An End to Summer

by Diana Rose Wilson

  “Trina?” The name sent a shudder through Alexander. If there was a more grasping and needy woman, he couldn’t name her. Trina had been hanging onto the Harris boys all through high school with the hope of latching onto them. Unfortunately, Robert’s sons, Tommy-Tom and Sam, had ideas for who their children would wed. At least that was the rumor. Trina was passed around from boy to boy and then summarily dumped for someone the Harris family deemed worthy.

  He was sympathetic towards Trina and wanted her to be treated better. However, rather than listening to Alexander’s advice, the young woman never listened. She didn’t realize what those boys were doing. She seemed to feed off the attention they gave her. She thought there was power and prestige being the play thing of the Harris boys.

  “Yeah. She really tried to put her marks on me too. Thank god I used a fucking condom.”

  “You fucked her?”

  “She fucked me. I was drunk! Damnit, Alexander! What do you expect me to do the rest of my life? Sophia doesn’t want me. I don’t have a future now. I’m not a goddamn monk.”

  “You did use a condom, though? Really? You know she’ll latch onto you if there’s even a hint of doubt you might have knocked her up. Even if it’s not your kid.”

  “Yes! Of course, I did. I’m not stupid.”

  “Yes, you are. You are a fucking idiot.”

  Christopher frowned and rubbed hands over his face. “Yeah. That’s what Amy said, too. And yeah, I am. Fuck! You know the fucking worst part about it?” He looked at Alexander through his fingers. “Amy caught me doing the walk of shame this morning. After she finished chewing me out for being a fool, she showed me this picture.” He hesitated and scrubbed at his eyes again and then returned his attention to Alexander. The question came out with difficulty. “Do…do you believe in love at first sight?”

  Alexander had a flash of memory of that morning accepting the token from Bennonton. The hot flicker of energy leaping between their fingers had been unmistakable. Heart-bound. Heat rushed to his cheeks despite his best effort to hide it.

  “Ah-ha! You aren’t made of stone after all. All right, so, we both believe in love at first sight. Good, so…no more drinking for me. No more hanging out with my cousins. No more hiding from my problems. Getting laid isn’t worth ending up in a trap with Trina. Or worse.”

  “What’s this? You’re hanging up your spurs?”

  “Yeah, taking a page from your book, asshole. When did you get so wise? And who is this love of yours? When do we meet her?” For the first time since he came home, Christopher actually smiled and it didn’t look edged around a sardonic smirk.

  Looking at his brother, seeing his hurt and the vulnerability, he told him about what happened. He explained about Bennonton. He laid it all out between them. At the end of it, they sat in a stall with Remmy, Jasper, Amberlyn and Morgan, grieving in equal measure. They mourned for lost love and family and clung to the tiny hope that the future would bring happiness to all of them.

  “Is it worth it?” Christopher asked, throwing an arm around his shoulder in brotherly support.

  He nodded his head violently, unable to make the word ‘yes’ fit into the size of his answer.

  Christopher’s eyes got that far away look in them and he let out a soft sigh. “I don’t know, Alexander. This girl is Amy’s niece.”

  Alexander whistled softly and then grinned. “Well, at least you know Amy will put a good word in for you.”

  Christopher’s smile softened and he shrugged, looking away. “I guess we’ll see.” He paused and then nudged him. “So, you really ran with wild horses?”

  It wasn’t the question he expected. His eldest brother, gone so many years, didn’t question that his heart belonged to a man or that he’d had children with a deity and that their sister might be consort to the princess almighty. He wanted to know about running with the horses.

  “Yeah,” he replied, feeling the tears start all over again.

  “You are amazing, little brother. Thanks for…not kicking my ass the other day. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Those simple words healed a huge rift between them. He even felt Remmy’s brush of affection that included Christopher without the bristles of animosity that had so often accompanied thoughts of his rider.

  Time continued to spin. For five more years, their family was left to heal without additional trauma. As the years passed, Alexander’s memories gradually faded and with them the agony of his loss.

