Chapter 14 The Bridge of Time
Agolden nightingale holding a lavender twig in its beak over a blue background – the Endell’s family crest – was the first thing to get into focus. Lizzie blinked a few times, recognising the underside of her bed’s canopy.
Groaning, she slowly turned her head finding Brun sitting on the edge of her mattress, his eyes trained on her with an intensity that robbed her of her breath. They were so blue it was like staring into the depths of the sea.
Behind him, her curtains were drawn. It was already dark outside.
She reached for her glasses, which were neatly folded on her bedside and pushed herself up gingerly. Every inch of her body was hurting, as if she had just taken part in a triathlon.
God, she was a mess.
Her eyes widened like saucers when she read the clock. It was past eleven.
“Bloody hell!” she cried, surprised to find her voice so croaky, “Was I out the whole day?”
With his eyes firmly trained on her, he nodded sheepishly, a tentative smile breaking through his serious expression, “Are you hungry?”
It took her a moment to reply, because it felt as if she were slowly returning to her body, like when one has a long and complex dream.
“I’m starving... I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday’s lunch, I think.”
Without a word, Brun helped her sit up, adjusting the pillows on her back and then reached for a tray from her desk, carefully placing it over her legs.
There was enough food there for three people she wagered, but instead of remarking the fact, Lizzie reached for the fork and began to shovel eggs and sausages into her mouth un-charmingly as if that was the first time in her life she ate that. She was weak with hunger.
Once the food began to settle the queasiness in her stomach, Lizzie put the fork down and took a long swig of tea. Then she looked at Brun who had been staring at her unflinchingly while she ate like an ogre.
“I am sorry for what happened,” he began slowly. His voice was so low she could barely hear him, “I have not dealt with this whole situation with any resemblance of tact…” he shrugged, “I was raised to be a warrior. Combat and strategy I can do, but mentoring is not my forte.”
Lizzie lowered the mug on the tray, happy to feel that her thoughts were a little clearer.
“Everything you told me is real, right? About Fae and… magic?” she shivered at the concept. Now she had a very good idea of what Lucy felt when she walked into the wardrobe and found Narnia.
“Well, you saw for yourself,” was his reply, “Though I suppose the right words should be you felt for yourself.”
She did not reply straightaway, recalling the weird sensation inside her body, as if she were connected to something much larger than herself.
“God, I hope I have not destroyed the kitchen…” she muttered, biting her lower lip.
He smiled, reaching for her hand and giving it a sympathetic squeeze.
“Don’t worry, I fixed everything. Mrs Clisham will be none the wiser when she returns.”
Lizzie pulled her hand from his, placing it safely around the mug. Even such simple friendly touch made her libido go haywire and she was sufficiently dazed as it was.
He sighed and lowered his gaze to her chest, “I am sorry I had to stun you.”
She touched her breastbone and flinched. It was as sore as if she had been punched there, “I suppose it was either knocking me out or pulling me from the rubble after I brought the house down…”
He bobbed his head in agreement with her assessment, turning his gaze away for a moment, “You’re right about that.”
They fell silent after that and Lizzie filled the uncomfortable moment by hiding her face behind the tea mug, wondering why Brun was sitting there like a watchdog.
“How do you do it?” she asked finally and when Brun frowned, she explained, “If you are immortal, how do you keep people from finding out? I mean, eventually people are bound to notice that you’re not dying like everyone else…”
Brun smiled again, but a shadow passed over his eyes.
“Changelings were not encouraged to make friends outside our circle,” he paused, slowly brushing some invisible fluff from her bedcovers, “However, as you said, there’s no avoiding interacting with people. To hide my… true nature, I use aging spells to glamour my appearance, such as the one I clumsily tried to demonstrate earlier. Then I disappear from one place for some years and pretend to die abroad or on an accident. Or on a war. I must have dozens of empty gravestones by now…” he chuckled, but there was only melancholy on his face, “When the people who knew me die, it is a simple matter to reappear a few decades later as my own child or a nephew.”
Her heart ached for him, trying to imagine how horribly lonely it must be to watch all the people you know pass away.
Over and over.
“However I am not immortal,” he corrected her gently, “The magic in the ring keeps me from aging, but for one who is not Fae-born such as myself, the spell needs to be refuelled,” he stretched his hand, making the gray stone visible under the light of her bedside lamp, “This stone used to be bright blue, but now its power is nearly spent.”
Her eyes widened at that, “Does that mean you are going to die?”
He bobbed his head in a nearly imperceptible movement, but there was no fear in his eyes, it was almost… relief.
“Soon there will be no magic left to stop me from aging, thus I shall be fully human again, free to age and die.”
Lizzie stared at the jewel, unsure how she felt about that.
You should feel nothing about this, his heart belongs to your dead doppelganger.
Her eyes drifted to the portrait of her ancestors and then suddenly she felt an urge to know.
“What happened between you and… Eliza… I mean, Triarell?” the name of her great great-grandmother rolled like poison on her tongue and she felt the urge to spit.
Brun’s eyes followed her gaze.
