Wyldelock gave Dagaz the sword he carried. “I fear this will not be sufficient.”
“Father,” Dagaz assured. “It is enough to give me command here. I will wait for the sorceress and lead her through the Gates when she demands.”
“My thanks to you,” Wyldelock said. The call had come for him to leave, yet he hesitated. He knew, deep in his being, that he would never see Dagaz again.
Dagaz felt it, too. He bent to one knee, holding the sword, grateful eyes swimming with respect. “I am honored to be your son. I carry the name De Croft with pride.”
Wyldelock’s chest whelmed with gratitude for such words. “Rise Dagaz. Let me look on your face once more.”
The two clasped, a surge of warmth passing between them.
“He wears an amulet, Father,” Dagaz said, the glow of reverence still shining in his eyes. “He uses it to meditate, to recharge the potency of his hatred. The demons that possess him use it as a portal to move freely in his soul. They blind him with this hatred, fuel it to drive the murderous heart he carries. He is a servant to them, not himself.”
“An amulet?” Wyldelock whispered. “What is its source?”
“Locks of hair, braided. First he took yours, once, while you slept, and then he tore from mother the night she died. The third lock was mine--he tore from my scalp while piercing my chest with the sword. Trophies of his dominion over us--symbols of his victory, souvenirs of jealousy. It keeps his heart filled with the evil he called upon for survival until final revenge satisfies his quest. I fear he is misguided. He will never rest--in ultimate victory or defeat. Voices that cloud his mind are ones of deception. Always deceit. There will never be reprieve for him, Father.”
Wyldelock sighed at such loss. The brother he loved, so filled with pain, corroded by dark emotion. “I have done this,” he bemoaned. “I must find a way to liberate him.”
“Beware, Father,” Dagaz said. “The forces that live within him do not take kindly to salvation. They lust for the sorceress. They will use him to make her their slave. I envy not your task, Father.”
“I would wish it for none other,” Wyldelock said. “Thank you, Dagaz. Your words have given me the gift of courage.”
Dagaz bowed. “May the purifying fires release us all. Farewell.”
Wyldelock began to leave. In the distant mire he saw that the shadow waited, silently, to lead him back to where life reigned. He turned, to glimpse Dagaz once more, standing straight and tall and proud near the Gates that spluttered eternal dimness. “My son,” he called out.
Dagaz lifted the sword, a silent vow to remain vigilant.
Yet a voice filtrated Wyldelock’s mind.
“I will find incarnation, Father. I will always be your son.”
Chapter Nine
Mother barely picked at the meal Olivia had prepared for them. She twirled her fork into a clump of lettuce and with a lamented sigh finally gave up, placing the utensil on the plate, pushing both to one side. “Disasters run in threes,” she said after a lingering silence. “I try to avoid silly superstitions and then they jump out and slap me in the face. I guess pretending something doesn’t exist doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”
A weighty comment, Olivia stiffened for more. Mother fell quiet again, though, lost in thought. Profound loss had veiled the air between them, much as it had done when Father had died. No word could lessen the pain of a loved one gone forever; only time could do that. They had to fill the time somehow. Olivia poured tea and searched for something consoling to say despite her own grief. “We mustn’t think of Gran’s passing as a disaster,” she said gently. “She had a full life.” Unlike Father she added in thought only.
“There was no warning,” Mother said, on the verge of tears. “I mean, she was fine, except for saying she was a little tired. She went to lie down and when she didn’t come out for supper, I found her....” Mother buried her face in trembling hands and sobbed anew.
“Oh, Mother,” Olivia soothed. “Please don’t cry. Gran wouldn’t want you to be so sad.” She was being brave despite her own throat constricting with a wash of emotion.
“You’re right, Ollie.” Mother brushed a damp Kleenex under each eye. “She died peacefully in her sleep. There was even a little smile on her lips.”
Olivia swallowed hard. “I love you, too. Now go. Live your life to the fullest.” Gran must have known she was going to die. These were words issued in the knowledge of upcoming separation.
