Dark Confluence (24 page)

Jen turned on the indicator and slowly began to turn out onto the main road, narrowly missing a cyclist who had shot out of the mist, seemingly oblivious to traffic. Jen wound down her window to shout out at him, then immediately stopped, her actions had attracted the attention of a group of people, two of whom she had seen days earlier. Dressed in expensive, European styled clothes, they gestured at her to stop and walked over to her car, pulled halfway out from the kerb.

“You’re awake,” one said, without preamble or introduction. “How can this be so?”

Jen felt waves of misgiving and fear - these people were not to be trusted.

“Awake? Of course, I am awake. What on earth are you talking about?” she nervously blustered.

The group looked at one another and then noticed the hire car sticker on her vehicle.

“Tourist?” another asked.

Jen nodded, deciding that it would be best to keep them ignorant of where she lived and who she was.

“Ach...makes sense.” The elder of the group, a man in his forties, looked back at her. “Keep driving, this place...not good. Better to...eh...go on.”

Jen stared at them in disbelief, “You can’t tell me what to do!”

Suddenly, all four turned their eyes on her and Jen felt the temperature drop, one started chanting and a background headache immediately started up behind her eyes. Jen knew that they were trying to do something to her, but her Sight seemed to block most of what they were attempting. Instantly, she knew what to do. She had to comply. Otherwise, they would understand that she was different and she understood that it would be dangerous to be found out.

Scared now, Jen allowed the annoyance to fade from her face, and instead sighed apathetically and let her face muscles relax into blankness.

“Yes...you are of course right,” she intoned, “I should drive on.”

They smiled as one, their faces tight and taut, and as a group, they stepped out of the way, as she turned the car onto the road and slowly drove off.

Jen floored the accelerator as soon as she was out of sight of the group, and drove out of town.

*

Bag slung over her shoulder, Carma looked at her front door, and then back to her bedroom. She sighed, every day for the last three days she had fought an internal battle to walk out of her house and go to work, and each day she had failed. She was running low on food, but oddly enough she did not care, all she wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep.

She knew she should open the shop and earn money. She knew she should be taking advantage of all the visitors flocking to Emerald Hills, but she simply could not will herself to move beyond the confines of her house.

She thought back on last night, the EHGAG meeting had been a bust. It had been pencilled in on the calendar for weeks, and she knew everyone who remained was aware of it, but still no one showed. She had pushed herself to make herb muffins especially for it, and now they sat on the table, uneaten, and going stale.

Dispiritedly, Carma let her leather and fabric shoulder bag drop to the floor - it lay on the wooden boards looking as dispirited as she felt. Mechanically, Carma put her car keys back in the wooden bowl on the dresser and took off her shoes. She walked listlessly down the hallway, her bare feet whisper-silent on the polished wooden floorboards and headed straight to her still unmade bed.

Sitting down on the covers, her head drooped, as if she did not have the strength to hold it erect. One part of her mind knew that she should be angry, upset, frustrated, yet all those very familiar emotions seemed to be foreign to her now. She felt...nothing, drained of all vibrant emotions. She had tried yesterday to work her craft, to brew herself a tea to enliven her spirit, yet even the most simple of concoctions seemed beyond her now. Instead, she had sat for hours at her kitchen table, just staring at the herbs spread out before her, trapped in a haze of apathy.

Dimly Carma remembered a time when she was full of energy, decisions, and purpose. She recollected being driven, always working to attain her goals of influence, power and wealth. She vaguely remembered it, could almost taste the memories of such passion, but now, even thinking of such memories, seemed to tire and weary her. She knew this wasn’t her, she understood it wasn’t natural, yet she could not lift a finger to correct or stop it.

She depressingly clambered onto the bed, lay down and pulled the soiled covers over her head. Perhaps sleep would right all wrongs. Perhaps waking would bring the world back into sharp focus again. She could but hope. Carma closed her eyes and let the insistent pull of sleep claim her once again.

*

Chapter 21

Jen pushed the print button on her word processing program and watched as the machine slowly churned out a dozen or more pages of typed text. She had written two lengthy letters, one with a letter already stamped and addressed, the other letter was to go into a blank envelope – although, she was not yet certain what address she was going to write on it.

It had taken her most of the day to write those two letters, and although she was skilled with language, they were the hardest words she had ever written in her life.

Jen sat back, fatigue written in every line on her face and she remembered the last twenty-four hours.

...

