Marco and the dolphins conversed, and he slowly came to understand that the dolphins had felt when a great evil had been lifted from the world, and the dolphins came to understand that Marco and Mitment had played a part in it. Their journey across the sea became a grand event, accompanied by multiple dolphins who wanted to see and thank the heroes of the distant battle, as they were handed by relay from one pod to another.
After nearly two long, waterlogged weeks, Marco and Mitment were set ashore at midday, on a sandy beach near the shepherdess cottage where Marco had stayed with Albany. Their legs were extremely weak, and it took them all day to walk into the village, so that they arrived at sunset.
Folence was in charge of the island. Marco was recognized, though Mitment was not, and because of his past history, Marco was sullenly but safely escorted to Folence’s residence, once a blanket had been wrapped around him to shield his body from the women.
He and Mitment told their astounding tale to the acting head of the Isle of Ophiuchus, a marathon visit that lasted until midnight. Folence wept several times, and marveled at the unbelievable stories she heard.
They eventually went to sleep in Folence’s residence, and Marco had one memorable dream. “Come to my temple and spend the night Marco. Come see me, please,” Ophiuchus visited him in his bedroom and requested.
When he woke up the next morning, he immediately asked Folence. “I want to go spend the night in the temple at the top of the Isle. The Spirit has called me,” he said.
“You do like to stir the pot, don’t you?” Folence sighed. “Let me send the orders up in advance of your trip, and you can go up after breakfast.” She arranged for clothing and food for Marco, then sent him on his way, walking alone.
Marco took his time climbing the mountainside, ignoring the snubs he received from the women who passed him along the way. He’d traveled the same path before, and he thought of those experiences – the first time when he’d come down with Porenn, and the times he’d gone up with Iasco. He deeply missed the lady; he’d not said goodbye, he’d not understood what was happening when it happened. She’d been the greatest leader he’d ever known, one of the best people he’d ever known, and he wished he could sit and talk with her, and rely on her to explain what had happened, and why.
Traveling at his slow, thoughtful pace, Marco reached the top of the mountain as the sun set. The temple was open and empty; Folence had sent a messenger up to prepare the women at the top for Marco’s arrival, and he was able to enter unimpeded. He closed the door behind him, feeling calm and patient, sad and wise in a fashion. There was nothing for him to do but wait, he knew, wait for the spirit of Ophiuchus to touch him in whatever manner she desired. He sat down with his back against the wall, and thought of Mitment; the guard would not have an easy adjustment to her new life, convincing her former companions that her new, pretty body contained the same spirit that had been such a fearsome fighter. Mitment would prevail though, he was sure. And so Ellersbine’s body would live a long and active life, though her spirit would not.
He hoped that Theophilus had told him the truth, that Ellersbine had been happy with him. He hoped he was ready to return to Mirra, to love her the way she deserved to be loved. She had been kind and gentle, brave and bright and loyal to him. She loved him with all her heart, he felt the certainty of her love suddenly assert itself in his heart. He wanted her to be happy. He knew that she would make him happy, and she would fill the hole in his heart – fill it nearly completely. But he doubted, due to the heavy weight he carried on his heart, that he would be able to do her justice, to show her the devotion that she deserved.
He looked up, and realized that his neck felt stiff. He looked up, still in his sitting position, and saw that the moon was overhead, visible through the oculus. He’d fallen asleep, he realized.
There was a very slight noise, and he looked across the temple to see Ophiuchus standing, studying him as he looked back at her. He pushed himself upright, and by the time he was standing, she was standing next to him. They looked at one another without speaking, the two companions, one mortal, one immortal, the two who had traveled so far and done so much together for a short time, and each saw that the cheeks of the other were wet with tears.
They embraced with love for one another and sorrow for one another. “I wish I could have been there for you and her,” the spirit whispered in Marco’s ear after they each sobbed their pain into the open.
“I wish I could have saved her for you,” Marco answered. “I was so torn, so confused. I miss her so much; I miss them both so much,” he whispered to the spirit.