“Her part in your destiny has been consummated.”
Mother sipped her tea. “I guess I’m being selfish.” She sighed. “This is all forcing me to make decisions about my own future, decisions I hadn’t wanted to think about. You know how I hate being alone.”
“You’re not alone,” Olivia chastised. “I’m here and....” She hated to say it but had to take Mother’s feelings into consideration. “And you seem to be getting along with Mr. Fillmore.”
“Yes, he has been kind.”
More than kind, Olivia mused. Mother caught her pinched expression and smiled. “You don’t like him much, do you?”
“Doesn’t matter whether I do or not. How do you feel about him?”
“He says he’s fallen in love with me.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know. I just wanted to hear myself say it out loud. It’s happened so quickly, my head’s swimming.”
“Well?” Olivia asked. She understood what the newness of love felt like. No longer did she feel jealous of the stranger. If he could bring love and hope into Mother’s life then she, too, would be happy.
“He’s asked me to go back to England with him,” Mother said.
Olivia felt anxious about such a drastic invitation. Her motives were selfish. This change would take some getting used to. “What did you say?”
“I can’t go.”
“Why on earth not? Gran’s gone, and you’ll have the insurance money from the shop. There’s nothing to tie you down in this miserable village.”
Mother shrugged. “I’m like you, Ollie. I hate change. When it’s forced upon you, it’s one thing but to instigate such a....” Her voice trailed. “I just can’t.”
“Don’t put your life on hold because of me,” Olivia scolded. The suspicion found validity in mother’s soulful stare. “What is it? What are you so worried about?” Her tone was defensive. She hadn’t wanted William to come into the conversation but there was no stopping the topic now. She slumped to resignation. “William. Are you saying he’s one of these three disasters?”
Mother nodded. “Gran was right about this family curse. She’s always been right. It’s just I chose to ignore it all, tell you that mark was caused by accident. None of this is an accident. And I’m so afraid for you.”
“Stephen has been filling your head with worry.” As brave as the excuse was Olivia knew Mother’s worry was likely justified. To what extent Olivia didn’t wish to dwell on. She didn’t know herself, so wisely decided not to share many details of the past days with her. Despite squashing a discussion about the paranormal, a shiver went down her spine, culminating in a visual of Dietrick, as she had seen him in the cup--the malicious smile, threatening eyes, the knife--so unsettling Olivia glanced nervously over her shoulder, convinced that someone was staring at her. Finding no one she blurted, unconvincingly, “Stephen is likely making it seem worse than it is.”
“Oh? I don’t think so, honey. I knew about the sorcerer--that he would return, someday--claim one from the family. I just didn’t want to believe we’d be the ones he’d seek out. I had hoped the curse was finished, wore itself out. But it was passed to my brother, Henry. He died, stillborn, but there it was, apparently--a miniature clawed shadow on that tiny shoulder. So, naturally, it was passed on to you. I wanted desperately to believe the mark meant nothing. I knew, deep in my heart, that your sweetness would be too much. Someday the sorcerer would come to you.”
Olivia was astonished. “I didn’t know you had a brother. No o
ne told me.”
“Had my head in the sand. If we didn’t talk about it, I hoped, it would all go away. The day you were born Gran said you were the one, we should get ready. She knew. Now she’s gone and we’re right in the middle of this mess.” Mother looked away, tired and scared.
“All right,” Olivia started with a sharp edge of defense. “So he’s come back to ‘claim’ me. I can categorically state that being claimed by William Talbot is not the disaster everyone seems to suggest it is. And what about me? Has anyone stopped long enough to consider that I am more than a damsel in distress calling for help from the upstairs window?” She sighed, gathering her next thought. “Mother, the reason he’s come to me is because he knows I can help. He has faith in me. Please, you must have faith in me as well.”
“Help? You, help him? The man’s been breathing for eight hundred years. He’s a sorcerer, and a mighty one at that, and you think you can help him?”
