Chapter 12 The Fae Live Amongst Us
It had been three days since Brun left and Lizzie’s anxiety was reaching cataclysmic levels. He had not called or even written a puny message to her. Where did he go? What in the bloody hell was he doing?
What if he had gone to visit his lover in Edinburgh?
That thought had crossed her mind repeatedly in the past three days and rather than soothe her into bitter acceptance, it only made her frustration at his radio silence grow, as if she had any possibility of competing with whatever woman a man like Brun was used to date. She should know better: a woman like her would be at the bottom of the pecking order in Brun’s choice of sexual partners.
That man could pick a woman from a catalogue if he wished!
Please wait for me. There is much we need to talk about.
Why did he write that? Was it just out of politeness? Maybe Vivian was right and he just wanted to apologise for almost…
He should apologise for leaving me like he did!
Like Finn did.
God, it had taken her a long time to get over what Finn had done. She could not go through that kind of heartbreak again.
She ought to take matters into her own hands and just call him. Clear everything and be done with that agony. She reached for her mobile and her finger hovered above the tiny icon beside Brun’s name.
What am I even going to say? I’m sorry for grappling under your kilt?
She groaned with embarrassment and closed her eyes, allowing the coolness of the afternoon breeze to caress her face. It would be lovely if it could help her forget the events of the Lammas’ Fair night.
It had rained for the past two days without a pause but now the sun was back again and Lizzie had almost literally ran outside. She grabbed a blanket and a book and came down to the loch for a bit of fresh air. Her family and Vivian had left Glennloch on the day before, and she could finally enjoy a bit of peace and quiet without her mother planning shopping trips or her grandmother plotting ways for her to get engaged and married within the year.
Lizzie inhaled the briny air of the loch. It was so soothing…
It was odd how now she could tell apart the different scents in the air and even identify the isolated sounds in the myriad of noises in the meadow. She did not know the local birds as well as Mr Clisham did, but after three weeks in Glennloch she could distinguish their several little songs. She had never lived somewhere so close to nature before, perhaps that was why her senses were so sharp.
With her eyes still closed, Lizzie focussed on the soft swish of the loch’s waters lapping the rocky shore. It was easy to understand why people found places like these mystical: they were so different from modern cities with the constant noise of cars and crowds of people everywhere, that one could not help imagining magical creatures wandering in the surroundings.
She could nearly see a long line of beings from another world, who look human but were not, dressed in long glittery gowns and tunics, bearing golden bows and swords.
It was a world not dissimilar to her own, but where magic was real and present everywhere, a world of crystalline rivers and silver forests, and legendary creatures.
They were fleeing from a dark creature who wanted to consume their world…
Coldness filled her chest. Suddenly she felt so tired. And hopeless… Maybe she could just sleep a little…
“Lizzie!”
Her eyes snapped open and she let out a yelp of fright.
Brun was kneeling on the edge of her blanket, holding her by the arms, an expression of alarm on his unshaved face. His blue eyes were shadowed and studying her with focussed attention, as if he were trying to extract some meaning from her face.
“You came back!” she whispered, hating the need seeping into her voice. At least she had kept some dignity and had not flung herself into his arms like a lovesick teenager.
His gaze softened, “Of course I came back, I told you I would only be away for a couple of days. Did you not get my note?” then his gaze scanned her from head to toe, “Are you all right?”
Lizzie wanted to say that she was a mess of embarrassment and sexual frustration since the night of the Fair but reckoning that she would not be able to cope with his pity and would most likely burst into tears, she simply nodded, swallowing a sob.
“Yes, of course, I was just lost in thought,” then she pushed her glasses back in a bid to recover her composure, “You said there was something we had to talk about when you returned?”
WhenBrun spotted Lizzie sitting by the loch shore staring into nothing, he understood that he could not have delayed even one more day. He had found her on instinct alone, attracted by the raw magic she was now summoning unconsciously, as naturally as drawing breath.
Although she was using her everyday jeans and T-shirt combination, her hair was unusually unbound. In addition to that, there was something different about her skin, as if it had acquired an unnatural glow, a glow which he had not seen in more than two hundred years.
Brun swallowed hard and trained his eyes on her face.
“Yes, that is right,” he was unsure on how to start. There was a lot for her to take in and he had no idea how she was going to react. He had never believed he would one day need to have that conversation, “Lizzie,” he exhaled, “there are many things about me you do not know and frankly I thought I would never have to tell you. I was certainly that all of this would die with me.”
She blinked at him, straightening her back and pushing her infuriating glasses over her nose.
