Autumn

by Lisa Ann Brown

  “We watch over the forest. We watch over the trees. We watch over the bodies of water. We protect and we serve the Ondines,” the creature intoned reverently and then disappeared in an instant, blinding, shocking flash of white.

  Arabel and Mireille quickly glanced out the carriage windows. They were amazed to see that all of the floating blue-white spectres had vanished. The silent woods enveloped them.

  For a moment, neither woman spoke. A hushed air of reverence hung within the carriage interior. A wave of beauty washed over Arabel. She felt light, as though she herself were floating. She relaxed and then the somewhat unsettling feeling of recognition she felt over the Ondine’s chant began to once again puzzle her.

  “Had you prior knowledge of these creatures?” Arabel questioned Mireille.

  Mireille hesitated. “I have heard tell of them,” she finally said, “but this is the first time they have granted me an audience. I believe the one who spoke to us is their leader.”

  Arabel nodded. “I feel as though I remember them, perhaps shared kinship with them, from a place inside of me, a place I had forgotten.”

  Arabel said nothing further, as she did not comprehend this half-fragment shard of memory and presently the sound of Mireille’s knitting needles echoed within the carriage as the two women continued on their journey in pondering silence.

  Arabel peered tirelessly through the caravan curtain, as if she expected that the Ondines would magically re-appear, but there was nothing to be seen in the inky darkness despite her relentless vigilance.

  Outside, in the cold autumn air, the forest braced itself. It began to snow.

  A Greater Evil Rises Upon Us

  A quarter of a mile from their destination, the caravan ceased its swaying motion and Arabel and Mireille prepared to walk the last leg of the journey. The snowflakes fell hard in wild, abundant abandon and soon both women were coated in a thorough white dusting, as if they’d been rolled in flour. Ira flew overtop, his black body disappearing against the enveloping darkness as he swooped past them.

  The Gypsy driver unhitched the horses and walked them, moving slowly through the fat flakes a small distance behind Arabel and Mireille. The caravan was left at the end of the road; it would be fetched once the road was clear of mud and snow.

  Their passage was slow; the inky darkness and the relentless curtain of snow hindered their progress. Arabel could hear nothing but the crunch of their footsteps as the ground quickly amassed the frozen precipitation and the trees became covered in a white blanket that glistened and shone slightly eerily under the faint sliver of existing moonlight.

  Arabel heard a wolf howl mournfully in the distance and she shivered. The wolf was in distress; it had lost its mate. Arabel could hear and feel its pain and she was thankful when the rest of the pack joined in with the anguished howling as she knew then that the poor wolf was not alone in its sorrow. The sounds of the cries were somewhat nerve-racking however, and they added to the tension that Arabel was once again uneasily submerged into.

  Arabel sent a quick mental message to Eli; she hoped he was well and she missed him desperately. It seemed as if it had been a long time since they’d shared their magical goodbye at the back gate of her house and celebrated their newly-found love for one another at the Inn. It felt as though their farewell had occurred years ago, but Arabel knew instinctively that such was the sneaky illusion of time and the trials of repeated separation.

  Ahead, several bright orange flames glowed steadily and Arabel was able to view the first outline of the Elders Lodge they were headed toward. She saw that the Lodge was a long cedar log building, completely devoid of windows, with a flat roof and impressively carved double cedar doors. Torches had been placed outside the entrance on either side of the double doors and they glowed welcomingly to the travelers, emitting a friendly orange light.

  Arabel wished she could feel welcome but she just felt cold. She’d had no response from Eli and she did not comprehend his continued silence. Arabel glanced at Mireille. Eli’s mother was deep inside of her own thoughts; her dark eyes were shaded and Arabel sensed that she, as well, had tuned into the nervous energy and was not as confident of the outcome of the tribunal as she would like to appear.

  Ira landed upon Arabel’s shoulder just as they reached the front doors. Mireille turned to Arabel.

  “Remember,” she said gently, placing a hand upon Arabel’s arm, “be honest. Just tell your truth. No one can expect any more than that of you, my dear.”

