by JK Ensley
“Why?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try harder.”
“I don’t… It was the storm.”
“What happened? Why were you out in the storm?”
“The wind blew open the stable doors… I heard a voice.”
That realization snapped her eyes open. Jenevier reflexively sat up. Their noses were nearly touching. His smile widened. His large gray eyes danced with the flickering lamplight. They looked so out of place paired with the reddish tones in his wavy hair, but his dark skin made them pop. Two sparkling stars in the evening sky. She couldn’t look away.
“Very good, Jenevier.” His voice was calm, gentle.
They were so close she could smell his sweet breath. The warmth of it upon her face made her whole body tingle.
He continued to speak without moving away. “What’s the next thing you remember?”
He moved his hands to cover hers. She realized hers were trembling. That caused her to blush again, but she didn’t retreat.
Why is it I chose to live out here, far away from all human contact?
Dante gently put his hand on the back of her head, drawing her even closer, slowly closing the couple of inches that still separated them.
“Ouch!” She gasped, wincing from the sudden pain.
Now she remembered why she preferred solitude… it was the pain. Humans always found a way to cause pain.
“Apologies, I completely forgot about your bump.”
Jenevier pulled back from his touch, leaning once again upon Raven.
“You,” she whispered.
“Me?”
“You were the next thing I remember. I woke up over there.” She pointed to the old leather lounge. “And when I opened the door… there you were. But I thought it was only a dream.”
“Who? Me?” His smile beamed, wickedness now flashing in those enchanting gray eyes. “Yes, fair maiden. Most women claim me to be but a dream.”
Jenevier stared at him for a moment, trying to maintain control. But she could no longer contain her laughter. It started out as a muffled giggle before turning into a soft laugh.
“What?” Dante exclaimed, feigning innocence.
“I am positively certain they do, kind sir. Yet, most men wouldn’t dare such a boast.”
“You do not think me a dream?” He pretended to pout.
Jenevier put her hand to the painful wound on the back of her head. “More like a nightmare.”
“I apologized for that,” he whispered.
“Yes, you did. Yet your apology erased not the pain.”
He moved closer. “Shall I try again?”
She put her arm up, blocking his advance. “Gratitude, Dante. But… I am weary.”
Jenevier tried to stand, but he was still too close for her to move. He waited a brief moment, let out a sigh, and then backed away.
She slipped her sock back on, kicked off her other boot, and began spreading the extra blankets on the floor of Raven’s stall.
“You’re not going back to your house? I’ll help you. The storm has nearly died away.”
She nodded towards Raven. “No. I’m staying here until he wakes. You’re welcome to stay if you wish. You have done me a great service and I want to repay the favor properly.” She pointed to the couch in the hallway. “It’s not a feather bed. But it sleeps better than the floor.”
“Then you should sleep there, Milady.”
“I want to be near him. If I’m by his side, perhaps he won’t be too frightened when he wakes.”
“I would not advise sleeping here. When he does wake, he may be groggy from the medicine and accidentally step on you.” He raised one eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. “It would pain me to see further injury to such a lovely maid.”
She could tell he was enjoying teasing her, and she almost liked the playful repartee he was instigating. She wasn’t used to a two sided conversation. She liked it.
“You may be correct, good doctor. But we cannot both fit upon the lounge. There simply isn’t enough room.”
She saw the wicked glint in his eye and could no longer suppress her giggles. Jenevier knew he was playing. But the suggestive look now painted upon his handsome face gave her that light-headed twisty-tummy feeling.
She placed her fists on her hips. “Like I said, we both can’t sleep there. There’s only room enough for one.”
His smile only widened. “Then we’ll just have to double up.”
“You would continue to tease an injured woman?”
He chuckled. “It was but jest. I’ll not sleep this night. I will sit up with your stallion. And… I’ll keep a close eye on you as well, fair lady. You do have a head injury, after all.”
“But you’re not a healer. Not a people doctor.”
“Perhaps I’ll get some practice tonight.” He winked playfully.
Jenevier only smiled again and headed for the lounge. She was too exhausted to play anymore. As she walked by Dante he grabbed her arm.
“Let me check you once more.” He gently put his fingers within her still damp hair, carefully examining her lump. “Hmm, the swelling hasn’t receded much. But the bleeding has stopped.”
She stood still, nearly swaying. His tender touch made her almost forget the pain. Dante brushed her long hair back. Her breath hitched. He tugged slightly on her shirt sleeve, gently pulling the neck down so he could lightly kiss her bared shoulder.
“Get some rest, Milady. I will not leave you.” His voice grew ever softer. “I have only just found you.”
That sweet little kiss, paired with his warm breath tickling her ear as he whispered his instructions, caused a shiver to run up her spine. He noticed. She feared he would.
They remained frozen in that time-stopping magical moment, unable to separate. Neither was willing to break the closeness or the tension between them.
“You really do need to try and get some rest, my dear.”
She turned slightly towards his voice just as he moved to kiss her cheek, causing his lips to barely touch the outside corner of her mouth. A tiny gasp escaped her, unintentionally. He had turned to walk away, but the thrilling little noise was enough to stop him in his tracks. He seized her arms, pulling her close against his bared chest. Their twin heartbeats drummed in her ears. She melted… they melted together.