Put like this it did sound absurd. Olivia swallowed a sting of defeat. “He’s not the evil entity that generations have feared. If anyone knows that it should be me.”
“It’s not you, honey,” Mother said quickly, as though she predicted Olivia’s defense. “And, if truth be known, it’s not William Talbot as much as it is....” She drifted a moment. “I’ve had nightmares about him for as long as I can remember.”
“Him?” Neither really wanted to speak Dietrick Von Der Weilde’s name aloud, to do so might tempt his presence.
“Without even knowing the whole story he would appear to me in my dreams, so real. At first, handsome and eloquent, and then like a flash, he’d change. Not physically, but I could see in his eyes, behind them lived hundreds of writhing worms, feeding on what humanity he had until....” Mother shivered. “He never spoke to me, but that crooked smile told me he was coming, and he’d take you, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. That’s why I’m so frightened, Ollie. The dreams have stopped. He’s here, and so is the sorcerer. In our time.”
Olivia reached across the table and took Mother’s hand. She waited till their eyes met. “See the ring I wear?” Mother’s gaze dropped. “Gran gave me the ruby. She told me it was passed down through the generations, safely kept, for when this started.” Olivia touched her throat, drawing attention to the necklace she had been given. “And this, this is the relic that Stephen mentioned. William gave it to me. These are the gems that formed from his blood. Not only are these rubies going to help protect me, they’re going to help me fight, and win. Gran told me of their power. She said these rubies will help destroy our enemy. I don’t know how, but I believe her. Mother, I have to help William. I have no other choice. My life is entwined with his; our destiny is locked together. It was the day I was born.”
A tear dangled on Mother’s lash.
“He has shown me magic I never believed possible,” Olivia went on. “He has not taught me evil, he has simply reached deep within my being and shown me the talents I already bore. He woke to me and with his help I woke to him. I love him deeply and I am going to use every ounce of my strength to fight, so he and I can live in peace together. We’ll win this, Mother. When the dust settles I’ll be with him, and if it’s what your heart tells you, then you shall be with Stephen as well. Change has touched us, it’s true, but it’s all going to work out for the best.”
Mother wiped away the tear. “My little girl is all grown up,” she said with a weak smile.
“And still too naïve for her own good.” Stephen stood in the doorway, clutching a dozen red roses.
Olivia automatically reached for her collar, covering the necklace.
“Stephen, don’t,” Mother said with uncharacteristic firmness. “You’re not part of this family. You don’t know everything that’s going on.”
He blanched. An ominous silence filled the room.
Olivia bore into his thoughts. He genuinely believed that William was as accursed as Dietrick, that the two were mythical souls which each harbored a great evil. He couldn’t understand they shared different motives for existence. He had lumped the two motives together because each had found a sinister path to immortality. It was beyond comprehension and as a result, skepticism manifested into belief in the demonic, as all logical human minds had a tendency to do. Olivia slowly turned to look fiercely at him.
Her fingers still fluttered over her collar and she read Stephen’s suspicion. Even so, he said nothing. His emotion for her mother far outweighed any previous intention to secure a priceless relic. This impressed Olivia, so for Mother’s sake she kept sharp comments behind pinched lips.
“I’ll go back to the motel if you want,” he said.
“No,” Olivia interjected on her mother’s behalf. “Don’t go because of me.” The image of them curled together wafted through Olivia’s memory. They had found happiness within each other’s arms and she didn’t want to be the ruin of budding passion. “I’ll put those in water,” she smiled, taking the roses from Stephen. “She needs you,” Olivia whispered to him. Glaring up into his unblinking eyes she added, “Just keep your distance from me. Don’t even think about interfering.”
He side-stepped. Olivia covered a wry smirk; he was afraid of her. A sense of extreme power whelmed up. Then she stifled it. Stephen Fillmore might be intimidated by her prowess but there were those who wouldn’t be. Pride before a fall. She had to be more careful. To be overly confident meant challenge and she still had a long road to travel before she could boast victory.
