B. Alexander Howerton (10 page)

“Eh, what’s that I hear?  Are there mice scurrying about?” 
With difficult, halting jerks, the old crone turned around to discover the
source of the noise. She was clothed in a long, tattered robe, her long, white
unkempt hair straggling in all directions.  With horror, the lovers noticed
that where her right eye should have been was only scarred flesh.

The old woman spied the intruders, and her mouth slowly
spread into a toothless smile.  “Ah, young people, come to visit old Helgrid. 
Just as the bones foretold.  Come in, come in,” she implored in a croaking
voice, waving a welcoming bony hand in their direction.  Her face transformed
into concern as she sensed their fear.  “Come children, come chat with me.  I
am an old lady; I can’t hurt you.  It’s been so long since I’ve had any
visitors.”

With a nervous glance at each other, the two tentatively
stepped into the chamber.  As Dierdre entered the room, the old crone spied the
stone crooked in her left arm.  Her face demonstrated great surprise as she
clapped her hands.  “you found it, you found it! My precious stone!  I lost it
weeks ago.  I’ve been searching frantically for it ever since, but my eyesight
is not what it used to be.”  Her face then changed to consternation.  “But no,
it is not my stone anymore.  You have found it now; it is now your wyrd.  The
bones have spoken.  Come, come, sit.  Let me fix you some herbal tea, to warm
your young souls.”

Thorvald and Dierdre, holding hands tightly, tentatively sat
on a bench cushioned with worn red velvet that the old crone indicated before
bustling over to the fire to prepare the tea.  Thorvald had extinguished his
torch before entering the room, and had left the smoldering branch in the corridor.

The young lovers now had an opportunity to observe the
object of the old woman’s attention as they had opened the door. A raven’s
carcass lay on a table before the fireplace, cut open along the breast. 
Various bones of the bird lay in strange patterns on the table, on a sheepskin
with interesting, indecipherable designs scrawled on it.

Old Helgrid bustled back, shakily carrying two steaming
mugs, which she offered to the seated guests.  They took the mugs and drank,
the soothing liquid warming their bones.  Helgrid looked longingly at the
wondrous stone that Dierdre still cradled.  “May I… Just for a moment?” she
pleaded, extending her shaking and wizened hands.

After the briefest hesitation, Dierdre passed the stone to
the old woman.  She held it aloft, gazing into it.  It seemed to catch the rays
of the fire and send them shooting about the room in a cacophony of color. 
“Marvelous, isn’t it?” mused the enraptured old crone.

After a short while she handed the stone back to Dierdre. 
“Alas, it is now yours.  You must take proper care of it, you know.  It can
bring great fortune, or immeasurable grief.”  The confused look on the young
guests’ faces indicated their complete lack of comprehension.

A look of care crossed the crone’s face.  “You don’t know
what you have, do you, my little sparrows.  I must tell you.”  She turned
around haltingly and tried to pull a large wooden armchair closer.  Thorvald
quickly moved to assist her.  Once she had settled in comfortably and Thorvald
had resumed his seat, she leaned forward, her face portentous and grave.

“You hold the Wyrding Stone, my young girl.  Its magic is
powerful.  It was created in the cataclysm of the birth of the world.  Gaze on
it.  It is like no other stone you have seen, yes?  I have studied it for
years, yes, countless years.  It does not yield its secrets easily.  I have not
learned much, but I have learned this: it has the power to grant or destroy
love.  I know.  It has done both for me.

“You see, I was a young girl once, oh yes, don’t look so
surprised.  I lived by the sea with my family.  We were fisherfolk.  One day I
was gathering mussels on the beach, as I did every day, when I found it.  I had
been by the place where it lay a thousand times before, but one day it was just
there.  I was instantly mesmerized.

“As I gazed on it, I could see beyond it, out to sea, a
small boat approaching.  It beached, a man jumped out, ran up to me, grabbed
me, and dragged me back to the boat.  I struggled, but somehow I managed to
hold onto the stone.  I had been captured by Bran, a member of a neighboring
tribe.  I was taken to be his bride.

“At first I resisted.  I kept the stone close, as my only
link to my old life.  I slept with it every night.  It began whispering to me
in my dreams.  It told me Bran was meant for me, and I for him.  I saw images
of a large and happy family, and growing old with my strong husband.  I
relented.  Bran and I were wed.  I grew to love him deeply.  I was happy.

