor, and before she realized it, it was after midnight . . . again.

  She remembered the comment she’d made to him the night before. Good thing I’m not Cinderella. She laughed inwardly.

  They were the last to leave the restaurant. Cianán had apparently made arrangements for them to stay late. He drove her home, and she felt like she was in the dream once again and might wake up at any moment.

  If that’s true, at least it’s a better dream than the last.

  After Cianán parked his car on her driveway, he exited the car before she could and opened her door, offering his hand, as a true gentleman would.

  He walked her to the front door. “I thank ye for such a wonderful evening.” He kissed her hand. “I do hope ye enjoyed it.”

  “I did, Cianán. Thank you.”