  Arabel nodded. Her throat was tight and she couldn’t respond verbally. Ira batted her ear with his beak, provoking a weak smile from her. Arabel stroked his feathers softly and prepared herself mentally for what was to come. She suddenly remembered she had lemon water stowed away in her haversack and she quickly took it out and drank heartily. The citrus water helped ease the burn in her throat and center her fluttering pulse.

  Inside the building it was incredibly noisy, especially after the surreal isolation and eerie silence of the forest. The Elders Lodge was filled to capacity with brightly dressed Gypsies and it appeared to Arabel that everyone who could quite possibly attend, had done so.

  Arabel knew the Gypsy folk were gathered expectantly to hear what she had to say in her own defence to their inquiry and it was time to explain herself. Arabel tried to convince herself yet again that she was glad this moment was finally happening. She knew that sometimes, the quicker the resolution, the easier the acceptance and ability to move past the incident.

  Arabel took a deep breath as she and Mireille stamped the snow from their boots, removed their outerwear and hung their capes along with all of the others on the large rack inside of the door. Mireille took hold of Arabel’s hand firmly and led her further into the room.

  The Lodge consisted of a lone room with seven long, carved, cedar wood benches running the length of it. A huge stone fireplace took up the whole of the far back wall and the room was warm but not oppressive with heat. The walls of the Lodge were cedar log and unadorned. Bright candles and torches lent a cheery light to the space but Arabel could tell the mood was at odds with the lighting.

  Everyone seemed to be staring at her. Arabel’s hands fisted involuntarily at her sides and she was grateful for the crow upon her shoulder. Ira proudly, if not somewhat insolently, stood sentry on Arabel’s left shoulder, giving all who dared stare at her the beady-eyed glare of an undaunted and loyal feathered familiar. A hush descended upon the vast room once the Gypsies all became aware that Arabel Spade had entered the Lodge.

  Mireille grasped Arabel’s hand tightly and they moved toward the far end of the room, nearer to the huge stone fireplace. At the head of the middle cedar bench, by the fire, separated slightly from the others, sixteen distinguished looking Gypsies sat. All wore badges of purple somewhere upon their person and Arabel took this to be a symbol of their rank. Arabel sensed they were the Gypsy Elders.

  Arabel was surprised to see Madame de Lorimar sitting with the other Elders, peering at her with a vague sort of recollection from within her dark, sharp eyes. Madame de Lorimar was dressed as usual in a brightly coloured, highly flamboyant sari and matching headdress. Arabel had had no idea that the Madame was an Elder, but she realized it did make sense that the prominent woman should hold a position of power amongst her own people.

  The other council members were strangers to Arabel and from her quick scan she could discern no immediate pattern or symmetry to their energy. The Elders were an oddly assorted group comprised of members of varying ages, genders, and dispositions. Some appeared to be quite young so Arabel construed that the privilege and duty of being an Elder did not refer in any real sense to ones chronological age, but perhaps, rather, to ones level of intuitive ability, accomplishment and overall mastery of Gypsy arts and vast heritage of magic.

  Arabel felt Eli’s warm gaze upon her. She turned around quickly and spotted him sitting a small distance away, flanked by Francesca de Lorimar on one side and his father Baltis on the other. A
rabel could barely breathe.

  Eli’s brown eyes searched Arabel’s and she felt the strong waves of his compassion and reassurance penetrate her senses. Eli moved to stand but Francesca placed a hand warningly upon him and he reluctantly remained seated. Within her mind, Arabel heard Eli’s loving voice advising her to stay strong and reminding her that she was bathed energetically in his love, admiration and protection.

  Arabel sent Eli a message asking why she’d not been able to link with him prior and she saw him shrug. He did not know, but at least they could hear each other now.

  A tall Gypsy dressed elegantly in unrelieved black rose from his seat at the head of the room and everyone present watched him with bated breath. Arabel’s eye was drawn to him immediately. His hair stood out particularly as he had thick, slightly wavy hair of bright silver which was relieved dramatically by a stunning forelock of stark black. The room became silent, pregnant with hushed expectancy as everyone stared at the tall man with the unusual hair.