“Is there anything else you wish of me?” His voice was now raspy, labored with growing desire.
She couldn’t speak. Her mind swirled with all the things she wanted to say but never would. There was a strange, almost magical pull between them. It was equal parts haunting and thrilling. It was obvious something larger than the two of them was at play here. And neither wished to deny this rare enchantment.
“Did you cast a spell upon me?” Her words were shaky, but honest.
Dante bent down and lightly kiss her neck, tracing the tip of his sharp nose up to her ear. “I was about to ask you the same thing, Milady. What magic do you claim? How is it you are so different from the rest?”
His words sent an unsettling tremor through her soul, it rocked her core. “Different? Who do you compare me to?”
“Get some rest,” he whispered again.
He held her a moment more before giving her a quick peck on the side of her head, then left to get the other blankets.
Jenevier felt faint. She lay down on the couch, pulling the cover up to her neck as she curled into a ball.
She could still feel his deliciously warm breath on her ear, his soft lips tingling against her pale flesh. She was smiling as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
Chapter 4
Marlise
(marr-LEESE)
Marlise Rendola was a healer. Some feared her gift and named her witch. But even those naysayers came to her by cover of night seeking her amazing herbal remedies and alluring little potions. Marlise had a cure for nearly every ailment known to man, except The Quickening.
She kept meticulous records of exact ingredients—w
hen to harvest them for best results, at what temperature to properly preserve them, and all the different uses she had discovered for each new concoction she developed.
Marlise had hoped her only niece would one day follow in her footsteps, take up the family’s gift of healing. She had all but insisted Jenevier come to Tamar Broden that final summer. Now that she was here, Marlise had fervently impressed upon the girl the importance of her work. She taught her how to properly heat the base ingredients and then how to precisely measure out the remaining ones—slowly adding them, continually stirring.
“Never let it sit. It’ll turn bitter and foul,” she warned.
Jenevier heeded her every word, for she beheld her aunt with supreme awe and respect.
Jenevier’s mother, Alethia, was Marlise’s baby sister. Alethia was beautiful, fair, and free spirited. She never cared much for the family gift. She simply didn’t have the patience for it. Alethia much preferred spending the days of her youth reading or sitting at the feet of the old storytellers and ancient record keepers. She was blessed with a spectacular imagination coupled with a melodious, mesmerizing voice.
When she was old enough, Alethia began traveling with a band of storytellers from town to town, learning and perfecting their trade. While traveling through the small village of Moorglen, Alethia met and fell madly in love with the town Steward’s son, Ociel. He was completely entranced by her beauty and her voice. From the moment their eyes first met, they were inseparable. Alethia remained in Moorglen with Ociel, and soon they were happily married. She bore him but one child, Jenevier.
Since her adoring parents traveled with the storytellers so much, Marlise’s tiny house and garden always seemed more like home. Jenevier loved her truly. It proved difficult for her to concentrate on her studies. Her mind was constantly on the fact her beloved aunt was dying, and soon, by the look of things. She would take the ailing woman’s precious journals to bed with her, intending to study. But most nights, she just softly cried herself to sleep.
Marlise would slip into the maiden’s room, light candles, sprinkle warding powders around her bed, and chant protective prayers over the sleeping girl. The older woman was a bit of a clairvoyant. And when she looked at Jenevier, she saw a blindingly beautiful light slowly being crushed by darkness. It worried her, preyed upon her ease.
From the first moment Marlise held Jenevier in her arms as a babe, she had claimed the child to be the purest soul born to walk this land since the ancient times. Now, she could see that same dazzling glow lessening. This strange darkness was encompassing her angelic niece, encircling her rare aura. And it was this eager darkness, above all things, which tormented Marlise the most. She wasn’t sure what the visions meant, but she knew something dire was going to happen in the young girl’s life. She also knew her own time was marked, shortened by The Quickening. She knew she wouldn’t be there to help at the very moment Jenevier would need her the most. So this exceptional healer secretly used a bit of forbidden magic. Just a touch, mind you. Only enough to ensure the maiden some small measure of peace. A bit of magical help she could obtain in the future… were the child to prove herself strong enough.
Jezreel came for many visits that summer. Mostly, she missed Jenevier. But Jezreel also looked up to her friend’s gentle aunt, placed her upon a pedestal in her mind. She wanted to be just like her one day.
Jezreel’s own family wasn’t blessed with the same healing talent in their bloodline. Yet, she proved to be an excellent student. Marlise often commented on how talented she was at mixing the potions precisely.
“Two healers working together are far stronger than ten healers working alone,” she would say.
The girls seemed to each know exactly what the other was thinking. They worked as well together as if they shared the same mind.
Marlise would smile and tell them how their futures were hopelessly entangled. “No two people of different blood are as connected as you girls. Your destinies are as entwined as your whispers and giggles. Hold true to one another. For I should say, one shall fall or stand by the grace of the other.”
Jezreel was nearly as heartbroken as Jenevier when Marlise’s last bloody tear trickled down her pale, sunken cheek. The sad day her spirit was finally released from the plagued body imprisoning it.