There were many ways to ease her into the truth, but he thought them all to be foolish. A direct approach would be best.
After taking a deep breath, he blurted out.
“I am a five hundred year-old Fae.”
Forthe past three days Lizzie had pictured every possible scenario in her head.She had imagined him saying that he was married or that he was not interested in women (although after what happened between them, even if he was not interested in her, she would certainly dispute an assertion like that).
She definitely had not predicted those extraordinary words.
“What?” she cried, staring at him in disbelief.
“Well, strictly speaking I am a Changeling, not a full-blooded Fae,” he bobbed his head, “but still five hundred years old. I was taken from my family as a baby and made immortal by magic.”
Lizzie stared at him for a long time and then glanced around, alarmed. Brun was speaking incoherent things and there was not a soul nearby. She sniffed the air between them, but she could not smell any alcohol. Was he on drugs?
What if he turned violent? Would he attack her?
Kill her?
He must have seen the panic on her face because he moved back a little, keeping his hands where she could see.
“I am not mad, Lizzie,” he sighed and then added, “And I would never hurt you, I swear it,” slowly he brought his hand to his chest meaningfully, “Please, I need you to hear me out because your life could be in danger.”
Reckoning that it did not look like he was about to chop her into tiny pieces and feed the loch’s fish just yet, Lizzie nodded slowly. Staying on the safe side, she discreetly reached for her mobile, getting ready to press the emergency services’ icon.
“The Fae are beings of magic who lived in another world beyond ours, called The Otherworld. Just as it is told in the old fairy tales, they are graced with everlasting youth and health and can live for thousands of years. Their race is split into two castes: the Enchanters, who need nothing other than their voice to weave spells to create, and the Conjurers, who can summon magic using potions and amulets, but had only the power to transform. The former are far more powerful than the latter, and because of that they are the ruling caste – equivalent to humans’ nobility, so to speak.”
He paused and not knowing what else to do, Lizzie simply blinked at him still frozen in place.
“A long time ago a Conjurer whose name remains a mystery became obsessed with having as much power as the Enchanters and devised a way to steal their magic. He created a complex dark enchantment that would place his victim under an irreversible trance, rendering them defenceless while he drained away their very life essence, thereupon gaining access to their magic. Because the victim would fall into a deadly sleep which could last for several days, this Conjurer became known as the Dreams Thief.”
“For an age Enchanters and Conjurers fought this faceless enemy. Albeit living for millennia, Fae procreated quite sparsely, with sometimes decades passing before a child was born, thus their numbers began to dwindle. Powerless to fight the monster, Enchanters opened a magical gateway to the human world, hoping to escape him. Unfortunately, the Dreams Thief was quick to discover the manoeuvre and followed the Fae here, continuing to hunt the Enchanters.”
Lizzie gaped at Brun in astonishment. He narrated his delusions with the certainty of a scientist explaining a research breakthrough. That was not an act: he was truly convinced it was all real.
“In a bid to protect the last of their race, Conjurers began to abduct human children and raise them as their own, bonding them to magic objects such as this,” Brun stretched his hand, displaying an ancient-looking silver ring inlaid with a light gray stone. It was a tacky piece of jewellery and Lizzie frowned, surprised that she had never noticed it before, since it was rather incompatible with Brun’s style.
“So you are saying that the Fae made slaves of these human children?” she asked slowly, astonished by the level of detail in his narrative. He probably had spent years building that story. Maybe it was a childhood trauma? She had asked about his past once, but he had been very reticent. Perhaps that had been his way to cope with a traumatic event?
He bobbed his head in agreement, “Essentially yes. They bonded us, extending our lives and granting us a limited ability to conjure magic.”
“But why?”
“Because the Fae needed warriors – bodyguards, so to speak – to protect the Enchanters. Those of their own race were dying faster than they could be replaced, so human children proved to be an efficient solution.”
She gasped, horrified, “But that is monstrous!” Perhaps he was abused as a child? She had read about case studies in which victims of child abuse could live in a complete fantasy world even well into their adulthood.
Brun turned his blue gaze to the loch. The sorrow marring his face was genuine.
“Most Changelings had no knowledge that they were not Fae-born. We were told that we were a weak branch of Conjurers,” he explained in a strained voice.
She studied his face for a moment. How could he be so… functional and yet harbour this level of psychosis?
Lizzie tried to recall her Psychiatry classes. That was not a field of medicine she had felt particularly inclined to during college, therefore she had not fixed many details, but she remembered a lecturer recommending a list of actions in cases such as his.
I think I ought to connect with him… Validate him, yes, that is it. Never shock the patient by telling them that what they believe is not real.