  “Arabel Spade, thank you for responding to our request for an inquiry,” the distinguished man began and Arabel’s heart pounded wildly within her chest.

  The man motioned for Arabel to be seated on a small cedar stool at the head of the room, a location where she would be both visible and yet separated from the rest of the occupants. Arabel sat down immediately, glad to be off of her nervous legs.

  Mireille moved away to join her son and husband, leaving Arabel alone at the head of the room with all eyes speculatively fastened upon her. Arabel folded her hands in her lap and sat demurely, clearing herself as best she could of any nervousness, twinges of guilt, obstinate regret and her annoyingly overwhelming desire to simply flee the room.

  “I am Xavier Cross,” the tall Gypsy informed Arabel. “I am leader of the Gypsy Council of Elders.”

  Xavier strode closer to Arabel until he was very near and she could see his eyes and he could read hers. Xavier’s eyes were a clear, sky blue and they were filled with a discerning grace that granted Arabel a moment’s pause from anxiety and a glimmer of hope yet for understanding and forgiveness.

  Xavier Cross was a gracious man, as well as a very handsome, virile presence and Arabel was not unaffected by his poise and magnetism. Arabel could tell he was also kind-hearted and had experienced a great sorrow in his life, one he’d yet to release. Arabel could feel the slow roll of his heartbeat and the lingering sadness that kept him locked within a stubborn pattern of self-recrimination.

  Xavier was young to have such uniquely coloured silver hair and he kept it loose to his shoulders. Arabel wondered idly if Xavier’s unrelenting grief was responsible for stealing all but the one dramatic lock of black pigment from his hair, as she tried to concentrate on anything but her fluttering nerves and the reason he now stood imposingly in front of her.

  Xavier peered at Arabel strangely. His eyes captured hers in a moment of intense intimacy. Arabel gasped in surprise; it was as if he could see her thoughts. She struggled to shield herself, putting psychic blocks up within the gates of her mind, but as soon as she built the walls, she saw Xavier’s hands within the dark chambers of her mind, cleverly pulling the stones back down.

  Arabel let the walls tumble. She kept her eyes focused on the tall, enigmatic Gypsy leader and could easily comprehend why he inspired both trust and confidence within his kin.

  Xavier thanked the Gypsies for coming and assured them that all of their questions would be answered during this session. His booming bass carried to all corners of the vast room, easily capturing the already overly-attentive audience. He then returned his focus to Arabel.

  “You have been asked before us so we might be advised as to the account of your acquaintance with Jonty Governs and to comprehend your actions in regard to this man,” Xavier began. “You are aware, no doubt, that Governs is a thief who has been an outlaw since abusing our trust and stealing our gold and livestock?” Xavier paused and looked down at Arabel with his astute, mesmerizing sky eyes.

  Arabel felt riveted by Xavier’s intense gaze and she wondered just how far into her own mind the man could see. Arabel could feel his mental tendrils exploring their way into her mind and she forced herself to allow his meandering plunder. She let her mind go blank.

  “Yes, I am aware that Jonty Governs is a thief and a wanted man,” Arabel replied and she loathed that her voice sounded weak and ineffectual, even to herself.

  Ira, the crow, shifted his feet upon her shoulder and flapped his wings slightly. Arabel knew Ira would protest, and protest loudly, should anger or violence for her actions be directed toward her. Arabel drew courage from the corvid and took a deep breath.

  Xavier nodded at Arabel encouragingly. “Tell us what you know,” he prompted and Arabel began her tale.

  She recounted for the Gypsies how she’d spotted Jonty in the woods and he’d flagged her down, beseeching her for help. As Arabel moved further into the telling of the encounter her voice became firmer and her heart slowed once more to resume its regularly timed beats.

  Arabel suddenly realized, mid-story, that she had exacted a promise from Jonty Governs and tonight she was going to wager everything she had on the collection of his reluctant vow. Why exactly Arabel hadn’t collected on this treasured boon before, she wasn’t entirely certain, but that no longer mattered or was of any relevance to her. Surging now through Arabel instead was the powerful anticipation of being able to make things right, both for herself and for Eli, whom she despised herself for placing in danger in the first place.