  Their cousins settled down and had children, Harris and Wallace alike. The tradition of getting married at eighteen and starting a family was firmly ingrained into all of them.

  Except for the Harris-Wallace line and those sworn to them. They were all loveless and barren.

  Amy never remarried after a failed first attempt and a tragedy that happened to her before Alexander was born. Her champions, his uncle Sebastian, and family friend Mambo were reportedly as chaste as monks. It was not normal.

  Robert’s children and grandchildren gloated with victory as their line grew larger and stronger. Each new baby was a feather in their cloak.

  He felt it in his heart. Their line cursed.

  Or were they holding their breath for something?

  He longed for children in their family home and to be surrounded by nephews and nieces and to see his siblings settled, happy and beloved. Like his brothers and sister, he loved their youngest cousins, but it wasn’t the same. Every year that passed, he despaired that they would ever break the cycle.

  Chapter 25

  In early 2015, Amy Welton’s health took a savage and swift downturn. They, his parents and his grandmother, claimed it was cancer. Whatever the cause, it was brutal and consuming. Even with the most powerful sagecraft they had at their fingertips she was ravaged by the illness.

  Alexander spent as much time as he could with her. Together they sat under the red tree, and she dozed peacefully against the thick trunk as the first rays of summer warmed them both. He played the flute for her, trying to remember a song he’d learned in that other life.

  “Don’t give up hope, my beloved, heart-son.” Amy’s soft voice was filled with pain as she smiled. “Please, have mercy on your uncle Sebastian. I worry so much about him and Mano. They have dedicated everything to me and I leave them with nothing.”

  He stopped playing and turned to watch her. “Oh, Momma-Amy, don’t talk like that.”

  Her eyes were closed, face turned up towards the dappled sunlight coming through the trees branches. “Every story has an end. There is a beginning that can only start with a catalyst.” She smiled and tipped her face towards him, eyes opening. “I have never been able to help you the way you needed, and I am so sorry. Now I ask something of you that is so unfair and yet only your old soul might understand. Things will be very dangerous and you will meet people who have been chained in darkness their whole lives. They will need guidance. Delphine and your parents are going to need support educating them.”

  “Chained in darkness? What do you mean?”

  “Not every tribe is like ours. Harris, Wallace and Welton lines have deep, proud blood tied, and we are each bound and trained as infants to understand there are mysteries like spirit beasts, sagecraft, war-mounts and gateways across the threshold into the land of spirits.”

  “I can’t tell someone not of my blood about those things. That’s…against traditions. It is dangerous.”

  “Yes, it is, Alexander. However, ours are far from the oldest bloodlines. There are people out there who have no idea of their talents. Some families have died out before their children were told. What of them?”

  “They fade out by natural selection,” he said, quoting the tradition. His skin crawled as his cousin’s words came out of his mouth.

  Her eyes sharpened on him, mouth tightening. “Well quoted.”

  Ashamed, he looked away, face hot. “Everyone says that old sagecraft has been burned out from the world.”

  “Everyone? Do you trust the people telli
ng you? What are their motivations?”

  His throat grew too tight around the memory of his childhood beating and Kelly’s accident. He felt her watching him and found he couldn’t meet her gaze. The fact that Robert Harris and his children and grandchildren wanted to extinguish other lines was right under his nose.

  ’Your weak, talentless waste should be culled from the bloodline.’ The words from so many years ago rang through him.

  But there was no proof.

  Except that particular family was the loudest voice behind the rally to cling rigidly to tradition.

  “There is a reason our traditions started. You’re correct; it is dangerous for our secrets to be unveiled indiscriminately. There are also very good reasons to bend and break those guidelines when they no longer work. Outside our safe, protected valley, people do not have sharp eyes to see or minds that accept those wonders. If we don’t adjust and grow, we will lose allies and those powerful talents will be lost forever. Your old soul sees and your instincts are sound. Trust them.” Her eyes lost focus and she closed them, pain etched deeply across her face.