“But there were other dreams as well.  Dreams I did not
understand.  Dreams of a time and place I did not recognize.  There were flying
carriages, and people could speak at great distances and be heard.  There were
homes as big as palaces, and magic devices for cooking and cleaning.  I was
there with Bran, with our children, and I was happy.  There were also dreams of
fire and destruction, of my hut burning, of everything I knew crumbling to
dust.  I did not know what it meant.  I tried to forget those dreams, and be
content with my fate.

“Then one day, after our first son was born, a small party
of hunters rode into our small village, seeking to trade.  I was at the well. 
The leader of the party spied me.  It was Conor, the bravest and strongest of
the warriors of my old clan.  He recognized me instantly.  He rode forward and
implored me to ride off with him.  I resisted.  We struggled.  Bran ran out of
our hut, sword in hand.  He killed Conor with one stroke.  The other hunters,
enraged, killed Bran and any other of his kinsmen who gave battle, set all the
huts in our village ablaze, and rode off.  Noticing I had resisted Conor’s
attempted rescue, they left me kneeling in the mud, cradling my dead love.

“I remembered my small child.  I rushed into our burning
hut, just in time to see a blazing beam crash into his crib.  I screamed in
anguish, but there was nothing that could be done.  I then spied my precious
stone on the hearth, the wall blazing behind it.  In my delirium I rushed to
grab it before the burning hut collapsed.  It was hot, and burned my hands.  In
agony I threw it away from me.  It landed a little distance away, in an area
where part of the wall had collapsed.  It landed just so that it struck a
burning twig, and sent it flying at me.  It stuck in my right eye, and you can
see the result of that encounter.

“I was mad with pain, but I must have grabbed a sheepskin
apron from beside the fireplace, wrenched the twig from my eye, picked up the
stone, and stumbled into the woods.  I don’t recall any of that, but I awoke
later clutching the stone inside the apron.  Even in my delirium, I was still
enthralled by that magic crystal.”

The old crone leaned back and sighed heavily.  She closed
her one good eye, and a tear leaked out between her lids.  “So you see,” she
continued, “the stone can bestow great blessing or horrible curses.  I mourn
the day I lost my Bran and my baby, but I would not for all the world trade my
life with them before the calamity.  Ever since, I have implored the stone,
‘Why? Why?’  Of course, it does not answer.  Yet I know from my dreams that I
will be happy with my Bran someday, but the stone gives no clue when that will
come to pass.  Perhaps it will be in the days of the flying chariots and magic
machines.  I do not know.

“I love that stone with all my heart, but it has now chosen
you.  It is now your fate.  It is now your wyrd.  Keep it well, and may Banba
grant you the happy life I have not had the joy to experience this lifetime.”

Thorvald and Dierdre were transfixed, there jaws hanging
slackly open.  Dierdre absently held the Wyrding Stone aloft, and they both
gazed into it.  The firelight shot through it, causing colors to playfully
cavort about the chamber.  They thought they could almost see images dancing in
the stone, hazy, undefined scenes.

“Yes, it calls you, it is working its magic in you.  You two
are so blessed!”  Helgrid clapped her hands in delight.  “I only pray to Banba
that it deigns to grant you a better lot than I had.  But come now, tomorrow’s
cares are for tomorrow.  You two must rest.  I have carpets laid out here, just
in case I ever had guests.  I never have, until you, but I have always hoped.” 
She smiled her toothless grin at them, and indicated a corner of her chamber.

A great drowsiness came over the two young lovers, and
nothing seemed more desirable to them at that moment than to sleep.  They
stumbled over to the worn but comfortable carpets, and were asleep almost
before they lay down.  Dierdre still clutched the Wyrding Stone tightly.

They awoke several hours later, feeling remarkably
refreshed.  They did not know if it were night or day, for they were in the
chamber underground, with no windows.  The fire was blazing in the hearth, but
old Helgrid was still sleeping on her cot across the room.

“I want to thank her for her kindness,” Thorvald said,
approaching the cot.

“Thorvald, wait.”  Dierdre held back his arm from reaching
out to shake her awake.  “Look.”

She lay on her side, facing them.  A serene smile somehow
made her face appear decades younger.  Her chest did not rise and fall with the
rhythm of breath.

A single tear traveled down Thorvald’s cheek.  “She remained
alive just long enough to pass her wonderful gift onto us.  Rest well, old
lady.  I hope you find your Bran in the next world.”

They stood for several moments in silent prayer to the gods.

“What shall we do?” asked Dierdre.

“I don’t know.”  Then his face set with determination. 
“Come, let us return to the village.  We can come back tomorrow and bring tools
and wood to properly set her funeral pyre.”

Dierdre gazed into Thorvald’s face.  “But you are leaving
today.”