Those memories caused him sorrow for far longer than he cared to admit, but as he organised the facts to explain it all to her, he realised that now it was nothing more than a dull ache, like an old battle wound that pulls a little when the weather gets cold. Gone was that wrenching pain which had been his companion for four centuries.
He stared back at her in astonishment, trying to understand what was happening. It was as if a boulder had been lifted from his chest and he could finally breathe.
Heavens, is it possible...
He took a deep breath to rein in his emotions. Lizzie was very edgy, and rightly so: he ought to give her time and space to process everything else.
His gaze slid down from her face to her chest where her nipples pushed against the soft fabric of her nightgown, recalling the sensation of the soft skin of her breasts on his hands.
Hopefully not too much time…
With more effort than Brun thought was needed for such simple action, he dragged his eyes back to her face. Her expression was filled with curiosity and she seemed to be completely oblivious to her sexual power over him.
“Nothing ever happened between us. It could never have.”
She blinked, utterly stunned.
“Why not?” Lizzie asked, and he did not fail to sense how strained her voice was. Was Mrs Clisham really right in her assessment of Lizzie’s feelings for him?
His heart soared with hope.
“Triarell was a full-blooded Fae from the highest caste, nearly royalty amongst her people as I told you, while I was only a Changeling. Our union would have been frowned upon. Forbidden even, like a peasant marrying a Queen.” He poured more tea into her cup, adding a splash of milk and a spoon of sugar as was her taste, “Even without these obstacles, Triarell never loved me like that; at best I was like a brother to her. Her heart belonged to her husband Ryul – or Colin as he was known in the human world,” he pointed to the portrait of the couple hanging above her desk.
Brun sighed, recalling his behaviour at the time and the irrational way he had handled the whole situation.
“Still, in spite of the impossibility of my feelings, I was smitten by her. When she married Ryul, I thought I was going to die of jealousy. I begged Fayla to release my bond so I could age and die like a normal human, but she was convinced we could still find and defeat the Dreams Thief.”
He touched his ring. In his despair after Triarell’s death, he had come close to cutting his finger off to be rid of the vile thing.
“I tried to fulfil my duty with everything I had, but when Triarell’s son was born, I could no longer stay and watch her happiness with another man when I was so lonely and miserable. I went away like a coward, hiding deep in the Highlands and became a little better than a wild beast. I cast warning spells, but the Dreams Thief outwitted us all again and killed Triarell…” he gazed at the portrait one more time, swallowing a dry lump, “Ryul gave his own life essence trying to save her, aging fifty years in a day, but it was all for naught and he followed her to the grave.”
“What about their son? Did the Dreams Thief…”
He shook his head, “Darron died in a hunting accident around his fortieth birthday, and that was the end to the Enchanters.”
“And what happened to Fayla?”
“She sacrificed herself imbuing my ring with her life essence to prolong my life for a few more centuries.”
Lizzie frowned, lowering her gaze to the tray on her lap, slowly picking a bit of toast and breaking it in tiny pieces before putting them into her mouth, sucking the butter from her fingertips.
Brun shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed staring hungrily at the innocent gesture, reckoning that two and a half centuries of celibacy may have been a tad too much.
“But why? To protect Darron?” she asked after a long silence, training her emerald eyes on him.
“Darron was an Endellys, but he had only a fraction of his mother’s power. He married a human woman, and their son’s magic was even weaker,” then he trained his eyes on her, “The reason why Fayla forced me to stay was because there was another prophecy, one that foresaw your birth and how the Dreams Thief would finally be defeated.”
Of all the absurd things this man had told her,that must have been the biggest!
And yet, her little Carrie stunt in the kitchen earlier proved otherwise…
“Are you implying that I somehowcan defeat this Dreams Thief? A creature who evaded detection for millennia?”
Brun leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and for a moment Lizzie was distracted by how the muscles of his biceps flexed under his shirt.
“I did not want to believe it either,” he admitted in a tired voice, “When Darron’s grandson was born with no magic abilities, I was convinced that the Fae in this world were completely extinct. However, it would appear that Fae power is passed directly in either a female or male line, in other words, Triarell’s son did not inherit her power, but his bloodline carried it. This seed was passed down generation after generation directly to you.”
“Wait, but what about my dad then? Shouldn’t he have some of Colin’s, I mean Ryul’s, powers?”
“I cannot claim to fully understand how this works, Lizzie… Your father might have a drop of magic, but because the male line was unbroken it must be quite… weakened. Ryul’s main skill was his ability to detect emotions – a Mind Seeker he was called. I believe your father is rather good at reading people. Perhaps, given the right trigger, his magic would manifest too.”
Lizzie shivered at the idea of her dad wielding magic powers, but kept her lips tightly clipped, trying to sort out the swarm of questions inside her head.
After what felt like hours, Brun stood up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. The gesture was so masculine and his aura of power so strong thatLizzie wanted to fan herself.
“I shall let you rest then,” he said, “Call me if you need anything.”
Brun was already at the door when Lizzie found her voice.
“No!” she called, “Stay please.”
He halted but did not turn. She bit her lower lip, annoyed by the needy tone of her voice, telling herself that what she wanted from him in that moment was very practical.