They pulled apart to stare at each other, then both sat down on the floor of the temple, Marco with his arm around the shoulder of the spirit.
“You made us all so proud, Marco. You did everything we hoped, more than we hoped. You passed every test, even the ones we didn’t foresee, and you were there when Iasco needed you. She was so, so proud of you – you are the son she never had, and you gave meaning to her life in more ways than one,” Ophiuchus comforted him.
“Now you have to go on. Life goes on. You are strong, and experienced, and now wise beyond your years. You have earned the right to go to your home, to your loving wife, to your infant son, and to a happy future,” the spirit said softly.
“Iasco lived most of her life waiting for the chance to do what she did. Her death gave meaning to her life, and she truly feels that way. And you – only you – gave her the means to destroy the incarnation of evil, Marco. She is so thankful to you, and I am so thankful to you.
“Now, my young hero, you must – you absolutely must –get on with your life. Don’t drown in despair and sorrow Marco,” Ophiuchus told him. “It’s spring time; it’s the season to celebrate the return of life and growth, and I want you to do the same. Do you hear me?” she asked in a firm voice, and she seized his chin in her hand, turning his face to look directly at her. “Will you do it?”
“I’ll try, I promise I’ll really try,” he answered his eyes looking into her brilliant blue eyes.
“Don’t try; succeed,” she said firmly. “Oh Marco,” she spoke to him in a motherly voice once again, and she embraced him in a comforting hug, her arm around his shoulders now, him resting his head on her shoulder, making him feel relaxed.
“I love you Marco. I always will. Please know that I will do whatever I can for you,” he heard her say. “There is love all around you, love for you, and love coming from you. You have a big heart, and love is available in an endless supply. Turn it free and go home to love the ones who have waited and worried for so long. Promise me you will.”
“I promise,” Marco mumbled.
“That’s my boy. Promise you’ll come back and visit me someday too. Bring your family to the Isle, and let me meet all the children too,” she smiled as she spoke, and Marco smiled back.
“Now go to sleep. Sleep and rest and heal your heart, for tomorrow you start the last part of your journey home, and I want you to reach there with a smile on your face,” she comforted him. “I’ll be right here with you, so just sleep and find peace.”
And he did. The next thing he knew was the sound of the temple door opening, with sunlight flooding down though the oculus in the ceiling. Ophiuchus was still with him, holding him in a hug, and the girls who opened the door looked in with astonishment at the sight of the spirit hugging Marco to herself.
“Go and call the others here. I want all of you to hear what I have to say,” Ophiuchus commanded the acolytes, who immediately turned silently and ran from the open temple door. She and Marco stood up.
“How is your heart, Marco?” she asked.
“I feel better. I know I can go on. Thank you, my lady,” he told her.
She took his hand and walked with him to the open door, then they stepped out onto porch steps in front, and they watched a dozen women and girls approach cautiously.
“Listen to my words,” Ophiuchus spoke in a voice that had an echoing ring, a command
ing presence unlike the intimate tone she had used with Marco. “This man is my beloved disciple, and he is to be treated with all the respect and courtesy that the high priestess herself should receive.
“Any time he seeks entry to any of my temples around the world, he is to be allowed and treated with all the kindness available. Spread the word through every temple, and let every member of this cult understand. Will you do so?”
“My lady, yes,” a dozen voices answered at once.
“Then all is well,” Ophiuchus answered. “Marco, go and spread happiness, and feel happiness, and come back to visit me again, soon,” the spirit said as she turned and faced Marco. She hugged him tightly and kissed him lovingly, then went back into the temple, and left Marco alone in the sunshine, standing on the steps of the temple, looking down at the awestruck crowd of women below.
Spread happiness and be happy, Ophiuchus had told him. He would do it. It would be moral, and be done morally; it would be done right, and be done rightly. But he would find happiness awaiting him in the world, he knew it now.