  He reached out to touch her arm. “I’m no teacher.”

  She smiled at his word. “You only need to offer support, my beloved heart-son. I am so sorry I wasn’t strong enough to help you more,” the way she said it this time was fractured with sorrow.

  “It’s all right, momma-Amy. Do not burden yourself. Let me play this song for you and hopefully it will ease your mind.”

  He was never sure if it did.

  They didn’t have a chance to revisit their conversation. Amy passed away a few days later. Her words stuck with him, though.

  ’If we don’t adjust and grow, we will lose allies and those powerful talents will be lost forever.’

  Allies.

  As though they were going to war.

  When he met Frankie Welton and knew for certain the battle was near.

  She was a warrior for a battle-king. Though she was Amy’s niece by title, she looked more like a reincarnation of Amy herself. The Messenger reborn, crafted from something harder. She was taller and more muscular, but they shared the same curly, red-orange hair, freckles, green eyes and long face. The dimpled chin, square jaw and hawkish nose were earned from the other side of her bloodline. He didn’t recall her mother’s heritage, though it hardly mattered, Welton blood sang through her so loud it drowned out any doubt about her lineage. The Welton heir.

  Her face bore the scars of a battle-hardened fighter, and she stood there alone and unarmed. From her posture, she appeared ready to do battle with them all. If he had a sword, he would have thrown it and himself down and pledged himself to fight at her back.

  When she collided with Christopher, he found himself smiling. Once, a lifetime ago, he’d felt that way, too, when Bennonton had looked at him. Enthralled. The warrior and her battle-king. They looked perfect together, and he wondered if she was ready for Christopher’s fearless adventures. At least he was reassured that she was well guarded. Alexander could offer his honor to her properly another time.

  The rest of the day was a blur of emotions. He held himself together to support his family the best he was able, but as he watched his eldest brother walk off with Frankie Welton his chest grew tight and heavy. His joy for his brother warmed him, but he was filled with the grief of Amy’s passing. It was difficult to imagine never having her wisdom ever again. The loss brought back memories of the greater loss. It was hard to breathe.

  “I think I’m going to have a walk around,” he told his brothers and sister, exchanging hugs with them.

  Remember the good times and all the good things, he reminded himself.

  In the last few months she’d been in so much pain. It was a blessing to lay that burden down. In his heart, he wished she really was in a better place. Was she reunited with her heart’s desire? Was she riding across the ever-after with Kelly and Princess Winifred? Would she meet his children? Perhaps that is what made the keening longing swell inside him.

  He wanted his Lord General.

  His beloved was in his thoughts more than usual. It frightened him that he barely remembered his handsome, fierce features. Even the faces of their children had dimmed over the past years. How much time would have passed for him there? Surely, he’d found someone else. It was always the way they expected, that Alexander would depart first. Alexander told him not to waste time mourning him. He wanted Bennonton to live and be happy. His wild spirit deserved to find love again.

  Alexander wished he had enough years to live so he might heal enough to find someone. He’d met some lovely men, though none were brave enough to lure him to their arms. There was no equal to the unbreakable high prince. He glanced back the way he’d come and smiled at the memory of his brother’s expression when Frankie had run into him.

  Yes, they were a good match.

  Gods and devils, he couldn’t wait for Frankie to meet the mounts. Maybe she would ease their mourning. While they were relieved Amy’s pain was ended, they were lost in this world without her and deserved a worthy rider to claim.

  He considered how best to help the mounts while he walked, glad of something easier on which to focus. The sunset faded from the sky and dusk began to ease some of the autumn heat from the air. The sound of voices slowly began to fade as guests departed to their homes. He needed to return to his family soon and help with cleanup. All he wanted were a few more moments to settle his heart and clear his head.

  As he came to the back corner of the building he heard the low, choked cry. It was the muffled whine of something trapped. A big dog, he thought as he slowed his steps. No, it sounded more human. Gods, please don’t let it be his uncle and Mambo out here taking their grief out on one another, he thought. Squaring his shoulders, he moved forward, ready to pull fighters apart as he rounded the corner.