Keep telling yourself that…
Mentally swatting away the annoying voice, Lizzie watched as Brun slowly turned on his heels and zeroed his blue eyes straight on hers.
She swallowed hard. There was a raw emotion on his gaze, but for the life in her she could not understand what it was.
Probably more déjà vu feelings from centuries ago…
“I have slept enough,” she hurried to explain, “What I need now is to understand this,” she gestured towards herself as if she were covered in horseshit.
In silence, Brun walked back to her with long and deliberate steps, sitting on the same spot where he had been before.
Well, perhaps a few inches closer.
“What would you like to know?” he asked finally, his eyes never leaving her face. His voice had dropped an octave, which made everything below her waist become severely hotter.
Lizzie scrunched her face for a moment, pushing her glasses over her nose. Every single detail of that conversation had been so surreal that she was unsure on where to begin.
“Let’s deal with this in homeopathic doses, shall we?” she suggested, “You said that I am an… Enchanter too? Like…” her eyes found the portrait of her ancestors, “Like her.”
I cannot believe I am jealous of a woman who died two hundred and fifty years ago!
Brun bobbed his head in agreement, “That is right, you have the most powerful of the Fae’s gifts, because you need no amulets to summon your magic. Your power is inherent to yourself.”
“And how do I summon this thing?” she was having trouble using the word magic, “Better yet, how do I control it? I don’t want to have another paranormal freak display like that in the kitchen anytime soon.”
He combed his hair with his fingers and for a moment Lizzie stared at the gesture, mesmerized by how the locks fell in perfect waves on the sides of his face.
Get a grip, woman!
God, when had her attraction for him become stronger?
“Had you been born when the Enchanters still inhabited this world, you would have been taught from an early age to control and wield your power. Alas, you are the last of your kind…” he lowered his gaze to his hands. His fingers were knitted over his thighs, “Nevertheless, although I am not Fae-born, I can teach you, like I did with Darron.”
Her eyes widened and he added quickly, “If that is your wish, of course.”
Lizzie hesitated for a moment. The last thing she wanted was to spend more time with Brun when her lust for him was making her climb the walls, but what had happened that morning had been quite real and scary and he was her only chance at controlling it.
Or at least she could count on him to knock her out should she go berserk again.
“Why was there such distinction amongst the Fae?” she asked, hoping that would be safer territory for the time being, “These castes you mentioned.”
“Not exactly a distinction, as such, but rather a distribution of talents. Conjurers were the inventors, the modifiers of nature through potions and magic objects. Their talent is to channel magic from their surroundings, while Enchanters carry magic within them. They are the ones who could balance the world with their power.”
“Balance the world?” she repeated, “Is this some kind of Jedi stuff?” and then she gasped and her eyes widened in childish expectation, “Oh! Do I get a lightsabre?”
Brun blinked. Twice. Clearly he had no idea what she was talking about and had the whole situation not been so absurd she would have laughed at his complete lack of pop culture.
“Sabre?” he repeated, frowning and then shrugged, “Well, I can teach you how to use a sword if you wish…”
“You can fight with swords?” Lizzie squealed, gobsmacked.
“I am a five hundred year old warrior, Lizzie: I learned how to handle weapons almost as soon as I learned to walk.”
She bobbed her head, “Fair point…”
“That was my sole purpose,” he added, “I was trained to be a protector. I know many ways to fight and kill.”
Lizzie searched his eyes. There was no emotion on his face. No pride, no regret. Brun had simply been conditioned from the cradle to be a living weapon to the Fae.
It was quite revolting really.
Not noticing her ill ease, he went on, “Enchanters could keep the energies of their world in balance with their innate power of creation. Because of this ability, they were the only ones capable of opening the gateway between the worlds.”
Lizzie brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and pushed her glasses back. She really ought to get that thing adjusted.
“You said that Enchanters used only their voice to summon their magic? What does that mean?”
“Fae legends describe that at the beginning of time the Enchanters were immensely powerful but had little control of their magic, insomuch as that every word they uttered could create chaos. The Conjurers devised a way for them to control their powers, locking their magic into special spells. In this way, the Enchanters had to sing to bring forth their power.”
“Sing?” Lizzie repeated in disbelief, glaring at Brun as if he had asked her to shoot puppies, “Are you serious right now? I cannot hold a tune to save my fucking life!”
Brun was taken aback for a moment. Lizzie had uttered some blasphemies before in his presence but had never cursed. She felt her cheeks warm.
In response to her embarrassment, he threw his head back and roared with laughter, which only made her cheeks redder.
Then he reached for her hand and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles.
“I really think it is enough for today, Your Ladyship, otherwise your brain is surely going to melt with all this information,” he declared standing up one more time, “Let us resume this conversation tomorrow morning. There is much I must show you.”
A little hesitantly, Brun leaned down but halted in that half-bowed position. He stared at her for a long moment and Lizzie thought he was going to kiss her, but then he clenched his jaws and straightened up, marching out of her room as if he urgently needed to be somewhere else.
There is much I must show you.
Lizzie was probably going crazy, but she could swear that Brun meant more than just magic with that statement.