  “He swore his innocence in the matter of Klara and never mentioned any knowledge of Indra Northrup,” Arabel informed the gathered crowd, as Xavier continued to probe her mind.

  Arabel continued to allow Xavier access as she knew he would be able to easily see she was telling the truth and that her actions had come from a place of wanting to solve the murders, as opposed to desiring to let a known thief escape justice. Arabel hoped Xavier would comprehend her logic and that she would then be free to set her new plan in motion. Arabel had reached the point in her telling where she’d come to the conclusion that the thief needed to be set free in order to draw out the real killer.

  “It seemed completely obvious to me at the time,” Arabel spoke earnestly, “that if Jonty were free, but still under suspicion of committing the crimes, he would somehow act as bait for the real killer. The murderer would then get sloppy, believing himself to be in the clear; he would consider himself completely unsuspected and hopefully this arrogance would lead to his undoing, and to a fatal mistake.”

  The room was filled with a low, hostile murmuring and intense, avid speculation as the Gypsies weighed in upon her words. Arabel could feel the tension sliding throughout the Lodge. She felt Eli’s support underneath the anger around her and she clung to it gratefully.

  “But someone else got killed instead!” a shrill voice sounded from the back of the room.

  “You might as well have killed that girl yourself!” someone else shouted and Arabel felt real fear enter her heart. The mood was against her and she could feel exultant tendrils of the grey energy swirling around her.

  “I had my crow follow him,” Arabel continued, fighting to be heard over the din. “And I have seen where he’s left his caravan – it’s nowhere I recognize, but perhaps one of you will know the location of the mental images!”

  As the room became increasingly animated, Xavier held up a hand to command silence and he then addressed the crowd.

  “Arabel Spade speaks the truth,” Xavier intoned gravely. “She did not wish to shield or abet this criminal in his unscrupulous behaviour. I have searched her mind thoroughly and it is exceedingly clear that she did not fully understand there would be undesirable consequences to her well-intentioned yet ill-advised actions.”

  A thin woman a few rows away from Eli jumped to her feet furiously.

  “How does not knowing make her actions palatable?” the woman demanded angrily.

  Another woman stood up now as well,
and then two men. All wore disgusted expressions.

  “She needs to pay us back then, for all that was stolen, if she can’t pay us back for letting the thief go!” the second woman demanded.

  “Yes! Retribution!”

  A chorus of assent arose from the adjoining benches and Arabel could feel the burning emotion as the crowd seemed ready to hold her responsible. The grey energy had filled the room and Arabel did not understand that no one seemed to see it but herself. Arabel looked to Eli; his brown eyes were worried.

  “And why did you think setting the thief free would help bring who you say is ‘the real killer’ out of hiding?” one of the men questioned, his voice a sharp blade of annoyance.

  The Gypsies were all now speaking amongst themselves and the room became engorged with their discontent.

  Xavier stood abruptly.

  “Silence!” he admonished the Gypsies sternly. “I have reviewed the images and feel it is safe to relay that Governs currently resides on the far side of Magpie Moor. It appears he is laden down in a caravan with rutted wheels; his is a stranded caravan, apparently, currently stuck in both mud and snow. At this time, I cannot see the thief himself, but we most certainly now have ascertained his hideout.”

  Xavier’s news was greeted by a chorus of Gypsy cheers and vocalizing as to how they could be down at Jonty’s caravan to collect or wait out the wanted man within a matter of hours. The air was ripe with the thirsty desire of revenge. Arabel could see the grey energy, hovering, listening. She looked to Xavier; couldn’t he sense it too?

  “There is something else.”

  The room quieted immediately as Arabel stood.

  “When I released Jonty Governs, as I’ve told you, I had my crow follow him. I also exacted a promise from the thief that when I needed him, he would re-appear. With your permission,” Arabel glanced into Xavier’s sky blue eyes, “I will call for him now.”

  “He’s a thief! He’s not going to come when some slip of a girl calls him! ‘Specially not going to come for some girl he’s already given the heave-ho to!” a sarcastic voice belted out from the back of the room.