He looked at the women, who all were looking at him anxiously, ready to serve him. He felt his stomach loudly growl, empty after a lack of recent meals.
“So what’s for breakfast?” he asked with a smile, as he started down the steps. “I’m famished!”
Epilogue
It was a spring day in the countryside beyond Barcelon, early in the afternoon. Marco was walking afoot, having left the Barcelon temple of Ophiuchus at the crack of dawn. He was eager to reach his home eager to see Mirra and the son that he was told was waiting for him. Marco had arrived at the temple the previous day at noon, sailed comfortably to the city aboard one of the ships that belonged to the isle. He was a hero to the women, after reports of the spirit’s glowing comments about him had been broadcast throughout the village on the island.
He’d climbed down the mountainside and had another long conversation with Mitment and Folence, then sailed away the following day. Upon arrival at Barcelon he’d gone to the temple, and found out from them that Mirra was not at the court of the Duke, so he spent the night in the temple, and finally set out to cover the last miles of his homeward odyssey afoot.
And at last, in the early afternoon, he was at the gates to his estate. He used his sorcery powers to unlock the gate at the drive, and he walked in, then walked down the drive, with trees rapidly budding out all around him and overhead, turning the landscape a lush green that was a promise of life and growth and fertility, and that felt reassuring.
He was ready to see Mirra. He was ready at last, after Ophiuchus’s comforting words, to look forward to the happiness that was ahead, instead of dwelling on the sadness behind. The enchantment and sorcery power that had overwhelmed him and tied him into such close harmony with Ellersbine was a thing of the past.
Mirra would be kind and loving and happy to see him, he was sure, and he would be thankful. And after a week or two of finding his place in the family and on the estate, he could begin to feel like he had a home, that he wasn’t a perpetual nomad. Being beside Mirra would begin to feel comfortable and familiar at last, and he’d go out and look at crops, and visit neighbors, and appear at court, and he would know that the world was safe from the great evil, that the threat of a darkness-powered king with an eternal lifespan of terror was not a threat anymore, and he would be happy.
He rounded the turn in the drive, beyond which the palatial estate home became visible, and Marco smiled at the sight. He walked with a casual stride; after hundreds of miles of travel, he was only a few hundred yards from the door that was at the end of his journey.
He caught the staff unaware, and entered the front hall unnoticed. He heard a maid cleaning in a front room, and he smelled food cooking in the kitchen. After a moment of feeling a hearty happiness and comfort in the hominess of the moment, he turned and went to the tower where the family quarters were.
The stairs were still the same spiral that he considered such a defensible advantage, though he doubted that he’d ever have to defend it. He climbed up two stories, then stopped and listened. There was a muffled voice singing a lullaby.
He followed the voice to a closed door. “Now you go to sleep and enjoy your nap,” he heard Mirra say softly, in a voice that was full of love and devotion. He cautiously opened the door halfway and stepped into the room.
Mirra had her back to him as she placed a baby boy in a crib. There was a mirror on the wall above the crib, and in that mirror Marco could view the expression of pure and sweet love that was on Mirra’s face as she laid her sleeping son down. She held still while hovering over the crib, and then her eyes looked up, and saw Marco in the mirror, Marco who had long hair and was unshaven, and who was covered in dust.
Her expression was a fleeting look of concern, then surprise. Then she realized what she saw in the mirror, and her eyes grew wide and her face turned pale. She spun around, and Marco stepped back into the hall.
But a moment later she was with him, after flying across the nursery. She squeezed her arms around him so tightly he thought his ribs would crack.
“You’re home. You’re home. My nightmares are over! Oh Marco, I have missed you so much. Please promise you’re not going to go anywhere again,” she cried and pleaded.
“I am home, and I am not going to go anywhere again, and I am in love with you,” he told her, crying tears of joy with her. And they walked arm in arm in silence down the hallway, no need for the moment for any words to be exchanged, as they enjoyed becoming a couple again.
The Southern Trail (Book 4) Page 38