“No, I am not.  I have decided.  I am going to tell
Hranskjeld that I am staying here with you and raising a family.”

Dierdre’s face slowly transformed into an expression of pure
ecstasy.  She threw an arm around his neck, the one not holding the Wyrding
Stone, and buried her face in his chest.  “Oh, Thorvald, I love you!”  Her
tears ran down his chest.

The two lovers left the chamber, swinging the door shut
behind them, and exited the tunnel into the daylight.  It was about
mid-morning, Thorvald surmised, as he blinked to become accustomed to the
bright sun.  They walked briskly, hand in hand, back to the village.

As they entered the small semi-circle of huts facing the
sea, they saw that the Viking longboat was fully loaded, ready to depart. 
Hranskjeld observed the boat, his hands on his hips, supervising the last
preparations.

Thorvald and Dierdre approached him.  “Hranskjeld , I would
speak with you.”

The Viking leader whirled around, and when he recognized
Thorvald, fury etched his face.  “There you are!  We’ve been prepared to leave
since sunup, but you were missing.  I have a search party out for you right
now.”

Thorvald was always intimidated by the tall, thickly-muscled
Viking chief, horned helmet planted firmly in his head, who now stared at him
with cold, steely eyes.  He swallowed hard and gripped Dierdre’s hand tightly. 
“I am not going.  I am staying here.  I am marrying Dierdre, taking up fishing,
and raising a family.”

Hranskjeld’s eyes narrowed as he struggled to comprehend what
he had just heard.  Then, decisively, he said, “Yes, you’ll stay here.” 
Without warning, he pulled his war axe from his belt and decapitated Thorvald
with one swift stroke.  His body crumpled, his head rolled toward the beach. 
Dierdre still held his hand in her right, the Wyrding Stone in her left.  She
was frozen in shock.

Hranskjeld whirled about, already forgetting Thorvald. 
“Load the final supplies,” he called out.  “Recall the search party.  We leave
now.”

“This was a fantastic idea,” Julia said to Alan as they
walked hand-in-hand along Michigan Avenue in Chicago on a clear May Saturday
afternoon, licking their dripping ice cream cones.  “We should do this more
often.”

“Yeah, I keep forgetting how much fun Chicago is.  It’s just
right around the corner of the Lake, but I get so busy I don’t think about it
often.”

They had spent the morning appreciating various forms of
expression at the Chicago Art Institute, then had a marvelous lunch at The
Cheesecake Factory at the base of the Hancock Tower.  Now they were window
shopping along the Magnificent Mile.

“It’s fantastic that your friend Pauline has a condo right
down here in the heart of it all,” Alan said.  “I don’t know if I could afford
to do this very often any other way.”

“Yeah, it’s too bad she’s out of town.  I would have loved
to see her.  But she’s always said I’m welcome to come down and use it any time
I want.”  She smiled at Alan and hugged his arm.  “I’m so glad I have someone
to share it with now.”

Pedestrians crowded the sidewalk, and for the thirty-seventh
time they had to break their stride to avoid colliding with the throng of
people in a mad dash to reach some seemingly important destination.

“It’s too busy here,” Alan said.  “Let’s cut over a couple
of streets.  I think Rush street is right over there.  There’s a lot of neat
little shops and cafes and stuff there.”

“Good idea.”

They wove their way out of the crowd and proceeded west two
blocks to Rush Street, which was much less crowded.  They turned right and
strolled north, enjoying their emancipation from the pressing crowd.

A couple of blocks further on, Julia’s fancy was caught by
the display in the window of an antique shop.  “Let’s go in.”

“OK.”

The soft tinkling of the bell over the door announced their
arrival.  The shop was so densely packed with wonderful old pieces of furniture
that there was barely any room to move about the store.

“
Hellooo,
helloooo.”  A little old lady bustled around the randomly scattered furniture
to greet the young lovers.  Her long, white hair was gathered in the back, and
reading glasses rested on the end of her nose.  A green and white shawl
displaying a celtic scroll motif covered her shoulders, and a long skirt of
light material threatened to catch on every piece of furniture she passed.  Her
kindly face beamed as she said, “Welcome, welcome, how are you?  Welcome to my
shop.  I’m Helen.  Is there anything I can help you find?”

“Just looking,” Alan said distractedly.

“You have some wonderful stuff here,” Julia remarked appreciatively
as she glanced around.  Her eye was caught by a flash of light near the
ceiling, and she looked up to discover the source.  “What is that beautiful
thing?”  She had spied an interesting-looking clear rock or piece of sculpture,
perched high atop an old armoire, almost out of sight.  Flashes of sunlight
reflected off of passing cars passed through it occasionally, sending
multi-hued rays shooting about the store.

