by A. L. Duncan
The queen led Talah to a large mirror, gilded in silver and ornate designs with amber and emerald inlays. “This is the Mirror of the Soul. It vanquishes many sorrows by its own wisdom. Though often reflects the truths kept hidden by consciousness. Prudence, compassion, faith. Vindication brought to light, or scorn drowned by guilt. Wherein does the strength of your faith lie, Ban Talah?”
The mists within the mirror rolled and beckoned Talah to draw nearer. Hesitantly, she approached, not certain if she indeed wished to see the depths of her own soul. So many years scarred by burdens of her own irreconcilable choices. What demons would come forth to grasp at her from her dark recesses? What grotesque mask will her dark side wear? A figure appeared, a reflection at first. But, then it stepped out from the veils, from the mirror, to face Talah as she staggered back. Legs weakened such she thought they would go numb. Only a gasp would escape her lips.
“Marion.”
The abbess appeared as beautiful as Talah had last seen her. Her hair was as the waning sun, eyes blue as the faintest star. Talah had been so imbued with her darkest burdens she neglected to envision that which most afflicted her heart. It was a painful pleasure to endure such vision. Tears escaped freely down Talah’s face, her heart withering at the sight. Indeed, the greatest demon of Talah’s soul, a haunting endearment and enchantment bound of the heart so sweetly piercing.
Gently, Marion brushed a hand upon Talah’s moist cheek and spoke with loving urgency. “I have come to warn you, my love. Leave not your heart separate from your soul. Remember your geasa, that which is entwined with your destiny. If you fail, the threads of life shall be broken, and I shall lose you forever. Please listen to me, Talah. Do not be blinded by that which appears a blessed memory.”
As the image withdrew, strands of blonde receded slowly from between Talah’s fingers. She then remembered having a lock of that softness in the small pouch about her belt. As she pulled it out, its form changed into a bracelet. The blonde hair was braided between strands of brown leather and sealed in beeswax to preserve its hold. Stunned, Talah met Marion’s eyes as her features faded back into the folding shrouds.
“Wear it for me, and remember. God go with you, my love.”
Talah struggled with herself from following as the vapors shrouded Marion’s form and dissipated, leaving her to stare blankly at her own features, touching a mirror she could not penetrate. Talah eyed the simple workmanship of the bracelet and ran a thumb over its waxy smoothness, and after a thought, secured it around her wrist. Standing square before the mirror, jaws clenched with resolve, Talah breathed in a deep lungful of air. It was certainly a gift to touch Marion again. Now, more than ever, her determination was absolute. Truly, the mirror of her soul was not some dark demon, but that of faith from the spirit world whose presence only indicated a more connected purpose to the heavens from the side of her that was most human.
THE GREAT THRONE room was once again struck silent as Talah ascended the shallow, marbled stairs, her cloak swaying gently against her leggings. She halted and bowed to the queen. Embracing Liadona’s extended hand between her own two, Talah met her wistful smile.
“I am uncertain I could ever repay such a gift as yours, your majesty.” Talah admitted with sincerity.
Liadona replied courtly, “My dear Talah, there will be other times you will visit us.”
Talah bent down and pressed a tender kiss upon the queen’s hand. “It will be my pleasure.” Stepping over to Elen, the land’s former champion, Talah embraced the warrior. “I feel I’m leaving her majesty in the best hands,” Talah whispered.
Elen drew back and holding Talah at arm’s length, nodded a warm reply.
“Yoo-hoo,” a voice rang out.
Talah twisted about, humored at the giggling young faery, Gwynir, waving to her from the bottom of the steps. Elen led Talah to her and received a Blackwood staff from the dainty fingers. Turning to Talah, Elen extended the staff to Talah, much to Talah’s surprise. “Please accept this, Ban Talah. It could be of use to you in your world.”
Talah was touched. To receive a gift from one warrior to another was truly an honor, and not to be regarded lightly. Talah affectionately placed both hands over Elen’s and smiled with approval. “Only on the condition I return for a rematch.”
To that, Elen beamed with great favor. “Aye.”