*****
Jenevier literally felt her heart tear—a gaping wound that would never fully heal. Her mind swayed as the world around her slipped from its axis. Stability and certainty were now things of the past. Today… Jenevier first experienced the pain of death, the debilitating pain of epic loss. All she could do to release the wretched ache fast filling her chest was to scream.
Jezreel came running. When she made it into the room she froze—trembling, shocked. They had known the day was inevitably approaching. Yet, who can properly prepare for such a thing? She wrapped her arms around Jenevier. And together, all alone in that tiny cottage, they wept the bitter tears of agonizing loss.
When Jezreel left to inform the caretaker, Jenevier lovingly washed her aunt’s frail body. She softly hummed a poignant tune as she tenderly dressed Marlise in a long flowing gown lavishly decorated with hundreds of tiny beads. Jenevier had sewn on each one herself and had only finished it at the end of last week. This dress… it captured the very essence of her gentle aunt’s nature-loving personality.
She delicately removed the ornate golden key Marlise always wore about her neck. It was to the lock upon her wooden chest wherein she kept all things dear to her. Jenevier slipped it on. She looked down upon the still woman and smiled lovingly, then walked outside to cry alone. Her heart was shattering. Never had she felt so tiny.
When Jezreel and the caretaker returned, they found Marlise’s body bathed and clothed.
The ushers gently placed her on a pink satin covered board. The burial board had golden rings mounted on each corner into which the ushers slid ornately carved golden rods, one on each side. Placing the rods upon their shoulders, they prepared to carry Marlise’s frail remains to the village burial grounds.
“We’ll be waiting outside when you’re ready.” The caretaker solemnly bowed before he exited.
Jezreel found her dear friend on the back lawn. “It’s time.”
She took Jenevier’s trembling hand and they leaned upon each other for support.
The Mourning Call was sent out. The low, hollow bells began to toll just as the girls had finished dressing. They each donned a long black dress with matching veil, completely covering their tear-stained faces and golden hair.
The custom of the after-death celebration in Tamar Broden was a beautiful tribute to the life of a fallen friend. Solemn time and thought would now be spent on the dearly departed. Later, the entire evening would be spent celebrating the life and deeds of the lost loved one. Tears would be shed now, yes. But the village would soon be filled with laughter, stories, and songs. All dedicated to memorializing the sacred gift of life.
When the Mourning Call went out, a somber silence fell over the village. A lone herald slowly walked the streets, proclaiming the sorrowful news. The bells tolled their bereaving lament… and the woeful procession began.
When Jenevier stepped over her threshold, the ushers started to move, slowly making their way down the cobbled streets. As each house was passed, the villagers filed out behind her, respectfully joining the mournful parade.
The ancient bells continued to echo their chilling tones across the hills until the entire party had reached the grassy little knoll. Here, under a flowering wisteria tree, Marlise would be ceremoniously interred.
A reverent prayer was sent up and a blessing was given. The burial board was placed on a marble pedestal before the weary mourners and beautiful pink lace was draped across Marlise’s body.
Jenevier stood behind the laden pedestal, facing each mourner as they passed by to pay their deepest respects.
As was the custom, flowers had been gathered by the children and handed out amongst the mourners during the procession. No
w, all who passed by sprinkled the petals upon her cold form, imparting their own blessing to aid her journey in rejoining her loved ones in the Otherworld.
When the last mourner had uttered their heartfelt condolences, Jenevier and Jezreel returned to the lonely little cottage.
The women of the village hurriedly began preparing for the feast that would end this evening’s traditional ceremonies. The young men silently strung lanterns in the trees while the children gathered decorations and the many flowers needed for tonight’s healing gala. Only the grieving family, only Jenevier and Jezreel were not expected to participate in the arrangements for the celebration that would soon be underway. Everyone else turned out to help in any way they could. The glowing lanterns and handmade decorations soon turned the center of Tamar Broden into a magical dreamland—a hallowed spot in which happiness would reign and sadness could never take hold. It was a truly enchanting place to celebrate life.
*****
“My mind is numb, Jezreel,” Jenevier whispered. “All my strength has been drained. I am hollow to my very core. I wish to go soak for a while. Silence my trembling heart. There I will remain until I can find some peace.”
“I’ll go get you some rosewater,” Jezreel said. “It’ll help soothe your weary soul.”
When Jenevier entered their bathhouse, she was delighted to find that one of the kind villagers had already drawn her bath and heated the water. It was still steaming. She let her dress fall to the floor, crumple around her ankles. She just stood there, staring blindly at the rising white vapors.
What am I to do now? How does life go on from here? I know not. Do I wake tomorrow the same as I did this morning? Do I still eat breakfast the same as normal? And tea… what of tea? Will I still drink my tea as the sun rises? How? How can I? How does life just keep going on like nothing happened?
She swayed slightly before numbly stepping into the luxurious warmth.
Jezreel entered, carrying the delicate little jar of fresh rosewater. “Marlise’s special blend.” She smiled kindly at her shattered friend as she generously poured it into the warm water and turned to go.
