Chapter 32 The Beginning
The white sands of Chapel Porth Beach came into view when Lizzie opened her eyes.
“Oh Hell’s bloody bells! I must really be dead this time!” she cursed, getting on her feet. At least her ankle was no longer throbbing.
Sure enough, there was Aranna again, only this time two other women were flanking her – one whose face she had very recently seen on a tomb effigy and another who was her own spitting image.
“Gweyir and Triarell, I presume?” she queried and the two women tilted their heads in greeting.
“It was remarkable what you did, granddaughter,” Triarell spoke first and Lizzie was shocked to hear her own voice on another person’s body – or spirit, or whatever. Then she glanced at Aranna, “Looks like your plan worked.”
Aranna had a smug smile on her face, “Well, obviously! I am after all the family’s genius!”
“Would either of you care to explain?” Lizzie snarled and she heard Gweyir giggle.
“Of course, little niece” Aranna sounded positively ecstatic, “My plan was quite simple: we weaved a magic bond between the three of us. Our powers became one, so that if one of us was killed the others would inherit her power.”
Lizzie gestured between Aranna and Gweyir, “So… you are saying that after Fayla killed you, Triarell absorbed your combined power?”
“That’s right,” Aranna confirmed proudly.
“But why Fayla did not blow up when she killed you?” she pointed at Triarell.
“Because I was not destined to destroy the Dreams Thief,” Triarell explained.
“Wait, so you knew the full prophecy?”
“No, not exactly,” Aranna intervened, “When Fayla found Brun and we realised that he was related to the Dreams Thief, I wanted to investigate his family, but Fayla dismissed my concerns. I found that odd and secretly continued to track his ancestors. Eventually I found Brun Theynore’s daughter.”
Lizzie gaped, “Oh my God! She was still alive?”
“Only just. As her father foresaw, her life-span was much longer than humans, but differently from the Fae, she aged, only very slowly. Afraid she would be burned as a witch, she lived the best part of her life alone. She gave me her father’s journal.”
“And that is when you began to suspect Fayla?” Lizzie guessed.
“Just so,” Aranna acquiesced, “I wondered whether there was more to the prophecy than what Fayla revealed, so I sought to delve into scrying myself. I saw a man, deeply connected to an Endellys woman, only he was a puzzle himself! A human man related to the Dreams Thief!” she gestured at Triarell, “He fell in love with my sister, and that truly made me scratch my head until I figured it out–”
“I believe I was the one who figure it out, Aranna,” Gweyir intervened for the first time, glaring at her sister.
Aranna huffed, “Yes, of course,” she gestured at her younger sister, “Gweyir realised that this Endellys woman ought to be our descendant.”
“Victory comes when the bridge of time is crossed,” Lizzie muttered.
Aranna nodded and then stared at Lizzie, “Though I must say that even I did not guess you would be her doppelganger.”
“It was not until my son Darron was born that Gweyir’s theory proved right. Somehow my sisters’ powers passed down onto him. However, he was not able to wield their power, he was only–”
“A carrier,” Lizzie completed, reckoning that she would need about a thousand years to understand the complexity of Otherworld genetics.
She admired the beach around her, also known as the Spiritual World, and sighed.
Well, that ship has sailed now…
“Okay, so then this… seed of power passed down from father to son until it reached me, because according to the Fae crazy genetic laws, power is inherited down a female or male line?”
Gweyir giggled again, “I’m so glad someone inherited my sense of humour!”
Triarell ignored her sister, “Precisely. In what concerns magic, you are the direct female descendant of the three of us, therefore you are as powerful as the three of us combined.”
“So, when Fayla tried to suck me dry in the Otherworld, it was too much power for her and then she boom?” Lizzie made a meaningful explosion gesture.
“Yes!” Aranna cried excited, “Her greed was her doom!”
The song of the nightingale shall be the thief’s last.
“And you could not tell me all this before? You know, during my first visit here?”
“Alas, I could not, dear niece, because there was a catch,” Aranna explained still grinning like a maniac, “If you had found Brun Theynore’s journal first as I had intended, it would have meant that you had performed the Coupling Rune, which meant that both you and Brun were willing to die for each other–”
“I’m getting some serious Romeo and Juliet vibes right now…” Lizzie muttered under her breath.
Aranna blinked, “I do not have the foggiest idea of what you speak,” then she went on, clearly not remotely interested in who or what Romeo and Juliet was, “You and Brun, together, were the key to destroy the Dreams Thief – it was your love for one another, your willingness to die so the other could live that unlocked your full power. If I had told you what to do, I would have taken the choice from you. Like we took all choice from Brun…”
Aranna sounded truly regretful, but Lizzie’s attention had zeroed on something far more important than her ancestor’s guilt, “Does Brun really love me then? It’s not some bloody magic side-effect of our connection to the prophecy?”
Gweyir arched an eyebrow, “I thought you said she was as clever as you?”
Aranna glowered at her sister, “Try to be understanding, Gweyir, she has been through a lot and her soul is currently out of her body!” then she turned back to Lizzie, “The Coupling Rune would not have worked otherwise, niece. Without the love, they are just words.”