The queen addressed Talah. “You came to the Land of Women because there is urgency in your world. Gwynir has volunteered to escort you and your companions to safety. There is a matter of an artifact we send with her that you may put in the Crane Bag. You shall receive it upon her departure. Use it to shield yourself from enchantment’s harm.”
Perhaps this artifact would have proven useful earlier, mused Talah, to have shielded herself from the lustful enchantments of a queen, however beautifully so.
“I bid you safe journey, Ban Talah,” Liadona concluded in a softened tone. “And may all our blessings here and those of the Ancients go with you. You shall be greatly missed.”
The two women gazed into each other’s eyes one last time. For all her stateliness, Liadona could not contain the small pang of sadness, which escaped ever so lightly across her beautiful face. It was, for Talah, another deep secret shared.
Gwynir leaned over and whispered into Talah’s ear. “Shall we?”
Talah nodded regretfully after a pause.
A flash of light pierced the air softly and gradually bathed her, fading from sight the world of the Land of Women. In another moment, the dim-lit cavern of the dragons’ lair again surrounded her. Heat arose upon her flesh from the nearby hearth sending a slight shiver through her torso. Her companions stood aghast at the silence and disappearance of the dragons that were present just a moment before.
“Where’d they go?” asked Brodie.
Talah threw a quizzical glance about her. “How long have you been standing here?”
“Same as you,” Mac said.
Danann eyed Talah and the stranger curiously. “I don’t think so.”
Talah bent an ear to Gwynir’s explanation. “Your departure and return were merely a blink of an eye for your companions,” whispered the faery. “Remember, Ban Talah, there is no such creature as time in the Otherworld.”
The faery’s giggles caught Brodie’s attention. “Hey, where did you come from?”
“This is Gwynir,” Talah introduced. “She will be traveling with us.”
Danann stepped up to Talah and eyed her closely. “How long were you gone?”
Talah shrugged. “Obviously, not as long as I thought.” She met Danann’s questioning brow and started to depart. “Gather yourselves. We’ve got to get back to the ship.”
Danann spied Talah’s newly acquired Crane Bag and Blackwood staff. “Nice staff.”
As the group turned to depart, Gwynir fluttered up to Brodie and smiled brightly in his face. “Oh,” she gasped with excitement. “You’re cute!”
Brodie laughed. “I thought faeries were little people.”
Gwynir suddenly sparked like a firefly and instantly shrank to a three-inch figure. “I can be any size I wish.”
Mac frowned at Brodie. “You had to say it, didn’t you?”
“Ooh!” Gwynir breathed with elation. Zipping over to Mac she pursed her lips and grabbed hold his wooly red whiskers with both hands, tugging ecstatically. “Oh, I love fuzzy faces!”
In a flash, she whirled away leaving Mac to grunt at her sprightliness. “I can’t believe we came for this.”
“I think she’s cute,” Brodie admitted.
Talah turned about and pulled at Mac’s beard playfully. “Come on, fuzzy face.”
Talah led the band out of the caverns and toward the light of day, which filtered into the entrance through the cold vapors evaporating into veils of steam from the cavern’s heat. Their figures, one by one, dissolved into the enveloping mists only to reappear outside the frozen waterfall.
“Where did you go?” Danann asked Talah.
Talah eyed the amusement of Gwynir’s childlike innocence as she bent down to sniff at a tiny purple bloom, frozen and nipped with frost sparkles. The faery pouted when it trickled to pieces, then flew on ahead of them, agog at all the new territory.
“It’s a long story.”
Whirling with arms outstretched, Gwynir took in the winterscape with glee. “So, this is what your world is like. It’s so white.” She stopped in mid-flight and held a thought. Just as quickly, the thought was shrugged away. She swooned at the size of the waterfall and fluttered up its frozen face. “Ooh, look at you.” She drew near and sniffed. She then made a face and attempted to lick the ice. Eyes wide, she squealed and struggled to pull her tongue free. Finally, she stripped herself of the ice, giggling and raking her teeth over the frozen tip before flying off to meet up with the others.
Talah watched the faery fly ahead. “It’ll be dark soon,” Talah said, wincing at the bitter nip of wind. “We should reach the ship by then.”