  There was a figure curled on the grass in the lengthening darkness. He signed, shoulders slumping forward, “Uncle Sebastian?” No, the person was huge but not his uncle. Crumpled onto his side, back to Alexander, he appeared to be completely nude. His sides rose and fell with an unsteady rhythm in time to the low whimpers. His bald head was tipped forward as though trying to huddle against some horrible cold. Despite the late summer heat, he saw the broad shoulders were trembling.

  “What the hell?” He ran to the man’s side and knelt beside the figure, not sure he should touch him. There was no one else around to explain what happened. His voice roused the person. Shoulder muscles tightened and the man rolled towards Alexander with a raw, broken sound bubbling up from somewhere inside that vast chest.

  It hit him like a comet. Not a crash of destruction but a gathering of force and energy traveling from some unfathomable distance to slam into him. His heart and soul and mind were consumed by the brilliance of that contact. A sensation he never thought to feel again overwhelmed him, burning cheerfully into scarred holes left in his soul.

  “Zan’Dar!” The Lord General of the southern kingdoms panted out the name as he completed rolling towards him, reaching out for him in desperation.

  “Ben? Oh gods! You’re hurt.” It was such a horrible understatement and yet he was unable to get out any other sane word through the screaming sensations raging through him.

  His big hand cupped Alexander’s cheek. Though his skin was cold and wet, the touch was so familiar. The crippling relief drove out the fear and pain for a moment. “Just a cut. Had to…fight through. Damned demons. Cursed northerners. I’m here. I’m with you.”

  With him, right now. He drew the same breath. Touching after so many years. He choked on his happy sob. For how long? He shrugged out of his jacket and spread it over his shoulders and kissed him. “We’ll get you fixed. Don’t you dare fucking leave me again.”

  “Worth it. Worth everything.” He winced and grunted as Alexander checked his stomach and the wound. In the dark he could tell very little about it other than it was long and deep. The man shuddered as he bit back another sound of agony when they
were touched.

  He stopped exploring the wound and stroked a hand over Bennonton’s bald scalp. “Your feathers. You’re glorious feathers, my love.”

  Bennonton grunted out a broken laugh. “They will return.”

  Behind the glorious sensation of the reconnected bond and the wild disorientation of it slamming back all at once, he was gripped by the frantic distress of Amberlynn and Jasper. He couldn’t hear their words over the roaring in his head, just sensed their panic. It was impossible to reach out to reassure them.

  “I’ve not come across the threshold to die upon your door. Leave me and get the medica. I will be here.”

  “I don’t want to leave you. I…I’m afraid you’ll go.”

  “Since when are you afraid?” Bennonton closed his eyes, shivering. Despite his horrible pain, he was smiling.

  Leaving him was his only recourse. He had to get help if he didn’t want his beloved to bleed out on the grass. He gave Bennonton’s hands a squeeze and stood, hating himself and cursing for not having the ability to mend him. He broke into a run and almost collided with his mother and father.

  “Alexander. What on earth?” Her gaze went to his blood streaked face to the mess of his shirt and the missing jacket. Her focus darted towards the sound of the groan just around the corner.

  “He’s hurt. Help. Oh, gods. Please.” He heard the plea spill from his lips in the spirit-tongue and had to force himself to form the words more carefully in English.

  His father pushed him carefully to the side and jogged into the shadows.

  “I’ll get grandmother. Stay with him.” His mother cupped his face and then released him, moving swiftly away to get Delphine.

  “Stay still, young man, I’m here to help. Lay still,” Anthony said calmly as Alexander rushed back to Bennonton’s side. His father gave him a glance, full of questions they had no time to answer. “Your mounts are going to do themselves a harm, son.”

  “I can’t seem to hear them. I’m…” He fanned a hand at his temple before reaching to take Bennonton’s floundering hand.