Lizzie stared at Aranna for a long time, allowing the meaning of those words to sink in.
Suddenly, she felt very tired. She sat on the same boulder she and Aranna had chatted days before.
“I just wish I could tell him that I love him too. With all my heart.”
Triarell sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “Why don’t you?”
She blinked at her ancestor. It was like looking at a mirror and yet it was not. Triarell was bigger, slenderer than she was. Their eyes were of the same hue, and yet there was an inhuman glow in Triarell’s.
“Well, all three of you are dead. Since I came to the Spiritual World on my own this time, I reckoned my presence here means I’m dead too.”
Gweyir placed a hand on her shoulder, “You are not dead yet, little niece, but you will be soon.”
“You have the choice of going back,” Triarell added, smiling, “And I wish you would choose life, because I think Brun deserves happiness. He deserves your love.”
Lizzie jumped to her feet recalling that Brun was dying at that lakeshore, “Yes, please, I need to go back! I need to save him!”
Aranna held her hand and steered her towards the sea line.
“Very well niece, then take a deep breath.”
“Take a deep breath? Why?”
Aranna pushed her into the water.
Lizzie gasped and then she was sinking.
Sinking.
The smell of citrus and sandalwood engulfed her again.
Then darkness.
When Lizzie opened her eyes, she was still under the water, but it no longer was the salty sea. The water was murky and tasted briny.
She was at the bottom of the lake!
More water flowed into her mouth when she gasped. She struggled to push herself up, frenetically beating her arms and legs.
Her hands touched something hard. A branch!
Feeling her lungs burning at the lack of air, Lizzie desperately tried to grip the slick piece of wood, but it was covered with lake slime.
Her vision began to darken…
Wait a minute! I am a bloody Enchanter!
Closing her eyes she summoned her power.
The water surrounding her obeyed at once, parting away from her face, allowing an air bubble to surround her head. She gasped, eagerly inhaling a lungful of air.
She pushed the water with her hands and it obeyed, folding aside and under her body, propelling her up and up, until she broke the surface.
The sun was starting to make its way above the treetops, and the landscape was even more breath-takingly beautiful.
Across from where she was floating, she spotted Finn’s remains and next to it was Brun, still slumped over his own body.
Not moving.
“Brun!” Lizzie cried, swimming towards him as fast as her limbs allowed.
He did not stir.
She waddled out of the water, stumbling clumsily in her eagerness to reach solid ground, flatly ignoring the throbbing pain in her sprained ankle. She slipped and fell on her knees twice, the rocks digging into her skin, but she kept crawling towards him.
Panting at the effort, Lizzie grabbed him by the shoulders and struggled to turn him on his back.
Bloody hell, the man was as heavy as a bear!
“Brun!” she cried again, pushing locks of hair away from his face. His nose was broken and there were cuts and scratches everywhere. The welts from Fayla’s whip were an angry red against his pale skin.
Her hands ran over his body finding the wound on his left ribs. The gash was wide, probably three or four inches and blood was still oozing from it at an alarming rate.
Oh God, I think it perforated his spleen!
“Brun!” she called a third time, and finally his eyes fluttered open.
He smiled weakly and coughed blood. Never a good sign.
Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!
“Lizzie,” his voice was barely louder than a whisper, “You did it! You defeated the Dreams Thief!”
She shook her head, “No, Brun, we did. Our hearts, united. I could not have done anything without you.”
His smile broadened a little. His teeth were stained with red, “So, you know, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, “but it would not harm to hear you saying it.”
He coughed and spluttered more blood.
“I love you, Elizabeth Endell. You are my heart and my soul!”
She smiled back, lowering her lips to his, caring nothing for the taste of blood in his mouth.
“And I love you, Brun MacLugh. Even though you’re like five hundred years older than me! Dad will not be pleased with this age gap between us.”
He chuckled, but it made him grimace in pain. Then he lifted a bloodied hand, softly touching her cheek, “You need to leave now. Heavens know what manner of dangerous creatures are lurking nearby. Go, my love, and live happily.”
She shook her head stubbornly, angry at her inability to help him. She was a trained doctor, but with limited experience and no medical supplies at hand, she could not stop him from bleeding to death.
“I’m not leaving without you.”
Brun must have read the thoughts on her face because his gaze softened, “Lizzie, I am content to die knowing that you will be safe now. I have lived enough and you still have your whole life ahead.”
Her eyes widened with pure terror. There would be no life for her without Brun. Maybe she would exist, dragging herself through the years towards her grave, but there would be no life.
“Well, but I’m not content to let you die now. Not when your life is finally your own!”
“Lizzie, darling,” his voice was getting weaker which made her panic stronger, “Even if you were able to drag me back to the human world, I would not make it to the hospital…”
Yes, she was very much aware of it.
She lifted her gaze to forest surrounding them. It seemed to be an isolated area, but maybe there was a village or something similar nearby?
“I can find someone who can help.”
He coughed blood again and his eyes began to flutter close, “You do not even speak the language, my love… How are you going to find a healer?”