“Brun,” she spoke his name seriously, “Why are you telling me all this?”
He sighed and trained his blue gaze on her and the gravity of his expression made a shiver ran down her spine.
“Because your ancestor, Elizabeth Endell, or Triarell Endellys which was her Fae name, was an Enchanter and you seem to have inherited her power.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened so much that she thought they were going pop out of their sockets. She took the mobile from under her thigh, now determined to call someone to help. It would take too long for the police or an ambulance to arrive there in the middle of nowhere, but perhaps Mr Clisham could help her subdue Brun?
For a moment she pictured the average-built Mr Clisham trying to tackle down a man who was as big as a bear. Had the situation not been serious, she could have laughed at the idea.
“Maybe we should talk to someone else about this?”
His gaze lowered to the hand she had tightly wrapped around the mobile and he combed hair away from his face in a slow gesture. There were deep dark circles around his eyes. He looked quite tired, as if he had not slept in days.
Whatever was going on in his head, it was truly worrying him.
“I am not mad,” he repeated with a tired voice, “And I can prove it.”
He brought his palms together as if he were going to pray and then muttered something under his breath which she could not understand. It sounded a bit like Gaelic, but at the same time it was completely different, almost like a small song.
Her eyes were attracted by an unnatural glow. His palms lit up as if his hands had LED lights beneath his skin. Slowly he pulled his hands apart.
An orb of light appeared between his palms, reminding her of a plasma ball. There were even tiny lightnings flashing inside of it.
And it was bloody floating in the air!
Lizzie scrambled to her feet so fast she had a headrush.
“Hell’s bloody bells!” she squealed, stepping away from him, “How did you… How did you do that?”
But Brun moved faster than she could blink, jumping to his feet and closing the distance between them, gently holding her arm to stop her from bolting like a spooked doe.
Lizzie was shaking when Brun held her hand and steered her back to the mat. He wished he had some spirits with him to help her calm down.
Heavens knew he wanted one too.
“Oh my God!” her voice was barely louder than a whisper while she stared at his hands, “How can this be true? This is insane! Maybe I am going insane? Am I having hallucinations?” she scanned the meadow, “Did I touch magic mushrooms or something?”
He squeezed her fingers gently, “You are not having hallucinations, what I told you is the truth and every bit real as you and I are.”
Lizzie stared down at their joined hands and flinched, pulling hers away in a gesture that hurt Brun more than he cared to admit, but he respected her feelings by sitting on the farthest corner of the blanket to give her the space she needed to process everything.
“Why do you think that I am… that I can do that?” she gestured towards his hands still looking like she was about to pass out.
“I did not at first,” he admitted, “Nine generations have passed between you and Triarell. Although her son Darron was a pure-blooded Fae, he married a human woman and then died in a hunting accident quite young, leaving only one son. As you know, only sons followed, thus by the time you were born, I believed that there was no Fae magic left in your bloodline, but I was terribly mistaken. The men in Triarell’s bloodline were all carriers of the Endellys magic which can only manifest in female descendants.”
“But that does not make sense, genetically–”
He lifted his hand to cut her words.
“I am familiar with human genetic laws, Lizzie, having read Mendel’s original works myself, but Fae magic obeys different rules, something I only learned quite recently…”
Her face brightened, “Your trip! Is that what that was about?”
Brun acquiesced, “Indeed. I visited my late mentor’s home to try and find something that could explain your existence.”
She shivered at his words and Brun had to ball his fists to stop himself from reaching for her hand again. Lizzie was scared as a lost lamb, but he had a feeling that she would panic if he tried to touch her.
“When I first met you I was in shock at how much you resembled Triarell. Not only your physical appearance, but your gait, the way you brush your hair behind your ears, and even your voice!”
Her eyes widened again, “Wait! Oh my God, are you saying that you knew her? My ancestor?”
“Recall that I am over five hundred years old, Lizzie.”
Her stomach churned at his words and she wondered whether she was going to be sick, as in physically sick and start throwing up. None of that made sense, but how could she explain that bizarre energy ball he had conjured out of thin air? Could he be some kind of freaking good illusionist like those videos people shared online?
Brun went on, “I first realised that you inherited Triarell’s power on the day of the Lammas Fair. That song you heard is known in the area as an old fairy tune. Local folklore tells that it was a spell taught to farmers by the fairies, used to protect crops quickening in the fields,” he paused, throwing a pebble in the water and Lizzie was shocked by how far it went. He was a very strong man, “The original song was an enchantment to make plants grow which made its way into the human world when the Fae came here. Over the centuries, the words in the Fae language were incorporated into Gaelic.”