“Ruby, luv,” she heard Stephen whisper. “Are you okay?”
“I’m glad you’re here, Stephen.” Mother’s voice was drenched with relief. Jealousy stabbed at Olivia once more. She still considered this man a stranger, one who had brought discord into their home. But these were selfish feelings. He was someone who could help Mother through her grief, in a way she would never have understood if she hadn’t been with William. It wasn’t Stephen’s fault that destiny was rearing its head in their lives. She tried to find solace in the fact that, rather than being an adversary, he was a comfort. She could face her battle knowing Mother was protected in his arms.
Olivia peeked through the doorway. He was holding her with such tenderness Olivia felt a lump in her throat. “Your mother is the only Ruby he’s going to find.”
Gran’s voice seemed to be right there, on her shoulder. “I’m going to miss you so much,” Olivia whispered to the quiet voice. The lump was soon going to turn into sobs for the loss of her beloved grandmother. “I’m off to bed,” she announced as bravely as possible, stepping quickly through the room so as to not disturb the impassioned embrace. “Good night.”
“Ollie, honey,” Mother called, her eyes brimming. “Thank you.”
“Okay,” she smiled bravely before making her escape up the narrow stairs to the solitude of her treasured bedroom.
Within the four walls of privacy Olivia wept. She wept for her loss. Gran was gone and by all accounts soon Mother would be gone, too. Despite protests against change she was certain that Mother would succumb to the wishes of newly discovered love, and go with him, as she should, to England. Then what? Would she be alone? Was Stephen right in his assumption she was being naïve? Did it take an outsider to verbally state what was blaringly true? Was she blinded because she was too close? Doubts had clouded over her within grief, and for the first time since falling in love with William she bore uncertainty.
Olivia pulled the diary from the drawer. She held it on her lap but refused to open the pages and read of the fear that generations of Von Der Weilde women harbored. Why had they viewed the return of the sorcerer with such anxiety? Did they not have the foresight to understand he wasn’t a loathsome creature? Had they sensed something malignant that she had overlooked? “And still too naïve for her own good.”
Were there still pieces to this puzzle that hadn’t been revealed to her? Maybe she was seeing only black and white--that William was the victim--Dietrick the enemy. “No, Olivia, we were not always opposed to each other.
” They had been so close, so connected. “We rode together, fought together, feasted together, enjoyed together.” She believed William when he said he had refused Dietrick’s advances, but they had both been philanderers. They were both careless men who sought out women, triumphed over them, treating their emotions with recklessness, abandoning children they had conceived for the sake of their freedom. Neither were honorable men. Was she so immature as to think William would remain hers? Once the battle for survival was secured, would he remain loyal to her, or would he abandon her too, having found conquest? Was she merely a means to an end? Worse still, was William prepared to sacrifice her for his own existence?
“His existence is far more important to him than yours. Don’t fall for this pack of lies.”
Olivia dug the heels of each hand into her forehead. “Stop it!” she cried. Too much had passed between them for her to suffer such misgivings. But every time she recalled a precious moment, tender words, each would elude her memory, as though frightened to show truth, because each was hollow, without the truth she believed to be real. Was this the price she paid for separation? Was this the sobering clarity that sought her instead of drunkenness in love? “Oh, William.”
An owl fluttered to the casement of her opened window. A healing serenity washed over every uncertainty. “You are truly a majestic creature,” she whispered, remembering the evening she crept into the ruined turret, the evening she stole the diary from the ownerless chest, the evening the only other beating heart there was his. William had watched her then, as he watched her now.
“My jewel,” he said, transforming from one majestic body to another. “My sins were many but I am your William. I shall always be your William.”
He stood, naked, in front of her. Embarrassment had no significance between them.
Lifting his arms from his sides, he fixated a longing stare on her. “What you see before you is as I am. I hide nothing from you, including truth. What I cannot do is force you to accept what little I have to offer.”
The Sorcerers Mark Page 21