Helen’s mouth rounded in a O of delighted surprise.  “Oh, my
stars. You are fascinated by The Wyrding Stone.  How very wonderful!”

“The what?” Alan asked, perplexed, as he followed their gaze
to discern the object of attention.

“The Wyrding Stone.  It has a special story.  Here, let me
get it down for you.”  She angled around a chest of drawers, approached the
armoire, opened it, and pulled out a small step ladder.  Before Alan could say,
‘Let me help you with that,’ she had scurried up the ladder and retrieved the
object of fascination.  She came back down, brought it over to the couple, and
handed it to Julia.  It was oblong, about half the size of a human head, and
had no definable color.  Julia held it up, turning it every possible way,
trying to catch light from the window to see what amazing colors it would
radiate next.  Her face was rapt with wonder.

“You are a blessed couple.  Most people just ignore it,
thinking it’s a old piece of junk.  It has chosen you, sweetie.  You two are so
fortunate.”  She excitedly beckoned with her hand.  “Come in back and share a
cup of tea with me.  I’ll lock up and put the ‘back in half an hour’ sign up. 
I must tell you the legend of the Wyrding Stone.”

With a shrug and a hesitant yet intrigued glance to one
another, they said in unison, “Alright.”

In the back of the shop there was a small kitchen, furnished
with the same type of antiques that filled the rest of the store.  Alan and
Julia settled into old dark wooden chairs that did not look like they would
support their weight, but were surprisingly comfortable, if a little creaky. 
Not knowing what else to do, Julia set the stone in the middle of the table. 
Helen began talking breathlessly as she bustled about, preparing the tea.  “You
see, this stone is magical.  It has the power to bestow or destroy love.  I
know. It worked for me.”  Her eyes twinkled as she spoke.  “My husband Brian
brought it home to me from England, after the War.  Oh, we weren’t married
then.  He gave it to me as an engagement present when he returned from his tour
of duty.  We were married for fifty-five wonderful years.”

She stopped and stared wistfully at nothing in particular, a
half-smile of remembrance on her face.  “He died last year of cancer, rest his
soul.  After such a wonderful life, I knew The Wyrding Stone was a precious
gift, and I could not hoard it.  I placed it up on top of that armoire, knowing
when the time came, it would choose its next beneficiary.”  Her eyes twinkled
merrily as she gazed at Julia.  “And now it has chosen you, my dear.”  She
clapped in delight.

The teapot whistled.  Helen prepared three steaming cups,
set them on the table, and sat down.  “You see, my husband Brian found it in a
shop just like this one, but over in England.  The woman who ran the shop told
her a story similar to the one I’m telling you.  She had found the stone, and
found love, but it was tragically stripped from her.  She had been in Burma,
before the war. She was a nurse, helping to resist Japanese occupation.  Her
lover was a pilot who flew supply missions over the Burma road.  He was killed
by the Japanese. 

“Brian told me that the woman told him that she was
distraught, and ventured high into the Himalayas to forget her grief.  There
she was taken in by a monastery of Buddhist monks, who revealed to her the
secret of the stone.  Apparently it is the stone of life and of love.  There
are many stones like it, but a person will only find one in a lifetime, if he
or she is even that lucky.  It always finds two young lovers who are destined
to be together, and creates the magic of new life and passion in them.  But the
wheel of Samsara, as the Buddhist monks put it, keeps turning, and the debt of
Karma must be paid.  The lovers that the stone finds may not be destined to
find happiness in any one lifetime.  Perhaps the circumstances of the time do
not allow for a happy ending, or perhaps one or both of the lovers has
performed some act that must be karmically atoned for.  You, see, wyrd is an
ancient celtic word for fate.  You two are now fated through the Wyrding Stone
to find happiness and joy together!  I hope and pray that you are blessed with
the warmth and love I felt with my Brain, but rest assured, in this life or a
future one, you two will know ultimate contentment together.”  Helen tipped her
head back and smiled with pure joy.

“After the young nurse had consoled her grief for a time,
she returned to England, where she performed her nursing duties for the
duration of the War.  At the same time, to distract herself, she worked in her
ailing parents’ antique shop, which she eventually took over.  This is where
Brian found the stone and heard the tale.  She, too, realized in her turn it
was time to pass the gift of the stone along. 