She had driven home from town as if the hounds of hell were on her tail. Gone was the fear of the mist, gone was her sedate and careful driving. All that mattered now was finding a way to fix things, to change the terrible fate of Emerald Hills. She did not know how she was going to do it, but by God, she would do her best. She simply could not allow everything she knew and loved to go into the darkness. The changes to the town, the horrible people gathering there, the missing children; Jen knew that she could no longer stand aside and just be a witness.

She ran from the car, slamming the door behind her. In her haste, her feet slipped on the mossy, lichen-covered ground, almost throwing her off-balance, but she recovered sufficiently to stumble the last few steps to her front verandah

Turning from the house to face the garden, she threw her arms out wide and called out, “Fionn!” She heard her own voice pealing and echoing, even though the heavy quagmire of the mist.

She did not have to wait long. A figure stalked out of the fog, with his green eyes luminescent in the semi-darkness. He did not bother now to apply his mask of mortality, he wore his natural face and form and Jen, her knees threatening to give way beneath her, leaned heavily against the wood of the balcony and watched him walk towards her. His lean body was clad in a billowing black shirt with a lace collar. Over it, he wore a black leather jacket slashed with dark grey silk, and black leather trousers and knee-high riding boots encased his legs. He held a great wide and feathered black hat in his hand. It seemed to Jen that he had stepped just that moment from the great halls of Europe in the seventeenth century.

He was beautiful in the way a stallion was beautiful, or a thundering waterfall, or an arcing rainbow. If he had worn his natural face the first time they had met, Jen did not think she could have refused him. Pale straight hair flowed over his shoulders, and his ears were ever so slightly pointed and thrusting up through his fine locks. His face was flawless yet wholly masculine. High-sculpted cheekbones and a narrow arrogant nose hinted at cruelty, whilst the softness in his green eyes showed a deep, almost eternal capacity for love. He seemed the very epitome of nature, in that it could be both magnificent, and dangerous. Jen sighed when she saw him and she felt her stomach knot in both pleasure and anxiety. He exuded sexuality and a raw power, and Jen moaned aloud at the very sight of him.

 “You called me, Jenny,” he murmured, reaching her and placed a cool hand upon her cheek.

Jen gasped and nodded. Frantically she tried to pull herself together. “I did, I need your help.”

“You know it comes with a price?”

She nodded again, a blush suffusing her face and neck, “It is why I called you, fairy man.”

“I dislike that title, call me by my name,” he demanded, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

She shivered at his touch, “Fionn.”

He shook his head, “My true name.”

Jen whispered the name he gave her weeks earlier, “Ion
u
in”

He sighed, shuddering like a leaf.

“I am yours, fair Jenny, what would you ask of me?”

“I cannot save the town by myself, I need your aid. I don’t know what to do or what you can do...” her words staggered to a hesitant stop, and her stomach twisted with nervous anxiety.

He looked past her to the front door, “Invite me in, I cannot pass your protections without your leave.”

Jen trembled and searched her bag for her keys. After a few moments of fumbling, she extricated the house key and opened the door. She stood for a moment at the entrance and turned to him, he wore an expression of both amusement and anticipation.

“You are welcome to enter,” she whispered simply, uncertain if more words needed saying.

He strode in through the door, looking curiously about him. His fingers trailed tendrils of light across sofa, table, chairs and wall; pausing and then avoiding the salt piled up upon the windowsills. He seemed almost too large for the room. As if his very existence made the objects about him diminish into insignificance. Jen just stared at him, her mouth agape. Despite the elegant Cavalier clothing that he affected to wear, he seemed to personify nature at its most primal, and deep within herself, her body responded in kind.

He turned to her and his face was solemn, “I cannot aid you directly, Jenny, the Laws prohibit me from doing so...however, I can work through you. If you give me leave?”

She nodded, swallowing heavily.

“Come then.” He took her hand and led her to the bedroom.

...

Jen picked up the printed pages and sorted them into two piles. She stood and then stretched, because she was stiff, not only from the long stint at the computer, but also from yesterday.

Even now, she blushed at the recollection of their lovemaking. He had first been gentle, as was his nature, and then later, wild and ferocious, carrying both of them to heights of ecstasy that Jen, in her innocence, had never dreamt existed. She had come to him a virgin and hours later, she had rolled from the bed, her dark hair undone and tumbled down her back, and face flushed with pleasure and exhaustion.

“You leave me?” he had asked her, smiling that secret smile, she now knew so well.

“Only to shower,” she replied, shyly pulling a robe around her nakedness.

“I like your mortal scent,” he said. “Don’t wash it away, I want to smell you, taste you.”

So smiling with love, she went to him again, and they both tumbled to the bed, enjoying each other over again.

Finally sated, he rolled over and regarded the mortal woman lying panting by his side.            

“It is time to show you what must be done.”