“That’ll be a good fortune, considering the sweat from the lair is now frozen on my forehead.” Brodie said with a shiver.
A rumbling quake soon shook them nearly off their feet. Talah twisted about and eyed the waterfall as it cracked and disintegrated under the heavy footfalls of a monstrous, three-headed white dragon. The dragon’s heads twisted and ranted about furiously as it looked down upon its prey from atop the cliff edge.
“Ooh,” purred Gwynir. “I thought I smelled greed.”
“Great Mother of God!” Moya shouted.
“This wouldn’t be the Cardinal’s magic you were telling us about, would it?” asked Brodie.
Danann’s eyes fell to tiny slits as she grabbed hold of Brodie’s cloak and tugged his paralyzed body to follow. “I knew this place was too quiet.”
Talah gripped tightly the Blackwood staff and clenched her teeth, sensing an inevitable attack. “Run!”
“That means you faery.” Mac growled, back peddling. He clamped a massive hand around Gwynir’s skinny little arm and snatched her from her floating stance.
“Whoo-o!”
Talah stayed behind to ensure all had made their way until she was forced to turn and flee giant talons swooping down and crashing upon the frozen embankment of the stream, cracking the ice and piercing trunks of nearby trees. The dragon’s wings were relatively small compared to its loftiness and mass. The only efficient way to subdue its catch was to tromp through the wasteland. Plundering through dunes of snow and over rock, it closed in on Talah.
Talah led the dragon away from the party, and gasped to spy a claw sweeping down upon her. Talah unsheathed her sword and quickly dove into the snow, rolling on her back and swiping into the air, taking a sizeable chunk of dragon talon. The dragon drew back, all three heads seething and writhing about in ferocious anger. Its shoulders squared, the three heads rested their glares upon the small creature lying before it with blade at the ready.
All at once, their gilled jaws opened wide and necks thrust forward, spitting a venomous blue fire toward Talah’s startled form. Before the lightning speed of the frost-fire could engulf her, Gwynir had flown above Talah, the frost recoiling off her shielded wings. In an instant, the faery was gone. In another, Talah was staring into the nostril of the dragon’s middle head. A great noise was made as it sniffed Talah’s figure then blew out a snort of disgust as the other heads eyed the faery fluttering about.
“Yoo-hoo,” Gwynir called, waving happily at the beast.
Raising its heads it called out in wrathful agitation. Talah was left to stagger onto her feet. Twisting about, she found that the Crane Bag was no longer in her possession.
Gwynir had taken the Bag.
This creature of enchantment was obviously not after any human in particular, it was after the Bag itself. This is certainly the Cardinal’s doing, Talah mused. Through the gale winds Talah heard Gwynir’s whistle and caught the faery motioning for her to make a swift retreat up the ridge with Danann and the others. Danann too urged Talah to come. Hesitant at first, Talah put faith in Gwynir and finally raced up the slope to meet her anxious companions. There, an assembled mass of Norman mercenaries were tucked in wait among the boulders. From the snow-covered rocks they emerged, storming in a deluge upon the small handful of Talah’s band.
Talah and her companions saw them at once and held their breath at the great number of mail-coated iron rushing toward them with gleaming swords, forged axes and spears.
“That’s at least ten to one.” Brodie shrieked. “Where did they come from?”
Mac roared with wild-eyed excitement. “A-a-a-h! I’ve been waiting for a good battle!”
“Well, I don’t think they’re here to invite us to sup,” Moya exclaimed, meeting the first combatant with clashing swords.
Talah placed a hand atop her pillar-stone pendant, and as she closed her eyes with a stilled breath, the pendant transformed into the white armor mantle across her shoulders. She unsheathed her sword and shoved it into Danann’s free hand. “Take this,” she urged, to Danann’s surprise. “And draw them down into the ravine. I’ve an intention.”
The wind intensely hampered the throwing of spears, so the mercenaries had to charge with their long shafts. This slowed them down enough for Talah to make easy prey by using the Blackwood staff with swift reply. Each of Talah’s warriors struck with equal precision, falling just as many with their left hand as their right.