Healer.
Enchanters were able to knit wounds from the inside out with their magic alone. Triarell was one with such healing abilities.
“Teach me the wound knitting spell…”
“Lizzie…”
“Brun, by now you should know that I am not leaving you, so save your energy and teach me the darn spell!”
He sighed, and in a very weak voice, he gave her the words of the healing spell.
Surprisingly, there were only three words but were probably the most difficult ones in the Fae language that she had heard so far. Each one was on the level of Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
“You need…” Brun went on, “you… need to… picture the wounded area… How it should… how it should be…”
His voice drifted and his head lolled to the side.
“Brun!” she cried, reaching for his wrist. His pulse was very weak. He was going into shock.
Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!
“Okay, I need to focus on this!” she muttered to herself, placing a hand on Brun’s flank. His clothes were soaked in blood, “Blood hell, I really could use some guidance right now…”
Picture him whole…
It was weak, but she felt a soothing presence. She looked over her shoulder at the lake and although her eyes could see no one, Lizzie knew, as well as she knew her name, that Triarell’s spirit was nearby.
Thanks great-grandma!
She felt as if there were a hand hovering above hers. She placed her hand on the wound, wincing at the warm stickiness of the blood. Infused by the certainty that she was not alone – or perhaps by a leap of faith – she closed her eyes and began to sing.
This magic had a different feeling, a completely opposite energy to Fayla’s nasty spell. It seemed to resonate deeper within her core, making her whole body tingle.
Is this that ASMR thing people are talking about?
Pushing her untimely nerd thoughts out of the way, she sought to focus on Brun’s wound, mentally going through what she learned in college about the spleen, its position, main veins and arteries linked to it, the other organs nearby.
Suddenly she was seeing it, as clearly as if she had opened Brun’s body at the operating theatre. She saw the splenic artery. A big laceration was perfectly visible, it had severed it completely. Blood was still leaking through it, but it was a weak trickle now, it was almost too late…
Triarell’s warm presence guided her magic and soothed her panicked thoughts, helping her visualise glowing magical threads pulling tissue together like surgical stitches, halting the flow of blood.
She reached for the severed parts, pulling them close, urging tissues to connect, fibre by fibre. The action quickly became as natural for her as breathing, and she worked fastidiously in knitting him back together, her concentration never wavering.
The place where the spirits find peace! I understand it now…
Once the main haemorrhage was controlled, she studied the area, inspectingevery wound, sealing even the smallest broken vein, soothing every pain, making her way out of his body slowly, knitting every tissue back to health as she exited.
Satisfied that he was stable, she gently removed what was left of Brun’s shirt and began to heal the lacerations and bruises, reckoning that Fayla had blown up too fast.
She was completely drained by the time she finished. Brun was breathing more evenly, but it was still laboured.
Then she grabbed his limp hand and called him back, praying he could still listen.
The scent of roses was the first thing that Brun felt when he recovered his consciousness. It was so strong that for a moment he thought he was buried under a pile of flowers. He blinked slowly and groaned, feeling every single muscle and bone of his body sore. A small warm hand was firmly holding his and another gently caressed his forehead.
When his eyes recovered focus, her emerald irises came into view.
“Lizzie,” he croaked and felt her fingers squeezing his gently, reassuringly.
She smiled at him and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.
“Welcome back, Mr MacLugh,” she whispered. Her voice was choked and her eyes swimming in tears, “I thought I was going to lose you…”
“You saved me, Lady Lizzie…” he lifted his hand to her face, tangling his fingers in her silky hair and pulled her down to him. He was still weak, his arms were shaking.
Her face was scratched and bruised and there were deep dark circles under her eyes. He took a moment to rub his fingers on her cheeks, before kissing her deeply, rejoicing in the sensation of her warm lips and the sweet taste of her tongue.
“Let’s go home then,” she declared, standing up and offering a hand to help him to his feet, “Both of us really could use a bath!”
He grimaced and groaned, then wobbled a little, but did not fall. What Lizzie had done was nothing short of a miracle: she had saved him from the brink of death!
“Only if we can take a bath together,” he said in a lewd tone, though he seriously doubted he would have the strength to do anything else other than drag himself to bed and sleep.
She glanced at him feigning shock, “Why, Mr MacLugh, a bath together was implicit!”
He threw his head back and laughed.
With her arm wrapped around his waist, Lizzie reopened the gateway.
Once safely back into the human world he turned to the water and fire vortex and slid the bonding ring out of his finger.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked, “You will lose your cool super-powers. And you will be mortal again.”
Brun pulled her into his arms, until her body was flush against his. She was warm and alive and the threat that had hovered above his head all his life was truly gone.
He was free to live and die as he pleased.
“I am content to die knowing that I will live my life with you,” he rephrased his earlier sentence and she smiled, “Besides, I may not be losing my cool super-powers after all…”
Then he tossed the ring through the gateway and lowered his face to capture the lips of the woman he loved.
Behind them, the gateway closed as if it had never existed.
However, it still did.
And now it was unsealed.