“Brian and I wanted to thank her for the marvelous gift of
love and life she had bestowed upon us, but when we finally got the opportunity
to return to England in 1962, we found the store had changed hands, and that
our benefactress had passed away five years previously.  We were saddened that
we could not properly thank her for the blessings she had enabled us to enjoy,
but we resolved, in her memory, that when the proper moment came, we would pass
along our wonderful gift to others.  And now it is your turn.”

Alan, who had been staring deeply into the Wyrding Stone the
whole time Helen was talking, now glanced at Julia, then at the old lady.  “How
much do you want for it?  I want to buy it as an engagement present for
Julia.”  He looked warmly at her as he reached his hand across the table, past
the stone, to take hers.  Julia stared dumbfounded at Alan as Helen beamed with
delight.  Julia then broke into a broad smile as she reached out to grasp his
hands.  A couple sobs of joy escaped her.  “Yes! Yes!  Let’s buy it.  Alan, I
love you.  I will marry you.”

“Ha, haaaa!” Helen exclaimed, not able to contain her mirth,
as Alan and Julia got up and embraced closely.

Alan finally detached and reached for his wallet.  “How
much?”

Concern crossed Helen’s face.  “Oh, no.  I can’t take any
money for it.  That would taint the magic.”

“Oh, come on, I have to give you something.”

“No, please, I insist.  I give it to you as an engagement
present.  You could, however, if you are so inclined, pick up some other items
for your new home together.”  Helen winked slyly.

Alan and Julia could barely carry all the nick-nacks and
brick-a-bracs with which they left Helen’s store.  They bee-lined back to
Pauline’s condominium building, which fortunately was only three blocks away. 
After depositing the bags on the floor of Pauline’s unit, Julia dug through
them until she found the stone.  She kept excavating until she had found the
stand they had bought for it.  It was a wrought iron representation of three
women kneeling, facing outward and leaning forward.  They were reaching their
arms back to interlock their hands together, thereby making a receptacle for
the stone.  Helen had told them it was a copy of an ancient design, and suited
the stone perfectly.  The couple agreed, and had bought it along with the other
stuff.

Julia set the stand on the windowsill in the bedroom, then
placed the stone in it.  The sun was setting, and the city was clothing itself
in its evening raiment of lights.  The stone seemed to absorb the light, then
re-emit it, more dazzling and mesmerizing than ever.  Julia was entranced.

Alan came up behind her and slipped his arms around her
waist.  She leaned back into him, placing her hands over his, never taking her
gaze from the stone.  “Oh, Alan, I’m so happy.  I love you.”

“I love you,” he responded in a whisper, then kissed her
neck.

She turned to face him, sliding her arms around his neck. 
She gazed deeply into his eyes, a small, contented smile playing across her
lips.  They stood immobile for a few moments, swimming in each other’s souls,
as the intricate play of light from the stone danced about them and softly
illuminated the room.

Eventually Alan leaned slowly forward and kissed Julia.  She
responded with eagerness, fondling every part of his body she could reach. 
Still kissing, they slowly removed each other’s clothes, then crawled into the
bed, side by side.  Alan reached out and cupped Julia’s breast, then leaned
forward and kissed her nipple. Julia tipped her head back and let escape a soft
gasp of pleasure.  Alan licked all around her breast, then started traveling
down her body with soft kisses.  Julia lay back and opened her body to Alan.  He
reached the area between her legs and explored all around with his tongue. 
High intonations of delight periodically issued from Julia as she reached down
to caress Alan’s red hair.  He increased his tempo, and Julia began to writhe
with pleasure.  After a bit, her body stiffened, and she threw her head back,
emitting a high moan of sheer ecstasy.

Alan traveled back up to her breasts with soft kisses, then
continued to her neck and lips.  They kissed passionately, their tongues
darting in and out of each other’s mouths, in tender exploration.  Still
kissing, Alan reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a condom from his
small traveling case that rested there.  He opened the package and put it on. 
Still kissing, he slid effortlessly into Julia. A high-pitched gasp escaped
from her, then she began rocking in time with Alan’s gentle thrusts.  The
darting rays of light from the stone shot across Alan’s back and about the
room.

After several pleasurable minutes, Alan’s tempo increased. 
He thrust deeply into Julia at a rapid pace, she matching his every move to
heighten their mutual sensation.  Finally Alan thrust forward with a long, low
moan, and Julia wrapped every limb about him as tightly as she could.  They
gazed into each other’s eyes and chuckled softly with contentment.

“I love you, Julia.”

“I love you, Alan.”

They embraced closely for several minutes.  The dance of
light from the stone played magically across their bodies and around the room,
filling the air with a soft, shimmering glow.