Mac used his berserker skills of furious rampaging and chewing on handfuls of snow, so that it would drip onto his scraggly beard. This gave him the appearance of one who was rabid; many turned and ran from fright. The band defended themselves with sword and dagger, dealing blows and sweeps to lodge through the ribs of this one and the neck of that one. Moya retracted from an axe barely missing her midriff before backhanding a clean cut across her adversary’s throat.
Talah and group succeeded in drawing the Normans out into the ravine. However, it was soon apparent they were heavily outnumbered as many more Normans appeared from the fog-laden slopes. Talah had cut the last man down near them and exhaled with expectancy at the horde of others.
Breathlessly, she ordered, “Go, all of you! To the edge of the forest. Wait for me there.”
Mac grabbed hold of Talah’s shoulder and forced her about to face him. “Are you mad, lass?” he raged. “You can’t take them all on.”
Danann reached out to Mac reassuringly. “Let her go, Mac. I think I know what she intends to do.”
Gwynir, in the meantime, had playfully worn down the might of the dragon. It would only irritably now and again swipe or spit frost-fire from one of its wearisome heads. Gwynir suddenly heard Talah call after her and feigned a pout.
The dragon shrieked an outcry. Refreshed with burning fury, it stalked the fleeing faery with flushed vigor. On either side, Normans stormed the gully, white dragon as their standard, toward the lone warrior armed with only a staff.
Her eyes pierced with determination, Ban Talah awaited the decisive moment. Then, with staff lifted high in the air, she let out a cry and plunged the staff deep into the snow. A thunderous convulsion echoed overhead and struck the staff as a bolt of lightning, rendering the earth asunder before her. A great chasm erupted as the Normans and their mighty dragon plummeted into the foundering avalanche of snow and mountain, their horrified cries wailing deep into a descent unknown even to Talah.
Only the sound of drifting winds echoed over the gaping furrow as Talah reflected the moment of such a tortured death. An eerie fear gripped her before turning on her heel to join her companions. Struggling up the summit to the nave of the forest she felt fatigued, knowing that one summoning was enough to deliver her into the same weakness others had fallen ill to. Danann rushed up to Talah’s flagging form and put an arm about her waist.
“Come sit down,” Danann urged.
“I’m fine,” Talah insisted. “I just need to catch my breath.”
Moya sat down on a fallen log beside Talah and eyed her with uneasiness. “
You shouldn’t have done it, Talah. It took too much out of you.” Talah rested her head in her hands and did not comment.
Danann sheathed Talah’s sword for her. “She wasn’t given much of a choice, Moya,” she disputed. “We’d all be dead if she hadn’t of done it.”
“We’re not safe just yet,” Mac announced.
Talah lifted her head to spy Brodie staring down into the canyon-like ravine Talah had created, noticing other Normans approaching from the summit side. “Where are the bastards coming from?”
Danann lifted Talah to her feet. “We must hurry. We are closely pressed.”
An arrow struck a tree inches from Brodie’s head. “Archers!”
Everyone drew back into the woods for a better defensive posture. Folds of dense fog layered the lower thickets in patches making it easier to ambush an approaching Norman from behind a tree. Talah fought alongside as best she could, the blade Lisula reddened with English blood. She stumbled and searched out the faery.
Talah had just struck and pulled the tip of her blade from an adversary’s gut when she heard her name cried out. Twisting about, she caught sight of an arrow tip streaming for her. In a flash, Gwynir swooped before her, the arrow thrust through her chest.
Talah gasped. “Gwynir.”
The delicate-skinned faery fell limp into the warrior’s arms. Mournfully, Talah laid the small woman upon the misty carpet, her head resting upon a moss-covered stone. Talah’s heart sank to believe this innocent being should be so cruelly cut down. Tears swelled in Talah’s dark eyes seeing the spark in Gwynir’s grow dim.
A pale hand reached out to touch Talah’s face. “It is an honor to die for you, Ban Talah.”
“Sh-h-h,” Talah whispered, taking the little hand in hers. “We’re going to get you out of here, lass.”
A faint smile rested upon the thin lips and a voiceless no issued from her mouth. “This is where I must depart.”
“You’re going to be just fine...”