She saw a mixture of shock and fear on his face, “That song must have triggered something inside you, because you were sent into a magic trance straight away.”
“So I was not drunk?” she asked, somewhat relieved, although the prospect of having been hocus pocussed instead was not that more appealing.
He bobbed his head, “Well, I’d say you were a bit tipsy, though not nearly as drunk as you thought you were. You were just overwhelmed by the sudden surge of magic inside you,” then he lowered his eyes to the ground, “That is why I must apologise again for the way I behaved that night.”
Her cheeks warmed and she had a burning desire to find a hole in the ground and throw herself into it.
“It was very wrong of me to… to touch you. You were not in control of yourself,” Brun sounded mortified. Once more Vivian had been right in her assessment.
Well, I felt very much in control when I reached under his kilt…
Then he lifted his gaze to her, and there was deep shame on his face, “I hope you will not think that I am that kind of man.”
Lizzie knew exactly what kind of man he was referring to. She had met one six years before and the results had been devastating.
Not willing to dwell on the most embarrassing moment of her life, Lizzie decided to move away from that topic.
“How did you meet her? Elizabeth, well, Triarell, I mean…”
Brun shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat before answering.
“I was the strongest amongst the Changelings, thus Fayla – my mentor that is – assigned me to protect the three Endellys sisters: Triarell, Aranna and Gweyir. The Endellys Clan was the most ancient of the Enchanters caste, and the most powerful. In human terms, they were equivalent to Queens and Kings. They were the ones who opened the gateway between the worlds and were the Dreams Thief’s main target, because a prophecy foretold that the Endellys would bring the Dreams Thief downfall.”
“First he got to Gweyir, the youngest, three hundred and fifty years ago. I found her here, on the shore of Loch Tray…” he gestured towards the rocky beach and a shadow passed across his eyes, “She was like a ray of sunshine bringing joy wherever she went. Then it was Aranna, the scholar of the Endellys, whose knowledge and intelligence was unsurpassed amongst the Fae. He murdered her in her own workshop. Again I failed…”
“Finally he killed Triarell, the eldest, though I still do not know how. She was the most powerful of the Fae, and her… husband was also an accomplished Enchanter.”
His voice broke, but this time Lizzie identified a deeper sorrow. Clearly he had mourned Triarell’s death more than any of the other sisters.
Imagine the shock it must have been for him when he saw me, considering that I am pretty much Triarell’s doppelganger–
As soon as the thought formed in her head, realisation hit her.
This grove was, I mean, it was said that this was the late Viscountess Lochellen’s favourite place in Glennloch.
That place brings some difficult memories for me of someone I lost a long time ago. She loved that grove.
He would not keep his eyes away from you for more than a few seconds!
The woman he had loved, the one he had lost was Triarell Endellys.
A painting! He was in love with a woman in a painting!
I cannot do this to you.
That was why Brun had not wanted to make love to her.
Because she was not Triarell, only an awkward copy of the woman he truly desired.
This was worse than trying to compete with a model from a catalogue.
“Oh my God! You love her!” Lizzie whispered, pressing a hand against her mouth to stifle a sob, “You are in love with Triarell!”
A punchin the guts would have hurt less. He had not wanted Lizzie to learn it like that, not after what had happened between them.
Not when he was so confused about his true feelings.
He stared into her green eyes knowing that there would be no point in lying to her now. He had to tell her the whole truth, however it pained him, or she would never trust him as he urgently needed her to.
“Yes,” he replied simply, lowering his gaze to his hands, “I loved her desperately.”
He had barely finished the sentence when Lizzie jumped to her feet again like a spooked cat.
“Oh my God, so when you kissed me, were you thinking about her?” she cried, “A woman in a painting? A dead woman in a painting?”
His eyes widened when he realised that she had not believed a word of what he had just told her. He hesitated for only an exhale, but he knew it had been enough to crush her heart.
“No!Yes!I don’t know!” Brun shouted back, a sound that scared him because he had never shouted in his life, not even when Triarell died.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” she repeated, tears streaming down her face.
Brun stood up and tried to reach for her arm, but she recoiled from his touch, her face twisted with hurt.
“Don’t touch me!” she yelled, backing away.
“Lizzie, please, we need to talk–”
“No! I don’t want to hear another word from you! Stay away from me!” she screamed again and he swallowed his words, surprised by the magical power imbued in her voice. Her command worked as well as spell on him, keeping him from moving, “You are mad and I want you out of my house right now!”